There Was No Room in the Inn

Homily for Christmas Masses 2013

Mary and Joseph couldn’t find room in the inn.  I have been reflecting on that.  This was their first baby.  I can’t even imagine what was going through their heads.  They had been on the road for days – Mary out to here…  Far from home, exhausted – and then Mary started having contractions.  And I just wonder…  they must have been so confused.

Nine months earlier Mary had been visited by an angel.  She was carrying a baby who had no earthly father.  Joseph had been visited in a dream by another angel.  And he had also been told that Mary was pregnant through the Holy Spirit and that her child would be the Messiah, the promised one, the savior of Israel.  He was to adopt him as his son and take Mary into his home as his wife, to protect and care for them as his own.

Their minds must have been so full of questions, so excited, so anxious.  What was God going to do next?  Would the angels come down again at the appointed hour for her to give birth?  Was there a midwife angel?  What would their son look like?  Would he have wings?  How would he act?  Would he cry like other children?  Would he sleep?  Would she need to nurse him?  Maybe he would only be able to eat angelic food…  Would they set up a throne for him right away?  And for a bed?  The wings of angels...  Certainly they would not be able to care for his needs, certainly a poor carpenter and a lowly girl from Nazareth could not give birth and care for the savior of the world, the Son of God, Emmanuel!

So I imagine that they were anticipating more angelic visits… more miracles, more wonders….  Riding and walking along together…  “Surely,” Mary must have thought, “surely the angels will come and bring us somewhere to have this baby now.”  No…  Just the clacking of hooves and the smell of donkey breath…  On they went…  They would stop at an inn – at least they could try to be prepared for the arrival of their celestial guests.  Joseph could wash up a bit, get the dust off his face.  Mary could put her feet up…  But no. It was full.  Really?  No divine intervention here?  God can’t figure out a way to give his son and his parents a place to stay for the night?

And then the contractions started…   well, the inn keeper said there was a stable out back…  For the Son of God…  wow.   Well who knew what the Lord had in mind, right?  Maybe this was a test?  So out to the stable.  Was that the flutter on an angel’s wing?  No, just a few pigeons.  Joseph looks disapprovingly at the rotten beams.  Mary tries to ignore the stench.  There are worse problems: Mary’s midwife is back in Nazareth.  They had found the best one in the whole region… but to no avail – it would have to be Joseph with his rough carpenter’s hands.

As if in a dream, they labor through the night, one moment blending into the next - and it seems to happen so fast - suddenly there before them lies their little son, Emmanuel.  No wings, but a fragile, little baby boy.  He had been born in a smelly manger with no midwife and now there were no angel’s wings to rest on – it would have to be some straw in the manger.

I wonder if their first impulse was to apologize…  “We are so sorry Jesus – this was the last thing we wanted, that you deserve – to be born in such a way, in such a place, by two people so inept as to not even find you a proper bed.”

And maybe they wondered about God’s plan – had they gotten it wrong?  Had all the things they had seen and heard about this boy been imaginations?  Were the angels real?  Was the prophecy true?  How could this be?  That the Lord would not intervene – that he would allow his Son, almost conspire to ensure that his Son, was born in such a way, in such a place?  What kind of Savior could this child be?

A knock on the door.  A rough looking fellow sticks his head around the corner.  A shepherd.  He had been looking for them.  Not one, either… More and more start to wander in.  Shepherds!  The rude and crass men who worked the fields.  They are talking about angels and songs and singing in the heavens, and about their son.  They had come to meet him, to honor him.  More and more started showing up at the door, talking about the same thing – angels and songs and lights in the heavens.

And then it must have hit them.  These were the first subjects of the king.  The first to share in his kingdom.  These rude and crass men.  These forsaken.  These lowly.  The poor.  The destitute.  The uneducated and disabled.  Those who lived in the margins and the dark corners of life.

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.”  Isaiah had prophesized.  “For a child is born to us, a son is given us; upon his shoulder dominion rests.  They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-Forever, Prince of Peace.”  Who would give him these names?  Not the rich and powerful, not the famous and strong.  Not even angels from on high.  But shepherds.  The poor.  The uneducated.  They angels were out finding them and bringing them to a stable, a place where they would feel at home to meet their new king, their savior.

And when Mary and Joseph saw this, I can only imagine that it brought tears to their eyes… To see that this child was already bringing mercy to those who are cast out, comfort to those who are afflicted, justice to those who are oppressed, consolation to those in sorrow, sight to the blind, wisdom to the simple, healing to the sick, freedom to captives, and good news to the poor.

How could they not love him – and not only because he was their son, but because he was the Savior who they had longed for without even knowing it.  He showed them the face of God: a God who was good beyond their hopes, compassionate beyond their dreams, beautiful beyond their imaginings.

We just had an ice storm.  I imagine many of you are without power.  Maybe the oven won’t even work.  The circumstances are not great…  And you know, even if your power is on – we’re not in heaven yet.  Life is messy – life is often Bethlehem during a census.  There are disappointments, just as Mary and Joseph faced long ago.  We wonder: will this be enough?  We apologize: I wish I could offer better.  We question: why doesn’t God intervene?  Why does life have to be this difficult, this imperfect?

Yet as Mary and Joseph watched the procession of rugged and smelly shepherds coming in to meet their son, one can only imagine that their disappointment, their frustration, their questions and doubts began to fade away.  The difficult circumstances, the limitations, the humble setting before them was transformed by Christ’s presence into a holy temple.  God was with them.  Emmanuel.  He had entered the darkness and made it light.  His favor was upon them, his love poured out among them.  He had turned their straw to gold.

Ask for a Sign!

Homily for the 4th Sunday of Advent, 2013.  Year A.

I am sure that many of us are looking forward to Christmas finally getting here.   We are out running around – trying to get the last minute gifts, trying to make sure that we haven’t forgotten anyone important.  Worrying that someone might give us something when we haven’t gotten them anything, or that our whole house is going to be a wreck.

And then there are the overarching anxieties that start to come to mind this time of year: will Uncle Bill insist on talking politics during the Christmas meal, will our son get on his soap box again and rile everyone up?  How are we going to deal with the sugar-brained kids or grandkids who are melting down and throwing tantrums?  Is Julie really bringing that problematic boyfriend home from college and what kind of sleeping arrangements are going to work for that?  Will our health hold up to allow us to host or to travel?  And how in the world are we going to pay for all the gifts?

By the time we hit this 4th Sunday of Advent, I think many people are ready to run away to somewhere tropical.  So much Advent craziness.

St. Joseph had some Advent craziness to deal with too.  We hear about it in the Gospel today.  And it was pretty crazy.  This woman – a woman who I would imagine he must have had the utmost respect for, who he must have admired and cherished above most anything - this woman who shared with Joseph a fierce dedication to observing the Law and the teachings of the prophets, whose virtue and religious conviction were unparalleled - this woman who intuitively and freely loved God with her whole heart and followed his promptings with great joy and courage - this woman who God had brought into his life, who he had spoken with at length about starting a family, who would bring their children into this world and raise them with him, and hopefully grow old with him surrounded by their children’s children - this woman who promised Joseph a line of upright and God-fearing descendants and a future full of hope – this woman, Mary, was pregnant, and not by him.

The Gospel is understated.  It says that since Joseph was a righteous man, he decided to divorce her quietly.  But this is a man who must have been reeling!  Not only had his honor been tarnished, not only had he been betrayed – but by such a woman!  A saint!  It must have seemed incomprehensible to him.  Imagine the conversation – how crazy she must have seemed.  An angel?  Emmanuel?  What was she talking about?  He had been courting a lunatic!  How could he not question his every assumption, everything he had previously thought to be true?  To think of having such a woman as his wife?  To call her boy his son?  No.  It was too much.  He could not handle it.  He would not lash out in hatred, but quietly walk in the other direction, leaving the drama, the insanity behind and moving on.

Such was his intention, we hear.  Such was his intention.
It is like Ahaz, who we hear of in our first reading today: overwhelmed.  He can’t figure this out, it is too much. He wants to flee, to run.

Then, out on the highway to the fullers field, Lord sends Isaiah out to meet him with the message, the same message of the angel sent to Joseph: “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son and they shall name him Emmanuel” which means “God is with us.”

When our hopes and dreams have fallen to the ground around our feet, when we are overwhelmed by anxieties, when the task before us seems insurmountable and we are ready to flee, to run: it is at this moment that our heavenly Father sends his prophets, his angels, to meet us: “Do not be afraid to take Mary into your home.”

“Do not abandon my Son when he comes to you hidden within the messy and chaotic circumstances in life.  Hidden within the difficulties of family dynamics, hidden within the financial stresses of generosity, hidden within the dysfunction and difficulty of friendship.”

The angel, the prophet send us home, they tell us not to give in to fear or anxiety, to become discouraged or to loose heart.  God dwells in mystery, his ways are not our ways.  Often he is not born in circumstances that we would expect – in pristine settings of warmth and comfort.  No – he is often born in the dwellings of animals, in dark caves cut into the ground, in the places of last resort.  He is often born in the wake of destroyed hopes and dreams, of circumstances rife with scandal and shame.  He is often born in relationships that have been damaged or grown cold, in families where intimacy seems lost.

“Ask for a sign!” Isaiah tells us, “Ask for a sign!”  “Let it be deep as the netherworld, or high as the sky!”  Do not weary the Lord with your running.  Do not let your anxieties drag you away.  Christ waits to be born among you, in your home, in your marriage, in your family, in your friendships.  “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means “God is with us.”

A Justice that is Human and Divine

Homily for the 2nd Sunday of Advent, 2013

Justice shall flourish in his time, and fullness of peace forever.  This is the refrain for the Responsorial Psalm on this 2nd Sunday of Advent.  And our readings this weekend encourage us to reflect on this aspect of the coming of the Messiah: the prophets promised that in him the injustice and violence, the corruption and greed that torment this world would finally be brought to an end.  Isaiah’s prophetic words paint such a vivid picture of the radical peace and justice that God promised: the lion and the lamb lying down together, the child lying in the adder’s lair.  This is not the image of a merely superficial tranquility, a kind of temporary truce.  The prophets were united in signaling that the coming of the Christ would bring usher in a new era of peace, equity, and justice.

John the Baptist echoes this refrain: the coming of the Lord means justice, a clearing of the threshing floor, the wheat being gathered and the chaff burnt.  The poor and lowly and downtrodden would find their reward in him, the greedy and authoritarian and violent their recompense.

Pope Francis made the news again recently with the new Apostolic Exhortation Evangelii Gaudium.  I have been reading it, and I have also been reading what everyone has been saying about it.  As you might have read, one of the things that got people going was the pope’s criticism of trickle-down economics and his general condemnation of the abuse of the free market.

What has been interesting is that people are responding to his words as if he has introduced something new – as if Christ did not have anything to say about the rich and the poor, about justice and equity, or at least as if the Church has never bothered to hand on these teachings until our current pope.

I do not have time, brothers and sisters – and nor would I want to bore you with endless citations – but let me be very clear on this point: you cannot speak about the role or mission of the Messiah without speaking of social justice.  Christ clearly came to bring justice, and clearly came to bring justice for those who are most in need of it: the poor and downtrodden.  That is why there has been a clear, uninterrupted, and virtually unanimous line of social justice teaching in the Church for 2000 years.

In the modern era, this teaching has become all the more clear.  Beginning with Pope Leo XIII’s encyclical Rerum Novarum which was promulgated in 1891 and continually affirmed by our bishops and popes to the present day, our faith has consistently and clearly voiced the teaching of Christ: that the work of increasing his kingdom on earth is a work of spreading his justice and peace for all people.  This teaching was confirmed again 40 years later by Pope Pius XI in the encyclical Quadragesimo Anno and reaffirmed in a particularly authoritative way in the second Vatican council document Gaudium et Spes.  Recent Popes have continued in the same line of thought: Pope Paul VI in his encyclical Populorum Progressio, John Paul II in the encyclical Centessimus Annus, and Pope Benedict in his encyclicals Deus Caritas Est and Caritas et Veritate.  Now we hear the same thing from Pope Francis in Evangelii Gaudium.  I cite all of these Latin titles to make the point that Pope Francis is not teaching anything that is new or outside of the magisterial tradition of the Church in his recent document.

Recent commentary by pundits and even professional journalists reveals that either so few have bothered to familiarize themselves with the teachings of Christ and his Church, or that their efforts are really directed toward advancing their own agendas, rather than accurate reporting. The recent media furor over the Pope’s comments about economic justice, and in particular just one or two lines of an incredibly long document, is overblown, superficial, and divisive.  Predictably so much of the commentary has fallen into two traps into which I fear many Catholics may inadvertently also be drawn.  The traps represent two extremes that Christ sought to avoid and that the Church has worked to navigate since the beginning.

The one extreme is the interpretation of Christ’s messianic work in an exclusively political sense, as if he were merely seeking to reform earthly structures and bring about earthly justice.  In responding to Pope Francis, some have really pushed toward this extreme – speaking of the liturgy, prayer, beauty, truth, as if the Pope’s words in support of social justice relegate the areas of life that point us to the transcendent to the category of the superfluous and distracting.  Some have also tried to use the Pope’s words as an endorsement of whatever social agenda that they might have, or whatever policy that they think needs to be put in place, or whatever governmental organization they think needs to be built up.  As if the Pope were primarily concerned about politics, policies, and social agendas, or as if he did not care about prayer, beauty, and the truth.  It is as if they have forgotten that the title of his Apostolic Exhortation is Evangelii Gaudium, “The Gospel of Joy.”  It is a document about the New Evangelization.  His goal, Pope Francis says again and again in its pages, is to bring our world to an authentic encounter with the person of Christ.  Christ is the Justice we seek – he and he alone can bring about the fullness of justice that we need.

Again and again Pope Francis reminds us, as Christ told us himself: the Kingdom of Christ is not a kingdom of this world, it is not another NGO.  To carry out our efforts to advance social justice in a purely horizontal way, along merely economic and socio-political lines, is to hijack the work of Christ in an attempt to make it our own.  History has shown that when we try to supplant the kingdom of heaven and its justice with earthly governments and policies and movements we create monstrous idols that inevitably oppress and enslave us.

The Christian answer to trickle-down economics is not a socialistic theocracy.  If that were the answer, Christ would have founded one himself and taken his seat on its throne.  What Christ seeks is the conversion of the private and public, corporate and civil orders so that all spheres of human life operate in harmony with one another according to God’s justice, a justice that transcends any institution or enterprise.

On the other hand we find the extreme of those who act as if the Gospel had nothing to do with social justice.  They have criticized the Pope’s discussion of economic injustice as if he were speaking outside of his area of competency or introducing some novelty.  What, do they want him to just talk about angels and holy oil all day, as if the Gospel did not have repercussions on day to day life?

Further, some have reacted to his statements as if he were some kind of leftist or socialist by saying that the rich have an obligation to help the poor, that the healthy have an obligation to help the sick, that the well fed have an obligation to help the starving.  Do they not recall the words of our Lord “When I was hungry you fed me, when I was thirsty you gave me to drink, when I was sick you visited me”?  It is not socialism to recognize that we have a social responsibility for one another – that is the Gospel.  And it is not socialism to insist that all orders of life: private, public, corporate, and civil – be carried out in justice and with a deep concern for the needs of the poor and marginalized.  That is the Gospel.  As much as it is true that Christ’s kingdom is not of this world, we cannot live in this world as if God’s kingdom and his justice have not come to earth.  Christ is the promised Messiah.   He is fully divine, but he is also fully human.  As members of his body we have the responsibility to seek and to serve his justice in the establishment of a kingdom that is at the same time both human and divine.

No one knew this better than Our Lady.  The solemnity of her Immaculate Conception has been moved this year – we do not celebrate it today on the 8th, but on the 9th.  But on this 2nd Sunday of Advent let us recall Mary’s prayer as she rejoiced that God's promise of justice would be fulfilled on earth as it is in heaven through her Son:

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,
my spirit rejoices in God my Savior
for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.
From this day all generations will call me blessed:
the Almighty has done great things for me,
and holy is his Name.
He has mercy on those who fear him
in every generation.
He has shown the strength of his arm,
he has scattered the proud in their conceit.
He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,
and has lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent away empty.
He has come to the help of his servant Israel
for he has remembered his promise of mercy,
the promise he made to our fathers,
to Abraham and his children for ever.
Amen.

Advent Reflection

Advent Reflection 2013

The days of Advent have begun once more, and again Christians find this season of joyful expectation drown out by the frenzy of over-the-top consumption and washed out holiday sentimentalism.  And so the annual chorus of those decrying the holiday madness sounds from the predictable choir lofts, as if turning off the syrupy sweet holiday music and keeping the million Christmas lights under lock and key will somehow produce a peaceful vacuum for Advent to fill.  But the negation of Christmas does not induce Advent.  Ironically, the more Christians protest, the more it sounds like the Grinch howling from the pulpits and pews about the reason for the season. 

Advent is not the privation of Christmas, it is its anticipation, its prologue, its appetizer.  And so instead of yelling at our culture for snacking on Christmas the moment Halloween costumes are stowed, we should make an effort to show our culture what a fitting and tasty appetizer Advent can be.   Our culture loves appetizers.  We are addicted to nachos and buffalo wings.  We make them the main course, we enjoy them so much.  And Advent could be like that.  Because Advent, when it is set before our culture in all its glory, is irresistible – like one of those huge piles of nachos at a sports bar that you just can’t stop eating…  Advent speaks to contemporary culture like no other season.  Its ingredients make it distinctively appealing to today’s spiritual taste and nourishing to today’s spiritual hunger.  Here’s why:

Hope

Our culture longs for authentic hope.  Politicians have recognized this for a while now, running on messages of hope and change.  They have predictably failed to deliver on their utopian promises, exacerbating an already escalating societal pessimism.  Individual and national indebtedness, pervasive violent crime, insolvent entitlement programs, environmental disasters, and a whole host of social ills are constantly referenced in everyday conversation.   There has been little refuge within the church from the bad news, especially for those living in New England: priest scandals and shortages, fallen away Catholics, and divisive social battles have caused many to worry about the future. 

The Lord GOD will wipe away the tears from all faces;

The reproach of his people he will remove from the whole earth; for the LORD has spoken. – Isaiah 25:6-8

In the midst of this dark and anxious landscape, Advent offers us hope that is rooted in a deep and unwavering trust in God’s goodness.  We focus on the writings of the prophets who urge us to trust in the faithfulness of God who never abandons his people, even when they dwell in darkness.  Isaiah proclaims God’s promise to save us from our sins, to bring us redemption.  He reassures us that God is not unaffected by our struggles, that he will not leave us orphaned or forget us. 

The Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name.

He has come to the help of his servant, Israel, for he has remembered his promise of mercy,

The promise he made to our fathers, to Abraham and his children forever. – Luke 1:49, 54-55

Advent shows us how to face the darkness of our world with authentic courage – not running or escaping from sin and evil, not giving in to anger and resentment, not being overcome by fear and anxieties.  Through word and example, the prophets and the saints of Advent – Isaiah, Mary and Joseph, Elizabeth and Zachariah, John the Baptist – they lead us along the pathway of Christian hope, a hope that is at once gritty and pure, hidden and radiant in splendor.   Eating locusts and honey, facing rumors of premarital escapades, riding donkeys and paying taxes – and yet dreaming with angels and led by a star.  A God who is gentle in the midst of a brutal world.  A God who upholds when appearances are deceiving.  A God who gives shelter when there is no room at the inn.  These are the deeds of the Lord we recount in the days of Advent as the reason for our hope and trust in him today.  These are the saints who we pray with and to during Advent, asking that we be men and women of hope in the midst of a despairing world.

Mortality

So too, you also must be prepared, for at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come. - Matthew 24:44

None of us are getting out of here alive.  Yet of all the scientifically verifiable realities that impose themselves upon us in a deeply personal way in this world, there are few that our culture tries to forget as much as death.  Death is pushed out of society and into hospitals, nursing homes, hidden in body bags.  Funerals are increasingly “celebrations of life” that ignore the cold body and focus solely on warm memories and feelings.  So many have a hard time placing the remains of their loved ones in the ground: instead they set urns on the mantle, or ashes are divided and placed in lockets and trinkets in a futile attempt to keep the memory of a loved one alive.  The pile of dirt at the grave is covered over with plastic fake grass sheets, the casket left above ground as everyone departs. 

Our society can’t stand finality, preferring to think of every day as ground hog day.  The idea that a decision can be permanent, that there are choices that cannot be revoked, that a day can come to a definitive end: no, we abhor the thought as much as that of a cold and rigid corpse.  Which is why Advent is so important.  Because Advent reminds us of the second coming of Christ – of the end of time.  Advent asks us to focus on the fact that life does not end when we want it to, but when God allows it to.  And when God allows our lives to end, that’s it.  Death is definitive, it is the end of our earthly journey.  There are no do-overs.  Nor is there a place after death where we can correct all the mistakes that we have made here and remedy anything we have done wrong.  This may be a common misconception of purgatory.  But purgatory assumes that our lives are over – the die is cast.  As we leave this earth we are cleansed in the purifying fire of Gods’ grace if we are not ready to meet him but have not definitively rejected him.  But we do not have a chance to make up for our wrongs – he makes up for them in his mercy.  We live once.  We are judged once.  We should try not to screw up.  Yolo.

Brothers and sisters:

You know the time; it is the hour now for you to awake from sleep.

For our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed; the night is advanced, the day is at hand.

Let us then throw off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light. - Romans 13:11-12

And so Advent remedies the common subconscious assumption today that we can live our lives tentatively, as if we were trying them on for size.  St. Paul urges us not to waste the time that we have, not to play with life as if it were a mere toy or a warm up for the real thing.  Life is real, life is serious business; beautiful and joyful, but serious, precious business.  It is for this reason that Christ instructs his disciples to be strategic, thoughtful, calculating – time is limited in this world.  The readings of the Advent season help us to clear away the vague notions of perpetual youth that pervade our culture and instead to view our lives as Christ has taught us.  To ask questions like, “When I look back at the end of my life, what might I wish I had done more of?  What will I regret I neglected?  Are the things that are truly important the things that are occupying my time?  What can I do to ensure that I am living my life deliberately?”  These are not morbid questions, but clarifying questions.  They are questions that help us avoid the snares of the evil one, the most destructive of which is a lukewarmness in our response to the gift of life that God has given us.  When we reflect on our mortality, the clear preciousness of each day prompts us to live wisely: in prayer, with family and friends, reading and working on various artistic and cultural endeavors, reaching out in service to others.  And this Advent reflection is also a powerful antidote to the consumerism and social over-commitment that tempt us in the run-up to Christmas. 

Vigilance

During season of Lent, the other purple penitential season, the Church on the beginning of creation, on Adam and Eve and the fall.  Reflecting on the original sin of our first parents, we acknowledge that we have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.  And we reflect on how our disobedience led to the cross, to the scapegoating of our Savior, to the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Christ.  How our sins became a happy fault that won for us so great a redeemer.

Advent is also marked with purple, but it is a purple less mixed with the blood of our iniquity and more tinged with the blue of tears.  Advent repentance looks not so much to what we have done, but to what we have failed to do: not so much to our sins of commission as our sins of omission. 

And this is an incredibly important reflection for Catholics today.  For it seems as though the consciences of most people today are almost exclusively preoccupied with consideration of sins committed, and almost entirely oblivious to the seriousness of failing to do what is good.  In fact, it does not even dawn on a great number of people that their moral life consists not merely in avoiding the injury of others, but most importantly in their love of God and neighbor.  For many, the examination of conscience is carried out as if it were preparation for a ritual washing: we look for the dirt, for the defects, so that we show Jesus where we need him to scrub.  We employ Jesus’ grace to fix our problems, our ugliness – to relieve us from our shame and disgust.  Sin is thought of as dirt.  This is not all wrong – sometimes we do need to be cleaned up.  But if our moral awareness is limited in this way, we risk spiraling into a myopia consumed with the state of our own soul’s cleanliness without any regard to the world around us, not to mention consideration of our love for Christ.

Advent reminds us that the primary moral posture of the Christian is not that of naval gazing, but of vigilance, of keeping watch!  Yes, sometimes we must turn our attention to those things that have enslaved us or weakened us or are blinding us.  “If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off,” etc…  But the great weight of Christ’s moral teaching has to do with vigilance in following in the path of love, not dissecting and operating.  “Go, sell what you have to the poor, then follow me.”  “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Who are the evildoers who are consigned to the eternal flames in the final judgement?  No mention is made of murderers or thieves or adulterers, but those who did not give food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, clothing to the naked, or visit the sick.  All sins of omission, sins due not to malice and hatred, but to indifference and lukewarmness: to being asleep.

Advent reminds us that moral minimalism has no place in the Gospel.  It is not enough to merely avoid evil, we must also be vigilant in seeking and serving what is good.  It is not only divorce that is a sin, but also the neglect of our spouses and children.  It is not only stealing that is a sin, but also a lack of generosity.  It is not only swearing that is a sin, but also the failure to say the good and true things that others need to hear.  It is not only impure thoughts that are a sin, but also the failure during the day to turn our minds to our Heavenly Father in prayer.

An examination of conscience infused with Advent vigilance is not mired in preoccupation with a few crass, ugly, or dirty things we have done, but instead examines our perseverance and watchfulness in caring for the bountiful gifts entrusted to us by our Heavenly Father.  If tears arise it is not so much from shame as from regret – regret for our callousness, our neglect, our indifference, our laziness in the face of the Lord’s goodness and generosity.  Contrition arises against the backdrop of God’s generosity rather than the limitations of human frailty.

Our culture needs to experience this type of Catholic guilt – contrition that is accompanied by gratitude rather than shame.  Contrition that frees and refreshes.  Contrition that strengthens within us the desire to be with the Lord rather than to run and hide from him. 

Universality

In days to come, the mountain of the LORD’s house

shall be established as the highest mountain and raised above the hills.

All nations shall stream toward it; many peoples shall come and say:

“Come, let us climb the LORD’s mountain, to the house of the God of Jacob,

that he may instruct us in his ways, and we may walk in his paths.” – Isaiah 2:1-3

Advent is a truly Catholic season in the sense that during the season we reflect on the universal plan of salvation that God has revealed to us in Christ.  First announced by the prophets, particularly Isaiah, and then confirmed by Christ himself, the Church reflects during this season on the universal call to holiness.  Holiness is not the privilege for a few, but an invitation extended to all people by Christ.  Many times this invitation is extended in hidden and mysterious ways to those who seem to be on the religious fringes: the Samaritan, the tax collector, the Centurion, the gentile. 

Advent reminds us that God’s ways are not our ways, that his thoughts are not our thoughts, and that his grace can never be circumscribed within the limits of earthly institutions or structures, no matter how glorious and holy they may seem.  The life of Christ can never be flattened into a merely horizontal project.  His kingdom is not of this world.  The Church, as Pope Francis says, is not another NGO.  It is not the sum of our labors, a work of the people – it is a divine project, an initiative of God’s grace.

This too is an Advent theme of critical importance in our day, when many conceive of religion as the expression of personal spirituality by a specific set of adherents within the confines of a place of worship.  Identity is no longer primarily rooted in being a son or daughter of the living God, but in a particular local community.  “I’m a member of Such and Such Parish.”  And all too often power and authority are wielded and controlled with a sense of entitlement.  How many sacristies have been staked out more aggressively than spots of grass at a Phish concert?  How many parishes are tormented week after week for the personal fulfillment of a few mediocre musicians?  How many Catholic associations are rife with gossip, petty politics, rivalries, and jealousies?  How many Catholic schools have become cliques of secular upper middle class families who don’t want their children to rub shoulders with riff raff? 

Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ For I tell you, God can raise up children to Abraham from these stones.  Even now the ax lies at the root of the trees. Therefore every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.  His winnowing fan is in his hand. He will clear his threshing floor and gather his wheat into his barn, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.  – Matthew 3:9-10, 12

Advent reminds us that we worship a sovereign king.  Earthly kingdoms, domestic tyrannies, parish fiefdoms: all of these must give way before the Christ child.  For even though he will not trample a bruised reed or extinguish a smoldering wick, Christ will not quietly take a place with other gods in the pantheon of modern secular religiosity. The Sunday prior to Advent boldly proclaims Christ the king of the Universe.  He has not just come to save some people, a chosen people who are edified together in a remote little house of worship that doesn’t bother anyone.  No, Christ does not play nicely with idols or despots.  All nations shall come to him, and before him every knee must bow.   The bow he will break, the spear he will snap.  Earthly powers will crumble.  Christ’s reign, his authority is universal, encompassing all things so that he can redeem all things on the last day. 

The Woman

Perhaps the most critical and promising Advent reflection for our time centers on the feminine.  We live in a time when Catholicism is portrayed by many as unfriendly toward women.  Women cannot be priests.  The Church teaches that abortion, contraception, and sterilization are wrong.  The progressive talking points speak of out of touch old men who are stuck in the Middle Ages and who don’t care about the rights and the freedom of women.  Pundits wistfully opine about the possibility of Pope Francis modernizing the Church so that women can finally find equality within its walls.

But Advent reminds us that the Church’s vision and tradition present a far more exalted view of women, one that would never demean women so much as to try to make men their equals.  What man could possibly equal the glory and splendor of our lady?  Not one.  Men can only earnestly pray for the purity, the fidelity, the charity of such a woman! 

The weeks of Advent encourage us to reflect on Mary’s singular and most important role in our salvation and on the incredible virtue that she possessed.  Unlike any other human person, she was freed from sin from the moment of her birth, a grace we celebrate during the feast of the Immaculate Conception on December 8^th.  Thus invited by God to be the flesh he would assume, she freely accepted his will without hesitation.  Where so many prophets stuttered and shook, questioned and protested, fled and rebelled, Mary resolutely and firmly and quietly agreed: “Be it done unto me according to thy word.”  If only more men could be her equal!

And then off to Elizabeth – pregnant.  Traveling.  Rumors flying.  She greets her cousin.  It is the most well-known and celebrated encounter of two women in human history.  Thousands of paintings depict it – the joy on their faces, the kinship, the anticipation.  These women are radiant –they are filled with the Holy Spirit.  Prayer flows from their lips as naturally as breath.  “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior…”  After the “Our Father” (the prayer that comes from the mouth of God) this prayer, the Magnificat, is most prized of the Church.  It is prayed every evening by men and women across the world.  It has been sung millions of times according to a thousand different settings.  There is no more hopeful and beautiful expression of faith known to the Church than this, our Blessed Mother’s song.

The visitation is also an unequaled celebration of motherhood and feminine authority and power.  These two women prepare to do what no man will ever do: give birth to a “Voice crying out in the wilderness,” give birth to the Son of God.  How did the ground not tremble to hold them?  How did the sky not give way?  They are giants, they are mighty, they are the epitome of human flourishing and life.

Advent allows us to reflect on the glory of motherhood.  To celebrate the profound capacity that women have to bring forth life.  Even among those who are not able to conceive or who are not called to bear earthly children, there is in the feminine a unique capacity to bring forth life.  Women build community, women create the home, women weave the matrix of society, women shape the identity of a people.  This is certainly the case for the followers of Christ.  Women form the bookends of the Gospel: they come forward with heroic strength and virtue to welcome Christ into this world, and they come forward again with heroic strength and virtue to accompany Christ in his dying and rising to new life.  They greet his arrival and they bid him farewell.  They sustain him during his ministry by providing shelter, food, and clothing.  They swaddle him when he is a baby and wrap him in burial garments when he is a man.  They are the matrix of the Gospel, the glue that hold the twelve together, that remind them who they are and who Christ is and why he came.

Advent reminds us that women possess a deep awareness of the divine that wise men like St. Joseph cherish and honor.  Women seem to be more capable of understanding Christ on a visceral level, of intuiting the promptings of his Spirit.  And perhaps this is because of the passion at work in their bodies, the dying and rising that patterns their lives.  Men must be taught how to bleed, and even then they are slow to learn.

If the Church celebrated Advent properly, if she reflected on Our Lady with the honor she is due, it would be clear that the priesthood does awkwardly what Mary does with grace.  There is nothing inferior about a woman that makes her incapable of being a priest.  It seems more likely that it is the inferiority of the man that leads him to be slaughtered on behalf of the body, the Church, the bride of Christ, our mother.  We are sustained by priests as we are sustained by the sacraments – but these are partial and imperfect measures to help us encounter Christ incarnate in a world not yet fully redeemed.  St. Paul says that we groan in labor pains – that all creation awaits with eager expectation the revelation of the children of God. 

Maranatha, come Lord Jesus!  Fill us with Advent hope, expectation, and joy. 

What Keeps You Awake?

Homily for the first Sunday of Advent, Year A, 2013

I keep seeing these ‘5 hour energy’ drinks around all over the place.  They popped up a few years ago, and now it seems that almost every place you can get a candy bar has them.  They are just the latest addition to what seems like a continuous increase in various types of energy drinks you can find these days.  And also on the rise: coffee shops – they are everywhere now, Starbucks, Dunkin Donuts, Tim Hortons...  Can’t get enough coffee.  Or as a friend of mine used to call it, “happy juice.”

If an outsider were to encounter our culture for the first time, I think he or she might logically conclude that the people who live here are having a hard time staying awake.

Now… that seems kind of strange, doesn't it?  We are doing so much less manual labor today.  When you think about how people used to work their bodies so much harder than we do - all the hard, physical labor that used to be required, both at home and at work.  We have all these machines to do so many things for us now, you would think that we would have no trouble keeping awake.  But this is not the case.

So why are so many people so tired and worn out all the time?  Now certainly there are physical reasons - we grow tired when our bodies wear down, and many people are running from one thing to another.  But hard work or a lack of rest is not the only thing that causes sleepiness, right?  Otherwise, why would children wake up at the crack of dawn to find out what Santa brought them after staying up half the night?  Or hunters wake up bright eyed and bushy tailed early in the morning to go out?

Sleepiness is also heavily related to our psychological state, to our desires, our feelings.  I think it is pretty clear that if you are happy or seeking something you think will make you happy, you can do an immense amount of work without becoming sleepy.  On the other hand, if you are miserable or caught up in doing things that you do not feel will be rewarding even the most trivial things can be exhausting.  In fact, two people could be doing the exact same work, and one, because that work has no meaning, will come to the end of the day exhausted, while the other, who finds meaning in the work, will come to the end of the day refreshed.

Sounds a little like what Christ is speaking about in our Gospel, doesn’t it?  Two men out in the field, doing the same work.  One is taken, one left.  Why?  Because he was sleeping.  Two women grinding at the mill, doing the same work.  One is taken, one left.  Why? Because she was sleeping.  One found the work exhausting and sleep inducing, one refreshing and life-giving.

“Stay awake,” our Lord tells us.  “It is the hour now for you to awake from sleep” St. Paul announces.

And what awakens us?  What keeps us awake?  It is not necessarily a matter of resting more or working less.  But there is a profoundly powerful interior dimension to staying awake.  What is it?  Think back to the kids and the Christmas tree, or the hunter preparing to hunt, or whatever situation that would make it so that you would find it virtually impossible to sleep… and underneath that, what do you find?

Might we call it an eagerness?  An excitement and anticipation?  A sense of heightened engagement?  An unbounded and unrestrained joy?  What gives rise to these sentiments?

Pope Francis this week released his first apostolic exhortation on the proclamation of the Gospel in today’s world called ‘Evangelii Gaudium,’ or The Joy of the Gospel.  These are the first lines of the exhortation:

“The joy of the gospel fills the hearts and lives of all who encounter Jesus. Those who accept his offer of salvation are set free from sin, sorrow, inner emptiness and loneliness. With Christ joy is constantly born anew.”
“In this Exhortation I wish to encourage the Christian faithful to embark upon a new chapter of evangelization marked by this joy, while pointing out new paths for the Church’s journey in years to come.  The great danger in today’s world, pervaded as it is by consumerism, is the desolation and anguish born of a complacent yet covetous heart, the feverish pursuit of frivolous pleasures, and a blunted conscience. Whenever our interior life becomes caught up in its own interests and concerns, there is no longer room for others, no place for the poor. God’s voice is no longer heard, the quiet joy of his love is no longer felt, and the desire to do good fades. This is a very real danger for believers too. Many fall prey to it, and end up resentful, angry and listless. That is no way to live a dignified and fulfilled life; it is not God’s will for us, nor is it the life in the Spirit which has its source in the heart of the risen Christ.”

God made us to be full of life, to eagerly greet each day, to find joy in serving him and our neighbor.  To be alive, fully awake in him, watching and waiting for the day when he will come to bring us home with the same excitement and anticipation that children have to open their presents on Christmas morning.

How?  Not by drinking 5 hour energy, my friends.  Not with happy juice either.  Nor even by producing events and shows that elicit in us passing emotional highs and moments of enthusiastic fervor.

No, a wakefulness that is grounded in a deep and lasting joy can only be found, Pope Francis says, in the heart of the risen Christ: when we walk in the love of God.  This Advent Christ wants each of us to encounter with a renewed intensity the love and the joy of his love.  Animated by his love, we will be able to stay awake with him no matter how much work and sacrifice are required of us.  This holiday season we can do the same things: the same work, throw the same parties, buy the same gifts, run the same errands, and sing the same Christmas songs…  But we can run without growing weary.  When we walk toward Christmas animated by Christ’s love, we arrive in Bethlehem refreshed, not exhausted.

The Pope have given us all an invitation in his recent Exhortation.  And I repeat it for all of you and encourage you to take him up on his invitation this Advent:

“I invite all Christians, everywhere, at this very moment, to a renewed personal encounter with Jesus Christ, or at least an openness to letting him encounter them; I ask all of you to do this unfailingly each day. No one should think that this invitation is not meant for him or her, since “no one is excluded from the joy brought by the Lord”.
 The Lord does not disappoint those who take this risk; whenever we take a step towards Jesus, we come to realize that he is already there, waiting for us with open arms. Now is the time to say to Jesus: “Lord, I have let myself be deceived; in a thousand ways I have shunned your love, yet here I am once more, to renew my covenant with you. I need you. Save me once again, Lord, take me once more into your redeeming embrace”.

Minding the Business of Others

Homily for the 33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time, 2013

“We hear, St. Paul says in our second reading, “that some are conducting themselves among you in a disorderly way, by not keeping busy but minding the business of others.”

When you think about life 50 years ago (I have to do this hypothetically) – it was so much more difficult to know what was going on in the lives of other people.  If you wanted to know about another place in the world maybe you could find a picture or two in a book, some stories from someone who had been there, perhaps some black and white footage from a news crew aired during daily news hour.

How different our world is today!  We have up to the second news channels and sports channels by the dozen.  You can get on google and in a matter of seconds find a detailed aerial view of anywhere in the world.  You want to know about Batswana’s president?  Wikipedia can give you a full article with his personal and professional biography with two clicks of a button.  Want to hire someone from another state for a new position in your company?  Just Skype them and you can see and speak to them almost as if they were in the room.  And then there is facebook, which places at your fingertips the personal information, photos, and life patterns of hundreds of family and friends.  All accessible at any hour: where they have been, who they’ve seen, what they are thinking about, videos and photos of various life events or just random things they want to share.

“We hear, St. Paul says in our second reading, “that some are conducting themselves among you in a disorderly way, by not keeping busy but minding the business of others.”

Could we not say that we live in an era that has made minding the business of others into a way of life?  Minding the business of others is the new American past time, it has become our obsession.  We live in a voyeur culture, a spectator culture.  We are obsessed with watching others.

But is this an entirely bad thing?  What is wrong with knowing more about the world around us?  What is wrong with knowing what is going on in the lives of our family and friends?  Shouldn’t we care?  Why would we choose not be aware of the tragic loss of life in the wake of the typhoon that hit the Philippines?  If we can, why shouldn’t we have been able to watch as Pope Francis was elected and walked out onto the loggia?  Isn’t it edifying to be able to read the uplifting stories of human compassion, to follow sports teams as they work together and achieve their goals on the field, to listen to news reports of new technologies and other developments so that we can more easily navigate this constantly changing world?

And furthermore, we might ask, what is the alternative?  Social isolation?  Going off into the woods and starting a commune somewhere?

No… Pope Francis has a twitter account and Pope Benedict before him spoke about how important it is for the Church to have a presence in the new media of our time.  Being faithful to St. Paul’s example, his teaching, does not mean that we have to entirely reject these new forms of communication.

Yet we do need to be careful and discerning in our use of technology.  There are weaknesses and sinful tendencies that are a part of our human nature and that can easily be exploited by new communications technology if we are not careful.  What are they?  I want to identify a three:

1. Passivity.  This is one that St. Paul addresses in our second reading.  We have to be careful that we don’t settle into a kind of lax and lukewarm lifestyle.  Many times it is easier to amuse ourselves in front of a screen than to go out and be with real people.  Especially when we are tired or in pain or grouchy, it is easy to plop down and plug in.  And we might try to justify this time, saying that we need to "relax."  But is it really relaxing?  Most of the time spent in front of screens is not true leisure, like a hobby or other kinds of activity that are healthy and refreshing: it is an escape that many times leaves us feeling more drained.  Because modern technology requires so little of us it is easy to stay up and compromise our sleep because we are plugged in to one thing or another too late.
Recent studies show us the addictive nature of technology: it is easy to fall into habits that are not healthy and that compromise our relationships with spouses, children, or parents.  And so sometimes we have to seriously limit our access in order to fight these tendencies.  There is work to be done, St. Paul tells us.  It is beneath our dignity and our calling as followers of Christ to sit around and just pass the time watching life go by around us.  Love requires us to be active, not passive.  If we get used to being passively entertained for hours each day, we tend to bring this mentality and passivity into other areas of life.  We aren't just couch potatoes, but we also become pew potatoes and desk potatoes and other kinds of potatoes.

2. Another thing that tends to happen when we are overly fixated on the business of others is that we find ourselves becoming more fearful and more anxious.  Why?  Well one reason is that by nature we tend to notice the things that go wrong.  You don’t notice the 100 times that someone is kind to you, but the one time they are rude.  You don’t notice the 1000s of families that are doing well and working hard, but the few that are completely dysfunctional. The 24 Hour news cycle obsesses on the failures and the sins of humanity - and bloggers decry every injustice on the planet.  Minding the business of others always tends toward drawing attention to their faults.

Furthermore, there is a constant comparison that begins to happen.  We subconsciously compare how we are doing to what we see.  "Well, my family is not as bad as this family."  Or "I don't have what they have, I'm not as successful as they are."  A recent study showed that time on facebook causes envy and depression for this reason.  As we compare we begin to think that we need to be like those around us or that we need to have what they have in order to be happy.  It is hard not to be influenced by consumerism or careerism.  Hard not to become increasingly image conscious and to be constantly thinking about what others must think of us, how we stack up, where we fit in, whether we are being successful.

3. And this leads to the 3rd and most problematic tendency with all of this social media-induced awareness.  And that is that we can easily loose a sense of the transcendent.  We become preoccupied with this world, with who is doing what, who has what, instead of looking to Christ and to our faith.  Jesus does not host a 24hr news channel with the 12 apostles.  The saints do not compete on the Price is Right or Jeapordy.  The cherubim and serphim do not tweet.  There is no Pintrest in purgatory.  We cannot see status updates from our guardian angels: “Saved Jonny from killing himself for the 300th time.  Lol.”  “Helped Tricia to finally get to confession today. Yolo.”

And this is what our Gospel asks us to consider today: Christ tells us that most of what is visible in this world is deceptive.  It is so easy to be distracted by the beautiful temples and the big personalities, to think that the visible and tangible, what we can describe and predict – that this is the real world.  But how small a world!  The horizons of so many today seem to have shrunk to the trivial and small and very passing mess of superficial data that we manage to pick up on video cameras and project onto screens.  The irony is that our technology-enabled awareness of others may actually be shrinking our understanding and appreciation of the complexity and beauty of life.  Caught up with looking at one another we forget to look up, forget to look inside, forget to be aware of the ‘now’ where Christ comes to meet us with the whole heavenly host.

There is nothing wrong with being aware of this world.  But, my dear brothers and sisters, Christ tells us to be careful that we are not deceived by superficial distractions and false prophets.    Our spiritual health requires that we limit how much time and attention we give to the trivia of this world, not because it’s bad, but because being spiritually aware is a much greater good.  Our lives must testify to the primacy of Christ and his kingdom.  That is hard to do in our world.

Our efforts to keep our eyes fixed on Christ can cause conflict in our families, as he tells us in the Gospel today.  Sometimes the remote control or the mouse can seem chained to us or to a loved one.  But we cannot allow ourselves to be distracted, to be lulled into a false reality that is ignorant of God.  You and I are called to testify to Christ.  And that must begin by our simple efforts to stay grounded in him throughout the day as we go about our work.  “By your perseverance you will secure your lives.”

Seven Brothers and a Spouse or a Mother

Homily for the 32nd Sunday of Ordinary Time, 2013

This weekend we hear two stories about 7 brothers who are seeking an inheritance, who are looking to secure their future.

In our Gospel, Christ is presented with the story of the first set of brothers.  Their eyes are fixed on this world, on securing a legacy, an earthly future for their family.  The first marries, but tragedy strikes: he dies before bearing a child.  And so the next attempts to rescue the family’s fortunes: to no avail – he also dies before a child is born, and so on with all 7 brothers.  And then the widow also dies.  It is a portrait of futility, a tragic story of brothers who seem to have been cursed by God, deprived of a future.

Our first reading from the 2nd Book of Maccabees also tells the story of 7 brothers.  And it is not an easy story either.  But for a different reason.  These 7 could have had an earthly future, the king offered them a legacy of riches and honor: in exchange for one thing: eating pork in violation of their faith.  A trivial thing, right?  A small price to pay for future security.  But unlike the first 7 brothers, the eyes of these 7 are not fixed on this world, on securing an earthly future.  When it is free for the taking, they refuse the security, the future prosperity offered by the earthly king.
And one by one, as their mother is forced to watch, each of these brothers is tortured with the most horrendous cruelties imaginable before being slaughtered before her eyes.  Then she is killed.  The family wiped out.

7 brothers and a spouse or a mother – they all meet the same fate.
What are we to make of all of this?

I’d like to follow the lead of venerable Bede.  In his commentary on this chapter of the Gospel he said that we could consider these bands of brothers as metaphors for a group of 7 that each of us in much more familiar with.  The days of each week.  These 7 days are, for each of us, also in a sense a story of 7 brothers:  Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.  And, like the brothers in the passages we hear today, the story always ends the same way: they all die – after 24 hours each day comes to an end, whether we want it to or not.  There is no going back.  There is a finality to each day.

Yet, we can see in our readings, and as we know from life, the way that brothers choose to carry out their lives, the way that each day unfolds, can vary greatly.

What, or who, leads and guides our days, guides our brothers?  The women in these two stories show us two very different portraits:

In the first case, in the story related to Christ in the Gospel, we hear of the wife of the first seven brothers.  She represents the thinking of this age, of this world: she gives herself to the arms of one man and then the next, one day to the next, a slave to the vain hope of finding a future in them.  When they fail her, she becomes more despondent, more anxious, more restless and discouraged.  Yet she cannot break the trap of thinking that one day one of these men will give her the new life in her womb that she desires and yet cannot find.  She is like Eve, in the garden of Eden, eating from a tree and wanting it to feed her, wanting it to satisfy her, but she remains hungry.

How stark the contrast between her and the mother who we hear of in our first reading.  She stands before each brother, each day, with strength and courage, she patiently guides and encourages them along the right path, urging them on and helping them not to give in but to persevere to the end.  She is no passive woman to be handed from one brother to the next, fearful of the future.  She is a mother who knows that her sons, her days, are made to be children of God, not the children of this age.
This is the mother, this is the wisdom that you and I must pray guides our band of brothers, guides our days.  A mother who will give encouragement even in the midst of suffering, who will call the brothers to greatness, reminding them that each of them, each day, is not given to secure an earthly future, but to be offered back to God.

It is not in our reading today, but I want you to hear the words of a wise Maccabean mother, who in her native tongue quietly encouraged her 7 sons to offer themselves to God.  Even as she watched them being brutally murdered before her, these are the tender words she spoke to her son:

“'I do not know how you appeared in my womb; it was not I who endowed you with breath and life, I had not the shaping of your every part. And hence, the Creator of the world, who made everyone and ordained the origin of all things, will in his mercy give you back breath and life, since for the sake of his laws you have no concern for yourselves.”
 “I implore you, my child, look at the earth and sky and everything in them, and consider how God made them out of what did not exist, and that human beings come into being in the same way.
Do not fear this executioner, but prove yourself worthy of your brothers and accept death, so that I may receive you back with them in the day of mercy.'

Who is the woman who stands with your 7 brothers each week?  Is she weak and swept along by our current age, married to each day one after the other, hoping to find in them the happiness she seeks, unable to be alone or in pain, anxious about the future?  Have you allowed your band of brothers to wander listlessly through life with such a woman for their bride?  To become children of this age, to place their hope in this world?

Brothers and sisters, let us pray for wisdom: pray for a wise and courageous mother to guide our days, our band of brothers!  May she encourage and guide them to be offered courageously with Christ to our Heavenly Father in a sacrifice of love.  May she remind each of us that we are children of God, not children of this age.  May she help us to stay focused on loving God today, and on the eternal life he has promised us.  May she keep us from letting our days be swept away in anxieties and concerns about future pain or trials.  May she help us to keep each brother, each day, fixed on the reality of heaven and on trying to be faithful to the God who has prepared a mansion for us there!

Solomon loved wisdom, he sought after her and prized her above all things.  I would like to close with his prayer for wisdom, and I hope you will make this prayer your own.
“God of our ancestors, Lord of mercy, who by your word have made the universe, and in your wisdom have fitted human beings to rule the creatures that you have made, to govern the world in holiness and saving justice and in honesty of soul to dispense fair judgment,
grant me Wisdom, consort of your throne, and do not reject me from the number of your children.

Dispatch her from the holy heavens, send her forth from your throne of glory to help me and to toil with me and teach me what is pleasing to you; since she knows and understands everything she will guide me prudently in my actions and will protect me with her glory.”

Our Lady, seat of wisdom, pray for us.

Are You Going to Climb the Tree or Not?

Homily for the 31st Sunday in Ordinary Time, 2013

When I was in college I made a tree house with some roommates that was about 45 feet up in an old oak tree.  It was the kind of tree house that every little boy dreams of: something out of Swiss Family Robinson.  We used rock-climbing equipment to rappel down to the ground below.  Rope railings, a deck up in the canopy that was large enough to sleep 3 grown men.

It happened to be in a woods that was on campus property…  and one day campus security found it, and that evening one of the security guards we were friends with came by to let us know that although for liability reasons he obviously could not ask us to take the tree house down, we would be able to avoid paying the cost of having professional foresters come in to remove it if it “had never existed.”  The next day was a sad one.

Now, certainly there was risk associated with the tree house… especially given that it was on a college campus and who knows who could have tried to climb that some evening when they weren’t in their right mind or something…  

But I had to think that of all the things that we could have been doing on Saturday afternoons – when so many of our classmates were out doing things that are not appropriate to mention from the pulpit – a tree house was a remarkably healthy diversion.  It looked dangerous, and there certainly was risk involved.  But there were so many other “harmless” activities, so many other “innocent” pastimes that I saw ruin the lives of people around me.  The risk of the tree was visible, it was out in the open for all to see.  But the risks that often really hurt people were those that were taken in dark rooms when no one was looking.

I bring this up because of this principle: often the things that seem most benign are the things that hurt us, and the things that sometimes seem most risky are actually quite safe.  Driving is much more dangerous than flying.  We are much more likely to get seriously hurt by tripping and falling down steps than by falling from some great height.  And I could go on.  We are often driven by irrational fears – we don’t have an accurate understanding of what will do us harm.

The Gospel today relates what must have seemed like a serious of risky maneuvers.
Zacchaeus climbs a tree.  Now that was perhaps a slight physical risk to his health.  But certainly it was a much greater risk to his reputation and credibility – there is no doubting that.  How many grown adults climb trees?  I wish more did, but they don’t.  For some reason it is not socially acceptable.  I would go so far as to say that it would be frowned upon.  “What is wrong with that guy – he is 40 years old and still climbing trees!”
So Zacchaeus took more than his life in his hands: he took his reputation in his hands when he climbed that tree.

And then Christ took a risk: he invited himself over for dinner at this guy’s house.  “He has gone to stay in the house of a sinner.” Christ knew they were going to say that.  He had no guarantee that things would work out as well as they did, that Zacchaeus was going to change his ways – maybe he would turn out to be an egotistical eccentric, maybe he just wanted to use Jesus to make a name for himself, maybe his house would be filled with a pack of Herods trying to bribe him into doing some miracle or other for them.

This is one weekend where we know that lawyers did not write the Gospel.  No way.  No one would have climbed any trees or gone into the houses of strangers without hold harmless agreements and legal counsel.  This Gospel has risk written all over it.  But at the end of the passage, what does Christ say?  “Today salvation has come to this house.”

Salvation is risky business.  It is a matter of tree climbing – and not just nice gentle sycamores either.  Sometimes it is a matter of being nailed to rough and unforgiving trees.

Salvation is not something you can figure out with actuarial tables.  The probability that Christ would rise from the dead was 1 in infinity times infinity and then some.  The probability that Zacchaeus would be converted along with his household because of his interaction with Christ?  You can’t plug that in to a set of variables and come up with a cost-benefit analysis.  The outcome cannot be secure or guaranteed because it is a matter of God’s grace and human freedom – and neither can be predicted with any accuracy.

Following Christ is not a matter of trying to figure out what will be safe, what will avoid risk.  We cannot be motivated by fear or a desire for security.  Following Christ is risky.  There are no guarantees.  Why?  Because we are not in control.  We cannot guarantee anyone’s salvation.  Christ alone can save.  Our first reading makes this so clear: “Before the Lord the whole universe is as a grain from a balance or a drop of morning dew come down upon the earth.”  God is in control, not us.  And as much as we might like to be able to describe and predict everything that happens in this world, we cannot.  If we try – if we refuse to believe, to act until we are sure of the results, until all is secure, the irony is that we risk everything.

Like Zacchaeus, we must let a certain humble abandonment characterize our faith.  A willingness to do what is right, to seek after God, to follow Christ, even when the actuarial tables are inconclusive, even when nothing is guaranteed.  All the possible outcomes, all the what ifs, the coulds and shoulds and woulds…  sometimes these are the tools that the evil one uses to keep us stuck.  At a certain point we must act.  Christ is walking by.  Our time here is short.  Are we going to climb the tree or not?

Intimacy is not Built or Maintained on a Whim

Homily for the 29th Sunday of Ordinary Time, 2013

Most of us have fixed points in our days – specific times and routines that are a part of daily life.  For most of us, we have some kind of work routine – a time when we must arrive, a time that we have lunch, a time when we are done.  Some of you are in school and have to navigate class schedules and due dates and fixed exam times.  Many of you are parents who have various fixed points surrounding your children: times that they need to be at school, the times of sports practices or games or various other activities.  And many of you are who are a little older are on medications that must be taken at regular intervals – before or after meals, in the morning or the evening or at other prescribed times.  And then there are a whole host of other fixed points that many of us are aware of: the times when stores open and close, the times of t.v. shows or sports games, the schedules for buses and other forms of transportation.  And of course there is Mass and the time for confession and religious education each week here in the parish.

Life is a maze of fixed points, of routines – and by and large we manage to navigate them.  Every once in a while we get mixed up and miss something, but in general most of us live an adult life that moves from one fixed point to another, and in fact we would consider someone who is incapable of meeting the fixed points around them as lacking in maturity or virtue.

And this would be all well and good in a monastery.  Because in a monastery there are fixed points of prayer and community throughout the day.  At morning, noon, evening, and night the bells in the tower ring and everything gets dropped and abandoned as the community comes together in the chapel for prayer.  Meals are likewise fixed points in the day, usually they follow the times of prayer.  And there are also times of recreation that usually follow meals.  And so there is a prayerful pace of life that the walls of a monastery foster and sustain for those who live inside.

But we don’t live in a monastery… we live in a secular culture that has almost no fixed points that direct us to God during the day.  We might say “well, this is what it is to live in the world, we’re not monks.  We have to make our lives a prayer, we have to pray as we can, we have to fit it in along the way.” That is right, in a sense. That is true.  We do have to fit prayer in to a busy and distracted and secular world.

But when we fit prayer into our day, it can’t all be willy nilly, haphazard and always distracted.  And this is because a “Howdy God” here and a “Hey can you help me on this” there just can’t sustain a healthy Christian life.  It is too superficial, it doesn’t have roots that are deep enough to sustain our Catholic faith and way of life.
If we allow our prayer to become shallow and fragmented, pretty soon we will find that Christ’s teaching has become confusing and hard to understand, that more often than not we are just suffering through Mass, that we have begun to doubt God’s faithfulness or in the reality of the sacraments, and have started to resent the sacrifices that are required in order to follow him.

And this makes sense, doesn’t it?  Those of you who are married know this.  A real relationship, true love cannot exist without moments of undistracted attention, without real listening, without real speaking from the heart.  Intimacy is not built or maintained on a whim.  It is not something that you just fit in when you can, when you can get to it.  If you don’t regularly put everything else aside and give your attention in an undistracted way, even if not for a long time, then the relationship starts to become superficial.  It starts to feel fake.  Soon, especially if that relationship makes any demands upon us, we wonder why we are bothering.

Prayer is the same way.  If we are not setting aside deliberate and undistracted time for prayer, we will begin to lose our connection to God and start to wonder why we are bothering to practice our faith at all.

I am convinced that the real reason that so many Catholics have left the practice of the faith in recent decades is almost entirely due to a lack of prayer in daily life.  In our second reading today we hear St. Paul pleading: “Remain faithful to what you have learned and believed.  I charge you in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who will judge the living and the dead, proclaim the word; be persistent whether it is convenient or inconvenient.”

Can we do that if we don’t know Christ well?  If we just exchange a few haphazard words as we pass through the day?  No.  It’s not possible.  Our faith will be stunted or lost altogether – either it will be dead as we sit here in the pews or soon we won’t even make it through the doors after a while.

I started by talking about fixed points.  And about monasteries.  We don’t live in them.  But all the same, I hope you can see how critical it is that we be serious about praying.  This week I read an article by Peter Kreeft on prayer.  He is a college professor who lives a busy life.  Here are a few of his thoughts about prayer:

“The major obstacle in most of our lives to just saying yes to prayer, the most popular and powerful excuse we give for not praying, or not praying more, or not praying regularly, is that we have no time.”  He writes. “The only effective answer to that excuse, I find, is a kind of murder. You have to kill something, you have to say no to something else, in order to make time to pray. Of course, you will never find time to pray, you have to make time to pray. And that means unmaking something else.”

“Deciding to do that is the first thing. And you probably won’t decide to do it, only wish to do it, unless you see prayer for what it is: a matter of life or death, your lifeline to God, to life itself.”

Christ tells us in the Gospel that it is a necessity that we pray always without becoming weary.”  A Christian must live a daily existence that is prayerful.  And I think we could say that there is no greater challenge, and no greater joy than achieving a solid prayer life in the midst of the daily routines of a world that no longer has any fixed points that help us turn to God.

You and I must make fixed points of prayer in our day.  Not haphazard, not leftover scraps.  But usually I find it must be in the morning and somewhere we can be undisturbed.  It doesn’t have to be long, it doesn’t have to be a particular thing.  Even if you just sit by yourself and listen, or read, or whatever.  Just chock out some God time, schedule it, insist on it.  Perhaps your children or your wives and husbands or friends will be frustrated at times, it will be inconvenient at times, you will be frustrated at times.  But by our persistence we will be witnessing to our families and to our world that our relationship with Christ is serious, that we are not playing around here.  That God is the one who sustains us.  We acknowledge and proclaim this fact when we pray.

Think of the people around you, your family and friends.  Think about how it would impact you if you saw them set aside time each day to pray – if you saw that they were serious about prayer.  If you witnessed your husband, your wife, your father or mother, your daughter or son, consciously and deliberately turn to God each day in prayer.  Is that not an incredibly reassuring and grounding thought?  Prayer isn’t just good for us.  It also assures and bolsters those around us because it roots us in God who is steadfast and faithful, and makes us a source of strength and assurance for others.  Without disciplined prayer we are like sponges that have no integrity, that soak up everything around us and can be shaped and molded by anything that comes our way. Fixed times of prayer provide structure to life and make us into living stones that God can use to anchor our families, church, and community.  So encourage one another, help one another to pray, like Aaron and Hur who helped Moses to keep his arms raised up.  To quote Peter Kreeft: “The single most important piece of advice I know about prayer is also the simplest: Just do it!”

Clubhouse of the Ineffable?

Homily for the 28th Sunday of Ordinary Time, 2013

This past week I started yet another debate on facebook.  I like to post links to various articles and things that I am reading, and inevitably someone makes a comment, and then someone comments on that, and next thing you know, you have a conversation thread with over 100 entries of people arguing back and forth on a given issue.  And sometimes the comments can be quite enlightening…

In this particular debate, for example, one of the contributors defined a church as a “clubhouse of the ineffable.”  And I thought of this definition when I read the readings for Mass this weekend.

Because our readings this weekend demonstrate that this idea of a church as a clubhouse is entirely opposed to a Judeo-Christian understanding of who we are and what defines us as men and women of faith, and more specifically as followers of Christ.

Naaman is a Syrian, he is not a member of the club.  And the leper who returns to glorify God after he is healed is a Samaritan, a foreigner, not a member of the club.  Yet Christ says “Stand up and go, your faith has saved you.”

And it is not as if these are the only two examples in the scriptures.
The Old Testament is full of prophetic visions that speak of all people from every nation, from the north, south, east and west, streaming into Jerusalem.  The Jewish people understood that the covenant entrusted to them was meant to extend one day to all people – that their covenant with the Lord did not form a clubhouse for a few chosen, but a sanctuary for all people.

Jesus not only underlines this idea, but he just hammers it again and again.  Need we think of the parable of the Good Samaritan?  His scandalous conversations with the Samaritan woman at the well, his declaring that the pagan centurion had more faith than all of Israel?

Clubhouse?  No, no, no… Christ despised the idea of the church being a clubhouse.  He went after those who acted as if they were the leaders of a club, calling them hypocrites and turning over their tables.

And the Church, from its earliest years, took note.  St. Paul immediately saw that Christians need not be members of the Jewish community.  And the first bishops viciously fought Gnostic attempts to make the Church into some kind of esoteric secret society for the chosen few.
The Church is Catholic, they declared – it is universal.  Christ’s life, his salvation, true Christian religion must be Catholic, must extend to all people.  To be Christian is to be Catholic – the Church cannot be a club, because Christ clearly taught that the person refused membership, who is left outside the gate - is him.

Yet the perception that churches are clubhouses of the ineffable – this is a common perception today, isn’t it?  I think of all the people who say “Well, I’m not a religious person.”  Isn’t what they often mean “I’m not the type to belong to a religious club.”?  I worship God without the rules and dues and politics.  Clubs are so often characterized by politics, by egos, by who can do what and who can’t do what, who has power and who doesn’t.  Especially younger people today - they can’t stand clubs – they don’t join them.  And they shun organized religion as if it were another club.

So let’s look at the New Evangelization.  How many times it seems that the question those promoting the New Evangelization are asking is “How can we get more people to come and be a member of our club?  “The Evangelicals are getting everyone to be a part of their club – look at how cool it is: they are doing all these great things for their members.  What are we doing for our members?”
So many of our protestant friends understand church in this way.  They call those who go to their churches ‘members’ and if they switch churches, they change ‘membership.’  And we sometimes see these huge mega-churches and all of the neat activities that they provide to their members.  So is that what the New Evangelization is about, figuring out what we can do to provide a competitive religious experience in our churches and get people to switch membership to our Catholic club?

No, no, no!  I don’t know how to be more emphatic about this!  That is a dead end!  It is not Catholic, it is not even Christian.  Christianity is universal, it is Catholic, it is for everyone – there are no members, there are no insiders and outsiders, it is the furthest thing from a club!

And this is because what makes us the Church is not us!  We are made into the Church by Christ, who gathers us into one and makes us members of his body.  It is not we who choose him, but he who chooses us.  He gives us faith – and as we see in the readings today, his gift of faith transcends the boundaries of any earthly clubhouse.  Our identity is in Christ, we are HIS people, members of HIS flock, the flock that HE shepherds and gathers from among all the nations.  Our Psalm response today proclaims loudly “The Lord has revealed to the nations his saving power.”

So if a church, if St. Joseph’s is not a clubhouse, what is it?  Ahhh!  Now we are getting somewhere!  What would we call this place?  A place of encounter?  A visible sign and tangible expression of Christ’s saving work in our community?  A precious refuge and sanctuary freely offered to all people?  We could go on.  The second Vatican council calls the church a building of living stones, a sheepfold, a boat on the seas of life.   Pope Francis recently called local churches field hospitals.

But how many of our neighbors see this church that way?    I’m afraid not too many.  How do we show them the truth?  How do you and I witness to the Catholicity of our faith?

Two thoughts:
The first is that we must live a communion of life with Christ outside of these walls.  If we walk with Christ throughout the week, then it will be more clear to our community that this place is not a club, but instead a place where we come to celebrate and deepen and offer back to God the life that we live with him all week long.  When we live with Christ in daily life, the walls of our church become transparent to our community and it becomes clear that this cannot be a clubhouse, since there are no walls keeping Christ in or keeping them out – Christ walks freely with us wherever we are – he is not trapped in a clubhouse.

Secondly: the places that we build and the way we act in our churches is important in communicating our Catholicity.  There is a problematic trend in recent decades - we have been building our churches out in the suburbs, and have set them up in a way that increasingly resembles a country club.  The enthusiastic greeters at the door smile and say “Welcome to OUR church!”  which sounds an awful lot like “Welcome to OUR club!”  to those who visit.

Maybe what we should really be saying is “Welcome to your Church!  You didn’t even know it, but you have one!  We’ve been keeping it open for you and waiting for you to arrive!”
That’s one of the things that I loved about churches in Europe.  There, the churches are in the center of town and the door is always open.  There is no sense of membership – anyone wandering down the street, sometimes even a stray cat or dog, can wander in and find a place of prayer and refreshment.

Does this community see our church as their church?  That this is a building that we keep open for them?  Our churches must communicate catholicity: they must be understood to exist for all people in the community, regardless of their spiritual or religious background or leanings.  Everyone who lives in this town is a parishioner, either actually or potentially, because everyone who lives in this town is called to be a saint in Christ.  The membership requirement for Christ is that we be human.  Every single person who lives in this town meets that criteria, not just those who receive envelopes.

In our readings this weekend we hear the stories about how two foreigners, two outsiders, a Syrian and a Samaritan, are led by the Holy Spirit and are amazed and profoundly grateful to find healing and redemption in an encounter with the true God.  What about the outsiders of our day: our pagan and protestant friends and neighbors?  Are we trying to entice them to join our religious club?  Or are we trying to live in the Holy Spirit so that they will find Christ in us and be amazed and profoundly grateful for an encounter with the true God alive in the members of Christ’s body, the Catholic Church?

So Where is Your Cross?

We had missionary sisters visiting and speaking in place of the homily this week, so I am instead posting a homily that I gave for the 23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time back in 2010.  

Here is a link to the readings:  http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/090813.cfm

Jesus’ words in today’s gospel could not have been easy for his disciples to hear.  

He made it clear that discipleship, if it was to be genuine, would place an incredible demand on their lives, would bestow upon them certain duties and obligations – a heavy responsibility that they were called to shoulder.

No one that I know of likes to talk about the duties and obligations that come from being a person of faith – the demands that our faith places on our shoulders.  

I wonder if part of the reason for that is that there already seem to be so many duties and responsibilities that we all shoulder each day.

If we have children, they lay a claim on our lives – this is clear from the very first moments of the first child’s birth.  

You can never stop being a father or mother.

And while our parents are still living there are certainly duties and responsibilities that we have to them in turn – they brought us into this world, and we will always be indebted to them at a basic, natural level.  

Our brothers and sisters and other family lay a claim on our lives – though we have not chosen them, they are a part of our lives and we have an obligation to look out for their welfare.

If we are married, we have certain duties and responsibilities to our spouse – the promises made at the wedding make it clear that husband and wife have a mutual obligation to work for each others’ good.

And let’s not forget work – the demands that are made of us in order to keep food on the table.  Or the many different social obligations and responsibilities that we have – to friends, neighbors, to our community, our country, etc.  All of these areas lay claim on our lives, they limit what we do and the choices that we make, they often oblige us to do things that we do not want to do.

Do you feel the weight?  

With all of these demands placed upon us, with all of these pressures being brought to bear, life can sometimes feel so heavy, like such toil.  And we can be brought to the point where we wonder if we can keep our heads above water, if we can fulfill so many obligations without losing ourselves in the process.    

I think it was when she reached that point that my mom would sometimes threaten to run away from home.  

I imagine we’ve all been there, we’ve all arrived at the end of a long day only to be asked to give and give and give… more than we feel that we have.  Pushed to the point where we even had a hard time making sense of what was going on around us, 

to where we wondered if our own sanity would start to fail and our lives would start to fall apart.  Maybe it was the job, maybe a huge conflict with our spouse.  Maybe it was in struggling with illness, or in taking care of a loved one.  Maybe it was when the newborn was screaming all night or at 3 in the morning when the paper due the next morning was still in shambles.

In those moments – when there seems to be nothing left except the brutal weight of life’s demands on our shoulders and we feel the weight of them bearing down on us – that’s when we are carrying those crosses that Jesus is talking about.  

And in response to these demands, our Lord gives us only one path forward: pick it up and carry it.  If you want to be a follower of Christ, take up your cross and follow him.  Following his example of obedience and faithfulness, we are called to shoulder the burdens of life with courage, perseverance, and trust.  

I say trust because Christ promises us that it will be in those moments of abandonment to the will of the Lord, that we will be closest to him.  After all, he is very acquainted with crosses, he is the Lord of the cross.  And not only will be close to him, we will also become more self-aware – more aware of who God made us to be.  You want to see what it means to be a man, to be a woman?  Look to the cross.  We hold it up for a reason.  That is the crucified God in whose image and likeness in which we were made.  There is no other image and likeness – there is only one, the one that was crucified, Jesus Christ – true God and true man.

That is hard to accept, sometimes, though, isn’t it.  To accept the image and likeness of God on the cross.  We want to be made in the image and likeness of a God who does not suffer.  Of a God who is a happy angel who just floats away from pain and suffering and sin.  We like to think that God wouldn’t ask us to bear such things.  That he would keep us from having to endure such brutality.

But that’s not the way God is.  That’s not what Jesus showed us.  Instead of running or refusing to submit, Jesus humbled himself, even unto death, Saint Paul tells us in one place, and death on a cross.  Your heart, your mind, your body, your soul – they are made in that image and likeness: and so we can say that every human being is made to carry the cross.  Jesus Christ the cross-bearer is the pattern from which we are all made, who we are called to be.  

It follows, then, that when we do not submit, when we don’t take up our crosses, we become less human.  We betray our hearts, and minds, and bodies – because they are all made in the image and likeness of a cross-bearer.  And an interior conflict begins to eat away at us as we become more alienated from our very selves.  By refusing the cross, we refuse to be truly human.  

Meaning, fulfillment, life, joy – they can only flow from an embrace of the cross in this life.  The more we accept that abandonment, the more we let ourselves be nailed down, poured out for the sake of God and others - the more we will understand who we truly are, who we were made to be.  And the more we will be open to the grace and mission of Jesus Christ, who works through and in our submission to bring about his kingdom of new life in this world.  

Take up your cross and follow Christ.  There is no other way, no other image, no other likeness.  We cannot rise with the Lord if we have not died with him – if we have not carried the cross by his side.  Something deep within each of us that knows this truth – we’ve experienced it over and over.  The peace and fulfillment that comes in those times of greatest sacrifice.  But how often we need to be reminded!

I urge you to honestly ask yourselves, your families today: where are the crosses that you have refused to lift?  The crosses that you are pretending aren’t there or aren’t yours?  Where are the crosses that you are running from?  Where are the crosses that you carry halfheartedly and with resentment?  

Are your crosses too heavy?  You can’t carry them alone?  

Why do you think we’re here?  Why do you think Christ gave us his Church?  Why the Eucharist if not to feed us and give us strength, why Confession if not to help us when we falter?  Why the scriptures if not to give us encouragement?  Why one another if not to sustain each other in prayer and good works?

All these things, all of these gifts, all of this grace that we have received: it is all ordered to one purpose – to help us carry our crosses and follow Christ to new life.  

So where is your cross?  Get down on your knees and hoist those hard, heavy wooden crossbeams back on your shoulders.  Then rise to the full stature and dignity of your humanity: take up your cross and follow Christ.