Homily for 16 June 2019

16 June 2019

Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity

Several years ago there was controversy in the Church about baptism—whether or not it should be said, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” or to say, “I baptize you in the name of the Creator, the Redeemer, and the Sanctifier.”  And you’ll still hear about this from time to time today.

Of course, there never really was a controversy because the Church wasn’t going to change the sacrament of baptism.  But it’s not because the Church is stubborn or refuses to get politically correct.  It’s because there’s a fundamental difference between referring to God as “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,” and referring to God as “Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier.” 

Now, there’s nothing especially wrong or incorrect about calling God our Creator, our Redeemer, and our Sanctifier.  God certainly is all those things for us—thanks be to God.  But those are all things God does “for us.”  God creates “us.”  God redeems “us.”  God sanctifies “us.”  If that’s the only way (or the primary way) that one approaches God, then God becomes defined by what he does “for us.”  God’s purpose for being is dependent upon “us.”  (Of course, in reality, it’s the other way around.)

But if we refer to God as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, then we begin to appreciate him as he is...in himself—apart from what he does “for us.”  God is who God is, regardless of who we are, regardless of how we define him.  And really, this is basic stuff when it comes to relationships.

One of the questions we ask engaged couples is: “Are you placing any conditions on the marriage” you’re about to enter into?  And we ask that because if either person thinks, “I’m going to be married...as long as the other person does this or that,” then we have ask: Is this person really in love with his or her fiancé, or is this person in love with an image of what they expect their future spouse to be?  In other words, are the bride and the groom accepting of each other...as the other is?

When we approach God, do we approach him as he is, as he reveals himself to be?  Or do we approach God through the lens of what he does “for me”?  Or both?  And these are really key questions that we each have to consider.   And they’re questions that our solemnity this weekend puts to us.

When we speak of “the Most Holy Trinity,” it has nothing to do with us; and it has everything to do with God...as God.  God wants to share himself with us—just like we want to share ourselves with others.  But, you know, we want others to take us as we are, to love us for whom we are, and not for whom and what others expect us to be.  And God wants the same from us.  He wants to be known and accepted...as he is, and not as we make him to be. 

Saint Francis of Assisi is reported to have prayed: “Who are you, Lord God; and who am I?”  And that really is our most basic prayer: “Who are you, Lord?  Who are you?”  If our most fundamental commandment is to love God, then we can’t avoid that question: “God, who are you?  Show yourself to me.  Help me to know you as you are.”  And, honestly, when it comes to building a “relationship” with God, that’s where it all begins; by asking in prayer, “God, who are you?”  And then you spend the rest of life (and all eternity) learning about, and experiencing God—as he is.

And that sounds very lovely and all—and it is.  But, it takes a certain discipline to set “me and my expectations” aside, and to just encounter God as he is.

For instance, when we come to Mass, our focus is supposed to be on God.  Now, people go to Mass for all sorts of reasons.  But the primary reason is to offer what we call a “sacrifice of praise.”  We come here to adore God, to worship God, to praise God.  When Saint Francis asked, “Who are you, Lord God,” what came out of his mouth was this:

“You are holy, Lord, the only God, and Your deeds are wonderful. You are strong. You are great. You are the Most High. You are Almighty. You, Holy Father are King of heaven and earth. You are Three and One, Lord God, all Good. You are Good, all Good, supreme Good, Lord God, living and true. You are love. You are wisdom. You are humility. You are endurance. You are rest. You are peace. You are joy and gladness. You are justice and moderation. You are all our riches, and You suffice for us. You are beauty. You are gentleness. You are our protector. You are our guardian and defender. You are our courage. You are our haven and our hope. You are our faith, our great consolation. You are our eternal life, Great and Wonderful Lord, God Almighty, Merciful Savior.”

Now, Saint Francis mentions a few things that God does “for us.”  But, for the most part, it’s a “sacrifice of praise” for all that God is...in himself.  When we sing, “Holy, holy, holy Lord, God of hosts; heaven and earth are full of your glory, hosanna in the highest,” we’re focused on God, praising him.  When we sing (or say), “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to people of goodwill; we praise, we bless you, we adore, we glorify, we give you thanks,” we’re focused on God as he is. 

When we hear the words of Scripture, we’re hearing “the Word of the Lord,” we’re focused on God.  When we hear the homily, hopefully, we hear God speaking to us through the preacher.  When we pray the great Eucharistic Prayer, our focus is on God.  And, you know, that’s something to stop and take note of.

Every Sunday we hear: “For on the night he was betrayed he himself took bread, and, giving you thanks, he said the blessing, broke the bread and gave it to his disciples, saying: Take this all of you, and eat of it....”  “He himself took break, and, giving you thanks....”  We’re still focused on God; we’re talking to God (the Father).  But then there’s that phrase, “he gave it to his disciples, saying, Take this all of you and eat of it....”  The trick—the discipline here—is that we don’t suddenly stop talking to God and start talking to ourselves (because we’re his disciples).  We’re still focused on God. 

In effect, what we’re doing is we’re reminding God (as if he needs reminding) of what Jesus did and said on the night of the Last Supper.  And we’re asking God to make the grace of that moment also present for us here, today.  We’re simply remembering—with God—what Jesus did.  We’re not reenacting what Jesus did.  It’s why the priest isn’t looking at us when he says those words, “Take this all of you and eat of it....”  He (and everybody who’s participating) is still addressing God; we’re still focused on God.  And that takes discipline to remember, because, of course, it runs contrary to the “me-centered” culture we’re immersed in today.

The idea of coming together, to turn our attention away from ourselves and onto the mystery of God—as he is—is really counter-cultural.  It takes discipline, it takes focus to actually worship and adore God—not as we want him to be, but as he is.  This is a reason why so many people stop coming to Mass; they don’t get that it isn’t about “me and what I want,” it’s about God.  It’s about adoring God our Partner in life, worshiping God our “significant other,” loving God who calls himself our Spouse.  It’s about loving God, offering a “sacrifice of praise” to him, primarily because of who he is, and not because of what he does “for us.”

Actually, if all we do is praise God for what he does “for us,” then we really haven’t embraced God as our Friend, our Spouse.  We haven’t embraced real relationship with God.  Instead, we keep God as our servant, as our service provider, as our hired worker.  And that’s doomed to fail because, as he says, “My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways” [Isaiah 55:8].

When there’s a disaster and people die, some ask, “If God is so caring, why didn’t he help them?”  When there’s a tragedy and innocent people are hurt, some ask, “If God is so powerful, why doesn’t he wipe evil from the face of the earth?”  When God seems distant and silent, some ask, “If God promises to be with his people, then where is he?”  Of course, these questions have little to do with God; instead, they have everything to do with “me and my expectations of God.”

When God fails to do “for us” what we expect or ask for—even in prayer—how many people walk away from God.  How many lose faith and hope?  It’s like on Christmas morning when a child is expecting a particular gift, but he or she doesn’t get it.  It just ruins everything.  Instead, Christmas morning should be about being surprised by...whatever you get, whatever it is.  When it comes to God, it takes a lot of discipline to just let God be God, and to receive the gift of who and what he actually is, and how he actually works in our lives.  It takes discipline, but that’s what builds real relationship with God, our Friend, our Companion, our Spouse.

On this solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity (and every day of our life), we ask that basic question: God, who are you?  God, who are you?  And the answer...well, leave that up to him.  He offers us unconditional love and acceptance.  Can we extend the same to him?

Homily for 9 June 2019

9 June 2019

Solemnity of Pentecost

In 1966 there was a musical that came out called “Mame.”  It was set in 1929, right at the time of the stock market crash, and the start of the Great Depression.  And in the midst of that depression, the characters look ahead to December, and they start singing a song about Christmas to cheer themselves up.

“Haul out the holly; put up the tree before my spirit falls again!  Fill up the stocking!  I may be rushing things, but decks the halls again now!  For we need a little Christmas right this very minute!  Candles in the window, carols at the spinet!  Yes, we need a little Christmas right this very minute!”

And what they’re doing is calling upon the Spirit of that celebration, that season, to come visit them in their time of need.  In some ways, you could see this as a song about Pentecost: Come, Holy Spirit, come!  Set us on a better path, a good path!  Renew us, lift us up in hope!  We need a little Pentecost (or a big Pentecost!) right now!

When the disciples were “all together in one place,” they were waiting, just like Jesus told them to.  He’d left, he’d ascended to Heaven, but there they were, maybe feeling a little lost and uncertain—not without hope, but just…waiting.  What now?  Where do we go from here?

And that’s where we find ourselves today.  We look at our Catholic Church, we look at our country, we look at (maybe) ourselves as individuals, and it feels like we’re…waiting.  Waiting for answers to our questions.  Waiting for solutions to our problems.  Waiting for inspiration to change habits that might need changing.  We’re waiting, just like those disciples—we need a little Pentecost…right now!

Now, we know what the Spirit of Christmas brings.  It brings good cheer, peace, love, joyfulness of heart, thankfulness, light, hope, abundance, comfort.  And we know what the Spirit of Pentecost brings.  It brings everything the Spirit of Christmas brings, but also certain other gifts like: wisdom, knowledge, and understanding; counsel, fortitude, piety, and the disposition to pay attention to the Lord.  And we need all of that.  We need a little Pentecost, right now, today.

We look at our Catholic Church, and we see it’s like a beautiful painting, like the Mona Lisa—except that she’s been damaged.  Her frame is broken and off kilter, there are holes poked in the canvas, and somebody spattered some paint remover on her, so now she’s…disfigured.  You can still tell it’s the Catholic Church but, boy, is she a mess.

Too many politics at play—in all her ranks.  Too much deception and too many grossly poor judgments in her leadership.  Some of her clergy were in cahoots with the devil, using and abusing those children of God entrusted to their care.  Too much legalism, too much judgment, not enough compassion, too many Pharisees still floating around.

The Church is still there, for sure.  There is love and compassion, there is the truth spoken and taught.  There is beauty and honesty, humility, and many valiant fights against the devil.  There are good and faithful shepherds, there are good and faithful people.  But she’s been disfigured, and we’re…waiting; waiting for answers, waiting for solutions, waiting for a new day to dawn.  We need a little Pentecost, right now!

We look at our country and it, too, is like a work of art, say…the Statue of Liberty.  Except the statue’s been chipped and broken, its metal plates are dented, the internal frame is weakened, and she’s had paint splattered all over her.  She’s still there, you can tell it’s our country, but she’s kind of a mess, too.

Too many bad politics, harmful politics.  Too much vengeance in all her ranks, seeking to destroy others rather than build the country up.  Taking the notion of freedom and twisting it such that the notion of civil law is somehow a threat to freedom.  Freedom to kill a child in the womb; freedom to kill a child that’s been born; freedom to silence others’ free speech; freedom to defy law; freedom to seek my own life, liberty, and happiness at the expense of others’ life, liberty, and happiness.  Freedom to do whatever I want; freedom to be an unthinking, unreflective savage.

The country’s still there, for sure.  There still is common sense out there.  There are truth and respect for basic human values and rights.  There is beauty, humble service for the good of others.  There are good leaders, and good people.  The country is there, but her frame is being hacked away at all the time.  She needs some major TLC.  We need a little Pentecost for her, right now, too!

Of course, then there’s us.  We’re like a plant—not like a hearty perennial that just grows on its own, but more like a delicate annual that needs more attention.  We look at ourselves, we look at our leaves, our blossoms, our roots, our stem.  And, you know, we’re a little droopy here and there.  When there’s a call for volunteers, sometimes it’s like pulling teeth (only I think pulling teeth is easier!).  When there’s a need for liturgical ministers, where’s the response?  When there’s a call for vocations to the priesthood, the diaconate, and consecrated life, where is everybody? 

We’re not one of those hearty perennials that just sort of takes care of itself.  We’re like an annual, that needs a lot more time and effort to make it grow.  Only instead of a dose of water and sunlight, we need a shot of what comes from God; those gifts of the Holy Spirit—wisdom, understanding, and knowledge, counsel, fortitude, piety, and the disposition to pay attention to the Lord.  We need a little Pentecost, right now!

And all this waiting and waiting for the Holy Spirit can be draining.  This constant, daily need to call on the Holy Spirit can be exhausting, tiring, and…all too routine.  But the good news is the sheer fact that we have the Holy Spirit to call on. 

When the disciples were “all together in one place,” and were waiting, they weren’t just twiddling their thumbs.  They weren’t saying to themselves, “Well, let’s just get on with life, nothing’s happening.”  No, they were waiting with…anticipation.  They were waiting with the full expectation and hope that the Spirit of God would be there to assist them.  There was no doubt in their minds.  And it’s because of that expectation, that openness of mind and heart, that the Holy Spirit could come to them.  The Spirit only comes where he’s welcomed and desired. 

And so, as we look around us, at our Catholic Church, at our country, at ourselves and our own needs, we wait for the Holy Spirit to come and set things right.  But we don’t wait sitting idly by.  We anticipate, we expect this gift from God.  Lord, we need a little Pentecost…right now!