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

Covering our faults with mercy

Homily: 31^st Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          There’s a story about a married couple—I’m not sure what their names were, but let’s call them Lawrence and Sarah—who had been married 15 years.  Larry and Sarah began to have more than the usual trouble that married couples have and they started to feel as if they had lost their way and that their marriage was in crisis.  Neither of them was ready to give up on the marriage, however, so they both decided to work on it.  Sarah had an idea of how to turn things around.  Her idea was to make a box: one for Larry and one for her.  The boxes were “Fault Boxes” and the idea was that every time either Larry or Sarah was irritated by something the other one did, he or she would write what that was on a slip of paper and drop it in the box.  Then, when the other one saw what had been written, he or she would be aware of many of the ways that he or she created tension between them.

          Both Sarah and Larry were diligent in filling out the little slips of paper.  Then, after doing this for a month, the couple sat down after dinner one night to open their boxes and review all of the little slips.  As Larry flipped through the pieces of paper he read things like “leaving the jelly top off of the jar,” “wet towels on the bathroom floor,” “dirty socks not in the hamper,” and on and on.  Larry began to think seriously about how the little things to which he didn’t pay much attention were creating big problems in his wife’s heart.  Sarah then opened her box and began to read the little slips.  They all said the same thing.  On each slip of paper that Larry dropped in the box he wrote, simply, “I love you.”  Needless, perhaps, to say, but the crisis ended right there.

          What Larry demonstrated was the power of mercy.  You see, it wasn’t that he didn’t think that Sarah had any faults, nor was it that he was trying to get her to ignore his own faults, but rather it was that he decided to cover over those faults with mercy.  And isn’t this exactly what God does with us?  In the Book of Wisdom, today’s first reading, we read: “For you love all things that are and loathe nothing that you have made; for what you hated, you would not have fashioned… But you spare all things, because they are yours, O Lord and lover of souls, for your imperishable spirit is in all things!”  God loves everything that he has made, especially each one of us!  And so, even though he sees all of our faults, he strives to cover over them with mercy.

          Yet how often do we think that God looks at us like Sarah looked at Larry, like a bag of faults that need to be fixed?  He knows that we do!  But this is one of the many reasons why he sent his Son to take on our human nature: so that, by the way he treated us as he walked among us, we could know how he has always treated us, which is how he will always treat us.  And this great story of Jesus and Zacchaeus the tax collector that we heard in our Gospel reading is just one example.

          Zacchaeus was a grave sinner in the eyes of all because he was a tax collector, which meant that he was a collaborator with the Romans who were occupying their land.  Tax collectors didn’t get paid from the Romans, so they added fees to the taxes they collected in order to make money.  These were completely unregulated, so tax collectors often made themselves wealthy by taking advantage of their kinsman, thus making them despised all the more.  Zacchaeus, the Gospel says, was a chief tax collector, which meant that he was particularly despised by the people.  Perhaps this is why, when Jesus came to pass through Jericho, Zacchaeus, who was very curious about him and, thus, wanted to see him, wasn’t concerned about how funny it must have looked for him, a grown man, to climb up into a tree so that he could see him: he had given up his concern about public opinion long ago.

          Perhaps Jesus noticed him in the tree and asked about him; or perhaps his disciples noticed him and decided to tell Jesus about him.  Either way, Jesus came to know who he was and, perhaps, some of his story: especially how he had become wealthy as a tax collector.  Jesus had a decision to make, however.  Would he focus on Zacchaeus’ faults or would he cover over his faults with mercy?  I think that we see, of course, that Jesus did the latter: inviting himself to Zacchaeus’ house so that he could express God’s love for him and, thus, urge him to leave off any sinful dealings in his life.  Thus, having been treated with mercy, Zacchaeus converts his life and promises to make restitution for his unjust dealings.  In other words, the crisis of whether or not Zacchaeus might be lost to sin forever ended when Jesus covered over his faults with mercy.

          My brothers and sisters, in so many ways, this is exactly why Pope Frances called for Jubilee Year of Mercy: he wanted us to experience anew how God covers over our faults with mercy.  More than that, however, he wanted us to learn anew that our experience of God’s mercy is an experience that is meant to be shared.  In other words, the Pope hopes that, through our experience of the Father’s mercy, we will become “merciful like the Father”, as the motto for the Year of Mercy reads.

          Friends, this experience of mercy comes to us every time that we celebrate the Holy Eucharist.  As we approach this altar today, let us open our hearts to experience God’s mercy anew once again—the experience of God seeing our faults and covering them with love—so that we might go forth from here ready to share that experience with everyone until the day we all are one with our merciful Father in heaven.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – October 29^th, 2016

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

The mercy that we need, but don't always seek

          Ah, it's always good to go back and remember how God worked in your life!  I hope that by sharing my experiences others will see some working of God in their lives.

          And please let this be a plug for our Parish Mission!  It's like a "big-tent revival" that other Christian communities celebrate.  Attending a parish mission turned me on this journey to priesthood.  God can use this mission to turn you towards his perfect plan for your life, too!

November 10-14, 2013 at All Saints Parish in Logansport.
Evening sessions begin at 6:30 p.m., Sunday through Thursday.
Daytime sessions begin at 12:30 p.m., Monday through Thursday.

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

          About ten and a half years ago, 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 I was raised in.  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.”

          Just this past week I was visiting one of our homebound parishioners.  When I arrived she asked almost immediately if I would hear her confession.  She said that she couldn’t really think of any specific sins that she had committed, but that she realized that it had been a long time since she last went to confession; and, acknowledging that God could call her home soon, she didn’t want to have to explain to God why her short memory or weak conscience kept her from receiving his mercy.  “I try to be good,” she was basically saying, “but I know that I’m not perfect.”  “You know what,” I thought, “she gets it.”  This is the humility that Jesus is talking about: the humility that, although she couldn’t accuse herself of any particular sin, nonetheless still acknowledged her 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 All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – October 27^th, 2013