Friday, October 20, 2017

Homily for 20 Oct 2017

20 Oct 2017

The Scriptures today issue a call to integrity; a call to be whole, to have our insides and outsides integrated into one—to be a person whose heart, mind, and actions are all on the same page.  It’s basically the idea of being honest and true; to be a person of integrity.  And this can certainly be a challenge.

On the one hand, we have our interior life.  We have our own personal desires, wants, and needs.  We have our own opinions and understandings of things.  We each have our own personalities, our own values, our own relationships with God, and so on.

But, on the other hand, we have our exterior life.  We have the commandments of God, the teachings of Christ and his Church, and other guidelines.  We have the influence of the culture around us; the influence of others’ values and desires.  We have all the prayers we learned along the way: the Our Father, the Rosary, the responses at Mass, and so on.

The challenge, it so often seems, is how to balance these two: the interior life and the exterior life.  And which one is takes priority?  Is my interior life supposed to be guided by my exterior life?  Or is my exterior life supposed to be guided and shaped by my interior life?  The answer, it seems, is: Both.

Sometimes we have to listen to our interior conscience; that becomes a priority.  Sometimes we need to follow more the voice of the Church, and let that voice shape our conscience.  Sometimes—most of the time, we have to be true to our personality, and to the person God has made us to be.  Other times—sometimes, however, we have to let our personality be shaped by the needs of living with other people: whether that’s marriage, or friendship, or at work.

And the “key” to balancing this is humility, and turning to God for help.  Even if we make poor choices in life, and we’re not quite living a life of integrity, as long as we’re honestly, humbly trying, all will be well.  And that’s because at the root of who we are is a people who humbly, honestly, and faithfully rely on the help of God.

A life of integrity begins and ends with our reliance on God.  If we can rely on him, everything else will fall into place; we’ll be living a life of integrity.

Saturday, October 14, 2017

Homily for 15 Oct 2017

15 Oct 2017
28th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A

It’s never happened before in Christianity.  2,000-plus years and it’s the first time this trend is appearing: people are angry and resentful at having been baptized as an infant.  It usually comes out around Confirmation time; utter contempt for the faith and the Church—as if to say, “How dare you do something against my free will.  How dare you try to raise me to have values and responsibilities.”   

Of course, that could just be teenage rebelliousness.  If it is, it’s pretty extreme—to have such a visceral reaction to having been baptized.

But it goes beyond that: we see it happening with adults, too.  Just turn on the television, go browse the internet.  Our world culture is not only not interested in Christian values and what the Church has to say, it’s actually hostile to the gospel message of faith, hope, and love.  It’s flat out rejected.  Christianity has always been more or less controversial.  But the reasons for its rejection today are something entirely new—and, quite honestly, we’re still trying to figure out what to do.

We look at the statistics and we see declining Mass attendance, the mass exodus of youth from the Church, constant financial struggles, struggles to get volunteers, and so on.  The life of the Church is waning, dramatically.  And, of course, our usual response is to try to liven things up: peppier music at Mass, a more engaging Mass where the priest is supposed to entertain the audience, more fun events, we gotta cater to the youth and keep them happy, and fundraiser after fundraiser after fundraiser to keep the money coming in.

Or, even more radically, some people start thinking: we have to change our teachings, they’re too stiff and we’re losing customers; the Church has to start loosening up and ordain married men and women, or we’re going to run out of priests; and we have to lighten up on our expectations that people are actually going to Christ-centered—they’re good people, nice people, they work hard and that’s good enough.

I imagine we’ve all heard at least some of those sentiments from time to time.  And, for sure, the Church needs to be attuned to culture so we can speak the gospel in a way that it’ll be received.  But today it seems that, no matter how the gospel is presented, it doesn’t strike the right chord; it doesn’t resonate the way it should.  Could it be that faith, hope, and love are...passé, archaic, and on the way out?

We see some of this in the gospel today.  The King invites all these people to his son’s wedding, but there are many who refuse to go.  It’s not so much that they reject the invitation; it’s just that they have other priorities, other things to do, and going to a wedding isn’t one of them.  And I suppose if the King kept on inviting them, and inviting them, and inviting them, they might get a little irritated and go after the King.

Maybe that’s where we are today in our culture.  The wedding feast is like the Kingdom of God, the life of the Church, the life of faith, hope, and love.  And people have been invited to share in that for ages.  But now the invitation is received with either indifference, or hostility—even within her own walls.

That little guy in the gospel who didn’t have his wedding garment on...he’s one of those.  He was invited in to the feast, and he sort of wandered in.  But he was never really interested enough to put on his garment, which is a symbol for faith.  He was in the community of faith (the Church), but he had no faith—and he wasn’t interested in having it, either.

Now, as we heard, Jesus spoke his parable to the chief priests and the elders of the people.  He saw them as being like that little guy without his wedding garment.  They didn’t have any real faith.  And that affected the whole community; it affected the mood of the wedding feast.  But, in a way, Jesus also addresses the parable to us—but more so as a question, as something to ponder.

At our baptism, the priest or deacon said to each of us: “You have become a new creation, and have clothed yourself in Christ.”  That’s the “wedding garment” in the gospel: our having been “clothed in Christ;” wrapped in a life of faith, kept safe in a life of hope, and clothed warmly in a life of love and charity. 

Here we are: a little portion of the global Church, a community of believers, a community of the faithful.  But we’re made to ask: Do I have real faith?  And if I don’t, do I really want it?  Do I still have my baptismal garment, my wedding garment on?  And that can be a tough thing to ponder because saying “yes” to faith means also saying “no” to anything that goes against that faith and the community of the faithful.  And there are pretty significant things out there that we have to say “no” to—in order to say “yes” to faith, hope, and love.

I’ve mentioned in past homilies that we live today in the Post-Modern Era.  We’re in a time that’s characterized by skepticism, doubt, disbelief, and radical individualism.  The motto today is: “The only truth is my truth—and even that I’m not so sure of.”  This is an era of fragmentation, where there are no universal truths, there are no objective standards, “there’s nothing outside of what I think is important.”

It’s easy to see why the Church and faith are on such a decline today: just about everything we stand for, everything we see as true is contrary to the Post-Modern Era.  We believe in this grand, overarching story called “salvation;” we believe in the past, the present, and the future.  The Post-Modern Era doesn’t; there’s just today, the present moment, and that’s it.    

We believe in there’s meet to life than meets the eye.  We believe in the spirit, the soul; we believe in life-after-death; we believe in God’s presence, and in his working in everyday life.  The Post-Modern Era doesn’t; there is no God, it’s just a bunch of baloney; and when we die, we die, that’s it.

We believe in universal concepts, what we call “archetypes.”  It’s what allows us to look at a forest of pine trees and say, “There’s a forest of pine trees.”  Archetypes allow us to look at a bunch of people and say, “There’s a bunch of people.”  But the Post-Modern Era doesn’t believe in archetypes.  It looks at a forest and says, “No, that’s not a bunch of trees; that’s a bunch of individual things that have no relation to one another whatsoever.”  The Post-Modern Era looks at a bunch of people and says, “That’s not a bunch of people; that’s a bunch of individual things that have no relation at all to one another.  The fact that they look similar and act and sound the same doesn’t mean anything.  There’s no connection between them at all.”  That’s how the Post-Modern Era can look at a fetus in the womb and say, “That’s not a human being.”

We believe in logic, we believe in patterns.  We believe in the importance of thought and rationality, using our brains, common sense.  The Post-Modern Era doesn’t.  Even if a truth is staring a Post-Modern person in the face, they can still deny it—even it’s a nonsensical, irrational, insane thing to do. 

A life of faith implies the existence of something bigger than myself.  A life of hope, and a life of love and charity imply the same thing.  We believe in something much bigger than ourselves.  The Post-Modern Era doesn’t.  It’s little wonder, then, why the Church and faith are in such troubled times right now. 

But the remedy isn’t to give in, and to doubt the importance of what we believe.  And the remedy isn’t to dig in our heels and stubbornly refuse to “get with it.”  The remedy is to be simply God, to one another, to the community of the faithful.  The remedy is to live with a confident hope in the promises of Christ, and in the presence of the Holy Spirit.  The remedy is to be a person who has real love, charity, compassion, and mercy at our core.

In short, the remedy is to simply (and really) be who we profess to be: the Church.  We should expect that our way of life will continue to be looked down upon—even by people within the community.  We should, we can, expect that; this is the Post-Modern Era.  And the winds of this era we’re living in right now are pretty strong. 

It’s like we’re at home, in the evening, and there’s a storm outside.  The winds are blowing, rattling the windows, howling through the cracks.  The thunder is shaking the dishes in the cupboard.  And the rain is pounding down on the roof, making quite a noise.  But there we are at home, not alone but together, enjoying each other’s company, singing the praises of God around the roaring fire of the Holy Spirit.

There’s a feast going on!  The Lord is providing “rich food and choice wines.”  He’s wiping away tears and sadness.  We’re in the house of the Good Shepherd, where he “refreshes the soul,” and “gives courage;” where “my cup overflows,” and “only goodness and kindness follow me.”  The “fattened cattle” are served in a feast of abundance.  Our God puts on a great celebration.  And the faithful are the ones who are enjoying it—even as the Post-Modern storm rages outside.

We pray for those caught out in the storm; we hope God will keep them safe as best he can.  And, at the same time, the faithful simply enjoy being the faithful, the Church, the house of God on earth.

Friday, October 6, 2017

Homily for 6 Oct 2017

6 Oct 2017

Some people know they’re sinners, and others need to be told they’re sinners.  That’s basically what’s happening in our readings this morning.  Admitting our sins—and the importance of being able to do that—is the main idea.  And it’s the main idea because God can only do his thing with those who know they need him.

Jesus is not only the Bridegroom of our souls, he’s also the Divine Physician.  God loves us, yes.  But he sent his Son also to heal us, to heal our wounded souls.  And, like any doctor, he can’t do his thing if the patient refuses to believe that he or she is sick.

This is why Jesus is so hard on the cities of Chorazin, Bethsaida, and Capernaum.  It’s why he’s so hard on the chief priests, the scribes, and the Pharisees—and we’ll see more of that in this weekend’s readings.  Jesus tries to get people to realize how much they need him; how much they need the grace of God.  And that’s why sometimes he’s pretty blunt in calling a spade a spade.

Jesus came to call sinners; he came to heal them and to love them.  How lucky we are to know we’re sinners.  It’s to us that the grace of God comes.

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

Homily for 5 Oct 2017

5 Oct 2017
(School Mass)

When I was little, we were always told: “Don’t talk to strangers.”  And that’s right—we want to be careful about talking to strangers.  It’s a good rule to remember.

But what about all those people we do know?  Like your classmates and friends, or even some people you recognize from coming to church, even if you don’t know their name?  Well, of course, those people we can talk to.  And not only that, we should even try to be a friend.

Now, here at St. Clare we have a “no-bully” rule, right?  We don’t let anybody treat others badly.  And that’s because Jesus gave us a rule about that, didn’t he?  He said, “Love your neighbors as yourself.”  And we can’t do that if we’re calling other people names, or fighting with them, or just not being nice to them. 

But part of loving our neighbors is also welcoming them.  In the gospel today, Jesus talks about the importance of what we call “hospitality.”  You know, if you have a friend sleep over, you probably try to make them feel welcome, right?  Well that’s “hospitality.”

So we have a “no-bully” rule here at school, but we also have another rule from Jesus that’s just as important.  He says, “Welcome others and treat them well.”  Welcome others and treat them well.  And that’s because we’re not strangers; we’re brothers and sisters in Christ.

Don’t be a bully, and welcome others and treat them well.  Those are two very good rules to remember.