Homily for 24 Feb 2019

24 Feb 2019

7^th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C

It’s a mystery of the Church that many people contemplate.  The mystery: Why? Why does the Church always have its hand out asking for money?  I made a list of the “regular” collections we have—there’s: the World’s Poor Collection, the Seminarian Appeal, the Missionary Co-op Appeal, the Bishop’s Appeal, the Collection for Retired Religious, the Holy Land Collection, the Home Missions Collection, World Mission Sunday, capital campaigns and, of course, the weekly offertory at Mass.  And that doesn’t include the occasional “second collections” for this or that.

The Church does always have its hands out, asking for money.  Even in the Scriptures, we see it: Paul traveling around the Middle East, taking up a collection for the Church in Jerusalem.  And that would’ve been a strange sight at the time: a man going around the Greek territories, asking for money.  Historians say that Paul was probably met with suspicion for doing that.  But he did it anyway.

In his Letter to the Romans, Paul even indicates that he’s willing to die to make sure the collection makes its way back to Jerusalem (Rom 15:30-31).  And that sounds kind of strange (from a Christian perspective)—I mean, being willing to die for the sake of money.  I thought poverty was a fundamental value for us.  But, really, Paul wasn’t willing to die for money; instead, it was for the sake of the Church that he risked his life in taking up the collection.

So, the Church (starting with Saint Paul) has always had its hands out, asking for money.  Of course, as we know, sometimes in our history it wasn’t at all for charitable purposes that money was collected.  Happily, at least, those were exceptions to the norm.  The Church asks for money—partly to aid the poor (as in the case of St. Paul, and in the case of some of our collections today).  But the Church also asks for money to sustain itself.

One of the downsides of the Church using business models to understand itself is that the Church isn’t a business—never has been.  The Church is a community of people who share a common faith.  The Church doesn’t manufacture a product and then sell it; the Church doesn’t deal in commodities.  It isn’t like a service industry, where there’s an exchange of capital for services rendered; there’s no business transaction; there’s no profit.  The Church is a non-profit organization.  We exist simply as a community of faith, trying to live the gospel, trying to share the gospel.

In many ways, the Church is a beggar.  She doesn’t have a regular source of income.  She wanders in the world, asking for donations so that she can survive (and, hopefully, thrive).  And I suppose that could turn into a sob story.  But it shouldn’t.  Jesus didn’t tell his disciples to “go get a job and be financially secure.”  He didn’t say “go form a corporation and use me as your commodity.”  He didn’t say any of that (nor did he suggest it).  Jesus set up his band of believers to be poor—in earthly terms, so as to be rich—in heavenly terms.

Why does the Church always have its hands out, asking for money?  Because Holy Mother Church is a beggar—designed by God to be so.  And God did that (I assume) to make sure that charity, sacrifice, generosity, and love of “the other” would be the fuel that makes her run.  As I’ve mentioned in past homilies, the Church runs on sacrifice; she runs on charity and giving.  Without that, she ceases to be—not only in the corporate, “business” sense, but also in her very nature.  Without charity, sacrifice, and generosity there is no Church.

It’s similar to the idea of “the family.”  Without love and a sense of belonging, the notion of “the family” doesn’t really exist.  Love and belonging are essential to the family.  In just the same way, charity, sacrifice, and generosity are essential to the nature of the Church.

And this is really a beautiful thing to consider.  Because when the Church puts her hands out and asks for money, two things happen.  First, the Church shows its own humility, its own weakness, its own dependence on others.  And, second, it allows us who are part of the Church to “be” the Church, to “be” that entity in the world which is defined by “giving.”

It’s a mystery—to some extent: why does the Church always have her hands out, asking for money?  Well, to care for those in need, and to also care for herself.  She is, quite literally, a beggar who begs not for her own gain, but for the sharing of the good news of salvation—at least, ideally.

But whether or not people give to the Church depends a lot on how they value the work and the mission of the Church.  For instance, every Wednesday at school they have muffins for sale.  And they’re only 50 cents.  But I never pay just 50 cents; I always pay more.  Why?  Because the school is worth it—and I like the muffins.

Or when somebody spends hundreds of dollars for season tickets to the Packers, they do it because they value the Packer experience.  When I go to a concert, I don’t mind paying $40, or whatever the cost is, because it’s something I value.  A couple of years ago the seminary I had attended was collecting for repairs to the monastery bell tower.  And I thought that was a worthy cause, so I wrote a check to help out with that. 

People give toward what they value—whether they give their time, their efforts, or their money.  If it’s something we value, we tend to feel better about writing a check or putting money into the hands of those asking for it. 

A difficulty we face today, however, is the value our society gives to things like faith, and Church, and God.  And while we can’t change the collective mind of society, we can certainly check our own minds and hearts when it comes to the value we place on our faith, and the value we place on being part of a community of faith.  A good question we can each ponder (including myself) is: Does my giving reflect the value I attach to my faith (according to what I can afford)?  

Or, maybe the question can be more directed to volunteerism: Does my giving of time and efforts reflect the value I attach to my faith, to my Church?  Maybe, maybe not.  But it’s a question we can each consider—not only for ourselves, but also for those (including the Church herself) who can benefit from our giving.

Why does the Church always have her hands out asking for money?  Why am I doing it today?  Well, because the Church is designed by God to be a beggar.  And, second, as a way to encourage each of us to “be” the Church, to “be” a community built on faith, and hope, and...charity.

Homily for 17 Feb 2019

17 Feb 2019

6^th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C

History is full of revolutionaries.  Those people help move human society forward: from darkness to light, from oppression to freedom, from ignorance to awareness.  And they do that by challenging the status quo—particularly when the status quo is negative and destructive.  History of full of revolutionaries, both good and bad.  But the good ones help move human society away from what’s harmful, and toward whatever is good. 

So, then, we have to consider Jesus as a revolutionary, too.  He was always going against the grain: healing people on the sabbath, not having his disciples do the ritual cleansing, forgiving people of their sins, touching lepers, hanging around with the “lower end” of human society—just generally giving his disciples a bad example to follow.  And if Jesus has a declaration of his revolutionary attitude it’s perhaps here in the Beatitudes. 

Now, the Jews had always been told that their own righteousness before God would bring them worldly benefits, things like: the Promised Land, prosperity, an abundance of crops, good health, children, happiness, and so on.  And anybody who wasn’t so blessed with these things was seen as somehow cursed in the eyes of God (kind of like Job).

But then Jesus says, “No, you’ve got it all backwards!  Blessed are the poor, blessed are the lowly, blessed are those who suffer on account of my name.  Your reward will be great...not here, but in heaven.”  The Beatitudes cut right across everything that was sacred and right in the Jewish understanding of the world.  Jesus was a revolutionary then, and he still is today.   

Human society still adheres to the ancient mentality: prosperity is a sign of being blessed; health and abundance, lots of children, youth, vibrancy, good times and happiness right here and now are what make for “the good life.”  And so, the Beatitudes are just as unpopular today as they were when Jesus first proclaimed them.  I mean, who wants to be poor and hungry; who wants their life to be characterized by weeping and mourning; who wants to spend their life being hated, excluded, and denounced?  I imagine very few of us. 

Jesus was a revolutionary in biblical times, and he still is today.  But is he a good one or a bad one?  Where do the Beatitudes lead us?  Do they lead us to a better human society, or to a more unjust and harmful place?

Of course, as Catholics, we already know the answer: Jesus is a “good” revolutionary, and the Beatitudes are “good” for human society, they’re good for us.  You know, just like: being sure to eat all your vegetables, or rolling up your sleeve to get a flu shot, or going to the dentist and sitting back for a root canal—they’re all “good for you.”  So Jesus says the Beatitudes are “good for us.”  And, I say that kind of tongue-in-cheek, but of course, Jesus is right: they are good for us.  But it does take a little convincing, for sure. 

But being convinced of it really depends on how much we live the Beatitudes.  There’s no way to “think through” them—you just have to believe and go with it.

If we were to sum up the Beatitudes, and then try to apply them to our lives, we might think of three words: poverty, chastity, and obedience.  Poverty, chastity, and obedience.  And these are the three vows that men and women make when they enter a religious community.  And they’re just as counter-cultural and revolutionary as the Beatitudes.

Now, none of us here has taken any vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience—officially, anyway.  And, yet, they’re common to any baptized person who attempts to live out the Beatitudes.  For example:

Blessed are the poor and the hungry.  They live a life of poverty.  They don’t fill themselves up with worldly goods, but they leave lots of room for what heaven has to offer as well.  They enjoy the gifts and fruits of this life, but they wonder and dream about what more God has in store today, tomorrow, and forever.

Blessed are those who weep and mourn.  They live a life of poverty, too.  They aren’t ashamed to express themselves, to let down their guard in order to let God in when pain comes.  In their vulnerability, they’re blessed.  As are those who are hated, excluded, and insulted on account of their faith in Jesus.  They’re blessed because God’s approval is more important to them than others’.  They want to get an “attagirl” or an “attaboy” from God, and God is ever-willing to encourage his children.  In their poverty of spirit, they’re blessed and happy.

Blessed are the pure of heart (says Jesus in Matthew’s gospel).  They live a life of chastity; not a life of repression and guilt, but a life of focus and enjoyment. They don’t go endlessly chasing after this want and that desire.  They don’t let their dreams and their relationships get all muddled up and confused.  They stay focused and grateful toward whatever it is that God has given them.  Maybe our chastity is even toward ourselves—not wishing we were somebody else (cheating on ourselves), but simply accepting the blessing of being purely “me”.  Blessed are the pure of heart.  They live a life of chastity, a life of self-control and utter devotion to what’s good, true, and beautiful.    

And, again, blessed are the poor and the hungry, those who are hated on account of Jesus.  Those people live a life of obedience. And, you know, it’s a life so often equated with oppression and lack of freedom.  But, really, obedience is about all freedom.  For instance, we can either be a slave to worry and anxiety, or we can let God lead the way, leaving us free to just live life.  Or we can try to go it alone in life, or we can listen to God and let him be our most trusted companion, our source of wisdom. 

Blessed are the obedient, happy are they: hungering for the companionship of God, thirsting for God’s word and direction, finding peace of heart in the care of the Good Shepherd.  In their obedience, they are blessed with peace and certainty, and with freedom of heart knowing that God is God, and he’s already won the war.

And these little reflections of poverty, chastity, and obedience are all nice and everything.  But they’re still revolutionary—even today.  They still rub us the wrong way.  But to find out if poverty, chastity, and obedience are really a “good” way to go, we pretty much have to put them to the test—we have to apply them to our lives and see what happens.

When we’re at home, feeling restless, what do we do?  What do we fill the emptiness up with?  Things? Activities? Food? Internet?  What would happen if we took the route of poverty, and just sat there, being restless, asking God to be our peace...

When we’re tempted to “lust” after what others have, and to be envious and covetous of someone else, what do we do?  How do we satisfy that longing?  What would happen if we took the route of chastity, and asked God to be thankful for what we have, and who we already are...

When we’re tempted to be bullheaded, when we’re losing sleep because of worry, when we’re tempted to think we have all the answers (or that we have to have all the answers), what do we do?  What would happen if we took the route of obedience, the route of freedom, and just said, “God, I don’t know...you take it.  You’re God, not me...”

Jesus puts some revolutionary ideas before us today: the Beatitudes and these ideas of poverty, chastity, and obedience.  They’re radical ideas.  But are they for the good?  Well, we say they are, and we believe they are.  But there’s only one way to know for sure.  And that’s to put them into practice.

It’s a scary proposition: poverty, chastity, obedience, the Beatitudes.  Who knows...maybe it’s just the revolution we each need in our lives.

Homily for 10 Feb 2019

10 Feb 2019

5^th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C

They had just made the catch of a lifetime.  A boat overflowing with fish—so many fish their nets were tearing and their boats were about to flip over.  It was a fantastic thing!  And we’d expect Peter to say something like, “Thank you, Lord, thank you.”  But he didn’t.  Instead, he did just the opposite; he told Jesus to “Go away!  Get away from me!”

Peter was afraid; he was terrified—not only because he knew at that moment that God himself was standing in his boat, but because (being the good Jew that he was) he knew that God had a history of appearing that way to would-be prophets.  And Peter, perhaps, did not want to be a prophet.  He knew the prophets.  He knew about Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel, Moses and Elijah.  And he knew they had a rough time being a prophet.  Even though being a fisherman was hard work, being a prophet was dangerous. 

And so, in fear Peter said to Jesus, “Go away!  Get away from me!”  To which Jesus responded with words of reassurance: “Be not afraid.  Be not afraid.”

I remember my own sense of being called to the priesthood.  As ordination time got closer, people would ask me, “Are you excited?”  And, I suppose, maybe a little I was—but mostly not.  When I thought about the priesthood, mostly what came to mind for me was the Cross.  And that wasn’t all that appealing. 

I’d worked in parishes before, and I knew how hard it could be—especially being a musician and a liturgist, where you can please some of the people some of the time, and that’s about it.  And priesthood wasn’t going to be any easier.  There were certainly times I’d wished I hadn’t let Jesus in my boat.  But, still, I figured, if God had given me the idea to even consider priesthood that he would provide whatever I needed.  And many times in seminary I had to reflect on what Jesus said: “Be not afraid.  Be not afraid.”  (And it's all good now.)

But that’s how it is sometimes when people are called by the Lord to do some task.  Moses tried to get out of it.  So did Isaiah.  Zechariah expressed disbelief; so did Mary to some degree.  God calls and people say, “Well....”  And that’s partly because of what they know lies ahead.  For the prophet what lies ahead is oftentimes confrontation, ridicule, even hatred and being made to be an outsider.  And that is not easy, especially for us human beings who are hardwired for love and peace, friendship and belonging. 

Maybe that’s why Peter said, “Lord, get away from me!”  Peter didn’t want to suffer.  And, really, we can all relate to that.  But, still, Peter went with Jesus because he trusted him; because he loved him.  Peter was willing to suffer for a good cause; for the cause of love and truth.  But that’s what prophets do.   

For instance, when you hear someone gossiping (or you know it’s going on), the prophet is someone who interjects Christ’s message into that situation.  A prophet names gossip for what it is.  And he or she does that not with judgment toward others, but with hope that those other people will stop gossiping—with the hope that charity will prevail.  Of course, the risk in doing that is that you’re just going to become the next target of gossip and ridicule.  But, such is the life of a prophet.  You risk suffering for the sake of the good and the true.  And, sometimes, you do suffer. 

Prophets speak the truth (as best they can) even when they know it’s not going to be received well.  We look at Isaiah, Amos and Jeremiah especially, and how they were sent by God to God’s people with the rather ominous message: “Repent or be destroyed.”  Not that God would destroy his people; rather, if the people didn’t change their ways, they would destroy themselves.  And (if you want to know the rest of the story) the people didn’t change and they were overrun.

When we think about the Church today (and, really, Christianity in general), it’s true that we’re in need of more priests.  But not simply priests to fill vacancies where we have them.  We need priests who are also prophets; priests who, even in spite of their fears, will speak the truth where and to whom it must be spoken.

A priest today cannot let his own fear get in the way of doing and saying what’s right and just.  For instance, I absolutely don’t like confrontation.  I’m a pretty peace-loving kind of person.  But sometimes I just have to “cleanse the temple,” so to speak.  I have to get out my “whip” and just tell it like it is.  And I don’t like doing that, but yet I cannot not do it...for the sake of goodness, rightness, and justice; for the sake of the well being of the Church. 

As Deacon Mike mentioned last weekend, prophecy doesn’t win you a whole lot of friends.  If anything, it puts you on the outside.  But that’s a risk you take in being a prophet.  Sometimes you suffer for love of Christ.

Perhaps the Vocations Office at the diocese wouldn’t like me to say that priesthood and suffering go together.  But they do.  Especially today, when our culture has become so secularized, so anti-Christian, when the Church itself has inflicted such devastation upon itself, suffering—prophetic suffering—and priesthood go hand in hand.  But...that’s how it’s always been.

In his letter today, Saint Paul was speaking prophetically to the Corinthians.  He was reminding them of some basic truths of the faith which they seemed to have forgotten—namely, the truth about the resurrection.  Even right there in biblical times, right at the start of the Church, prophets needed to keep the people of faith on track.  It’s always been that way—and it will always be that way (until Jesus comes again).

And so, as we pray for vocations to the priesthood, we should also pray for them to be strong prophets—priests who (even if they’re afraid) will still “kick us in the pants” when we need it; who will speak the truth to us when we don’t want to hear it; who will be patient and loving as they carry their own crosses for our sake.  And not only priests, but we should pray for strong prophets in general.  We should pray for more people who are willing to suffer in order to keep us on track—in our faith, in our lives.

We were all baptized as “priest, prophet, and king” in the image of Christ.  And we all have some prophetic role to play—maybe it’s by simply and quietly holding your ground like a tree trying to be ripped from its roots by the wind.  Or maybe it’s by speaking boldly where God’s message of faith, hope, and charity need to be spoken.  Or maybe it’s by being a leader of God’s people.  In whatever way that is, may God reassure us when we’re called to be a prophet.  And may our love for him keep us strong and true.