Systems and spiritual ruts

Homily: 2^nd Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          As many of you know, I used to be an engineer before studying to become a priest.  (No, I wasn’t one of those cool engineers who drives trains, but rather was one who designs and builds things.)  Because of this, I know that engineers can be very good at many things.  I also know, however, that having an “engineering mind” comes with limitations.  One of the things that engineering minds do is that they see things in systems.  In other words, they see a problem that needs to be overcome (or, perhaps, just a way to make things more convenient) and they immediately start to see the system that could be put in place to overcome it (or make it more convenient).  Think of those automatic one-cup coffee makers, like a Keureg.  Pop in a pod, push a button and voila, the system takes care of the rest.  This is how my brain works and so I like systems.

          This has presented me a challenge, however, in my spiritual life.  You see, I expect that, by systematizing my spiritual life, I’ll make it better and easier to manage.  I create a schedule and gather the necessary tools (bible, spiritual reading, rosary, etc.) so that when I sit down to do it, it’ll just work.  This, at least, is what my mind expects.  The problem with this, however, is that our spiritual lives don’t quite work that way.  While it is possible to make our spiritual lives system-like, they can never be totally systematic; if by that we mean mechanized and impersonal (that is, not if we expect to achieve any sort of satisfaction with it).  In other words, if the engagement that we give to our lives as disciples is nothing more than we give when we push the button on the coffee machine, then we don’t have much of a spiritual life at all.

          This is why I dislike Ordinary Time.  In Ordinary Time we focus on our discipleship, on our spiritual lives, and (if we’re paying attention) we’re constantly being challenged to examine how we are doing (that is, to examine our systems) so as to change and improve and grow.  A system that is living in this way is much more difficult to cultivate and maintain than one in which we just push a button or punch a clock and forget about it.  Thus, you can see why I dislike it; because it says that “my system is never good enough, that it still needs tweaking, that this project is still ongoing.”

          When I’m really honest with myself, however, I realize that all my “systems” end up leaving me in a rut.  I find that if all that I’m doing each year is pulling out the same practices, reading the same spiritual books, or praying the same rote prayers, that my spiritual life begins to feel lethargic.  Now, there’s nothing wrong with repeating things that have worked for you in the past, but the challenge is to engage these things anew each time.  And so, if I’ve made a personal commitment to pray a rosary every day, then I have to search for something new in it every day.  After years of praying it, that’s not going to be easy.  But if it is truly a prayer—that is, truly an opportunity to engage my relationship with God—then there will always be a chance that I will find something new (if I’m looking for it).  This is hard work: the kind of hard work that Ordinary Time challenges us to do, which is why it is not my favorite time of the year.

          A few years ago, I decided to try something new.  I decided to change my attitude about Ordinary Time so as to engage it more intentionally.  I decided to take a deep look at these familiar readings that we hear each week in the context of this familiar liturgy that we celebrate in order to find how they challenge me to grow, both as a person and as a disciple of Jesus Christ.  I decided to be content with the fact that my “spiritual life” project isn’t finished (and probably never will be), but that I can’t leave the project undone, either, and so I put myself to work at it.  This year I intend to do the same and I hope that you all will come with me.

          In these weeks of Ordinary Time leading up to Lent and Easter, I’m going to look for some particular thing that will challenge me to go deeper in my spiritual life so as to make it stronger and more fruitful; and I hope to share that with all of you.  Perhaps these will help you to go deeper, too.  So, where do we begin?

          This week, I think that we begin with John the Baptist’s prophetic proclamation: “Behold…”  I think that if we are going to go deeper in our spiritual lives that we must begin by beholding who it is that we are following.  Of course, we have the opportunity to do this here in the Eucharist.  Right before Communion, I will raise the Blessed Sacrament and say to you “Behold the Lamb of God…”  This kind of beholding we also do in Eucharistic Adoration, which we have every Wednesday night and Friday afternoon.  Perhaps in these next weeks, each of us can make it a point to try and spend some time beholding Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament during adoration.

          We also behold Jesus whenever we read and meditate on the Scriptures.  A seminary professor used to tell us that “Every encounter with the Scriptures is an encounter with Christ.”  Therefore, we can behold him in the Scriptures.  Finally, we can behold him when we acknowledge Jesus in our brothers and sisters in need.  Saint Teresa of Calcutta used to say that she saw the face of Jesus (in other words, she beheld him) in the men and women she served.  And so, we too can behold the face of Jesus when we love those in need around us.

          “Is that it, Father?  This sounds like it’s going to be a slow process.”  Yes, it is; and this will be enough for this week.  Have you ever been sick and had to stay home from work or school for one, two, or more days?  Didn’t those weeks seem to be longer than the rest?  They weren’t, but they felt longer because we were forced slowed down.  If we want to go deeper in our spiritual lives, then we must learn to go slow and let the process work on us.  If in this week we can learn to break out of our systems (and the spiritual ruts they can lead us into) and to behold Jesus in our daily lives, starting right here in the Eucharist, then we will be ready for what comes next.  Come, then, and let us behold him.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – January 19^th, 2020

Outrunning the bear

Homily: 3^rd Sunday in Lent – Cycle C

To be clear from the start, I am not an “outdoorsman”.  I like being outdoors—in the woods, even—but real “off the grid” living is probably not for me.  Nevertheless, I do know a thing or two about being in the wilderness.  Like the adage about bears.  You know, the one when someone asks, “Do you think you could outrun a bear if you encountered one?” and the outdoorsman says, “I don’t have to outrun the bear, I just have to outrun you!”  This is how we can think, oftentimes, isn’t it?  “I don’t have to overcome everything; I just have to outdo the next guy!”  We can apply this to our spiritual lives, too, right?  We think, “Well, I could be better; but I’m already so much better than a lot of people, so I’m okay.”  Our Scripture readings today, however, remind us that perhaps we shouldn’t feel so secure.

In our second reading, we heard one of Saint Paul’s admonitions to the Corinthians.  The backstory to today’s reading is that the Corinthians had been thinking that, since they were now on the “right team” (that is, Team Jesus), that they were secure and that it didn’t matter what they did.  In a sense, they thought: “Well, we’re ‘running faster’ than those pagans, so the bear is going to eat them, and we’ll be fine.”  Saint Paul, however, goes back to the story of the Exodus and reminds them of how the Israelites were on the “right team” (that is, Team Yahweh) when they left Egypt, but because of their constant grumbling against God and their repeated expressions of lack of trust in him, God did not permit them to enter the Promised Land; rather, that generation died in the desert.  Then he admonishes them: “whoever thinks he is standing secure should take care not to fall”.  In other words, “Take care, because you could find yourself on the wrong side of judgment.”

In the Gospel reading, Jesus is confronted by some folks who want his opinion about the “judgment” declared on some Galileans who had been killed by the Romans and whose blood was then mixed in with the blood of their pagan sacrifices (which, if it isn’t clear to you, is about the most ignominious death a Jew could have ever endured).  “Where these guys really bad sinners?” is the question behind their question.  Jesus doesn’t respond directly to their question, but rather admonishes them, saying: “Let this be a warning to you!  Regardless of what you’re doing, you, too, could suffer this same fate!  Therefore, don’t be complacent!  Rather, strive for purity and greatness!”  In other words, “The same judgment that fell on them, may fall on sinners of any magnitude.  Therefore, don’t try only to be ‘better than the next worse sinner’, but rather to be pure and holy so that the judgment will not come upon you.”

This, it seems, is our Lenten message.  As I said, too often in the spiritual life we compare ourselves with others, saying: “I’m not perfect, but I’m not like those guys, so God will be lenient with me.”  In other words, “I don’t have to be faster than the bear, just a little faster than someone else.”  Lent, however, calls us to compare ourselves to the ideal, not just to one another.  In other words, it reminds us that, in the race against the bear, it’s just you and the bear!  And so, the question that Lent asks us isn’t “Are you living a better Christian life than most?”, but rather, “Are you living the best Christian life that you can live?”  Our work during Lent is first to answer that question (pro-tip: the answer is probably “no”) and then to put ourselves to the work that moves us towards living the best Christian life that we can live.

To help you, perhaps, to come at this another way, I’ll share this story.  In my ministry I often spend time with elderly folks: many of whom are either confined to their homes or to assisted living facilities because of health problems.  These folks can be particularly prone to bouts with depression.  Most have had rather full lives: they’ve worked and raised a family.  But now they are feeling a little useless and so start to question things.  They’ll often say to me, “Father, I just don’t know why I’m still here” and, sometimes, “Well, I guess God must not be ready for me yet.”  When they say that, I’ll usually smile and, as gently as I can, say to them: “You know, it’s more likely that you’re not yet ready for God.”

This, of course, is the point of the parable that Jesus adds to his admonition in the Gospel.  The fig tree (which, in the Scriptures, always refers to the Jewish people) was specially planted by the orchard owner (which refers to God) in his orchard (which refers to the Promised Land).  There, he expected the tree to produce fruit.  When he came looking for it, however, he found none.  The tree, in other words, wasn’t yet ready for God.  Thanks to the intervention of the gardener (who, in this parable, refers to Jesus), the tree is given more time to be cultivated and, perhaps, to produce fruit.  Thus, to our homebound brothers and sisters I can say: “If you’re still here, it’s because God is giving you time to produce more fruit.”  And to all of us here today I can say, “Lent is our reminder that we, too, are not yet ready for God; and so, must allow ourselves to be pruned, cultivated, and fertilized so that we, too, can produce more fruit for God’s kingdom.”

Friends, we’ve already begun our Lenten journey; but if we’re not sure that we’ve begun in the right place, then how should we begin again?  For the answer, let’s look at the example of Moses.  In our first reading today, we heard how God called Moses to himself.  Moses, however, could only come part way to God by himself.  At one point, he had to completely submit himself to be under God’s power.  This is represented by God commanding him to remove his shoes: his shoes being both a sign of his worldly impurity (all of the muck we walk through sticks to our shoes, right?) and also of his own powers to accomplish things (since shoes make it possible to do a lot of things!).  And so, in order to become all that God was calling him to be, Moses had to make himself vulnerable before God.  This is what we are called to do during Lent.

My brothers and sisters, God doesn’t need, nor does he want our Lenten sacrifices; rather, he wants us!  Lent, therefore, is the time to separate ourselves from worldly things and our reliance on ourselves (that is, from our shoes!), and it is a time to expose ourselves to the bewildering power of the Lord (represented by the bewildering bush that was burning, but not consumed).  When we do this, the Lord will then equip us with his grace to go out and bear fruit in the world.  Therefore, let us not rest on our laurels, thinking that “as long as I can outrun you, I’m okay”; but rather let’s turn away from the things of the world and towards God once again, who desires to cultivate us and make us fruitful trees in his garden: bearing fruit that will be his saving nourishment in the world.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – March 24^th, 2019