Twenty-Eighth Sunday of the Year (A)
9 October 2011
St. Anthony, DSM
http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/100911.cfm
Friday night, I was at the hayrack ride which we had advertized the last couple weekends here in the parish. We had a good time on the horses, and when the time came to cook the food over the campfire, I found a stick and made my hot dog. Afterwards, I heard a girl asking indiscriminately if anyone had a stick for her to make a hot dog. I said, “I have a stick.” So, she came over. First, she looked at the long stick and asked the profound question - “Is that a stick?” To which I answered, “Does it look like a stick?” At this point, she grabbed it with both hands and said “My stick”. I didn’t let go (nor did I let her break the stick), and said “Wait a minute – you think this is your stick? Right now it’s my stick.” So, I told her I would let her use my stick if she agreed to bring it back when she was done. As soon as I let go, she ran off, saying “I’ve got my stick!” without so much as saying “Thank you.”
In today’s world, I’m afraid far too many of us act like this five year old girl. Those of us who grew up in this society have known comfort, luxury, and entitlement. We begin to think and act like we’re entitled to things that aren’t really ours; that people should give us whatever we want when we want it.
We see this all the time in the culture. People who think they are entitled to a job – and show up to an interview with the attitude that “you must hire me.” Or those who sue because “you didn’t hire me, that means you’re unfair.” There are people who think they’re entitled to government support without having paid their fair share. In marriages, far too often the husband and wife think they are entitled to something from their spouse – the paycheck, the car, their time – and marriages can crash and burn very quickly with this attitude.
And, of course, this attitude of entitlement finds it way into our spiritual lives. People approach prayer like God must give them something – saying “I’m so wonderful and God, you should do this for me because I think so highly of myself.” There are some people who approach the Church and her priests, thinking that we must give them whatever they want because we’re here to serve them. People think the rules don’t apply to them, and so they try to get around the rules, which are really there to help people get to heaven.
In this entitlement culture, each individual person thinks the entire world exists for them. But, it isn’t true! The parish rules we have for First communion, confirmation, RCIA, and PRE of attending Mass are not to make you suffer through listening to my poor preaching. It’s to bring you closer to Christ present in this Eucharistic sacrifice – in this Eucharistic community. We priests don’t exist to serve you; we exist to serve him – and that involves serving you.
In the Gospel today, we have the story of the great wedding feast. When none of those invited came to the feast that the King himself had prepared for his Son, servants were sent to call anyone who would come to the feast. Apparently, there was a man who thought he was entitled to this feast. Perhaps he thought, “Oh, it’s last minute – he won’t mind me if I don’t wear my wedding clothes.” Or, maybe he thought, “Clearly, he needs me at this party, since otherwise nobody would be there.” And, he isn’t dressed to meet the King and his Son. When the king sees him, this man quickly discovers that this party isn’t about him – and what he wears for the king matters. And, out he goes!
Today, we’ve become “entitled”. We’ve culturally lost the basic sense of gift, of grace, of something being freely given to us that demands our love and appreciation in return. That’s why so many marriages fail today. That’s why people clamber for everything they want today. That’s why so many people are spiritually empty today – they’ve forgotten what it’s like to be loved for who they are.
I’m sure some of you are familiar with the line “I’m ok. You’re ok.” I’m sure many of you were taught that the sum of all theology is “Jesus loves you just the way you are.” While that statement may have some truth, it’s lacking. Jesus – God – loves you for what he created you to be. He loved you into existence itself, and he has in his mind an image of what you can become with his grace. And, he loves you every step in between. But, he’s calling us, asking for our love in return. And still, he gives us the freedom to turn away.
When the new translation of the Mass begins on November 27, the words of consecration will have a couple minor changes. One of them will be, at the consecration of the chalice, the priest will say “will be shed for you and for many” instead of “for all.” It’s the same message as the Gospel – God wants all of us to be saved, but some of us turn away because of the hardness of our hearts.
None of us are “ok”, but we’re all loved and called to be more perfectly prepared for the wedding feast of heaven. Here at St. Anthony, I’ve already personally seen numerous times people’s manipulation, lying, and defaming other’s character – all because they think they’re entitled. If we continue this way, we might find ourselves telling God Almighty that we deserve to be in heaven, and we’ll soon be joining the man outside, not dressed for the occasion. Now, while in this life, let us turn our hearts away from ourselves, to love of God and his Church, and gratitude for the gifts we have received.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
The Meaning of 9/11
Twenty-fourth Sunday of the Year (A)
11 September 2011
St. Anthony, DSM
http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/091111.cfm
Today, on September 11, two-thousand eleven, we remember those fateful events of ten years ago, 9/11, two-thousand one. As we remember the attack on our nation, as we see the photos, the videos, as we hear the stories, our hearts within us are moved because all these memories carry so much meaning?
Ten years later, what does 9/11 mean for us? We are a nation that has wandered far from God, far from faith, far from a good moral foundation – so much so that we are losing the ability to defend even the most basic and fundamental principles of society – Marriage, family, generosity, charity, and faith. 9/11 served as a wake-up call for many people. This hole they had deep in their hearts was exposed because we, who had been living secure in our pride, in our selfishness, turned in upon ourselves, suddenly did not find in our hearts what we really needed.
How many of us remember the impromptu Masses and prayer services had that Tuesday night, the next Wednesday, the packed churches that weekend? That month? The memorial services for all those who lost their lives? How many of us remember that feeling rise up in our hearts that something more important than our pithy wants and desires was at stake – the poor souls who died that day, the people who lost a loved one, the very community that is our nation? How many of us remember that desire to stand up united, as the United States of America, and do something for our country? How many signed up for the armed forces in those days; how many served people in need, and sacrificed of themselves for the good of another?
A priest, who was pastor of the nearest parish to the World Trade Center, was asked by a priest-friend of his, “What do you remember most about 9/11?” His answer – “Women’s shoes.” Now, for the women out there, you need to know a little secret. Men don’t notice shoes; in fact, we’re vaguely aware that we have feet, and I currently have no idea which shoes I’m wearing. I assume they’re black, since that’s sort of the color I wear. So, when the priest-friend heard him answer “Women’s shoes”, he knew he was in for a story.
The parish was along a steep incline going away from the world trade center. It was a route that many people evacuating the scene had taken. And, it was right about at the front doors of the parish where many women had decided to get rid of their shoes. Now men, you need to know a secret – many women wear shoes to be stylish, to look nice, to go with their outfits, shoes that are oftentimes rather uncomfortable. This is why the women in your life likely own 50 pairs of shoes or more. So, as they were climbing this hill, they could no longer put up with the pain, and they sacrificed their shoes. Beautiful, impressive, dress shoes. Some middle of the line, some very expensive. As they were fleeing for their lives, as they passed the church, the women were no longer attached to their shoes. Something more important, something bigger had happened.
What does 9/11 mean for you? For me personally, 9/11 was part of God’s plan to bring me closer to him – to the vocation of priesthood he has given me. I remember the story of Father Mychal Judge, a Franciscan priest who was chaplain of the New York fire department. When everyone was fleeing for their lives, he and the fire department ran in to save lives – the fire department to save them for this world, Fr. Mychal for eternal life. He anointed the sick, prayed over the dead, absolved those who were falling from the upper floors. Not caught up with himself but entirely with his sacred duties, he gave his live into Christ’s hands when the south tower collapsed and flying debris killed the priest. As the first rescued by his fellow firemen, he had the honor of being the first official casualty of 9/11.
There are some people today who would claim that we live in a post-Christian nation – not the least of which being our very own president. There are many who would try and tell us that 9/11 wasn’t religious, and that we need to be understanding of a religion that allows for an interpretation that says mass murder is ok. These same people accuse Christians of bigotry and injustice when we defend our beliefs and morals, and say our intolerance is the source of all society’s problems.
Faced with this, we can be tempted to think that we need to be ashamed, abashed, apologetic for being who we are; that we need to dissociate ourselves from the very faith that has made us the people we are. So, we have such ridiculous scenarios as the New York mayor remembering 9/11 without inviting any symbol of American self-sacrifice: no clergy, no firefighters, no victims’ families – and certainly not Fr. Mychal Judge!
My dear brothers and sisters, we are not called to be ashamed of who we are, but to be more perfectly Catholic Christians, following the command of Christ himself, who calls us to forgive. Forgiveness isn’t saying we’re sorry as if everything is our fault, but it’s being able to call out sin definitively and say to the hijackers “What you did was evil, wrong and sinful. You willingly took thousands of lives, forfeited your own for your own private cause, and without care for the people you would make suffer.” And to say at the same time, “I choose to love you anyway, because Christ would do so himself. I forgive you.” Yes, even of this fault!
How difficult this command of Christ truly is – we must forgive if we ourselves expect to be forgiven. We must know the truth, be aware of sin, call it out when we see it, and still forgive. How much harder and more meaningful this is than society’s pathetic mandering “they’re just misunderstood.”
For me, 9/11 means strength, truth, heroic virtue, and Christian triumph through forgiveness. What does 9/11 mean for you?
11 September 2011
St. Anthony, DSM
http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/091111.cfm
Today, on September 11, two-thousand eleven, we remember those fateful events of ten years ago, 9/11, two-thousand one. As we remember the attack on our nation, as we see the photos, the videos, as we hear the stories, our hearts within us are moved because all these memories carry so much meaning?
Ten years later, what does 9/11 mean for us? We are a nation that has wandered far from God, far from faith, far from a good moral foundation – so much so that we are losing the ability to defend even the most basic and fundamental principles of society – Marriage, family, generosity, charity, and faith. 9/11 served as a wake-up call for many people. This hole they had deep in their hearts was exposed because we, who had been living secure in our pride, in our selfishness, turned in upon ourselves, suddenly did not find in our hearts what we really needed.
How many of us remember the impromptu Masses and prayer services had that Tuesday night, the next Wednesday, the packed churches that weekend? That month? The memorial services for all those who lost their lives? How many of us remember that feeling rise up in our hearts that something more important than our pithy wants and desires was at stake – the poor souls who died that day, the people who lost a loved one, the very community that is our nation? How many of us remember that desire to stand up united, as the United States of America, and do something for our country? How many signed up for the armed forces in those days; how many served people in need, and sacrificed of themselves for the good of another?
A priest, who was pastor of the nearest parish to the World Trade Center, was asked by a priest-friend of his, “What do you remember most about 9/11?” His answer – “Women’s shoes.” Now, for the women out there, you need to know a little secret. Men don’t notice shoes; in fact, we’re vaguely aware that we have feet, and I currently have no idea which shoes I’m wearing. I assume they’re black, since that’s sort of the color I wear. So, when the priest-friend heard him answer “Women’s shoes”, he knew he was in for a story.
The parish was along a steep incline going away from the world trade center. It was a route that many people evacuating the scene had taken. And, it was right about at the front doors of the parish where many women had decided to get rid of their shoes. Now men, you need to know a secret – many women wear shoes to be stylish, to look nice, to go with their outfits, shoes that are oftentimes rather uncomfortable. This is why the women in your life likely own 50 pairs of shoes or more. So, as they were climbing this hill, they could no longer put up with the pain, and they sacrificed their shoes. Beautiful, impressive, dress shoes. Some middle of the line, some very expensive. As they were fleeing for their lives, as they passed the church, the women were no longer attached to their shoes. Something more important, something bigger had happened.
What does 9/11 mean for you? For me personally, 9/11 was part of God’s plan to bring me closer to him – to the vocation of priesthood he has given me. I remember the story of Father Mychal Judge, a Franciscan priest who was chaplain of the New York fire department. When everyone was fleeing for their lives, he and the fire department ran in to save lives – the fire department to save them for this world, Fr. Mychal for eternal life. He anointed the sick, prayed over the dead, absolved those who were falling from the upper floors. Not caught up with himself but entirely with his sacred duties, he gave his live into Christ’s hands when the south tower collapsed and flying debris killed the priest. As the first rescued by his fellow firemen, he had the honor of being the first official casualty of 9/11.
There are some people today who would claim that we live in a post-Christian nation – not the least of which being our very own president. There are many who would try and tell us that 9/11 wasn’t religious, and that we need to be understanding of a religion that allows for an interpretation that says mass murder is ok. These same people accuse Christians of bigotry and injustice when we defend our beliefs and morals, and say our intolerance is the source of all society’s problems.
Faced with this, we can be tempted to think that we need to be ashamed, abashed, apologetic for being who we are; that we need to dissociate ourselves from the very faith that has made us the people we are. So, we have such ridiculous scenarios as the New York mayor remembering 9/11 without inviting any symbol of American self-sacrifice: no clergy, no firefighters, no victims’ families – and certainly not Fr. Mychal Judge!
My dear brothers and sisters, we are not called to be ashamed of who we are, but to be more perfectly Catholic Christians, following the command of Christ himself, who calls us to forgive. Forgiveness isn’t saying we’re sorry as if everything is our fault, but it’s being able to call out sin definitively and say to the hijackers “What you did was evil, wrong and sinful. You willingly took thousands of lives, forfeited your own for your own private cause, and without care for the people you would make suffer.” And to say at the same time, “I choose to love you anyway, because Christ would do so himself. I forgive you.” Yes, even of this fault!
How difficult this command of Christ truly is – we must forgive if we ourselves expect to be forgiven. We must know the truth, be aware of sin, call it out when we see it, and still forgive. How much harder and more meaningful this is than society’s pathetic mandering “they’re just misunderstood.”
For me, 9/11 means strength, truth, heroic virtue, and Christian triumph through forgiveness. What does 9/11 mean for you?
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Let us go to the Mountain and Pray
Ninteenth Sunday of the Year (A)
7 August 2011
St. Anthony, Des Moines
In the Gospel today we hear about how our Lord Jesus Christ, the exemplar and pioneer of our faith, showed us by his example the importance of prayer.
I know we often talk about prayer – or at least we used to. Prayer today seems to be disappearing from the public forum – at times violently being targeted, as if somehow our faith isn’t considered a constitutive part of who we are; or as if the first amendment of the Constitution, stating “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances” could somehow be contorted as a ban on prayer and our public witness as faithful Catholics.
I fear that today, many of us have forgotten how important it is to pray. I think many of us think that the demand of our faith to pray is somehow a hinderance on our freedom and the precious moments of time we have as our lives have become unduly busy. We think, “Oh, I’m so busy with work, with my family, with taking the kids to all their sporting events, etc. etc. How can I find time to sit down and pray?”
I think the first thing we need to realize is what prayer is. When Jesus went up the mountain, he didn’t take with him a bible or a rosary or fifteen devotional booklets to read and do what was in them. Not that these things aren’t good and helpful, but prayer isn’t about getting a list of tasks done, like going through a shopping list making sure everything was filled out.
Prayer is a personal encounter with God; personal, because our God is a person – a communion of three persons, in fact. When we pray, it isn’t about moving beads across fingers, but about the time spent in conversation with one who loves us – with one whom we must love. Think about time spent with a close loved one – a spouse, a family member, a good friend. I think about friends of mine – close friends, especially those who live far away from me. We make an intentional effort to call each other on the phone and just talk – spending time together and just enjoying one another. This is true, authentic love.
This is what we are called to do with God. To intentionally set aside time for him – time to converse with him. Time to simply be with him. Time to love him. When we set aside time for friends, does this seem like a burden? And yet, why do we think this way when it comes to our friendship with God?
That’s right, we are called to a deep, loving friendship with God. Prayer isn’t about accomplishing a task, but, as St. Therese of Lisieux said, “For me, prayer is a surge of the heart; it is a simple look turned toward heaven, it is a cry of recognition and of love, embracing both trial and joy.” Prayer doesn’t magically take away all sorrow and sadness in our lives, but gives us the opportunity to converse with God, who knows us better than we know ourselves, and who remains faithful even in the trials of life. Saint Teresa of Avila, who we call the Doctor of Prayer, once famously remarked to God, “If this is how you treat your friends, it’s no wonder you have so few of them!” Only a friend – a good, true friend – could speak like that.
So, how do we pray? There are all sorts of ways: Eucharistic adoration, the rosary, scripture reading, devotionas, etc. Last week, I mentioned in my homily St. Ignatius of Loyola, whose memorial it was, and I alluded to his method of prayer. Today, as I conclude this homily, I’d like to take you through a very short prayer, highly encouraged by St. Ignatius to be done at the end of every day.
7 August 2011
St. Anthony, Des Moines
In the Gospel today we hear about how our Lord Jesus Christ, the exemplar and pioneer of our faith, showed us by his example the importance of prayer.
I know we often talk about prayer – or at least we used to. Prayer today seems to be disappearing from the public forum – at times violently being targeted, as if somehow our faith isn’t considered a constitutive part of who we are; or as if the first amendment of the Constitution, stating “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances” could somehow be contorted as a ban on prayer and our public witness as faithful Catholics.
I fear that today, many of us have forgotten how important it is to pray. I think many of us think that the demand of our faith to pray is somehow a hinderance on our freedom and the precious moments of time we have as our lives have become unduly busy. We think, “Oh, I’m so busy with work, with my family, with taking the kids to all their sporting events, etc. etc. How can I find time to sit down and pray?”
I think the first thing we need to realize is what prayer is. When Jesus went up the mountain, he didn’t take with him a bible or a rosary or fifteen devotional booklets to read and do what was in them. Not that these things aren’t good and helpful, but prayer isn’t about getting a list of tasks done, like going through a shopping list making sure everything was filled out.
Prayer is a personal encounter with God; personal, because our God is a person – a communion of three persons, in fact. When we pray, it isn’t about moving beads across fingers, but about the time spent in conversation with one who loves us – with one whom we must love. Think about time spent with a close loved one – a spouse, a family member, a good friend. I think about friends of mine – close friends, especially those who live far away from me. We make an intentional effort to call each other on the phone and just talk – spending time together and just enjoying one another. This is true, authentic love.
This is what we are called to do with God. To intentionally set aside time for him – time to converse with him. Time to simply be with him. Time to love him. When we set aside time for friends, does this seem like a burden? And yet, why do we think this way when it comes to our friendship with God?
That’s right, we are called to a deep, loving friendship with God. Prayer isn’t about accomplishing a task, but, as St. Therese of Lisieux said, “For me, prayer is a surge of the heart; it is a simple look turned toward heaven, it is a cry of recognition and of love, embracing both trial and joy.” Prayer doesn’t magically take away all sorrow and sadness in our lives, but gives us the opportunity to converse with God, who knows us better than we know ourselves, and who remains faithful even in the trials of life. Saint Teresa of Avila, who we call the Doctor of Prayer, once famously remarked to God, “If this is how you treat your friends, it’s no wonder you have so few of them!” Only a friend – a good, true friend – could speak like that.
So, how do we pray? There are all sorts of ways: Eucharistic adoration, the rosary, scripture reading, devotionas, etc. Last week, I mentioned in my homily St. Ignatius of Loyola, whose memorial it was, and I alluded to his method of prayer. Today, as I conclude this homily, I’d like to take you through a very short prayer, highly encouraged by St. Ignatius to be done at the end of every day.
<Introduction to Examen prayer>
The Hunger in our Hearts
Eighteenth Sunday of the Year (A)
31 July 2011
St. Anthony, Des Moines
What are you hungry for? We live today in a world which is filled with so many things that we often ask questions like this – what do you want? Where do you want to eat? It’s a question some people don’t get to ask because they don’t have much resources or much food.
Most of us remember Blessed Theresa of Calcutta – Mother Theresa – and her work on the streets with the dying poor. She took to heart the words Christ spoke on the cross, when he said “I thirst”. She remembered that anyone who gives but a cup of water to someone in need for the sake of Christ would know his reward.
Yet, Blessed Theresa knew that, on the cross, it wasn’t water that Christ was calling for. Certainly he was thirsty from his agony and his passion, but he wanted something more than water. He was thirsty for something that would truly satisfy. He was thirsty for our love.
Today, we come before this altar as hungry people, like the crowd that followed Jesus. What are we hungry for? Many of us have lived at times aware of a hunger deep within us. This hunger can make us feel alone, unsatisfied, worthless, unloved. How many of us have tried to fill this hunger, this hole in our hearts, with things that don’t really satisfy.
Certainly, we’ve all known someone who has tried anything and everything to fill this hunger. There are people who think fulfilling every fleeting desire – instant gratification – will fill the hunger inside. How many of us know someone like this? I’m sure many of us have watched a relative or friend aching with this hunger, sliding towards some dangerous things, and wanted to say, “My friend, what are you doing? Why are you drinking so much? Why are you using drugs? Why are you partying all night, and falling into every sort of sin? Don’t you see that this isn’t making you happy? Sure, it might give you some pleasure for a time, but then the hunger comes back worse than before, and you become trapped and addicted. Why spend your money for what is not bread; your wages for what fails to satisfy? Heed me, and you shall eat well, you shall delight in rich fare. Come to me heedfully, listen, that you may have life. Look for something that truly satisfies; something that makes you more fully who you were created to be.”
Some of the older – uhh, more experienced folks – will understand this question: Who made us? God made us! See how easy this is. Why did God make us? To know, love, and serve him in this world and to be happy with him forever in the next. This hunger inside us isn’t meant for the things of this world, but only for God, who alone can fulfill our hunger.
Let me tell you the story of St. Ignatius of Loyola, whose memorial is ordinarily celebrated today. St. Ignatius was born into nobility and became a soldier. He was what our society would call a man’s man. He was strong and brave. After fighting in a number of battles, a cannonball broke one of his legs. He was laid up in surgery for weeks, having had very painful surgery on his leg before anisthetics were available.
Ignaitus was what most action movies depict the hero to be. So, while he was recuperating from his surgery, he requested books about knights and their valiantry so that he could read them for his pleasure. However, the hospital only had the bible and some books on the life of Christ and various saints. Since it was either that or nothing, he read. What surprised him was how strong and awesome Christ and the saints were, how brave and heroic in all sorts of ways unknown to him before. After reading, he wanted to be like St. Francis and St. Dominic.
As time passed, he noticed a key difference about these stories of the saints from those of the knights. When he read the stories of knights, he would be pleased for a time and then felt empty again. When he read about the saints, his heart remained full. He reflected and prayed about this, and discovered that this was God filling that hunger in his heart.
St. Ignaius of Loyola discovered the food that truly satisfies. He learned how to discern – to see how nothing else fulfilled the hunger deep in his heart than that desire to be like the saints, united to Christ. He was so filled with the fire of God’s love that he started the Jesuit order. His method of prayer, inspired by his time in the hospital, is still taught and used by thousands of priests and religious today.
My dear friends, do not be afraid of being hungry. Enter into that hunger, know it well, and you will discover that you are hungry for Christ. Come, then, to this altar, and eat the bread that satisfies and drink that which truly fills our hearts. Drink of the torrent fo God’s love, until you can’t drink any more. Then, come back for more. Keep coming to this altar, and give him the love in your heart to drink. Then, nothing will be able to separate you from the love of God, in Christ Jesus our Lord.
31 July 2011
St. Anthony, Des Moines
What are you hungry for? We live today in a world which is filled with so many things that we often ask questions like this – what do you want? Where do you want to eat? It’s a question some people don’t get to ask because they don’t have much resources or much food.
Most of us remember Blessed Theresa of Calcutta – Mother Theresa – and her work on the streets with the dying poor. She took to heart the words Christ spoke on the cross, when he said “I thirst”. She remembered that anyone who gives but a cup of water to someone in need for the sake of Christ would know his reward.
Yet, Blessed Theresa knew that, on the cross, it wasn’t water that Christ was calling for. Certainly he was thirsty from his agony and his passion, but he wanted something more than water. He was thirsty for something that would truly satisfy. He was thirsty for our love.
Today, we come before this altar as hungry people, like the crowd that followed Jesus. What are we hungry for? Many of us have lived at times aware of a hunger deep within us. This hunger can make us feel alone, unsatisfied, worthless, unloved. How many of us have tried to fill this hunger, this hole in our hearts, with things that don’t really satisfy.
Certainly, we’ve all known someone who has tried anything and everything to fill this hunger. There are people who think fulfilling every fleeting desire – instant gratification – will fill the hunger inside. How many of us know someone like this? I’m sure many of us have watched a relative or friend aching with this hunger, sliding towards some dangerous things, and wanted to say, “My friend, what are you doing? Why are you drinking so much? Why are you using drugs? Why are you partying all night, and falling into every sort of sin? Don’t you see that this isn’t making you happy? Sure, it might give you some pleasure for a time, but then the hunger comes back worse than before, and you become trapped and addicted. Why spend your money for what is not bread; your wages for what fails to satisfy? Heed me, and you shall eat well, you shall delight in rich fare. Come to me heedfully, listen, that you may have life. Look for something that truly satisfies; something that makes you more fully who you were created to be.”
Some of the older – uhh, more experienced folks – will understand this question: Who made us? God made us! See how easy this is. Why did God make us? To know, love, and serve him in this world and to be happy with him forever in the next. This hunger inside us isn’t meant for the things of this world, but only for God, who alone can fulfill our hunger.
Let me tell you the story of St. Ignatius of Loyola, whose memorial is ordinarily celebrated today. St. Ignatius was born into nobility and became a soldier. He was what our society would call a man’s man. He was strong and brave. After fighting in a number of battles, a cannonball broke one of his legs. He was laid up in surgery for weeks, having had very painful surgery on his leg before anisthetics were available.
Ignaitus was what most action movies depict the hero to be. So, while he was recuperating from his surgery, he requested books about knights and their valiantry so that he could read them for his pleasure. However, the hospital only had the bible and some books on the life of Christ and various saints. Since it was either that or nothing, he read. What surprised him was how strong and awesome Christ and the saints were, how brave and heroic in all sorts of ways unknown to him before. After reading, he wanted to be like St. Francis and St. Dominic.
As time passed, he noticed a key difference about these stories of the saints from those of the knights. When he read the stories of knights, he would be pleased for a time and then felt empty again. When he read about the saints, his heart remained full. He reflected and prayed about this, and discovered that this was God filling that hunger in his heart.
St. Ignaius of Loyola discovered the food that truly satisfies. He learned how to discern – to see how nothing else fulfilled the hunger deep in his heart than that desire to be like the saints, united to Christ. He was so filled with the fire of God’s love that he started the Jesuit order. His method of prayer, inspired by his time in the hospital, is still taught and used by thousands of priests and religious today.
My dear friends, do not be afraid of being hungry. Enter into that hunger, know it well, and you will discover that you are hungry for Christ. Come, then, to this altar, and eat the bread that satisfies and drink that which truly fills our hearts. Drink of the torrent fo God’s love, until you can’t drink any more. Then, come back for more. Keep coming to this altar, and give him the love in your heart to drink. Then, nothing will be able to separate you from the love of God, in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
The Goodness of God
16th Sunday of the Year (A)
17 July 2011
St. Anthony, DSM
http://www.usccb.org/nab/071711.shtml
How good is God? Today’s readings impel us to ask the question of God’s own goodness. Oftentimes, we think of God as being distant, as not caring about us. Other times, we think God is judging us and punishing us, as if this is what God does, as if this were his plan for us.
However, this is not who God is. He isn’t watching us under a microscope, judging us, waiting for us to fail, and punishing us because of some sinister delight he might have. Rather, God is gentle with us. He created us and has given us his Holy Spirit, so that like yeast in dough, he allows us to grow into that which he created us to be. Even when sin enters our hearts, entangles itself in our souls, and we go ahead and live with it rather than coming to confession and rooting it out of our lives, God remains gentle. As the parable from the Gospel states, he allows the weeds to grow with the crop for fear of damaging the crop. In fact, God is so good that he is able to yield a harvest even from weeds – he is able to bring good out of evil.
How good is God? His might is the source of Justice. His mastery – Lordship – over all things makes him lenient to all. Parents understand this. Children make mistakes, mess up, disappoint. And yet, good parents love their children. They are not disappointed in their children. They aren’t out to make their children mess up, and they don’t delight in punishing them. And yet, parents still discipline them and correct so that their children can grow into something good and wholesome, and not be entangled in the weeds of this world.
Why is it so hard for us to see how good God is to us? I think we need to ask what kind of people we are. There are many of us who treat others according to the negative God-as-punisher way. We see this all the time in the media today – how quick we are to condemn someone without knowing all the facts (for only God can look into a person’s heart!) We look and wait, expecting people to make mistakes, and we pounce on them to make ourselves feel better for a brief moment of time. We don’t trust others, and we certainly don’t forgive. Cardinal George in Chicago has described our culture as one in which “everything is permitted and nothing forgiven.”
If we are called to be like God, if we are united with him in our baptism, given his spirit in Confirmation, and come to his altar every week to receive the Body and Blood of his Son, transforming us more and more into his own divine image – then we certainly must start acting more like him. He is loving, compassionate, forgiving – all while being entirely just and true. He doesn’t ignore the weeds and bundle them with the crop. He still sifts them out and burns them away. But, he doesn’t punish what is good in people – he never looses sight of the good crop which was sown.
My dear brothers and sisters, this is our ground for hope. Almighty God judges us with clemency, and so we have confidence in the forgiveness of our sins, most especially in the Sacrament of Penance. Let us then live in this hope, let us be truly contrite for our sins, thankful for God’s mercy and love, and trusting in his salvation. And let us love one another, as Christ himself has taught us.
17 July 2011
St. Anthony, DSM
http://www.usccb.org/nab/071711.shtml
How good is God? Today’s readings impel us to ask the question of God’s own goodness. Oftentimes, we think of God as being distant, as not caring about us. Other times, we think God is judging us and punishing us, as if this is what God does, as if this were his plan for us.
However, this is not who God is. He isn’t watching us under a microscope, judging us, waiting for us to fail, and punishing us because of some sinister delight he might have. Rather, God is gentle with us. He created us and has given us his Holy Spirit, so that like yeast in dough, he allows us to grow into that which he created us to be. Even when sin enters our hearts, entangles itself in our souls, and we go ahead and live with it rather than coming to confession and rooting it out of our lives, God remains gentle. As the parable from the Gospel states, he allows the weeds to grow with the crop for fear of damaging the crop. In fact, God is so good that he is able to yield a harvest even from weeds – he is able to bring good out of evil.
How good is God? His might is the source of Justice. His mastery – Lordship – over all things makes him lenient to all. Parents understand this. Children make mistakes, mess up, disappoint. And yet, good parents love their children. They are not disappointed in their children. They aren’t out to make their children mess up, and they don’t delight in punishing them. And yet, parents still discipline them and correct so that their children can grow into something good and wholesome, and not be entangled in the weeds of this world.
Why is it so hard for us to see how good God is to us? I think we need to ask what kind of people we are. There are many of us who treat others according to the negative God-as-punisher way. We see this all the time in the media today – how quick we are to condemn someone without knowing all the facts (for only God can look into a person’s heart!) We look and wait, expecting people to make mistakes, and we pounce on them to make ourselves feel better for a brief moment of time. We don’t trust others, and we certainly don’t forgive. Cardinal George in Chicago has described our culture as one in which “everything is permitted and nothing forgiven.”
If we are called to be like God, if we are united with him in our baptism, given his spirit in Confirmation, and come to his altar every week to receive the Body and Blood of his Son, transforming us more and more into his own divine image – then we certainly must start acting more like him. He is loving, compassionate, forgiving – all while being entirely just and true. He doesn’t ignore the weeds and bundle them with the crop. He still sifts them out and burns them away. But, he doesn’t punish what is good in people – he never looses sight of the good crop which was sown.
My dear brothers and sisters, this is our ground for hope. Almighty God judges us with clemency, and so we have confidence in the forgiveness of our sins, most especially in the Sacrament of Penance. Let us then live in this hope, let us be truly contrite for our sins, thankful for God’s mercy and love, and trusting in his salvation. And let us love one another, as Christ himself has taught us.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Longing... Hoping... Sowing...
15th Sunday of the Year (A)
10 July 2011
St. Anthony, DSM
http://www.usccb.org/nab/071011.shtml
A number of years ago, I was helping with a Youth2000 or Iowa2000 retreat we had here in Des Moines. Father David Santoro preached a beautiful homily on the Eucharist and how special of a gift it is. By some act of Divine Providence, before Mass there was a mix up in the sacristy and only half as many hosts as were necessary were set out for Consecration. As the priests distributing communion were soon to discover, there were not enough hosts. They started fractioning the hosts, first in halves, then in quarters. Eventually, there were about 50 people waiting in the one communion line left with Father Santoro, and he had no hosts. Fortunately, the MC for the Mass knew of another tabernacle nearby and had gone out when he saw what was happening to retrieve everything from there, which proved to be just enough for what they needed.
As these last people in the communion line were waiting, standing there in front of the priest who had nothing more to give, the meaning of his homily came to take on an immediate meaning. How great of a gift the Eucharist is, and we sometimes take it for granted. All of a sudden, they thought this gift might not be there for them. They were longing to receive, and everyone around them was hoping they could receive this gift and become one with them in this sacrament, and the priest was holding in his hands an empty ciborium, wanting to give them what he at the moment didn’t have to give.
We live today in a world that tries to fulfill every desire immediately. Any sense of longing is often considered a sign that something isn’t right and needs to be corrected – and certainly the last story could be seen that way. However, longing, waiting, anticipating is a natural part of the human condition. It prepares us to receive with joy and gratitude. We long and wait for all sorts of things with great anticipation – entry into baseball and football games, a nice dinner in a restaurant, a friend coming to visit.
We anticipate and hope for things which are important to us. Consider our priorities. We are a people who will wait hours and hours in line – sometimes all night – for concert tickets, the latest technology coming on sale, or for rides at Disneyworld. Yet, we are the same people who are terribly impatient with one another, with ourselves when we mess up, and with God when we don’t immediately get what we want. Do we not place our own interest above those of others? Do we cut in line, run around other cars on the roadways, sometimes do something we know will annoy someone around us? Do we use our friends, family, and those most dear to us simply because they serve our wants, desires, or pleasure? Do they simply make us feel good? When they stop, do we just drop them? Or, do we really love one another – for their own good, simply because they are good in themselves, and loved by God.
The Gospel today reminds us of what our priorities should be. First, of course, we must be the good soil, receptive to the Gospel of Christ. There are too many people today who are obstinate that God could easily say, “Gross is the heart of this people,/ they will hardly hear with their ears,/ they have closed their eyes,/ lest they see with their eyes/ and hear with their ears/ and understand with their hearts/ and be converted.”
But, simply sitting by and listening to the Gospel is not enough. God doesn’t compare the faithful to books in a library, but seeds in the soil. By nature, we who have received the Gospel have been called to be fruitful and multiply, and to bear as much fruit as we can – 30, 60, or 100 fold! And, our priorities are so backwards that sometimes we come here for just our individual salvation, or maybe for our immediate family who we bring with us, but we aren’t spreading the seed of the Gospel wherever we go. The sower is generous, and sews seed everywhere, hoping for growth, and hoping that it will bear more seed and bring more life and hope to the world.
Dear brothers and sisters, blessed are your eyes, because they see, and your ears, because they hear. Amen, I say to you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it. We have seen and heard, and now we too are called to be sowers, for we know that all creation is groaning in labor pains even until now, longing for, awaiting our witness to and sharing of the Gospel to bring light and joy to this world which seems to continue to get darker and darker at times as it falls further into sin. The world is hungry, even though many have forgotten their hunger. They try to hide it and fill the hunger of their souls with all sorts of things that don’t really fill. Instead, other things fail to satisfy, and people try more things and different things to satisfy. They continue to dig themselves into a hole, and they become enslaved to these things which were supposed to make them happy.
Rather, the world is hungry for this bread and thirsty for this drink, which once again is about to be received in our bodies. We must begin the transformation within our own hearts to be good soil. Then, we must bear the fruits of our life in Christ, enlivened by the Holy Spirit. We must love enough to boldly go out and bear witness to the truth of our faith. We must love others enough to show them their sin and call them to conversion. We must love God enough to be fruitful – spiritually and physically – so that the mission may continue; so that the longing and hope of all creation may be fulfilled. We must love ourselves enough, so that our deepest longings – freedom from sin, union with God, and life eternal – might be fulfilled. As for now, we await in hope. We anticipate this fulfillment, and we have a foretaste of it every time we come back to this altar.
10 July 2011
St. Anthony, DSM
http://www.usccb.org/nab/071011.shtml
A number of years ago, I was helping with a Youth2000 or Iowa2000 retreat we had here in Des Moines. Father David Santoro preached a beautiful homily on the Eucharist and how special of a gift it is. By some act of Divine Providence, before Mass there was a mix up in the sacristy and only half as many hosts as were necessary were set out for Consecration. As the priests distributing communion were soon to discover, there were not enough hosts. They started fractioning the hosts, first in halves, then in quarters. Eventually, there were about 50 people waiting in the one communion line left with Father Santoro, and he had no hosts. Fortunately, the MC for the Mass knew of another tabernacle nearby and had gone out when he saw what was happening to retrieve everything from there, which proved to be just enough for what they needed.
As these last people in the communion line were waiting, standing there in front of the priest who had nothing more to give, the meaning of his homily came to take on an immediate meaning. How great of a gift the Eucharist is, and we sometimes take it for granted. All of a sudden, they thought this gift might not be there for them. They were longing to receive, and everyone around them was hoping they could receive this gift and become one with them in this sacrament, and the priest was holding in his hands an empty ciborium, wanting to give them what he at the moment didn’t have to give.
We live today in a world that tries to fulfill every desire immediately. Any sense of longing is often considered a sign that something isn’t right and needs to be corrected – and certainly the last story could be seen that way. However, longing, waiting, anticipating is a natural part of the human condition. It prepares us to receive with joy and gratitude. We long and wait for all sorts of things with great anticipation – entry into baseball and football games, a nice dinner in a restaurant, a friend coming to visit.
We anticipate and hope for things which are important to us. Consider our priorities. We are a people who will wait hours and hours in line – sometimes all night – for concert tickets, the latest technology coming on sale, or for rides at Disneyworld. Yet, we are the same people who are terribly impatient with one another, with ourselves when we mess up, and with God when we don’t immediately get what we want. Do we not place our own interest above those of others? Do we cut in line, run around other cars on the roadways, sometimes do something we know will annoy someone around us? Do we use our friends, family, and those most dear to us simply because they serve our wants, desires, or pleasure? Do they simply make us feel good? When they stop, do we just drop them? Or, do we really love one another – for their own good, simply because they are good in themselves, and loved by God.
The Gospel today reminds us of what our priorities should be. First, of course, we must be the good soil, receptive to the Gospel of Christ. There are too many people today who are obstinate that God could easily say, “Gross is the heart of this people,/ they will hardly hear with their ears,/ they have closed their eyes,/ lest they see with their eyes/ and hear with their ears/ and understand with their hearts/ and be converted.”
But, simply sitting by and listening to the Gospel is not enough. God doesn’t compare the faithful to books in a library, but seeds in the soil. By nature, we who have received the Gospel have been called to be fruitful and multiply, and to bear as much fruit as we can – 30, 60, or 100 fold! And, our priorities are so backwards that sometimes we come here for just our individual salvation, or maybe for our immediate family who we bring with us, but we aren’t spreading the seed of the Gospel wherever we go. The sower is generous, and sews seed everywhere, hoping for growth, and hoping that it will bear more seed and bring more life and hope to the world.
Dear brothers and sisters, blessed are your eyes, because they see, and your ears, because they hear. Amen, I say to you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it. We have seen and heard, and now we too are called to be sowers, for we know that all creation is groaning in labor pains even until now, longing for, awaiting our witness to and sharing of the Gospel to bring light and joy to this world which seems to continue to get darker and darker at times as it falls further into sin. The world is hungry, even though many have forgotten their hunger. They try to hide it and fill the hunger of their souls with all sorts of things that don’t really fill. Instead, other things fail to satisfy, and people try more things and different things to satisfy. They continue to dig themselves into a hole, and they become enslaved to these things which were supposed to make them happy.
Rather, the world is hungry for this bread and thirsty for this drink, which once again is about to be received in our bodies. We must begin the transformation within our own hearts to be good soil. Then, we must bear the fruits of our life in Christ, enlivened by the Holy Spirit. We must love enough to boldly go out and bear witness to the truth of our faith. We must love others enough to show them their sin and call them to conversion. We must love God enough to be fruitful – spiritually and physically – so that the mission may continue; so that the longing and hope of all creation may be fulfilled. We must love ourselves enough, so that our deepest longings – freedom from sin, union with God, and life eternal – might be fulfilled. As for now, we await in hope. We anticipate this fulfillment, and we have a foretaste of it every time we come back to this altar.
Monday, June 6, 2011
The Ascension & how Jesus remains with us always
Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord (A)
5 June 2011
All Saints, Stuart, IA
St. Joseph's, DSM, IA
And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.
Perhaps this final line of the Gospel seems confusing to have on the day we celebrate the Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ to the right hand of the Father. It would seem that it is precisely this event that proves that he is not with us until the end of the age, but has left us on our own. By what logic can we say both that Christ is with us and that Christ has returned to the Father?
The Ascension follows the logic of the entire mission of Christ. The second person of the trinity became incarnate – enfleshed – and took our human nature, separated from God, and united it to himself. In the incarnation, God and man were once again united. In living a human life, humanity learned to live united to God, filled with his divine Spirit. Jesus offered his human nature completely to the Father, and thus man loved God to the end. In the Resurrection, a human life given entirely to God was restored to a new, more perfect life to last forever.
The Ascension continues the trajectory. God came down to earth and united himself to man. Now, a man goes up to heaven and unites human nature to God. With the Ascension, the union of God and man is complete – the two have perfectly united in Jesus Christ our Lord.
Now, of course, the disciples would have rather had Jesus remain with them. They loved him, knew him to be God, and wanted to always be close to him. But, it was necessary for Christ to complete his mission and return to the Father. As he himself said, “If I do not go, the Holy Spirit will not come.”
And so, it is the Holy Spirit, who Christ promised to send from the Father, who remains with us. And, the apostles - rather, the Church – becomes the presence of Christ in the world. Jesus promised that the Holy Spirit would come and guide us into all truth. So today, if we want to hear the words of Christ, we keep the book – the Bible – with the accounts of his historical presence, and we listen to the Church, which is his voice alive today.
Of course, in our own hearts, we want Christ to stay with us. This is what the disciples felt when Jesus said he was about to ascend. And, this is where the promise of Christ is fulfilled, when he says, “And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.” This is the gift Christ gave to this same Church of his perpetual presence – the gift of the Eucharist. And so, it is important for us to come to the Eucharist every Sunday, to encounter the presence of Christ, and to receive him into our very bodies and soul. This is the depth of the love of Christ, that although he had to return to the Father, that he would give us himself – for all time – in the Eucharist we are about to celebrate.
5 June 2011
All Saints, Stuart, IA
St. Joseph's, DSM, IA
And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.
Perhaps this final line of the Gospel seems confusing to have on the day we celebrate the Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ to the right hand of the Father. It would seem that it is precisely this event that proves that he is not with us until the end of the age, but has left us on our own. By what logic can we say both that Christ is with us and that Christ has returned to the Father?
The Ascension follows the logic of the entire mission of Christ. The second person of the trinity became incarnate – enfleshed – and took our human nature, separated from God, and united it to himself. In the incarnation, God and man were once again united. In living a human life, humanity learned to live united to God, filled with his divine Spirit. Jesus offered his human nature completely to the Father, and thus man loved God to the end. In the Resurrection, a human life given entirely to God was restored to a new, more perfect life to last forever.
The Ascension continues the trajectory. God came down to earth and united himself to man. Now, a man goes up to heaven and unites human nature to God. With the Ascension, the union of God and man is complete – the two have perfectly united in Jesus Christ our Lord.
Now, of course, the disciples would have rather had Jesus remain with them. They loved him, knew him to be God, and wanted to always be close to him. But, it was necessary for Christ to complete his mission and return to the Father. As he himself said, “If I do not go, the Holy Spirit will not come.”
And so, it is the Holy Spirit, who Christ promised to send from the Father, who remains with us. And, the apostles - rather, the Church – becomes the presence of Christ in the world. Jesus promised that the Holy Spirit would come and guide us into all truth. So today, if we want to hear the words of Christ, we keep the book – the Bible – with the accounts of his historical presence, and we listen to the Church, which is his voice alive today.
Of course, in our own hearts, we want Christ to stay with us. This is what the disciples felt when Jesus said he was about to ascend. And, this is where the promise of Christ is fulfilled, when he says, “And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.” This is the gift Christ gave to this same Church of his perpetual presence – the gift of the Eucharist. And so, it is important for us to come to the Eucharist every Sunday, to encounter the presence of Christ, and to receive him into our very bodies and soul. This is the depth of the love of Christ, that although he had to return to the Father, that he would give us himself – for all time – in the Eucharist we are about to celebrate.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Divine Mercy - Divine Blessedness
Second Sunday of Easter (A)
1 May 2011
St. Hilary’s, Chicago
“It is mercy I desire, not sacrifice.” “Lord have mercy, for we have sinned against you.” Mercy – Mercy – Mercy!
Today, we celebrate the Octave of Easter, the final day of the eight days the Church celebrates the great joy of Easter day itself. And, for the past several years, this Sunday has been remembered in the Church as “Divine Mercy Sunday.” Why do we have “Divine Mercy Sunday”? What does this even mean? The answer to this is already present in our readings.
During Holy Week, we remembered how Jesus Christ gave his life for us. He didn’t come as a king to reign in this world. He didn’t come to give us a burdensome law code and enforce it by social structures to make us follow him. He came “meek, and humble of heart.” His followers were so free under his rule that one betrayed him, one denied him three times, and all of them fled from him at the hour of his most urgent need. And, on Easter morning, they start hearing reports that he is alive, and they run to see the empty tomb. – And, they fear, so they hide – like Adam did in the garden.
In the upper room, we see the eleven gathered behind locked doors, not knowing what to do, and utterly afraid. What happens if the Jews get them? What happens if the Jews blame them for this rumor of Jesus being alive? What if maybe, somehow impossibly maybe, Jesus is alive – how would he handle his unfaithful disciples?
And, behold, Jesus – alive! – stands in their midst. Notice what he says, how he acts. If one of us were to offend someone or do something hurtful to another, we would expect retaliation, retribution, hatred, anger, and the like. We see this all the time in our politics, our movies, and our own lives. You lied to me, now I refuse to trust you. He went behind your back to undermine your authority, now you make your authority over him felt. And, we further stigmatize our own community of life and faith.
But, this is not what Jesus does. These 11 men were to stand beside him to the end, and they did worse than nothing. Yet, Jesus doesn’t come in and yell at them. He doesn’t rub in their mistakes and make them feel more guilty than they already are. He doesn’t condemn them. He doesn’t take back the love he has for them. Rather, he says, “Peace be with you.” They are still frightened, fearful, amazed. He shows them his hands and side, effectively saying both “It’s really me!” and “I know what you helped make happen to me,” and says again “Peace be with you.” What mercy – rather than condemning them for murdering God, he takes away their fear and gives them peace.
This is divine peace, this is divine mercy – that the love of God can conquer all fear, sin, and hatred – that the love of God reigns supreme. For, it is in this great moment, to these men who are themselves among the greatest of sinners, Jesus breathes on them and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit./ Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them,/ and whose sins you retain are retained.” This is divine mercy – that the very act by which the most atrocious sin of deicide was committed, i.e. the crucifixion of our Lord, would be the very act which would bring about our reconciliation and our peace. This is divine mercy – that God’s heart would be pierced, and we would see hidden inside not divine wrath, not divine retribution, not divine vengeance, not divine retaliation, but rather divine pardon, divine peace, divine forgiveness, divine reconciliation, divine love, divine mercy.
Today, we live in a world which is all too quickly losing its understanding of mercy. Cardinal George has described this as a society in which “everything is permitted and nothing forgiven.” This is entirely contrary to the Gospel. Our life in Christ demands a moral structure in conformity to the will of God. Not everything is permitted, and so we continue to preach. However, unlike some of our Christian brothers and sisters, even some within the Church, we believe that everything can be forgiven. And, as proof of this, Christ gave the apostles and their successors – the bishops and priests – the sacrament of Reconciliation.
This is divine mercy, that the men who ran from the cross would be forgiven and themselves go to the cross for Christ in the end. This is divine mercy, that Simon of Cyrene would continue to follow Christ, even after he laid down his cross, and his two sons would become bishops in the Church. This is divine mercy, that the soldier who pierced the heart of Christ would himself die confessing him to be God. No one, no matter where in life, no matter what sins may have been committed, can be separated from divine mercy.
So, as we celebrate this great Divine Mercy Sunday, we must continue to pray for greater mercy in our world. At 2:00 PM, confessions will be heard here in the church. At 3:00 PM, the hour Christ died, the hour of mercy, we will pray the prayer we get from Saint Faustina – the Divine Mercy Chaplet, which is prayed on ordinary rosary beads. Those who participate in these will receive a plenary indulgence – the forgiveness of all their sins (in the sacrament of confession) and the remittance of all the punishment due to sin in purgatory. Of course, this affords each of us to show that divine mercy to a soul in purgatory by offering the indulgence for one of them.
Finally, I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the man who placed this great Divine Mercy Sunday on the Church calendar, the man who was truly a brilliantly shining light in the Church and throughout the world, who worked to teach all the nations about the mercy of God, who went into the cell of the man who would have been his assassin and forgave him, who died in Christ on Divine Mercy Sunday. Today, we celebrate the beatification of Pope John Paul II, whom has been called the patron of my generation in the Church. So today, after years of waiting, we can finally say,
Blessed Pope John Paul the Great – pray for us!
1 May 2011
St. Hilary’s, Chicago
“It is mercy I desire, not sacrifice.” “Lord have mercy, for we have sinned against you.” Mercy – Mercy – Mercy!
Today, we celebrate the Octave of Easter, the final day of the eight days the Church celebrates the great joy of Easter day itself. And, for the past several years, this Sunday has been remembered in the Church as “Divine Mercy Sunday.” Why do we have “Divine Mercy Sunday”? What does this even mean? The answer to this is already present in our readings.
During Holy Week, we remembered how Jesus Christ gave his life for us. He didn’t come as a king to reign in this world. He didn’t come to give us a burdensome law code and enforce it by social structures to make us follow him. He came “meek, and humble of heart.” His followers were so free under his rule that one betrayed him, one denied him three times, and all of them fled from him at the hour of his most urgent need. And, on Easter morning, they start hearing reports that he is alive, and they run to see the empty tomb. – And, they fear, so they hide – like Adam did in the garden.
In the upper room, we see the eleven gathered behind locked doors, not knowing what to do, and utterly afraid. What happens if the Jews get them? What happens if the Jews blame them for this rumor of Jesus being alive? What if maybe, somehow impossibly maybe, Jesus is alive – how would he handle his unfaithful disciples?
And, behold, Jesus – alive! – stands in their midst. Notice what he says, how he acts. If one of us were to offend someone or do something hurtful to another, we would expect retaliation, retribution, hatred, anger, and the like. We see this all the time in our politics, our movies, and our own lives. You lied to me, now I refuse to trust you. He went behind your back to undermine your authority, now you make your authority over him felt. And, we further stigmatize our own community of life and faith.
But, this is not what Jesus does. These 11 men were to stand beside him to the end, and they did worse than nothing. Yet, Jesus doesn’t come in and yell at them. He doesn’t rub in their mistakes and make them feel more guilty than they already are. He doesn’t condemn them. He doesn’t take back the love he has for them. Rather, he says, “Peace be with you.” They are still frightened, fearful, amazed. He shows them his hands and side, effectively saying both “It’s really me!” and “I know what you helped make happen to me,” and says again “Peace be with you.” What mercy – rather than condemning them for murdering God, he takes away their fear and gives them peace.
This is divine peace, this is divine mercy – that the love of God can conquer all fear, sin, and hatred – that the love of God reigns supreme. For, it is in this great moment, to these men who are themselves among the greatest of sinners, Jesus breathes on them and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit./ Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them,/ and whose sins you retain are retained.” This is divine mercy – that the very act by which the most atrocious sin of deicide was committed, i.e. the crucifixion of our Lord, would be the very act which would bring about our reconciliation and our peace. This is divine mercy – that God’s heart would be pierced, and we would see hidden inside not divine wrath, not divine retribution, not divine vengeance, not divine retaliation, but rather divine pardon, divine peace, divine forgiveness, divine reconciliation, divine love, divine mercy.
Today, we live in a world which is all too quickly losing its understanding of mercy. Cardinal George has described this as a society in which “everything is permitted and nothing forgiven.” This is entirely contrary to the Gospel. Our life in Christ demands a moral structure in conformity to the will of God. Not everything is permitted, and so we continue to preach. However, unlike some of our Christian brothers and sisters, even some within the Church, we believe that everything can be forgiven. And, as proof of this, Christ gave the apostles and their successors – the bishops and priests – the sacrament of Reconciliation.
This is divine mercy, that the men who ran from the cross would be forgiven and themselves go to the cross for Christ in the end. This is divine mercy, that Simon of Cyrene would continue to follow Christ, even after he laid down his cross, and his two sons would become bishops in the Church. This is divine mercy, that the soldier who pierced the heart of Christ would himself die confessing him to be God. No one, no matter where in life, no matter what sins may have been committed, can be separated from divine mercy.
So, as we celebrate this great Divine Mercy Sunday, we must continue to pray for greater mercy in our world. At 2:00 PM, confessions will be heard here in the church. At 3:00 PM, the hour Christ died, the hour of mercy, we will pray the prayer we get from Saint Faustina – the Divine Mercy Chaplet, which is prayed on ordinary rosary beads. Those who participate in these will receive a plenary indulgence – the forgiveness of all their sins (in the sacrament of confession) and the remittance of all the punishment due to sin in purgatory. Of course, this affords each of us to show that divine mercy to a soul in purgatory by offering the indulgence for one of them.
Finally, I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the man who placed this great Divine Mercy Sunday on the Church calendar, the man who was truly a brilliantly shining light in the Church and throughout the world, who worked to teach all the nations about the mercy of God, who went into the cell of the man who would have been his assassin and forgave him, who died in Christ on Divine Mercy Sunday. Today, we celebrate the beatification of Pope John Paul II, whom has been called the patron of my generation in the Church. So today, after years of waiting, we can finally say,
Blessed Pope John Paul the Great – pray for us!
Friday, April 22, 2011
Silence before the Cross
Good Friday
22 April 2011
Cathedral of Saint Ambrose, Des Moines
Silence. Today’s liturgy reduces us to silence. While the world around us continues to buzz with noise, as the sirens race past the Church and our businesses continue to work as if this were any normal day, today, the liturgy brings us to silence.
What can we say before the cross? When God gives up his life, when the Word of God breathes his last, what words can we possibly add?
The cross stands before us as a mystery. It causes us to stand in its shadow, and we are reduced to silence. This is the mystery of the work of God, in Christ Jesus, for our salvation.
How often do we face the work of God – how often do we stand before the Cross – and try to make sense of it? We try to reduce the work of God to our own terms, our own explanations. We see the arrest, and we fight to protect God from His divine plan. We run away from him, rather than following as his loyal disciples. We try to keep him from embracing the Cross, rather than trusting him.
We stand before him in chains and question him. We try to get him to deny his convictions – his very identity – hoping that our ideas are proven right. We want God to conform to our ideas of how he should act. We want him to see things how we see them; to think how we think. We want him to work and act according to our categories. We want him to reign as an earthly king – to take away all worldly evil – to remove all suffering from our lives. And, when he does work, act, speak differently than we want… what do we do then?
Whenever anyone speaks in the Gospel, they insult Christ. Judas betrays him, Peter denies him, the high priest commits blasphemy, Pilate denies truth.
And so, here we stand with Mary, with Magdalene, with John at the foot of the cross – in silence. As the world continues to go by, making all its noise, we stand in silence. And, it is only here that we can hear the Word of God. “My kingdom does not belong to this world.” “Everyone who belongs to the truth hears my voice.” “Woman, behold your son. Son, behold your Mother.” “Father, forgive them.” “It is finished.”
Do you hear how noisy the world is around us, how it feels even now like it wants to break in here into our profound silence? How many of us live everyday in the noise outside? How often do we let this noise surround us – fill us? How often do we let the noise outside fill us so much that we cannot hear the silence – that we cannot hear Christ speak to us in the silence? Our world drowns out the silence – with television, internet, youtube, ipods, radio, sports, practices, etc. etc. We are so used to it that we are scared of more than a few moments of silence – so scared that we run from it. And, in running, we cannot hear the still, whispering voice of God speaking from the tree.
So today, we pause to stand before the cross in silence. We come before the cross, leaving behind our own ideas of how God should work, to use our speechless mouths to kiss the way God chose to redeem us.
After this liturgy, we will go back into the world as it continues in its own noise, ignoring the cross. But, don’t let the world’s noise flood back into you. Keep the silence within. At 3:00, take a minute or two to stop. Just stop and sit in silence and remember the moment when God gave his life on the cross for you. Let the silence fill your heart and let God speak to you. Then, as the moment finishes, simply say, “Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for your mercy and love. Thank you.”
22 April 2011
Cathedral of Saint Ambrose, Des Moines
Silence. Today’s liturgy reduces us to silence. While the world around us continues to buzz with noise, as the sirens race past the Church and our businesses continue to work as if this were any normal day, today, the liturgy brings us to silence.
What can we say before the cross? When God gives up his life, when the Word of God breathes his last, what words can we possibly add?
The cross stands before us as a mystery. It causes us to stand in its shadow, and we are reduced to silence. This is the mystery of the work of God, in Christ Jesus, for our salvation.
How often do we face the work of God – how often do we stand before the Cross – and try to make sense of it? We try to reduce the work of God to our own terms, our own explanations. We see the arrest, and we fight to protect God from His divine plan. We run away from him, rather than following as his loyal disciples. We try to keep him from embracing the Cross, rather than trusting him.
We stand before him in chains and question him. We try to get him to deny his convictions – his very identity – hoping that our ideas are proven right. We want God to conform to our ideas of how he should act. We want him to see things how we see them; to think how we think. We want him to work and act according to our categories. We want him to reign as an earthly king – to take away all worldly evil – to remove all suffering from our lives. And, when he does work, act, speak differently than we want… what do we do then?
Whenever anyone speaks in the Gospel, they insult Christ. Judas betrays him, Peter denies him, the high priest commits blasphemy, Pilate denies truth.
And so, here we stand with Mary, with Magdalene, with John at the foot of the cross – in silence. As the world continues to go by, making all its noise, we stand in silence. And, it is only here that we can hear the Word of God. “My kingdom does not belong to this world.” “Everyone who belongs to the truth hears my voice.” “Woman, behold your son. Son, behold your Mother.” “Father, forgive them.” “It is finished.”
Do you hear how noisy the world is around us, how it feels even now like it wants to break in here into our profound silence? How many of us live everyday in the noise outside? How often do we let this noise surround us – fill us? How often do we let the noise outside fill us so much that we cannot hear the silence – that we cannot hear Christ speak to us in the silence? Our world drowns out the silence – with television, internet, youtube, ipods, radio, sports, practices, etc. etc. We are so used to it that we are scared of more than a few moments of silence – so scared that we run from it. And, in running, we cannot hear the still, whispering voice of God speaking from the tree.
So today, we pause to stand before the cross in silence. We come before the cross, leaving behind our own ideas of how God should work, to use our speechless mouths to kiss the way God chose to redeem us.
After this liturgy, we will go back into the world as it continues in its own noise, ignoring the cross. But, don’t let the world’s noise flood back into you. Keep the silence within. At 3:00, take a minute or two to stop. Just stop and sit in silence and remember the moment when God gave his life on the cross for you. Let the silence fill your heart and let God speak to you. Then, as the moment finishes, simply say, “Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for your mercy and love. Thank you.”
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Out of Death comes Life
Fifth Sunday of Lent (A)
10 April 2011
St. Hilary’s, Chicago
http://www.usccb.org/nab/041011.shtml
In the past two weeks, we have heard about the great signs of Jesus, which call us to follow him. Today, we have the greatest sign which Saint John reports – the raising of Lazarus from the dead. This is the evidence which should convince everyone that Jesus is who he says he is – the very incarnation of God. God alone can give life, and Jesus restores that life to one who has died.
As human beings, we are constantly fighting death. Think about it. How many of us fear death? We exercise constantly to try and stay healthy to prolong our lives and our quality of life. We try to keep ourselves looking young, inappropriately valuing youth in itself rather than rejoicing in the wisdom and experience which comes with the grey hairs and wrinkles of age. In my generation, we fear commitment, worried that we might not find fulfillment in following a life devoted to one thing, thinking strangely that having all our options open is the equivalent of having every possibility fulfilled. We fear anything which moves us closer toward our end or reminds us of death. We avoid hospitals, nursing homes, taking care of our elders. We don’t acknowledge when we are ill or in need of medical assistance. When we are finally faced with this reality, we try to medicate ourselves so as to prolong our lives. And, as our bodies start to fail, we do everything to shore them up so that we don’t lose the functions which we were once able to do.
And, even in the midst of all these things, still death reminds us that he is ever present. An accident happens to someone whom we love. A friend looses a close relative. Sometimes, even the young face unexpected and unexplicable death. At the seminary, this has been a very present reality to us in the past two years. February a year ago, Thomas Ongige, one of our joyful, young seminarians two years away from priesthood ordination, fell out of his chair before class. He was dead before he hit the floor. This past Thursday, Matt Marshall, twenty-three years old, was working out on the exercise bike as he has been doing regularly. Everything about the day for him was completely normal, until he fell off the bike and was seizing on the floor. He is currently in the Intensive Care Unit in the hospital in critical condition, and I ask for your prayers for him, his family, and the seminary as we wait to see what God has in store for him.
No matter how much we run from death, we can never lose him. And, when death appears, we say to God oftentimes, like Martha and Mary, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
What does the Gospel demand of us? We must completely depend on Christ with ultimate trust and hope. Martha, although imperfectly, does this. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that whatever you ask of God, God will give you.”
All our being avoids death. We fear it because we know something isn’t right about us dying. And, in one sense, we are right. We weren’t meant to die. Jesus knows this, and he weeps over his friend Lazarus. God does not want us to die and be separated from him forever. We don’t want to lose our loved ones or ourselves for all eternity. And Jesus wept. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him.”
Notice, however, that Jesus did not hurry immediately to Lazarus when he received the news that he was ill. He could have hurried and prevented him from dying, or arrived shortly after his death and raised him as he did others. Jesus waited, so that Lazarus’ death was certain – he was already buried. Jesus waited so that we would know that he is God, and that at the end of this life there is life to come.
Therein our hope lies. Because of Christ; because of the resurrection, we know that death is not the end – that there is life to come. As we profess in the creed – we look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.
How do we find this life? The context of the Gospel gives us the answer. The Jews are ready to kill Jesus. The apostles know that going to Judea means almost certain death. The raising of Lazarus becomes the last sign – so intolerable to those who hate Jesus that they have him crucified. The path to life is through death – through death with Jesus. As the ancient hymns of Holy Week tell us, “O Crux; ave spes unica – Hail the Cross, our only hope!”
Because our hope is in following Christ, how we live today must change. Thomas’s death was sad, but it was also filled with hope, knowing that he will rise with Christ. Matt has not yet died. We pray most fervently for his healing. However, we also know that he has followed Christ, and that even if he dies today, this is not the end of his life, but only the beginning of the life to come.
So, let us follow our leader in faith. Let us have ultimate hope, so that we can with Saint Thomas say, “Let us also go to die with him.”
10 April 2011
St. Hilary’s, Chicago
http://www.usccb.org/nab/041011.shtml
In the past two weeks, we have heard about the great signs of Jesus, which call us to follow him. Today, we have the greatest sign which Saint John reports – the raising of Lazarus from the dead. This is the evidence which should convince everyone that Jesus is who he says he is – the very incarnation of God. God alone can give life, and Jesus restores that life to one who has died.
As human beings, we are constantly fighting death. Think about it. How many of us fear death? We exercise constantly to try and stay healthy to prolong our lives and our quality of life. We try to keep ourselves looking young, inappropriately valuing youth in itself rather than rejoicing in the wisdom and experience which comes with the grey hairs and wrinkles of age. In my generation, we fear commitment, worried that we might not find fulfillment in following a life devoted to one thing, thinking strangely that having all our options open is the equivalent of having every possibility fulfilled. We fear anything which moves us closer toward our end or reminds us of death. We avoid hospitals, nursing homes, taking care of our elders. We don’t acknowledge when we are ill or in need of medical assistance. When we are finally faced with this reality, we try to medicate ourselves so as to prolong our lives. And, as our bodies start to fail, we do everything to shore them up so that we don’t lose the functions which we were once able to do.
And, even in the midst of all these things, still death reminds us that he is ever present. An accident happens to someone whom we love. A friend looses a close relative. Sometimes, even the young face unexpected and unexplicable death. At the seminary, this has been a very present reality to us in the past two years. February a year ago, Thomas Ongige, one of our joyful, young seminarians two years away from priesthood ordination, fell out of his chair before class. He was dead before he hit the floor. This past Thursday, Matt Marshall, twenty-three years old, was working out on the exercise bike as he has been doing regularly. Everything about the day for him was completely normal, until he fell off the bike and was seizing on the floor. He is currently in the Intensive Care Unit in the hospital in critical condition, and I ask for your prayers for him, his family, and the seminary as we wait to see what God has in store for him.
No matter how much we run from death, we can never lose him. And, when death appears, we say to God oftentimes, like Martha and Mary, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
What does the Gospel demand of us? We must completely depend on Christ with ultimate trust and hope. Martha, although imperfectly, does this. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that whatever you ask of God, God will give you.”
All our being avoids death. We fear it because we know something isn’t right about us dying. And, in one sense, we are right. We weren’t meant to die. Jesus knows this, and he weeps over his friend Lazarus. God does not want us to die and be separated from him forever. We don’t want to lose our loved ones or ourselves for all eternity. And Jesus wept. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him.”
Notice, however, that Jesus did not hurry immediately to Lazarus when he received the news that he was ill. He could have hurried and prevented him from dying, or arrived shortly after his death and raised him as he did others. Jesus waited, so that Lazarus’ death was certain – he was already buried. Jesus waited so that we would know that he is God, and that at the end of this life there is life to come.
Therein our hope lies. Because of Christ; because of the resurrection, we know that death is not the end – that there is life to come. As we profess in the creed – we look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.
How do we find this life? The context of the Gospel gives us the answer. The Jews are ready to kill Jesus. The apostles know that going to Judea means almost certain death. The raising of Lazarus becomes the last sign – so intolerable to those who hate Jesus that they have him crucified. The path to life is through death – through death with Jesus. As the ancient hymns of Holy Week tell us, “O Crux; ave spes unica – Hail the Cross, our only hope!”
Because our hope is in following Christ, how we live today must change. Thomas’s death was sad, but it was also filled with hope, knowing that he will rise with Christ. Matt has not yet died. We pray most fervently for his healing. However, we also know that he has followed Christ, and that even if he dies today, this is not the end of his life, but only the beginning of the life to come.
So, let us follow our leader in faith. Let us have ultimate hope, so that we can with Saint Thomas say, “Let us also go to die with him.”
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Enlightening the eyes
Fourth Sunday of Lent (A)
3 April 2011
St. Hilary’s, Chicago
http://www.usccb.org/nab/040311.shtml
Throughout the Gospels we have many stories about Jesus performing miracles. He heals lepers, multiplies loaves and fishes, walks on water. What makes today’s story different? Why do we have a long exposé of one man who was born blind, whom Jesus healed?
This blind man, perhaps, teaches us something very important – very valuable – about being a disciple of Christ. The story begins with his disciples asking him whose sin caused this man to be born blind. They saw the blindness as a result of sin, but couldn’t understand how he could have sinned from birth or why his parents’ sin would be punished in him. They cannot see that their own dilemma – their own thought structure – has restricted them from the vision which God has, which is to show God’s glory. This man was born blind precisely so that Christ could come to him and give him sight. And, in doing so, not just this man, but all the others with him could also come to see.
So, even his disciples are blind, as proven in their first question. They are trying to see by the light of the world – that is, of human convention. But, Jesus says “I am the light of the world; whoever sees by me shall not stumble in the darkness but will have the light of life.”
The man is healed. Not only is his physical sight restored, but his spiritual sight, for the first thing he can see is Christ.
Now, this story gets entirely ridiculous. His neighbors and those who used to see him begging were wondering if this is the same man. They start arguing among themselves whether he is the same man or not. They knew him. They know what he looks like. Common sense would indicate that this is the same man. But, they argue. Notice, they never ask him if he is the man, he simply tells them that he is. I imagine this happening like when a lady friend of yours goes to have her hair done in a new style, and people see her and wonder if she is the same person, but don’t ask her. Hearing them talking about her, she tells them “Yes, it’s me!”
But, that isn’t exactly what’s happening here. Something deeper, more sinister is going on. They want him to be blind. They’re comfortable with him being blind. Him being able to see is somehow dangerous for them. It challenges them, their complacency, and what they know. So, rather than rejoicing with him, they question him. They take him to the Pharisees to essentially stand trial for being able to see.
The Pharisees, like the people who knew the man, like the disciples, were divided in their opinion. On one side, a man who had broken the Sabbath. On the other, a man who can do work no one else has ever done. They cannot break out of their own paradigm and see that “the Sabbath was made for Man, not Man for the Sabbath.” They cannot see, and so they are blind. They question him, but refuse to believe him. They try denying that he was ever blind. They question his sheepish parents. They try to get him to deny Christ, whom he has barely gotten to know. And, they can’t see the truth before their eyes.
Finally, the man who was blind but now can see points out to the Pharisees their own blindness. He says to them “This is what is so amazing, that you do not know where he is from, yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but if one is devout and does his will, he listens to him. It is unheard of that anyone ever opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he would not be able to do anything.” It makes perfect sense. He was blind, now he can see. And, the Pharisees are so wrapped up in their own blindness that the light is too much for them. They return to the disciples’ original dilemma, accuse him of being born entirely in sin, and throw him out. In the end, they are so blind that they cannot see how blind they are.
How often are we like this? How often do we submit to what our society and culture tell us, and not see the light of the Gospel, shining from the teachings of Jesus Christ and his bride the Church? This Sunday is the day the Creed is given to those who will be baptized and entering the Church at Easter. Had we given into worldly knowledge, seen things as the world did, this creed would never have been written, and the faith would have been lost. With eyes enlightened by Christ, we see waters poured over a person’s head and know they are being transformed into a Christian. We see bread and wine placed upon this altar and know it is transformed into the body and blood of Christ. We see all human life and know it is cherished and loved by God. And today, we share our faith with those with whom we will soon share the life given to us in God.
So, as we work in the world, as we hear news reports of people from the outside claiming to know what we believe and criticizing us for it, we must remember that they are in the darkness; they aren’t walking in the true light of the world – the light of Christ. We must make sure that we are in the light – through study of what the Church teaches – the Catechism and listening to Catholic media. We must proclaim what we truly believe, not be ashamed of it, and share it with others. We must always come back to Christ in the sacraments and in prayer. Only then, can we truly see.
3 April 2011
St. Hilary’s, Chicago
http://www.usccb.org/nab/040311.shtml
Throughout the Gospels we have many stories about Jesus performing miracles. He heals lepers, multiplies loaves and fishes, walks on water. What makes today’s story different? Why do we have a long exposé of one man who was born blind, whom Jesus healed?
This blind man, perhaps, teaches us something very important – very valuable – about being a disciple of Christ. The story begins with his disciples asking him whose sin caused this man to be born blind. They saw the blindness as a result of sin, but couldn’t understand how he could have sinned from birth or why his parents’ sin would be punished in him. They cannot see that their own dilemma – their own thought structure – has restricted them from the vision which God has, which is to show God’s glory. This man was born blind precisely so that Christ could come to him and give him sight. And, in doing so, not just this man, but all the others with him could also come to see.
So, even his disciples are blind, as proven in their first question. They are trying to see by the light of the world – that is, of human convention. But, Jesus says “I am the light of the world; whoever sees by me shall not stumble in the darkness but will have the light of life.”
The man is healed. Not only is his physical sight restored, but his spiritual sight, for the first thing he can see is Christ.
Now, this story gets entirely ridiculous. His neighbors and those who used to see him begging were wondering if this is the same man. They start arguing among themselves whether he is the same man or not. They knew him. They know what he looks like. Common sense would indicate that this is the same man. But, they argue. Notice, they never ask him if he is the man, he simply tells them that he is. I imagine this happening like when a lady friend of yours goes to have her hair done in a new style, and people see her and wonder if she is the same person, but don’t ask her. Hearing them talking about her, she tells them “Yes, it’s me!”
But, that isn’t exactly what’s happening here. Something deeper, more sinister is going on. They want him to be blind. They’re comfortable with him being blind. Him being able to see is somehow dangerous for them. It challenges them, their complacency, and what they know. So, rather than rejoicing with him, they question him. They take him to the Pharisees to essentially stand trial for being able to see.
The Pharisees, like the people who knew the man, like the disciples, were divided in their opinion. On one side, a man who had broken the Sabbath. On the other, a man who can do work no one else has ever done. They cannot break out of their own paradigm and see that “the Sabbath was made for Man, not Man for the Sabbath.” They cannot see, and so they are blind. They question him, but refuse to believe him. They try denying that he was ever blind. They question his sheepish parents. They try to get him to deny Christ, whom he has barely gotten to know. And, they can’t see the truth before their eyes.
Finally, the man who was blind but now can see points out to the Pharisees their own blindness. He says to them “This is what is so amazing, that you do not know where he is from, yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but if one is devout and does his will, he listens to him. It is unheard of that anyone ever opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he would not be able to do anything.” It makes perfect sense. He was blind, now he can see. And, the Pharisees are so wrapped up in their own blindness that the light is too much for them. They return to the disciples’ original dilemma, accuse him of being born entirely in sin, and throw him out. In the end, they are so blind that they cannot see how blind they are.
How often are we like this? How often do we submit to what our society and culture tell us, and not see the light of the Gospel, shining from the teachings of Jesus Christ and his bride the Church? This Sunday is the day the Creed is given to those who will be baptized and entering the Church at Easter. Had we given into worldly knowledge, seen things as the world did, this creed would never have been written, and the faith would have been lost. With eyes enlightened by Christ, we see waters poured over a person’s head and know they are being transformed into a Christian. We see bread and wine placed upon this altar and know it is transformed into the body and blood of Christ. We see all human life and know it is cherished and loved by God. And today, we share our faith with those with whom we will soon share the life given to us in God.
So, as we work in the world, as we hear news reports of people from the outside claiming to know what we believe and criticizing us for it, we must remember that they are in the darkness; they aren’t walking in the true light of the world – the light of Christ. We must make sure that we are in the light – through study of what the Church teaches – the Catechism and listening to Catholic media. We must proclaim what we truly believe, not be ashamed of it, and share it with others. We must always come back to Christ in the sacraments and in prayer. Only then, can we truly see.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Our thirsty souls
Third Sunday of Lent (A)
27 March 2011
St. Hilary’s, Chicago
http://www.usccb.org/nab/032711.shtml
“In those days, in their thirst for water, the people grumbled against Moses.” I’m sure most of us have experienced a person or group of people, perhaps even seen in ourselves, how things as basic as hunger and thirst can drastically change a person’s demeanor or attitude. I think also of college dining halls and, dare I say, family kitchens where children complain about the food “always being the same” and how little they like it. Things as basic as hunger and thirst can change the way we interact with others precisely because of how much we need food and water to survive. The people were so desperate – so needy that they remembered slavery in Egypt fondly and forgot their miraculous rescue when God separated the Red Sea.
Water is essential to life – one of our most basic needs. Consequently, we are always seeking water, going out looking for it, and drinking it whenever we can. We don’t think about it much because it is so available and our search usually ends at the nearest faucet. In the ancient world, they would go to the town well.
This is where a woman of Sychar finds a man waiting for her. Jesus is thirsty, and asks her for a drink. But, soon we discover another truth – ordinary water does not fulfill us. We are not satiated by the water we drink. We must always come back for more. We must keep asking for water as we dine out. We must keep finding faucets and filling our glasses. But, Jesus promises “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again; but whoever drinks the water I shall give will never thirst; the water I shall give will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
The woman is attracted to this. She has been alienated from her community. While it is hot and everyone is in town having lunch, she is coming out to do the laborious task of fetching water by herself. Her life has gotten to the point where she doesn’t want to be seen by anyone. She is ashamed of what she has become.
Jesus sees this. This is why she is fetching water at noon. And, Jesus knows why she is so ashamed. She has been married five times, and has given up on marriage and is now living with a man. She is seeking something in these relationships that she is not finding. She is looking for the perfect relationship, the perfect man who will fulfill every one of her needs. And, she cannot find him. In a spiritual sense, she is thirsty for what will fulfill.
How many of us are like the woman at the well – looking for the perfect relationship, the one that will fulfill all our needs? How many of us expect too much out of our friendships, our marriages, our family, even our priests? No human is perfect, and no one human person will ever fulfill all our needs, our desires, our hope.
In truth, there is only one who can satisfy our thirst for this water. There is only one in whom we find our hope, and he is the man we found sitting at the well when we weren’t expecting him, calling us to come to him and ask him for living water. He is the one we first encountered sacramentally here at the fount of Baptism. He is the one whom our hearts have been desiring, longing, crying for all our lives, since our very creation. He is the one whom the people of Israel following Moses were really looking for when they were thirsty, and he gave them water from the rock. He is the one the prophets and patriarchs longed for. He is the one whom all peoples truly need. He is our God, who came to satisfy our thirst with the waters of Baptism and our hunger by offering his body and blood on the Cross. And, as the Samaritan woman was uniquely blessed to be told directly – He is the Christ.
“The woman left her water jar.” What an amazing change! She is no longer thirsty, for her true thirst has been fulfilled. She is so full of water – of life! – that she runs into town to share what she has received with everyone she can find. The thirsty woman, who avoided everyone, has now herself become a spring of living water through which everyone in the town would follow back to its source. Then, they too could have their thirst satisfied and say “We no longer believe because of your word; for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the savior of the world.”
In our tradition, we have the story of this woman who sought fulfillment in every possible way before discovering Christ. But, she is not alone. Countless men and women throughout the centuries have sought every worldly advice and pleasure seeking happiness and fulfillment, only to discover that our only true hope is in Christ. In a most beautiful passage summarizing his life’s journey, Saint Augustine says,
“Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you! You were within me, but I was outside, and it was there that I searched for you. In my unloveliness I plunged into the lovely things which you created. You were with me, but I was not with you. Created things kept me from you; yet if they had not been in you they would have not been at all. You called, you shouted, and you broke through my deafness. You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness. You breathed your fragrance on me; I drew in breath and now I pant for you. I have tasted you, now I hunger and thirst for more. You touched me, and I burned for your peace.”
Lent teaches us that nothing created will ever satisfy us. That is why the Church proposes for us the discipline of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. Prayer focuses us back on God – we listen for him; we talk to him, because he is the fountain of life. Fasting disciplines us to know that ultimately, more that food or water, we need Christ. Almsgiving teaches us that the gifts we have been given by God are meant to be shared out of love for one another, that these gifts may lead others back to God.
This week, let us pray – truly pray. Let us allow God to fill us today at this Mass. Let us discipline ourselves through fasting, submitting our own desires – bodily or otherwise – to the one desire which is more important than all the others – our need for God. Then, as we continue in true perfection, as we let ourselves be fulfilled, we can find a way to do something good for God, so that through the love of God flowing from the fountain of our hearts, others too may come to know the beauty, the joy, the hope that we have in Jesus Christ our Lord.
27 March 2011
St. Hilary’s, Chicago
http://www.usccb.org/nab/032711.shtml
“In those days, in their thirst for water, the people grumbled against Moses.” I’m sure most of us have experienced a person or group of people, perhaps even seen in ourselves, how things as basic as hunger and thirst can drastically change a person’s demeanor or attitude. I think also of college dining halls and, dare I say, family kitchens where children complain about the food “always being the same” and how little they like it. Things as basic as hunger and thirst can change the way we interact with others precisely because of how much we need food and water to survive. The people were so desperate – so needy that they remembered slavery in Egypt fondly and forgot their miraculous rescue when God separated the Red Sea.
Water is essential to life – one of our most basic needs. Consequently, we are always seeking water, going out looking for it, and drinking it whenever we can. We don’t think about it much because it is so available and our search usually ends at the nearest faucet. In the ancient world, they would go to the town well.
This is where a woman of Sychar finds a man waiting for her. Jesus is thirsty, and asks her for a drink. But, soon we discover another truth – ordinary water does not fulfill us. We are not satiated by the water we drink. We must always come back for more. We must keep asking for water as we dine out. We must keep finding faucets and filling our glasses. But, Jesus promises “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again; but whoever drinks the water I shall give will never thirst; the water I shall give will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
The woman is attracted to this. She has been alienated from her community. While it is hot and everyone is in town having lunch, she is coming out to do the laborious task of fetching water by herself. Her life has gotten to the point where she doesn’t want to be seen by anyone. She is ashamed of what she has become.
Jesus sees this. This is why she is fetching water at noon. And, Jesus knows why she is so ashamed. She has been married five times, and has given up on marriage and is now living with a man. She is seeking something in these relationships that she is not finding. She is looking for the perfect relationship, the perfect man who will fulfill every one of her needs. And, she cannot find him. In a spiritual sense, she is thirsty for what will fulfill.
How many of us are like the woman at the well – looking for the perfect relationship, the one that will fulfill all our needs? How many of us expect too much out of our friendships, our marriages, our family, even our priests? No human is perfect, and no one human person will ever fulfill all our needs, our desires, our hope.
In truth, there is only one who can satisfy our thirst for this water. There is only one in whom we find our hope, and he is the man we found sitting at the well when we weren’t expecting him, calling us to come to him and ask him for living water. He is the one we first encountered sacramentally here at the fount of Baptism. He is the one whom our hearts have been desiring, longing, crying for all our lives, since our very creation. He is the one whom the people of Israel following Moses were really looking for when they were thirsty, and he gave them water from the rock. He is the one the prophets and patriarchs longed for. He is the one whom all peoples truly need. He is our God, who came to satisfy our thirst with the waters of Baptism and our hunger by offering his body and blood on the Cross. And, as the Samaritan woman was uniquely blessed to be told directly – He is the Christ.
“The woman left her water jar.” What an amazing change! She is no longer thirsty, for her true thirst has been fulfilled. She is so full of water – of life! – that she runs into town to share what she has received with everyone she can find. The thirsty woman, who avoided everyone, has now herself become a spring of living water through which everyone in the town would follow back to its source. Then, they too could have their thirst satisfied and say “We no longer believe because of your word; for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the savior of the world.”
In our tradition, we have the story of this woman who sought fulfillment in every possible way before discovering Christ. But, she is not alone. Countless men and women throughout the centuries have sought every worldly advice and pleasure seeking happiness and fulfillment, only to discover that our only true hope is in Christ. In a most beautiful passage summarizing his life’s journey, Saint Augustine says,
“Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you! You were within me, but I was outside, and it was there that I searched for you. In my unloveliness I plunged into the lovely things which you created. You were with me, but I was not with you. Created things kept me from you; yet if they had not been in you they would have not been at all. You called, you shouted, and you broke through my deafness. You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness. You breathed your fragrance on me; I drew in breath and now I pant for you. I have tasted you, now I hunger and thirst for more. You touched me, and I burned for your peace.”
Lent teaches us that nothing created will ever satisfy us. That is why the Church proposes for us the discipline of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. Prayer focuses us back on God – we listen for him; we talk to him, because he is the fountain of life. Fasting disciplines us to know that ultimately, more that food or water, we need Christ. Almsgiving teaches us that the gifts we have been given by God are meant to be shared out of love for one another, that these gifts may lead others back to God.
This week, let us pray – truly pray. Let us allow God to fill us today at this Mass. Let us discipline ourselves through fasting, submitting our own desires – bodily or otherwise – to the one desire which is more important than all the others – our need for God. Then, as we continue in true perfection, as we let ourselves be fulfilled, we can find a way to do something good for God, so that through the love of God flowing from the fountain of our hearts, others too may come to know the beauty, the joy, the hope that we have in Jesus Christ our Lord.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Be Strong, all who hope in the Lord.
Second Sunday of Lent (A)
20 March 2011
St. Hilary’s, Chicago
http://www.usccb.org/nab/032011.shtml
As we progress through Lent, as we grow stronger in our desire and ability to follow Christ and His Gospel, we begin to see how difficult being a disciple of the Lord can truly be.
In the first reading, we hear the call of Abraham. God called Abraham to leave everything he knew, everything that gave him identity – his father’s house, family, land – and God asked him to go to a land he “would show” him. That’s it. God didn’t promise him riches, wisdom, fame, or anything else we expect to motivate others. God simply said, politely, “Go, for your own sake,” and Abraham went, not even knowing where he was being led.
Abraham had faith, he trusted in God. He was not perfect, and his faith would continue to be purified and refined as his life continued on. But, he took these first, difficult steps in faith.
When we meet Peter, James, and John in the Gospel, they have already heard the voice of Christ calling them to follow him. They have already taken the first steps, leaving their boats at the sea and following him. Now, Christ calls them to follow him up a mountain as he is about to make his final turn to Jerusalem. It has been difficult. There has been infighting among the twelve. They haven’t understood much of what Jesus has said in his preaching. Peter has been called Satan for tempting Jesus. Yet, they are still called to ascend the mountain, take the difficult road, and follow Christ.
However, it has not been without rewards. They have been with Jesus when he has healed the sick, cast out demons, and performed many other miracles. Peter has been given the knowledge that he is following the Christ, the Son of the Living God.
Peter, James, and John have great faith. In following Christ, they have come to know him not as a mere human, but have understood him to be God. Today, for a brief moment, they see briefly behind the veil of their master’s human nature, and see the Light of God, shining from the face of Christ. And, they let this light shine upon them. They let themselves bathe in this glorious light which Moses and the prophets before them saw. And, they hear the ancient voice of the Father, confirming them in their faith. “This is my beloved Son. Listen to him”
But, it is only for a moment that the veil is lifted, that this experience lasts. Then, they see again with ordinary eyes their master and teacher just as he was. Why do they have this experience? Wouldn’t it be great if they were able to stay in that heavenly light forever? This is exactly what Peter wants to do – to set up tents and stay there with Jesus forever. Why must it end, and why must they go down from the mountain? Why can they say nothing about it?
Have you ever been on a retreat or had an experience of prayer which has filled you with light, energy, excitement? Which has enflamed your heart with powerful, inexpressible love of God? Why must it end?!
The gifts we are given by God – whether our talents or treasures, or our experiences of grace and prayer – none of these are meant solely for us individually, but are for the building up of the whole Church. Peter, James, and John have a brief glimpse of the glory of God shining from the face of Christ. It gives them sure knowledge that this is the long-awaited Messiah, hope that they will follow him into his glory, and strength to follow him to the end.
They must have this strength for what God has in mind. They are the leaders among the 12, among all of the disciples of Jesus. In just a little while, Jesus will prophesy a second time that he will suffer and die. Jesus is headed toward Jerusalem, and these men must have faith that not only will he suffer and die, but that, as he promised, he will rise from the dead. They must know he is the Christ whom God has sent, and that all of this is God’s plan.
In our own lives, we all can have great and exceptional moments in prayer. However, these moments are not just for ourselves to help us know Christ. They also empower us to help the whole Church – to console those who suffer, to teach those who want to learn, to pray with those who do not know how. The next few Sundays of Lent, the readings are picked to speak in a special way to those in the RCIA. They are stories about an individual person touched in a unique way by Christ – how their life of faith begins. We’ll see how this changes not only their life, but the life of everyone around them.
Today, let us remember that we have a responsibility to stand beside these elect, to help them grow in their faith. This requires us to be strong in our faith, and to ever become stronger. Oftentimes, this involves trials of our own. But, think of Peter, James, and John as Christ was being led to his death – every human impulse in them telling them to run away, have no association, forget they ever knew the man – and yet, this one experience, this one insight into his divinity, knowing there was truly nowhere else they could turn, for he is the Son of God, and he alone has the words of everlasting life.
“Be strong; let your heart take courage, all who hope in the Lord.” (Ps. 31:24)
20 March 2011
St. Hilary’s, Chicago
http://www.usccb.org/nab/032011.shtml
As we progress through Lent, as we grow stronger in our desire and ability to follow Christ and His Gospel, we begin to see how difficult being a disciple of the Lord can truly be.
In the first reading, we hear the call of Abraham. God called Abraham to leave everything he knew, everything that gave him identity – his father’s house, family, land – and God asked him to go to a land he “would show” him. That’s it. God didn’t promise him riches, wisdom, fame, or anything else we expect to motivate others. God simply said, politely, “Go, for your own sake,” and Abraham went, not even knowing where he was being led.
Abraham had faith, he trusted in God. He was not perfect, and his faith would continue to be purified and refined as his life continued on. But, he took these first, difficult steps in faith.
When we meet Peter, James, and John in the Gospel, they have already heard the voice of Christ calling them to follow him. They have already taken the first steps, leaving their boats at the sea and following him. Now, Christ calls them to follow him up a mountain as he is about to make his final turn to Jerusalem. It has been difficult. There has been infighting among the twelve. They haven’t understood much of what Jesus has said in his preaching. Peter has been called Satan for tempting Jesus. Yet, they are still called to ascend the mountain, take the difficult road, and follow Christ.
However, it has not been without rewards. They have been with Jesus when he has healed the sick, cast out demons, and performed many other miracles. Peter has been given the knowledge that he is following the Christ, the Son of the Living God.
Peter, James, and John have great faith. In following Christ, they have come to know him not as a mere human, but have understood him to be God. Today, for a brief moment, they see briefly behind the veil of their master’s human nature, and see the Light of God, shining from the face of Christ. And, they let this light shine upon them. They let themselves bathe in this glorious light which Moses and the prophets before them saw. And, they hear the ancient voice of the Father, confirming them in their faith. “This is my beloved Son. Listen to him”
But, it is only for a moment that the veil is lifted, that this experience lasts. Then, they see again with ordinary eyes their master and teacher just as he was. Why do they have this experience? Wouldn’t it be great if they were able to stay in that heavenly light forever? This is exactly what Peter wants to do – to set up tents and stay there with Jesus forever. Why must it end, and why must they go down from the mountain? Why can they say nothing about it?
Have you ever been on a retreat or had an experience of prayer which has filled you with light, energy, excitement? Which has enflamed your heart with powerful, inexpressible love of God? Why must it end?!
The gifts we are given by God – whether our talents or treasures, or our experiences of grace and prayer – none of these are meant solely for us individually, but are for the building up of the whole Church. Peter, James, and John have a brief glimpse of the glory of God shining from the face of Christ. It gives them sure knowledge that this is the long-awaited Messiah, hope that they will follow him into his glory, and strength to follow him to the end.
They must have this strength for what God has in mind. They are the leaders among the 12, among all of the disciples of Jesus. In just a little while, Jesus will prophesy a second time that he will suffer and die. Jesus is headed toward Jerusalem, and these men must have faith that not only will he suffer and die, but that, as he promised, he will rise from the dead. They must know he is the Christ whom God has sent, and that all of this is God’s plan.
In our own lives, we all can have great and exceptional moments in prayer. However, these moments are not just for ourselves to help us know Christ. They also empower us to help the whole Church – to console those who suffer, to teach those who want to learn, to pray with those who do not know how. The next few Sundays of Lent, the readings are picked to speak in a special way to those in the RCIA. They are stories about an individual person touched in a unique way by Christ – how their life of faith begins. We’ll see how this changes not only their life, but the life of everyone around them.
Today, let us remember that we have a responsibility to stand beside these elect, to help them grow in their faith. This requires us to be strong in our faith, and to ever become stronger. Oftentimes, this involves trials of our own. But, think of Peter, James, and John as Christ was being led to his death – every human impulse in them telling them to run away, have no association, forget they ever knew the man – and yet, this one experience, this one insight into his divinity, knowing there was truly nowhere else they could turn, for he is the Son of God, and he alone has the words of everlasting life.
“Be strong; let your heart take courage, all who hope in the Lord.” (Ps. 31:24)
Saturday, March 12, 2011
The Joyful Season of Lent
First Sunday of Lent (A)
13 March 2011
St. Hilary’s, Chicago
http://www.usccb.org/nab/031311.shtml
During this season of Lent, the Church meditates on the reality of human sinfulness. Today, we have heard the readings of the fall of humanity into Sin and Death. Saint Paul tells us how the Sin of Adam has affected all of his children – the entire human race. And, we see in our own lives how each one of us fails to follow God. We follow our own thoughts, plans, and desires. We yield to our temptations rather than heeding the voice of God.
However, we do not meditate on human sinfulness here at the beginning of Lent in order to fall into despair or “Catholic guilt”. Rather, at the beginning of the Eucharistic Prayer, the first preface of Lent says to God the Father, “Each year You give us this joyful season/ when we prepare to celebrate the paschal mystery with mind and heart renewed.”
Lent is not about feeling sorry for ourselves, thinking “Oh, I’m such a miserable person.” While we do remember our own sinfulness, Lent focuses us not on ourselves, but on our need for God. We prepare this season, not to be miserable, but to rejoice in the amazing gift of God, who came to rescue us from the power of Sin and Death. We stand in awe, that “the gift is not like the transgression. For if by the transgression of the one, the many died, how much more did the grace of God and the gracious gift of the one man Jesus Christ overflow for the many.”
Jesus himself redeems us from Sin and Death through the Paschal Mystery – his own suffering, death, and resurrection. He came to our rescue by his power as God, so that “Just as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive.”
We can see the beginning of this redemption in Christ’s temptation. Christ was tempted by hunger, and Satan encouraged him to turn some stones into bread. But, ultimately it is not physical food that satisfies us. Ultimately, we must completely depend and trust on God. Christ was tempted to make himself famous by being miraculously rescued, but God chooses to come to us in the ordinary events of life. Finally, Christ was tempted by what seemed to be an easier path to his goal of bringing everyone back to God, but it involved the falsehood of worshiping someone other than God.
As we continue through Lent, we have the example of Christ, who calls us to follow him. Certainly, we are tempted by those habits we have developed which we are trying to change. But, temptation isn’t a sin – for even Christ himself was tempted. Rather, temptation is a chance for us to choose again to follow Christ. On Ash Wednesday, when the entire Church fasted, many of us were hungry. At the seminary, some of us make fasts throughout the year for various reasons. Yet somehow, Ash Wednesday, one of the two days when the Church requires us to fast, somehow that day the temptation to eat is nearly unbearable. We’re doing something right, and we can spiritually join ourselves to Christ hungry in the desert.
Here, as we are still just beginning this Lent, perhaps we should ask just one question: Are we focused on ourselves, or are we really trying to become more like Christ? What are our Lenten promises? Are they really bringing us closer to Christ, or am I doing them for me? Have I done something to help me grow in faith, or am I giving up chocolate, planning to indulge when Easter comes?
If you find that you need something to help you to come to know, love, and follow Christ more closely, perhaps consider picking up a Lenten promise to do something. Perhaps you’re busy. But, I bet you could find even 15 minutes for God. How about reading scripture 15 minutes a day? Start in the Gospel of Matthew. Or, look at the Missalette at the readings for these Sundays of Lent. Read slowly, and let God talk to you through the text. Listen for what he might be saying to you. Pray. Give thanks for his love revealed in his Son.
Perhaps you could spend that 15 minutes and stop in the church on your way home from work and visit Jesus here in the tabernacle. Or, bring the family together to pray the rosary – or at least a decade – every day of Lent. Perhaps you want to understand the faith better. You could read the Catechism for 15 minutes.
Lent is not about misery; it is about joy – the joy of knowing Jesus Christ, our Lord and God, who has loved us so much that he suffered and died so that we too could rise to life in him. Dear friends, let us make the best use of this joyful season of Lent as we prepare for the glorious season of Easter. Let us become more fervent in our Lenten discipline, so that we who have sinned in Adam can become alive again in Christ.
13 March 2011
St. Hilary’s, Chicago
http://www.usccb.org/nab/031311.shtml
During this season of Lent, the Church meditates on the reality of human sinfulness. Today, we have heard the readings of the fall of humanity into Sin and Death. Saint Paul tells us how the Sin of Adam has affected all of his children – the entire human race. And, we see in our own lives how each one of us fails to follow God. We follow our own thoughts, plans, and desires. We yield to our temptations rather than heeding the voice of God.
However, we do not meditate on human sinfulness here at the beginning of Lent in order to fall into despair or “Catholic guilt”. Rather, at the beginning of the Eucharistic Prayer, the first preface of Lent says to God the Father, “Each year You give us this joyful season/ when we prepare to celebrate the paschal mystery with mind and heart renewed.”
Lent is not about feeling sorry for ourselves, thinking “Oh, I’m such a miserable person.” While we do remember our own sinfulness, Lent focuses us not on ourselves, but on our need for God. We prepare this season, not to be miserable, but to rejoice in the amazing gift of God, who came to rescue us from the power of Sin and Death. We stand in awe, that “the gift is not like the transgression. For if by the transgression of the one, the many died, how much more did the grace of God and the gracious gift of the one man Jesus Christ overflow for the many.”
Jesus himself redeems us from Sin and Death through the Paschal Mystery – his own suffering, death, and resurrection. He came to our rescue by his power as God, so that “Just as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive.”
We can see the beginning of this redemption in Christ’s temptation. Christ was tempted by hunger, and Satan encouraged him to turn some stones into bread. But, ultimately it is not physical food that satisfies us. Ultimately, we must completely depend and trust on God. Christ was tempted to make himself famous by being miraculously rescued, but God chooses to come to us in the ordinary events of life. Finally, Christ was tempted by what seemed to be an easier path to his goal of bringing everyone back to God, but it involved the falsehood of worshiping someone other than God.
As we continue through Lent, we have the example of Christ, who calls us to follow him. Certainly, we are tempted by those habits we have developed which we are trying to change. But, temptation isn’t a sin – for even Christ himself was tempted. Rather, temptation is a chance for us to choose again to follow Christ. On Ash Wednesday, when the entire Church fasted, many of us were hungry. At the seminary, some of us make fasts throughout the year for various reasons. Yet somehow, Ash Wednesday, one of the two days when the Church requires us to fast, somehow that day the temptation to eat is nearly unbearable. We’re doing something right, and we can spiritually join ourselves to Christ hungry in the desert.
Here, as we are still just beginning this Lent, perhaps we should ask just one question: Are we focused on ourselves, or are we really trying to become more like Christ? What are our Lenten promises? Are they really bringing us closer to Christ, or am I doing them for me? Have I done something to help me grow in faith, or am I giving up chocolate, planning to indulge when Easter comes?
If you find that you need something to help you to come to know, love, and follow Christ more closely, perhaps consider picking up a Lenten promise to do something. Perhaps you’re busy. But, I bet you could find even 15 minutes for God. How about reading scripture 15 minutes a day? Start in the Gospel of Matthew. Or, look at the Missalette at the readings for these Sundays of Lent. Read slowly, and let God talk to you through the text. Listen for what he might be saying to you. Pray. Give thanks for his love revealed in his Son.
Perhaps you could spend that 15 minutes and stop in the church on your way home from work and visit Jesus here in the tabernacle. Or, bring the family together to pray the rosary – or at least a decade – every day of Lent. Perhaps you want to understand the faith better. You could read the Catechism for 15 minutes.
Lent is not about misery; it is about joy – the joy of knowing Jesus Christ, our Lord and God, who has loved us so much that he suffered and died so that we too could rise to life in him. Dear friends, let us make the best use of this joyful season of Lent as we prepare for the glorious season of Easter. Let us become more fervent in our Lenten discipline, so that we who have sinned in Adam can become alive again in Christ.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Preparing for Lent
Ninth Sunday of Ordinary Time (A)
Quinquagesima Sunday
6 March 2011
St. Hilary’s, Chicago
http://www.usccb.org/nab/030611.shtml
As many of us know, this Wednesday we will begin Lent. Many of us will come to Ash Wednesday Mass, where ashes will be placed upon our heads and we will be reminded that we are mere dust, and we will hear the call of conversion from Christ to repent and believe in the Gospel.
There are many devotional practices which surround this extraordinary season of Lent. Among them comes to mind praying the Stations of the Cross, going to Mass more frequently, and making some sort of Lenten sacrifice – that is, giving something up for Lent.
Have you ever wondered why we give something up for Lent? Oftentimes, I find that I struggle to find something to give up. I’m not sure what I should do, and I often get my reasons confused. I think, “perhaps I should exercise more so that I get in better shape and lose weight”, or “maybe I should engage my studies more so that my grades improve.” While exercise and study are both good things, the motivation given above is entirely wrong, and ultimately is not what Lent is about. My foundation is faulty, and, like the house built on sand, eventually my good intention collapses. Consequently, I find when I try to do these things, I fail within the first two weeks.
So, why do we give things up for Lent? What is the house built upon rock? I fail because I have not heeded the Gospel. There is little or no sense of conversion of heart in these motivations I have listed. A story is told of a priest who, after a long day of work, was at his rectory and decided to walk to the nearby grocery store to pick up some food. Along the way, a man came out of the shadows holding a gun and said “give me all your money”. The priest said “Alright, you can have the money, but I don’t have much.” As he opened his coat to reach for his wallet, his scarf loosened and the man saw his collar. At this, he said “Oh, sorry, Father! I didn’t know you were a priest. I can’t rob a priest!” Needless to say, the priest was relieved. Having looked through his pockets, he found some gum and offered the man a stick of gum. To this, the man replied, “Oh, I can’t, Father. I gave up chewing gum for Lent.”
Clearly, the man in the story has missed something. He is giving up something for Lent, yet he is still stealing, still threatening people for his own advantage. The man may be saying “Lord, Lord”, but doing the Father’s will is far from his mind.
Lent is first and foremost about turning away from sin and turning back to Christ. If we have any sin – especially big sins, mortal sins – we must first repent of these. Only then will we be following the Father’s will – the law of our God; only then can we find a true foundation for our Lenten discipline. If we still hold onto sin, we cannot hope to keep the least Lenten promise and expect it to do us any good in the end.
Having repented and turned away from our sins, then we can find the true meaning of Lent. Our foundation solidified, only then can we begin building upon it. In my personal example, I must turn away from my own pride and desire to be more physically in shape because of the images our culture gives us. Then, I find that I still have a desire – indeed, a divine will urging me to exercise more, but not for my sake. Instead, now the desire has become for the sake of God and for his people. If I’m not exercising, my body is undisciplined, doesn’t rest well, and I am much less effective in ways that hurt the people around me. I can become lethargic and irritable. Ultimately, this does no good to me, the people around me, and God, whom I exist to serve. So, I sacrifice by choosing to take better care of my own body for the sake of Christ and others. Now, I’m no longer doing it for myself, but for God. Isn’t that motivation to keep up with it?!
So, as we prepare for Lent, the Gospel reminds us to build our house upon a rock foundation. If you are like the man robbing the priest, cut it out! Otherwise, your sacrificed gum won’t mean a thing. Repent, and believe in the words of the Gospel. Come to confession and declare your sins before Christ, who wants nothing more than to have you come to him, acting in his priest, to offer you forgiveness and reconciliation.
If you are already making progress in grace and wish to continue to build your house, then remember that it is for love of Christ that you give the gift of your sacrifice. If you’re not yet sure what to give, then examine your life and see what attachments you have, and if those things are keeping you away from a deeper love of Christ.
May God bless you all this Lent.
Quinquagesima Sunday
6 March 2011
St. Hilary’s, Chicago
http://www.usccb.org/nab/030611.shtml
As many of us know, this Wednesday we will begin Lent. Many of us will come to Ash Wednesday Mass, where ashes will be placed upon our heads and we will be reminded that we are mere dust, and we will hear the call of conversion from Christ to repent and believe in the Gospel.
There are many devotional practices which surround this extraordinary season of Lent. Among them comes to mind praying the Stations of the Cross, going to Mass more frequently, and making some sort of Lenten sacrifice – that is, giving something up for Lent.
Have you ever wondered why we give something up for Lent? Oftentimes, I find that I struggle to find something to give up. I’m not sure what I should do, and I often get my reasons confused. I think, “perhaps I should exercise more so that I get in better shape and lose weight”, or “maybe I should engage my studies more so that my grades improve.” While exercise and study are both good things, the motivation given above is entirely wrong, and ultimately is not what Lent is about. My foundation is faulty, and, like the house built on sand, eventually my good intention collapses. Consequently, I find when I try to do these things, I fail within the first two weeks.
So, why do we give things up for Lent? What is the house built upon rock? I fail because I have not heeded the Gospel. There is little or no sense of conversion of heart in these motivations I have listed. A story is told of a priest who, after a long day of work, was at his rectory and decided to walk to the nearby grocery store to pick up some food. Along the way, a man came out of the shadows holding a gun and said “give me all your money”. The priest said “Alright, you can have the money, but I don’t have much.” As he opened his coat to reach for his wallet, his scarf loosened and the man saw his collar. At this, he said “Oh, sorry, Father! I didn’t know you were a priest. I can’t rob a priest!” Needless to say, the priest was relieved. Having looked through his pockets, he found some gum and offered the man a stick of gum. To this, the man replied, “Oh, I can’t, Father. I gave up chewing gum for Lent.”
Clearly, the man in the story has missed something. He is giving up something for Lent, yet he is still stealing, still threatening people for his own advantage. The man may be saying “Lord, Lord”, but doing the Father’s will is far from his mind.
Lent is first and foremost about turning away from sin and turning back to Christ. If we have any sin – especially big sins, mortal sins – we must first repent of these. Only then will we be following the Father’s will – the law of our God; only then can we find a true foundation for our Lenten discipline. If we still hold onto sin, we cannot hope to keep the least Lenten promise and expect it to do us any good in the end.
Having repented and turned away from our sins, then we can find the true meaning of Lent. Our foundation solidified, only then can we begin building upon it. In my personal example, I must turn away from my own pride and desire to be more physically in shape because of the images our culture gives us. Then, I find that I still have a desire – indeed, a divine will urging me to exercise more, but not for my sake. Instead, now the desire has become for the sake of God and for his people. If I’m not exercising, my body is undisciplined, doesn’t rest well, and I am much less effective in ways that hurt the people around me. I can become lethargic and irritable. Ultimately, this does no good to me, the people around me, and God, whom I exist to serve. So, I sacrifice by choosing to take better care of my own body for the sake of Christ and others. Now, I’m no longer doing it for myself, but for God. Isn’t that motivation to keep up with it?!
So, as we prepare for Lent, the Gospel reminds us to build our house upon a rock foundation. If you are like the man robbing the priest, cut it out! Otherwise, your sacrificed gum won’t mean a thing. Repent, and believe in the words of the Gospel. Come to confession and declare your sins before Christ, who wants nothing more than to have you come to him, acting in his priest, to offer you forgiveness and reconciliation.
If you are already making progress in grace and wish to continue to build your house, then remember that it is for love of Christ that you give the gift of your sacrifice. If you’re not yet sure what to give, then examine your life and see what attachments you have, and if those things are keeping you away from a deeper love of Christ.
May God bless you all this Lent.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
On the Dumb Ox
Friday of the Third Week of the Year (I)
28 January 2011
St. Thomas Aquinas
Seminary Deacon Homily
Today, we celebrate the memorial of Saint Thomas Aquinas – doctor of the Church. He is a doctor – a teacher. What do we learn from him? Sure, here in the seminary there are many things we learn through his writings. Our study of his works could occupy our entire lives, as it has for many people. Whole schools of thought have been born from the inspiration of this man’s writings.
However, lest we be caught up in studying the thought and work of this teacher of faith and reason, let us remember what is first. Today, let us not remember Aquinas the academic – but let us remember Thomas the Saint! What does this doctor-saint teach us?
I think Thomas took seriously the words which we heard in the letter to the Hebrews: “My just one shall live by faith, and if he draws back I take no pleasure in him.” Thomas’s heart and mind from the beginning of his life were set on one thing – Jesus Christ. He followed Christ’s call to the Dominicans, new and uncouth, revolting to his noble family. He endured imprisonment as he left to join the novitiate. He was insulted by his classmates, being called unlearned by those who were not as learned as he. Yet, today we celebrate this Dumb Ox, whose bellow of sound doctrine has resounded throughout the whole world.
What gave Thomas the strength to endure these hardships in following his vocation? What gave him the strength of will to not succumb to the temptations of the world, which had offered him secular power, an alternate vocation as a noble Benedictine Abbott, even an Archbishopric? Thomas, in all his study and prayer, always had his heart and mind securely focused on one thing – Jesus Christ. It was said that the Lord appeared to him and asked him “What will you have from me?” to which he replied “Nothing other than you.” Truly, he was not among those who draw back and perish, but among those who have faith and possess life.
How can we learn to be true Thomists? How can we follow the example of the Saint whom we honor? Perhaps, instead of following his teaching in books, we can learn from his teachers. Instead of sitting in classes about him, we can sit with him in his classroom. For Thomas, his greatest teacher was not Aristotle, nor was he Augustine. His greatest classroom was not that of Saint Albert the Great, nor was his greatest table the one at which he composed the Summa Theologiae. Rather, his greatest teacher was Jesus Christ; his greatest classroom the chapel; his greatest table the one at which we gather this morning.
For Thomas, theology was not merely an academic discipline at which he worked for its own sake. Rather, his work was always ordered to his prayer and his priestly and religious ministry – to bring people closer to Christ. He was no disinterested academic, for no one as cold as Thomas is sometimes portrayed could write hymns of such beauty as the Adoro te Devote or the Pange Lingua, which were included in the Mass of Corpus Christi – a Mass composed by him, but undoubtedly focused on the Lord. It is from this desire, this fire, this knowledge, that all of Thomas’s work and studies flowed.
My dear brothers and sisters, if there is one thing we should learn from Saint Thomas, it is that the just man shall live by faith. Nothing is more important than keeping our focus on Christ – not just as an abstract academic discipline, but as a real living relationship which we enter into and are part of every time we go to Mass; every time we pray before the Blessed Sacrament.
At the end of his life, Thomas had a vision during Mass, and afterwards set aside his pen for the final time, and said “I can do no more. Such secrets have been revealed to me that all I have written now appears to be as so much straw.” Indeed, all our works, as good as they might be, are as nothing compared with the mystery of knowing our Lord Jesus Christ.
28 January 2011
St. Thomas Aquinas
Seminary Deacon Homily
Today, we celebrate the memorial of Saint Thomas Aquinas – doctor of the Church. He is a doctor – a teacher. What do we learn from him? Sure, here in the seminary there are many things we learn through his writings. Our study of his works could occupy our entire lives, as it has for many people. Whole schools of thought have been born from the inspiration of this man’s writings.
However, lest we be caught up in studying the thought and work of this teacher of faith and reason, let us remember what is first. Today, let us not remember Aquinas the academic – but let us remember Thomas the Saint! What does this doctor-saint teach us?
I think Thomas took seriously the words which we heard in the letter to the Hebrews: “My just one shall live by faith, and if he draws back I take no pleasure in him.” Thomas’s heart and mind from the beginning of his life were set on one thing – Jesus Christ. He followed Christ’s call to the Dominicans, new and uncouth, revolting to his noble family. He endured imprisonment as he left to join the novitiate. He was insulted by his classmates, being called unlearned by those who were not as learned as he. Yet, today we celebrate this Dumb Ox, whose bellow of sound doctrine has resounded throughout the whole world.
What gave Thomas the strength to endure these hardships in following his vocation? What gave him the strength of will to not succumb to the temptations of the world, which had offered him secular power, an alternate vocation as a noble Benedictine Abbott, even an Archbishopric? Thomas, in all his study and prayer, always had his heart and mind securely focused on one thing – Jesus Christ. It was said that the Lord appeared to him and asked him “What will you have from me?” to which he replied “Nothing other than you.” Truly, he was not among those who draw back and perish, but among those who have faith and possess life.
How can we learn to be true Thomists? How can we follow the example of the Saint whom we honor? Perhaps, instead of following his teaching in books, we can learn from his teachers. Instead of sitting in classes about him, we can sit with him in his classroom. For Thomas, his greatest teacher was not Aristotle, nor was he Augustine. His greatest classroom was not that of Saint Albert the Great, nor was his greatest table the one at which he composed the Summa Theologiae. Rather, his greatest teacher was Jesus Christ; his greatest classroom the chapel; his greatest table the one at which we gather this morning.
For Thomas, theology was not merely an academic discipline at which he worked for its own sake. Rather, his work was always ordered to his prayer and his priestly and religious ministry – to bring people closer to Christ. He was no disinterested academic, for no one as cold as Thomas is sometimes portrayed could write hymns of such beauty as the Adoro te Devote or the Pange Lingua, which were included in the Mass of Corpus Christi – a Mass composed by him, but undoubtedly focused on the Lord. It is from this desire, this fire, this knowledge, that all of Thomas’s work and studies flowed.
My dear brothers and sisters, if there is one thing we should learn from Saint Thomas, it is that the just man shall live by faith. Nothing is more important than keeping our focus on Christ – not just as an abstract academic discipline, but as a real living relationship which we enter into and are part of every time we go to Mass; every time we pray before the Blessed Sacrament.
At the end of his life, Thomas had a vision during Mass, and afterwards set aside his pen for the final time, and said “I can do no more. Such secrets have been revealed to me that all I have written now appears to be as so much straw.” Indeed, all our works, as good as they might be, are as nothing compared with the mystery of knowing our Lord Jesus Christ.
New Blog!
Hello folks, friends, and fellow pilgrims in this world!
At the suggestion of several of my friends, I've decided to restart my blogging career. More accurately, I've decided to start a new path in blogging, for my former blog was intended as a way to meditate and share the graces which came to me and my brothers last year on Pilgrimage to the Holy Land.
On the other hand, this blog intends to work in the other direction. Rather than being in a strange land experiencing things from the outside altogether different and encountering Jesus in his own context, this blog will follow what is primarily an internal journey, where what is familiar to me has become strange again thanks to the grace of Holy Orders. Instead of going to meet Christ in his historical context, I'll explore how he is meeting me in my own.
To this end, I intend to post homilies I've given as well as the occasional musings on my own spiritual and pastoral life, and occasional commentary on what is going on in the world.
I do not know what the final product will be or where God will take this endeavor. Perhaps it will be for my own reflection and edification. Perhaps someone will be able to grow from my own self-gift to God's Church in this way.
Two notes about the blog
What shall I return to the Lord for all he has given me? Indeed, I have received much grace, and as my time in the seminary comes to a close, I've been reflecting more and more on the strange mystery these last 8 years and more have been. All is gift, even that which I didn't understand at the time. To see how much I've grown and changed, and how God has answered my prayers - it's all very humbling and amazing. Ultimately, there is only one thing I can return to him. "I shall take into my hand the saving chalice, and invoke the name of the Lord."
At the suggestion of several of my friends, I've decided to restart my blogging career. More accurately, I've decided to start a new path in blogging, for my former blog was intended as a way to meditate and share the graces which came to me and my brothers last year on Pilgrimage to the Holy Land.
On the other hand, this blog intends to work in the other direction. Rather than being in a strange land experiencing things from the outside altogether different and encountering Jesus in his own context, this blog will follow what is primarily an internal journey, where what is familiar to me has become strange again thanks to the grace of Holy Orders. Instead of going to meet Christ in his historical context, I'll explore how he is meeting me in my own.
To this end, I intend to post homilies I've given as well as the occasional musings on my own spiritual and pastoral life, and occasional commentary on what is going on in the world.
I do not know what the final product will be or where God will take this endeavor. Perhaps it will be for my own reflection and edification. Perhaps someone will be able to grow from my own self-gift to God's Church in this way.
Two notes about the blog
1) I chose to jump the gun slightly and use the URL beginning fatherguthrie, not because of pride, but because at this point, it's pretty much certain that I will be ordained on June 3rd. It's easier to stick with one address.
2) I try to title things well, which is difficult given that I don't know what the ultimate purpose of this blog will be. At least for now, I've titled it "Quid retribuam Domino?", meaning "What shall I return to the Lord?", borrowed from Psalm 116.
What shall I return to the Lord for all he has given me? Indeed, I have received much grace, and as my time in the seminary comes to a close, I've been reflecting more and more on the strange mystery these last 8 years and more have been. All is gift, even that which I didn't understand at the time. To see how much I've grown and changed, and how God has answered my prayers - it's all very humbling and amazing. Ultimately, there is only one thing I can return to him. "I shall take into my hand the saving chalice, and invoke the name of the Lord."
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