Homily for 25 Aug 2019

25 Aug 2019

21^st Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C

Last week we talked about motivation, and what inspires us to do what we do.  And we saw that having a “vision” is important.  Jesus had a vision; it was of “the joy that lay before him”—that’s what motivated him to endure the cross.  The Saints all have their own visions, too, that motivate them, that compel them to live in a particular way.  The “vision” helps give us that “fire” that Jesus talks about; the fire of intentional, purposeful, meaningful life in God.

But the Letter to the Hebrews follows up this week with a critical concept with respect to “the vision;” and that is “discipline.”  The vision can be exciting to think about.  But there’s the discipline that comes with attaining the vision and living the vision.  In fact, discipline itself is part of the vision.

When the runner decides to run a marathon, he or she has to prepare for it.  The runner has to be disciplined enough to eat right, to train properly, and to run the race not wildly but with self-control and a good pace.  When someone wants to be a successful business leader, he or she has to be disciplined enough to study good business practices, and to practice good business practices.  The business leader has to be disciplined enough to be a good role model for his or her employees.

For someone to be a good priest, he has to be disciplined enough to care more about what’s right and just, than what’s popular.  He has to have enough discipline to pray on his own, without someone reminding him to pray.  He has to practice the discipline of self-control, the discipline of charity, the discipline of being both loving and encouraging, as well as corrective and...corrective.  I figured out there’s a reason why we call the priest “father.”

And, lastly, when the Christian is determined to live the Christian vision of things, he or she has to be disciplined in all the things necessary to attain that vision.  It’s why those basics of Christian living are preached on over and over again: forgiveness, mercy, patience, honesty, self-control, charity, faith, hope, self-giving, neighborliness, and so on, and so on.  If we aspire to live a good Catholic Christian life, then discipline is an unavoidable part of the deal; it’s an inescapable part of the vision.

Jesus says as much when tells the people, “Strive to enter through the narrow gate.”   And you think of a narrow gate, and immediately we think of something that constricts us; something that squeezes and makes us feel uncomfortable.  But that’s what discipline feels like.  It feels constricting on our personal freedom, it squeezes us and makes us let go of some things we want to hang on to, it makes us suck in the gut or feel the pangs of adjusting our diet.  Discipline does that. 

If you’ve ever striven to do anything, you know that it takes a certain stick-to-itiveness—especially when the going gets rough.  But...you stay with it, you endure the sweat and the irritations; you power through the setbacks and the moments of wanting to give up.  And then...you begin to see it.  You begin to see your goal taking shape.  And it makes all the discipline it took to get there worth it.  Sometimes we call it “the thrill of victory.”  But it’s only a thrill if you’ve fought to get there; if you’ve gone through the narrow gate of discipline.

Now, that’s a very positive way to talk about “discipline”.  But there are also plenty of negative attachments to it as well, where “discipline” becomes “punishment.”  And then we can talk about: detention, losing privileges (car, telephone, and so on), dragging out a mop and bucket to do some cleaning.  Maybe for adults it would be the punishment of being publicly rebuked, the punishment of fines or jail time, the punishment of being shunned by others.

It’s interesting, though, in that these negative punishments have (or should have) the same purpose as the discipline of an athlete.  Discipline, generally speaking, is supposed to be instructive; it’s supposed to give guidance.  When the Letter to the Hebrews uses the word “discipline”, it means some “instruction that trains someone to reach full development (maturity).”  It’s some form of instruction that trains a person to reach his or her full potential.  And this is why, the Letter says, to “not disdain the discipline of the Lord or lose heart when reproved by him.”

If we feel that the Lord is somehow disciplining us, that’s not a reason to be worried or to think God does not love us.  It’s just the opposite.  When someone comes to the confessional with their sins, I will sometimes remind that person that one way God cares for us is by his bringing our faults to our attention.  When I was in college taking organ lessons, every single lesson the professor would point out my mistakes.  But she did that so I could hear what she was hearing, so I could be a better musician.  She did it because she cared.  And the same is with God.

The Lord brings attention to our faults as a matter of discipline, as a matter of being trained in the ways of God, in the ways of good living.  And that is a loving thing to do.  Of course, God also lifts our spirits when we’re doing things well, when we’re learning and growing.  That’s all part of a living a life of discipline.

I always get a little nervous when I hear somebody preaching only the old fire-and-brimstone way of God...because God isn’t all that.  And I get just as nervous when I hear somebody preaching about God only as though he were a big teddy bear with nothing but sugar and honey to share...because God isn’t all that either.  

Now, Jesus certainly preached the fire-and-brimstone.  We heard it in the gospel today: “And there will be wailing and grinding of teeth when you see [all these other people] in the kingdom of God—and you yourselves cast out.”  Jesus also preached the teddy bear when he calls God the Father “Abba,” that is “papa.”  God is both.  God is tender and unconditionally loving; God also disciplines and teaches through discipline.  God is both.  And, in fact, God’s brand of discipline and God’s love go hand-in-hand.

And so, the Letter to the Hebrews is right: when we’re disciplined the Lord, it’s actually a cause to give thanks.  It means God cares enough to steer us in the right direction.  It means God sees the potential in us, and he wants us to live the fullest vision of life we can. 

“Strive to enter though the narrow gate,” Jesus says.  Discipline is like the narrow gate.  Jesus himself is the gate; God is our primary “disciplinarian,” our primary teacher.  But there’s that verb, “strive;” “strive to enter through the narrow gate.”  In other words, have the vision of good Catholic living; have it, own it, love it, and deliberately seek the discipline it takes to see that vision come true.  “Strive” for the vision.

If you want to have more prayer time in your life, then strive to ensure it happens.  Put something on your nightstand to remind you pray before you go to bed.  Put the mealtime prayer up on your refrigerator as a reminder to pray.  Deliberately choose to do that.

If you want to get over that voice in your head that just ruminates about this person or that person, then strive to get over it.  When you come into church, light a candle for that person and pray for their good.  Do it once, do it twice, do it until you genuinely stop ruminating, and you get on with life. 

If you want to be more disciplined by the Lord, then strive to be open to whatever tools he’s using to mold and shape you.  In the Prophet Isaiah and in the Gospel, it was other people—the “nations”—and God’s acceptance of them that challenged people’s hearts to be like God’s.  The happenings of life around us can serve God’s purposes.  “God, help me to be disciplined by the challenges I face today.”  “Strive to enter through the narrow gate.”

It’s important to have a vision of intentional, purposeful, meaningful life in God.  Have the vision, love the vision, live the vision—with discipline, the loving discipline that comes from Jesus, the Narrow Gate himself.

Homily for 18 Aug 2019

18 Aug 2019

20^th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C

A basic message we get from Scripture today is: Keep going, persevere in faith, live with a fire in your spirit.  In a way, it’s the voice of the “cloud of witnesses,” who are like the fans alongside a race course, cheering the runners on.  “Keep going!  Persevere in faith!  Live with a fire in your spirit!”  And that can certainly be helpful to hear.  But, at the same time, it can be kind of annoying to hear...if we lose sight of the end goal, if we forget why we started to run the race in the first place. 

The question “why” really jumps out from a reading of the Scriptures today.  Why do we do...anything?  What motivates the runner to run a marathon?  What motivates politicians to take the positions they do, and do that in the manner they do?  What motivates the baker to bake a pie for the county fair?  What motivates the Christian to be a Christian, to be a Catholic?  Why do we do...anything that we do? 

I imagine if we each thought about it, we’d come up with a whole bunch of answers, depending on what it is we’re talking about.  But I also imagine there’d be some common themes.  What motivates us?  Maybe the idea of: fulfillment, satisfaction, or personal well-being; being a good neighbor, a good citizen, looking out for what’s good, right, and just; doing things for the betterment of others, out of love for others, out of love for God, love of country, love of a particular way of life; the experience of being alive; the experience of being part of something.

If the purpose behind what we’re doing is something we’re drawn to, well, we’ll probably persevere until we reach our goal.  We’ll probably keep going, and live “with a fire in our spirit” just naturally.  When we consider Jesus and what compelled him to do what he did, we know he stayed the course because...he had a clear vision of where he was going.  The Letter to the Hebrews says: “For the sake of the joy that lay before him he endured the cross....”

For the sake of the joy that lay before him....  Jesus had “joy” in his sights; specifically, the joy of being with the Father again.  That was his goal; that was his vision.  And that’s what kept him going.  Even when others opposed him, and persecuted him, and put him to death, he powered through.  The vision, the “joy that lay before him” is what put the fire in his belly to persevere, to live well and truly while on earth.

And we see the same with all the Saints. Saint Francis and Saint Clare had a vision of total dependence on the providence of God, total abandonment to his good will.  And they didn’t let anything stand in between them and that vision.  Saint Gianna Molla had a vision of respect for life.  And when she was pregnant, and was encouraged to have an abortion, she said no.  She lived the vision of life—even at the expense of her own.

Saint Pope Pius X had the vision of beautiful liturgy (him and many others), where Mass would be truly a meeting between the living God and his faithful people.  And he did everything in his power to support that vision.  St. Catherine of Siena had a vision where the Church would have its act together.  And so, she didn’t hesitate to call the bishops and the pope on the carpet for not having it together.  The Saints all had (and have) a vision before them; a vision that has something to do with the Kingdom of God.  And, what’s most important is that they don’t lose sight of the vision.  That’s the “crown,” that’s the “prize:” attaining the vision.

And this idea of “the vision” is fundamental to us and our life.  Why go to Mass?  Why be merciful?  Why stand up for something?  Why give my time?  Why give my money?  Why do...anything?  That question “why” is all-important because it makes us consider what it is that we’re living for; that is, “the vision.” 

When people ask me why I became a priest, it wasn’t because I wanted to go to finance meetings.  It wasn’t because I wanted to know more about boilers and building codes.  And it certainly wasn’t because I wanted to be responsible—legally and canonically—for everything that happens in a parish and school.  I became a priest because I had a vision of a life devoted to God and his ways.  Pure and simple.

It’s also the basic vision the Church has of its priests; that they will assist the people of God in their devotion to him and his ways.  Interestingly, though, that vision—it seems—is often put on the back burner.  Other, “more pressing” things easily overtake that vision.  And then, pretty soon, you don’t have anybody in the parish being a spiritual “head;” an administrative head, yes, a financial and organization head, yes.  But, a spiritual head?  Not as much, or not as strongly.

I sometimes wonder if the trickle of priestly vocations we have is due, at least in part, to an impoverished vision of what we’re about—either as a Church or as priests (or both).  If there’s one vocation that could really be fostered today is the vocation of prophet.  Among other things, the prophet is someone who keeps others on track; they remind others of the vision, of what it is they’re living for. 

There’s a big difference between the time in which the Scriptures were written, and our 21^st Century world.  For the past six- or seven-hundred years, Christianity has really taken a beating.  And, in the last one hundred fifty years or so, the basic idea of the religious or spiritual sense—the idea that there is God or “the gods”—has also been pummeled. 

When the Letter to the Hebrews was written, God was a given, faith in Jesus was a given (for believers).  That letter (or, at least, the portion we heard today) was meant to encourage.  It was meant to encourage people who already had the vision; who were invested in the vision.  But, today, the Letter to the Hebrews lacks some context and relevance, because it depends on the hearer already having a commitment to the vision.  If the vision isn’t there, the letter doesn’t mean anything.

But that’s where we find ourselves today.  Now, certainly, there are pockets of people who are very definitely committed to the vision of God and his ways.  And there are pockets of people who, at least, have an inkling of the vision; who have not written off God and faith as useless.  But those people—us—live within a sea of doubt and non-faith. 

So often, the centuries before the Renaissance are called the “Dark Ages”—as opposed to the “Enlightenment.”  The “Dark Ages,” some say, is that time in human history when people were intellectually “dark,” when they were “dim-witted,” when they were...stupid; when they were fooled into believing in God and faith.  The “Enlightenment,” they say, is when people stopped believing, and started using their brains; when they became “enlightened.”

Today, however, from the standpoint of faith, there are many who think that right now we’re living in an honest to goodness “dark age.”  Human reason is good, science is great.  But without faith, without God, we’re just lost in the dark.  And that darkness can be consuming, sometimes, to people who have the Light within them, who have a vision of a something else impressed upon them by God their Creator.

And those are the ones—we are the ones—who have the challenge of staying true to the vision, even as the “cross of darkness and ignorance of God” is all around us. 

Now, you might say, “Father, I don’t have the vision.  My faith is kind of dry.  I’m not really sure why I come to Mass, other than out of habit.  I don’t know that I’m moving toward... anything.”  And, to that, I would say: Let’s talk.  It’s too individual of a question to really address in a homily.  So, I would say, let’s sit and talk.

If you notice, I haven’t really tried to lay out “the vision” in this homily.  And that’s because each of us is motivated by different things, by different visions.  From a Catholic standpoint, those visions all connect to the one Kingdom of God.  But there are many ways to approach God and faith; different ways to appreciate what God has in store for us.

Some of us are motivated by a vision of excellent worship.  And that’s what we dedicate ourselves to—for love of God.  Some of us are motivated by a vision of harmony and cooperation among God’s people—or people in general.  And so we dedicate ourselves to that vision—for love of God.  Some of us are motivated by the vision of just contemplating God and his beauty and truth, like Mary sitting at the feet of Jesus.  And so, we embrace prayer—intense prayer, as our purpose in life—for love of God.

The Kingdom of God is like a many-faceted jewel.  You can come at it from different directions, with different vantage points, but it’s one and the same Kingdom.  And the visions we have of God and Christian living and what lies beyond are also many-faceted.  The important thing is to have the vision—even if it’s a little foggy to start.  Have the vision, love the vision, be intrigued and motivated by the vision, and go deep—no matter the cost.

That’s the “fire” Jesus refers to; the fire of intentional, purposeful, meaningful life in God.  Have the vision, love the vision, live the vision—no matter the cost, no matter what.

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!

Homily for 26 May 2019

26 May 2019

6^th Sunday of Easter, Year C

All the sacraments of the Church have one thing in common (besides God’s presence in them).  And that common thing is: unity or wholeness.  The sacraments are given to us by the Lord as helps in our efforts toward unity and wholeness.

Baptism and confirmation bring us into closer unity with God and with the community of faith.  The Eucharist does the same.  And all three of those sacraments are meant to make us more unified with Christ—such that we become Christ-like. 

The Anointing of the Sick and Reconciliation are meant to heal what is broken in body, mind, and soul.  They’re geared toward wholeness, completeness.  Marriage is meant to symbolize and to signify the covenantal power of love, that comes through the unity of husband and wife, and which is a real sign of God’s having made humanity to live in peace, harmony, and unity.

And, lastly, the sacrament of Holy Orders is meant to safeguard and to share all these sacraments of unity.  And it’s meant to image the unity there exists between heaven and earth, between the Lord and his people.  And so, all our sacraments have at least that one thing in common: they’re geared toward unity and wholeness.

And since the sacraments are such a central part of life, the idea and the ideals of unity and wholeness should characterize our common life as believers.  It’s why Jesus says, “This is how all will know that you are my disciples: if you have love for one another” [Jn 13:35].  Now, he doesn’t say “love for enemies;” he doesn’t say “love for the poor”—even though those are part of the commandments he give us.  Jesus says, “if you have love…for one another.”  And that’s not love as in warm, fuzzy feelings.  That’s love as in peace, cooperation, mutual respect, willingness to sacrifice for one another, willingness to share, and so on.

The sacraments are meant to build us up such that we have love for…one another.  Such that there is unity and wholeness within the community, within the Church, itself.  That’s basic to what it means to be Christian; that there is unity and wholeness within the Body of Christ, within the community of the faithful.

But, as Catholics, we take a very broad view of what unity means, and of what unity looks like.  In the Acts of the Apostles [9:31], we read that “the church throughout the whole of Judea, and Galilee, and Samaria had peace.”  And that phrase, “throughout the whole,” is the key to understanding what Catholic unity looks like.  And, actually, that phrase, “throughout the whole,” is the English translation of the word “catholic.”  Right there in Scripture is the word “catholic”—only in Greek it’s pronounced “kath-holays.”  And it describes the Church; it’s “catholic;” it’s spread “throughout the whole.”

Now, in the Acts of Apostles, it refers to the community spread throughout the whole of Judea, Galilee, and Samaria.  But today it refers to the Church spread throughout the whole world, even extending to heaven and whatever spiritual realms there are.  The Church is “all over the place;” it’s “kath-holays,” it’s “catholic.”  And, yet, even in spite of the Church being “throughout the whole” world, in spite of it being spread out into every corner of the physical and spiritual world, the Church is still…one.  It’s characterized by unity within itself. 

It’s why you can go to a Catholic parish in some other place, and you belong there.  When I went to Guatemala about six years ago, I went to Mass at the church of La Merced.  And I could participate in Mass there just as much as I could here in the U.S. because I’m Catholic.  When I went to Rome, and to London and Paris, and to Switzerland, I could participate in the Mass in any of those places because I’m Catholic—because it’s the Church I’m a part of.    If you go to Mass in Green Bay or Kaukauna, you can do it; you belong there, too.  Wherever you go in the world (except in the Middle East, as of late) there’s the Catholic Church.  And it’s fundamentally the same.  Different cultures, yes.  Different music, yes.  Different languages, definitely.  But the same faith, and one and the same community, all over the world.

It’s why we pay attention to the saints and the angels, too.  It’s why we remember the faithful departed every November.  It’s why we visit cemeteries.  It’s why we value our cultural and faith traditions that have been passed on through the centuries.  We’re part of an immense Church, a community of the faithful which is not limited by time or space. 

And that’s what catholic unity looks like.  It’s very colorful.  It’s incredibly diverse.  It’s high and wide.  And, yet, it exists in harmony, as one, as a unity.  And I mention this because that kind of unity is something that we as a parish are still working through.  We know what catholic unity looks like on a global scale, and on a cosmic, interdimensional scale.  But what does catholic unity look like right here, in our little corner of the world?  Right here in our 105 square miles of the parish?

And the answer is: There is no single answer.  That’s what makes us “catholic.”  About 30% of us would love to see a new, single church building as a definitive sign of parish unity and wholeness.  That’s fine.  About 60% of us would prefer to live out parish unity in some other way.  That’s fine, too.  There is no one way that catholic unity looks in a parish; it’s whatever the people involved want it to be—within certain limits.

And those “limits” are not usually physical; they’re more spiritual, emotional, and interpersonal.  For instance, love for one another is one of those limits.  In striving for unity, we cannot not have love for one another.  And if we step outside that expectation that Jesus has of us, then we step outside the basic definition of “catholic unity.” 

How many times do we say to others, “You’re in my thoughts and prayers.”  Well, that’s a way we have love for one another.  Our prayer chain is a good witness to that kind of catholic unity here in the parish.  When it comes to the need for mutual prayer and support, there are no physical boundaries.  And so, we can be witnesses to that kind of unity right now, today. 

Another “limit” that catholic unity has is the idea of co-operation, interchange, exchange, and sharing.  If we’re striving for unity, we cannot not interact and share.  If we step outside that expectation that Jesus has of his disciples, then we step out the basic definition of “catholic unity.”

Of course, any of you who know what married life is like, you know that cooperation, sharing, and so on is essential.  Without it, you don’t have much of a marriage.  But, in order for sharing to happen, we have back up a step.  In this case, before we can talk about unity, we have to talk about diversity; in particular, the diversity (the distinctness) of the husband and the wife.

I think of the Unity Candle we sometimes see at weddings.  There are the two smaller candles on either side of the big candle in the middle.  And those smaller candles symbolize the life of the individual persons; the bride and groom take those and, together, they make something new: the flame on the Unity Candle.  But those smaller candles remain…lit.  The unity of the couple does not—and cannot—destroy the uniqueness of each person.  In fact, their unity depends on their remaining unique and distinct.

And that’s simply because the uniqueness of each person is the “stuff” that’s shared with the other person.  When we think of God—the Holy Trinity—we recognize both unity and diversity.  Yes, there is one God.  But that oneness—that unity—depends on their being a Father and a Son.  And the Holy Spirit is nothing other than the Spirit of Unity, the Bond of Peace and Love between them.  God himself is both one and distinct parts, both at the same time.

When we think of the parish, and we think of “parish unity,” we cannot think about “unity through conformity;” instead, we have to think of “unity through diversity,” “unity through sharing and exchange.”  Love, peace, and unity don’t destroy individual parts; instead, they bind them together through cooperation, sharing, and so on.

This is why in the Acts of the Apostles, we can hear about a multitude of places—Judea, Samaria, and Galilee; Jerusalem, Antioch, and Cilicia—but we’re still talking about one community.  The area described there in the Bible is about the same as entire eastern half of Wisconsin.  And the community through that whole area was “at peace;” that is, it existed in unity and in Christian love. 

What is it that this person in the parish, or that person in the parish has to offer and to share with everybody else?  What do these farmers over here have to offer and share with these people over there who commute to the office every day?  What do our youth have to share and offer our more senior members?  And what do those more senior members have to offer and share with our youth? 

Our parish is incredibly diverse.  And that is a huge asset in trying to foster actual “catholic unity.”  There’s a lot of diversity to share; a variety of life experiences; a variety of histories, a wide array of talents and passions.  And, to add to that, there is a common, shared faith, and the same Lord and God of all. 

So, what does catholic unity look like, here in our little corner of the world?  Well, it’s whatever the faithful decide it’s going to look like—not just the faithful here in the parish, but the faithful throughout time and space.  The saints give us examples of unity to follow—unity with others, and unity with God.  The early Church—“spread throughout the whole” Middle East—gives us an example of unity to follow—again, unity with others and unity God.

We have all the seeds right here, today, for unity.  We have diversity, we have sharing, we have faith, we have the angels and the saints to help us, we have the faithful departed to pray for us, we have the “catholic” Church throughout the world to draw on, we have God.  And, we have the sacraments—especially the Eucharist, which steers us toward unity, love, and peace.

We have all we need for unity right here, today.  What we do with it all—well, that’s up to us.  Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.  Saint Michael, and all you Choirs of Angels, pray for us.  Saint Peter and Saint Paul, pray for us.  Saint Francis and Saint Clare, pray for us.  Saint Patrick and all you Saints and holy people of God everywhere, in every time and place, pray for us.

Homily for 19 May 2019

19 May 2019

5^th Sunday of Easter, Year C

We’ve heard Jesus say it a thousand times before: “Love one another, as I have loved you.”  But here at the 5^th Week of Easter, it maybe knocks us off kilter to realize we have to go back to Holy Thursday—when Jesus said those words—in order to grasp what he’s saying.

And so, there it was: Holy Thursday.  The tension between Jesus and the Jews had reached a climax earlier that day.  And now it was nighttime.  The sun had set, and darkness was all around; the kind of darkness that has a tinge of evil in it.  As John tells us, “The devil had already induced Judas, son of Simon the Iscariot, to hand [Jesus] over.”  In that very dark setting, Jesus and his twelve disciples gathered to celebrate the Passover meal.

And in the middle of the meal, Jesus got up and took the role of a servant, washing his disciples’ feet.  He returned to the table, and Judas left to go and betray him.  And this is when Jesus said, “Love one another, as I have loved you.”

From this we get a different image of that word “love;” different than what an internet search will give us.  Here, love is more like: “Sticking by someone when life gets rough.”  And we see Jesus loving his disciples in that way when they were stuck on a stormy sea, and he walked on the water, and calmed the sea [John 6:20].  He loved them by coming to be with them in the tough times.

Have we seen a family member, or a friend, or an “enemy” going through a rough patch in life?  One way to love them as Jesus has loved us is simply to be present to them.  Of course, Jesus loved his disciples in other ways, too. 

For instance, he spends time with them, just being with them.  We see this when Jesus and his disciples come together as guests at the Wedding in Cana [John 2:2].  We see it when they’re “spending time” together in the Judean countryside [John 3:22].  And we see it when Jesus brings his disciples up on the mountain and sits with them [John 6:3].  Jesus loved his disciples by getting to know them as a companion, but also as someone who brought them to a “higher place,” a place of holiness—which is symbolized by the mountain.

Have we ever seen someone who perhaps needed an encouraging word?  How many of our youth are in need of good, solid mentors in life?  One way to love each other as Jesus has loved us is to spend time getting to know each other—even the people we don’t especially like.  Remember, Jesus doesn’t tell us to like one another; he tells us to love one another.

Jesus loved his disciples by opening them up to a bigger vision of life, and what could be (and what will be).  This is especially true in the Gospel of John.  When he visits the Samaritan woman, Jesus is essentially saying, “It’s good and charitable (that is, it’s loving) to reach out to our supposed enemies, and to accept them as fellow children of God, if not also as friends.”  But Jesus loved his disciples not only in that way (with their neighbors), but also in trying to widen their horizons—as far as life with God goes.

Jesus tells Nathaniel about “greater things to come” [John 1:51], but he doesn’t exactly say what those things are.  And then Jesus cleanses the Temple and the disciples start to make connections between what he’s is doing and what the larger picture of the Prophets had foretold [John 2:17].  Jesus speaks about a certain “food” the disciples don’t know anything about yet—the food of doing the will and the work of the One who sent him [John 4:34].

Jesus loved his disciples by moving them forward and upward in faith; by moving them toward the vision of the Holy City, the New Jerusalem which we heard about today in the Book of Revelation.  It’s a loving thing for us to raise each other up, to something “higher” and more fulfilling.  It’s a reflection of how Jesus loved his disciples. 

It’s also a reflection of Christ-like love to challenge each other.  And Jesus certainly loved his disciples by occasionally doing that.  When they were trying to feed the five thousand, Jesus let them struggle a bit with that question [John 6:11].  He challenged them to think of another way—a “higher” way, the way of gratitude, by which there’d be enough food.  He took the bread and fish, gave thanks, and there was enough for everyone.  He loved them by challenging them, in a gentle way, but also in upfront ways, too.

When the Jews were pretty much rejecting Jesus (because of what he was saying about his Body and Blood being food and drink), he turned to his disciples (to the large crowd of disciples) and challenged them to stop complaining about what he was saying and just believe in him.  He was very upfront.  But, as we know, many simply walked away, and didn’t follow him anymore [John 6:61,66].  At that point, he turned to his twelve disciples and put the same challenge to them: “Do you want to leave me, too?”  And with that, the faith of the twelve disciples deepened.  They grew in faith because Jesus loved them enough to challenge them—very directly—on their discipleship.

All these examples, as well as the washing of the disciples’ feet on Holy Thursday, were all ways Jesus loved his disciples.  Throughout his time on earth, Jesus defined what “love” is—not spousal love, or erotic love, or filial love (which are legitimate forms of love), but “love” in the sense of “self-giving charity;” concern and care for “the other.”  When Jesus says, “Love one another as I have loved you,” he’s saying, “Be self-giving and charitable to one another, as I have given myself in charity to you—even to death.”

And there may not be a lot of warm and fuzzy feelings in that kind of love.  There may not be “intense feelings of deep affection,” or “great interest and pleasure” as there can be with filial love, or spousal or erotic love.  Instead, as Saint Paul and Barnabas said, “It is necessary for us to undergo many hardships to enter the kingdom of God,” to enter into the kingdom of that other kind of love—the kingdom of perfect charity.

Now, if you consider what we’re doing here, just like Jesus and his disciples on that Holy Thursday night, we gather to celebrate the Passover.  Around us in the world, and even in our midst, there is the darkness of: greed, corruption, hatred, despair.  Popular culture murmurs against us and our God.  The situation of Holy Thursday continues on today.  But into that, Jesus speaks again those words we’ve heard a thousand times before: “Love one another, as I have loved you.” 

And those aren’t just encouraging words; they’re a commandment.  Loving one another as Christ has loved us is not optional—if we intend to be his people on earth.  It’s been said before: Love—sacrifice—is what makes the Church run; it’s what keeps the faith alive and spreading in the world.  As Saint Paul says, without love—Christlike love—we are “nothing” [1 Cor 13]; just another corporation in the world, “in the world” and “of the world.”

But that’s not who Christ intends us to be.  That’s not what he commands us to be.  And so, we take to heart the words of the Lord—words that are very familiar, but which are life-changing when we really embrace them: “Love one another, as I have loved you.”   

Jesus has gone on ahead of us.  And the “good news” is that he wants us to be there with him.  And he’s given us love—charity—as the preeminent way to get there.  Charity amongst ourselves is what lifts us upward and onward to our God.  Charity here on earth, is what gets us to that place, that life, where there is nothing but perfect charity, perfect love, forever and ever.