Submitting to God's mercy

Homily: 30^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          A few years before I entered the seminary, I had hit what I would call a “personal low-point”.  Things in my life seemed to me to be unraveling.  I had been working as an engineer for a few years and was very disappointed in the way my career was already shaping up.  I had also just been through the disastrous breakup of a relationship that had lasted nearly three years (with the disastrous part being completely my fault).  On top of that, I found myself questioning the faith in which I was raised.  Basically, the foundation rocks of my future—career, marriage, religious faith and practice—seemed to be crumbling in front of me and I was in crisis.

          By God’s grace, in the midst of all of this, I was moved to participate in the mission my parish was having.  At that mission I came to recognize that the things that I thought were the rock foundation of my future were really just sand, because I had ignored God’s commandments and was building them of my own accord.  I felt ashamed and for the first time in my life truly knew what it meant to ask for God’s mercy.

          From that point on, however, I began to build.  I tried to learn more about my faith and began to study the Bible and the Catechism.  I began to attend Mass daily and started to get very involved in my parish.  I made many positive friendships with people who helped support my desire to live virtuously and, two years later, I was feeling pretty good about myself.

          At that time, I also met a wonderful young woman and we began to date.  I was so excited about this relationship because I felt that it was the first time that I was truly dating according to God’s plan and not my own.  The only problem was that I had started to become complacent and self-assured in the daily practice of my faith.  So much so, that I started to exhibit some self-righteousness.  This woman who I was dating began to see through that and when she called me out on it I was shocked, then angry that she had done so, but then, once again, I found myself ashamed and in desperate need of God’s mercy.

          And so, for me, I find a lot to relate to in the Pharisee from today’s Gospel reading.  He had mastered all of the regulations in the Law of Moses, which was no small feat!  The Law contains over 600 regulations and, just to be sure that they never encroached even on those, the Pharisees added their own “safeguard” regulations on top of them.  Thus, to master all of these laws, one had to be very disciplined and conscientious.  His problem, however, was that he let all of that get to his head and his self-assuredness became self-righteousness.  And so, we see in the Gospel reading how he came before God not to lay his work before God’s judgment, but rather to crown himself with a crown of righteousness.

          I relate to him because I feel like I had been acting similar to him.  I was following all of God’s commandments and often found myself judging myself righteous in comparison to others.  I boasted of always “striving to do God’s will” even though I was not actually prayerfully discerning what God was calling me to do.  I knew that I wasn’t perfect, but I had become complacent in being “better than most”.

          Nonetheless, I also find a lot to relate to in the tax collector.  On top of being a job that other Jews would despise him for doing, the job itself didn’t pay a salary; and so, the only way that he could earn money would be to tack on fees to each transaction.  Well, he quickly realized that he could make a lot of money doing that and so he began to tack on exorbitant fees that were inconsistent with the taxes being paid, which he knew to be unjust.  Thus, he knew that he wasn’t perfect and so it was clear to him that only the mercy of God could earn him any semblance of righteousness.  Therefore, he came before God in the Temple not to proclaim his own righteousness, but rather to accuse himself before God and to beg for his mercy.

          I relate to him because both at the beginning and at the end of this time that I have been describing, I found myself in a similar state: recognizing my own failure to be righteous and thus turning to God to beg for his mercy.  In the first instance, I could accuse myself.  In the second, however, I needed another to accuse me.  In both I either saw or came to see that I needed God’s mercy in order to earn any semblance of righteousness.

          “Ok, so I’m a little confused, Father.  Are you saying we should or shouldn’t strive for righteousness? because it sounds like you just said that the better thing is to remember our need for God’s mercy, but that when we are achieving righteousness we’re apt to forget it.”  Yes, we still need to strive for righteousness; and no needing to constantly remember our need for God’s mercy is no excuse for continuing to commit your favorite sins (useful, perhaps, but not a good idea).  What we need to do is follow Saint Paul’s example, who was righteous in every way according to the Law, following all of the Lord’s commandments, yet who never counted it to be more than rubbish compared to what God’s mercy could do (and did do) in him.  Or how about Pope Francis, who when asked by a reporter to describe himself replied firstly, “I am a sinner whom the Lord has looked upon.”  Yes, my brothers and sisters, we must strive for righteousness, for it is what God has made us for.  But we must also acknowledge our inability to crown ourselves: that is, that we, too, are indeed “sinners whom the Lord has looked upon.”

          Recently I visited one of our homebound parishioners.  When I arrived, he asked almost immediately if I would hear his confession.  He said that he couldn’t really think of any specific sins that he had committed, but that he realized that it had been a long time since he last went to confession; and, acknowledging that God could call him home soon, he didn’t want to have to explain to God why his short memory or weak conscience kept him from receiving His mercy.  “I try to be good,” he was basically saying, “but I know that I’m not perfect.”  “You know what,” I thought, “he gets it.”  This is the humility that Jesus is talking about: the humility that, although he couldn’t accuse himself of any particular sin, nonetheless still acknowledged his need for God’s mercy.

          My brothers and sisters, we are all constantly in need of God’s mercy.  Let us, then, humble ourselves here today before the one who alone can exult us.

Given at Saint Mary Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – October 27^th, 2019

Holiness is a gift to be shared with others.

          If any of you were looking for a homily last week, I didn't forget to post one!  I was on vacation and so had a week off from preaching.  I hope that these continue to be helpful to all of you who read them!

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Homily: 30^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          Today's gospel provides us with a parable that is very familiar to us; but it is one that should also offend us.  By all measurable standards, the Pharisee lives an upright life: he keeps from sin and he goes beyond the minimum of religious observance.  Yet he is condemned by Christ, while the tax collector—a public sinner who collaborated with the Roman authorities and performed extortion on his fellow Jews—is commended.  Now my question is not that the tax collector shouldn’t be commended, because he obviously demonstrates his repentance before God, but rather, shouldn't both be commended?  I mean, it's almost like Jesus is saying "It's better if you're a sinner and repent, than if you have never sinned and stay upright in God's sight."  And that certainly doesn’t seem right, does it?

          We know that Jesus gave a hard time to the Pharisees because very often he found them living hypocritically: meaning they taught one thing and lived their lives another way.  Perhaps Jesus wanted us to apply this stereotype to the Pharisee in his parable and, thus, already judge him poorly.  If we look again at the line that begins our Gospel reading, I think we get a clue that this is exactly what he wanted us to do.  It says, "Jesus addressed this parable to those who were convinced of their own righteousness and despised everyone else."  Jesus, it seems wasn't condemning the Pharisee for being overly pious, but rather that he derided others who weren't as pious as he was.  The Pharisee thanked God for his righteousness, but arrogantly.  He failed to see that this righteousness came with a responsibility: a responsibility to help (or, at least, to have sympathy for) those who have failed in their human frailty to acquire God's righteousness, too.

          In our own time, there certainly are those who emulate the worst caricatures of the Pharisees: those who seem pious in their religious observance, but then who do not live this piety in their everyday lives.  In other words, they are hypocritical: not practicing what their pious acts proclaim that they do.  Nonetheless, there are other "Pharisees" in our time who are like the one in today's Gospel: they truly live upright lives and exceed the minimum requirements of religious observance and they are quick to condemn the "tax collectors" of the world: those who persist in sinful behavior and those who support social structures that give approval for it.

          Again, this is the sin for which the Pharisee is condemned: he was unable to sympathize with the tax collector and to recognize in him his own weakness and frailty.  Thus he was unable to accompany the tax collector and encourage his conversion.  How often do our modern "Pharisees" condemn those who engage in sinful practices; and in their efforts to condemn the practice, they end up focusing on the sinner?  They refuse to draw close to them—to accompany them—and to encourage them towards conversion.  Instead, they begin to point fingers, saying things like: “Those people are condemnable, because they support laws that protect abortion…” or “…promote the use of artificial contraception…” or “…support redefining the institution of marriage and the family…”

          But this is what Pope Francis has tried to highlight throughout his pontificate and especially in this year of mercy.  At first he was criticized because he didn't speak out more against abortion, the use of artificial contraception, same-sex marriage, women priests, etc., but he didn't want to get focused on issues.  Rather, he wanted to focus on people.  “Let's spend less time condemning and more time accompanying those mired in sin,” he seems to say.  “In this way, we will more authentically show God's mercy to others.”

          And so, whether we are mired in sin or living an upright life, the message from Jesus' parable is this: don't presume your righteousness.  Struggle for it, yes.  Give thanks to God for any righteous deed you did or attitude you possess, yes; but don't presume.  If you are a grave sinner, then admit it.  Don't let your pride blind you to it until you die and end up in hell.  If you are on the path of righteousness, give thanks, but never presume that you've conquered every human weakness.  Rather, continue to humble yourself before the Lord.  If you don't have any grave sin, then confess the smaller sins regularly.  Your humble confession will be heard and God will strengthen you as you continue towards righteousness.

          Perhaps I could offer my own parable to mimic Jesus' and connect it to our modern experience.  Two people came to confession.  One confessed in this way: “Oh, I don't really do anything bad, Father.  I come to Mass, I give regularly, and I pray most of the time.  I guess that I got mad at my spouse a couple of times, but that’s about it.”  The other confessed in this way: "Father, I've been doing well with praying and making it to Mass every Sunday (and during the week, if I can make it) and I’ve been making a big effort to keep from criticizing my spouse, but the other day someone brought up something my spouse did and I fell right into it and I’m so upset about it."  You can see that both are living what, on the outside, seem to be upright lives; but the first presumes his/her righteousness, while the second continues to humble him/herself before God, trusting that only he can make him/her righteous.  It is this latter example that needs to be a model for our time.

          But wait, Father, didn't Saint Paul say something about "a crown of righteousness awaits me"?  Why yes, I'm glad you asked.  You see, even though Saint Paul seems to presume his righteousness, he nonetheless acknowledges that it all comes from God—that the crown will be awarded from God.  Paul acknowledges that it was the Lord that intervened for him and provided him every grace so that he could arrive safely in his heavenly reward.  Yet Paul does not despise those have not followed him on the path of righteousness, but rather offers a word of encouragement: that all those who have longed for God's appearance will receive the same crown of righteousness.

          So again it is not that we have false humility and deny that we have ever done any good thing, but rather that we acknowledge that those things come from God and that we constantly must turn to and rely on him if we wish to achieve that crown.  Our world right now is overflowing with politicians trying to proclaim their own righteousness so that you will vote for them.  Let's step back from that and change the conversation (in our own communities, at least).  In our effort to live upright lives (and it must start there, by the way), let us also strive to reach out to those "tax collectors" among us—to enter into relationship with them—and so invite them to experience God's mercy, first by our loving companionship and second by an encounter of God's mercy through conversion to and reconciliation with God.

          My brothers and sisters, this is what the year of mercy demands of us.  This is what Jesus, who comes to us in this Eucharist to accompany us, desires that we do in response to this grace.  Let us take up this good work, therefore, so that we too, like the humbled tax collector in Jesus' parable, might be justified; and that, having been justified, we too might be glorified for all eternity in heaven.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – October 23^rd, 2016