Homily: 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A

[Note: a video of this homily is available online at this link: Homily: 29 Sunday-A]

Readings: Is 45: 1,4-6; Ps 96; 1 Thes 1:1-5; Mt 22:15-21

About 40 years ago I developed a friendship with an archaeologist. We taught at neighboring colleges. He went on to be a big-time archaeologist working in the Middle East. But way back then, he gave me a gift, an old coin, a 1^st-century Roman denarius, found in Israel near Jerusalem. I think it was worth about $40 back then. I’ve been told it might be worth $1,000 now, but I’ll never sell it, although one of my kids probably will.

You can still make out the image of Tiberius Caesar, and an inscription declaring him the “son of the divine Augustus,” the son of God. I’ve always wondered: Could it be the very coin the Pharisees handed to Jesus as He confronted them in today’s Gospel passage? There were probably tens of thousands of those coins floating around the Holy Land in the 1^st century, so I suppose it’s highly unlikely. But not impossible so I’ve always assumed it was that very coin. Hard to prove a negative, isn’t it?

Of course, the emperors weren’t fools – well, most of them weren’t – so they placed their images on their coinage…It was great advertising. When the people held a coin in their hands, they saw the emperor’s face, projecting an image of power, stability, peace, and prosperity. Roman Emperors, like politicians of every age, believed image was politically important.

The prophet Isaiah, however, knew that human image was just a small piece of human power, that God allows men to wield earthly power. Isaiah reminded Cyrus, the great Persian Emperor, that God alone empowered him to overthrow the Chaldeans, those pesky Babylonians, and free God’s people from their captivity in 539 BC. Cyrus is told: “I have called you by name. I am the Lord…there is no God besides me.” [Is 45:4-5] Yes, indeed, God calls each of us by name, too, because we’re created in the image of the One Who anoints us and calls us “beloved.”

Sadly, the Pharisees were blind to this truth. God stood in their midst, and they failed to recognize Him, failed to see His image within them. Oh, but they had images all right, such different images…

So intent on projecting their image as religious leaders, they forgot what it meant to be holy.

So intent on projecting an image of obedience to the Law, they never considered why God gave them the Law in the first place.

So pleased with themselves, they ignored God’s call to bring His Presence and love to others, especially to the poor.

Have you ever seen yourself in the Pharisees?  Know I have, perhaps too often. Like the Pharisees, I can find myself so weighed down by externals, all the stuff of my life, that I fail to internalize the radical command to love God and neighbor. Usually, though, through God’s grace, I snap out of it and realize how blessed I am that God created me in His image.

But the Pharisees…well, they do the unthinkable. They scheme and plot to entrap the eternal Word of God, joining forces with those they despise, the Herodians…yes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Oh, they conjure up that clever question, don’t they? The one with only a lose-lose answer. They turn to Jesus, flattering Him with words they don’t believe, then ask: “Is it lawful to pay the census tax to Caesar or not?”

If Jesus says, “Yes, it’s lawful,” the Pharisees can condemn Him to the people as a friend of the despised Romans. If He says, “No,” then the Herodians, who happily served the Romans, can bring charges against Him for telling the people not to pay their taxes.

But once again, Jesus ruins their schemes. He holds that Roman denarius (the one I have at home) and asks, “Whose image is this and whose inscription?” the Pharisees reply, “Ceasar’s.” Our Lord then offers His famous command: “Render to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and to God what belongs to God."

Now a lot of folks focus on the first part of that command – the rendering to Caesar part – but how many of us consider the second part? We pay our taxes and today’s elected Caesars use them for all kinds of wondrous things, and a few not-so-wondrous things. Their images, too, are on our coins and our paper currency. And now we’re now in election season, but I won’t tell you for whom to vote. You’re Catholic Christians and can figure that out for yourselves. Just realize, that since the days of Isaiah and Cyrus, and really since the days of Adam and the serpent, we’re in the midst of spiritual warfare.

So, what should we render to God? Can we render anything to God? Does God need anything? No, but it’s not what He needs, but what He wants from us.

You see, like Tiberius and Isaiah, Jesus tells the Pharisees that image is important, but He’s referring to a different sort of image. Since we’re created in God’s image, we’re called to give Him all that we are, all our being! By giving ourselves to God, we render to Him His image. For Jesus, the question isn’t “How much do you owe me in taxes?” But rather, “Who do you look like, and who are you called to be?” When we realize who we truly are, that we are created in His image, we can then begin to recognize Him in the faces of those around us.

I remember how it struck me one day, probably 20 years ago, at the Wildwood Soup Kitchen. As I served a plate of my wife, Diane’s, wonderful cooking and handed it to the woman standing before me, I suddenly realized I was staring into the face and image of God. Even if she didn’t believe in God – and she did – I could still see in her the image of God. It was one of those amazing mini-revelations in the midst of daily life: to realize that God reveals Himself to us through others.

When the Samaritan found that wounded man on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, what did he see but the image of God beaten, bloodied, disfigured – a foreshadowing of Jesus’ passion. What did he use to ensure the innkeeper would care for the man until he returned? He used money, two denarii, each with an image of Caesar. He didn’t misuse money as Judas did when he sold Jesus for 30 pieces of silver, thus betraying the image of God made man.

Money is simply a means. Yes, we need to have some, but when we have a lot of it, we run the risk of using most of it for selfish ends, believing we can create a little piece of our own paradise here on earth. How fitting that our nation’s currency bears the words, “In God we trust” – reminding us that by placing our trust in money, we worship a false god. Much better to use the wealth God has given you to help your neighbor, seeing in him the image of God!

You see, sisters and brothers, at some point we will be judged. We won’t be asked how many holy hours we’ve made, or how many Rosaries we’ve said. Those are good things, very good things, because they’re prayerful. They build our faith and keep our minds and hearts tuned and turned to God. But how do we live our faith?

We all know what we’ll be asked. It’s one of the clearest texts in the Gospels, Matthew 25. Jesus, our judge, will tell us:

“I was hungry. I was thirsty. I was sick and in pain. I was in prison,” then He’ll ask. “Did you see me in all of those? What did you do? You should have known that I hide, not only within the poor, but within sinners as well. You know, those people you avoid like the plague. Did you miss me, day after day, every day. Oh, you handed me your spare change, or a few bucks, and sometimes you even wrote big check. But why? Was it only to ease your conscience…? Yes, I took your money, but I hoped you’d offer yourself. I wanted you to offer your time, to shower others with your love, with My love.”

When God says all this to us, will you and I will stand there sputtering:

“Lord, do you mean to say You were that guy I sometimes played golf with, the one I heard was in hospice. The one who died alone. But I didn’t have time.”

“…or that irritating woman, in front of Walmart, always looking for a handout? She was You too?”

“…or that neighbor who loves to complain about all his troubles, boring us all to tears? That’s you?”

Yes, you and I are here today at Mass, worshiping the One who suffered and was abandoned and uncared for, whose best friends left Him alone. The one whom no one thought of comforting, and whose passion can bring tears to our eyes. Then, we’ll all leave, through those doors. But when we meet Him later, will we recognize Him?

We used to call it a sin of omission, but I prefer to call it a sin of indifference. Our indifference to others offends God far more than the mistakes we make on this journey of ours. St. Paul, in our 2^nd reading, reminds us that “Loved by God…you were chosen. For the Gospel didn’t come to you in word alone, but also in power and in the Holy Spirit.”

But how often do you and I call on the power of the Holy Spirit? In the Creed, we call the Holy Spirit, “the Lord and Giver of life.” To refuse God’s gift of the Holy Spirit is to refuse life. The life God gives us is His own, His Eucharistic life, a life of loving with an active love. For us to reject God’s life is to reject the gift of eternal life.

As Mass ends today, Father will extend God’s blessing to us all; then you’ll hear me say¸ “Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life.” With our lives filled with God’s life, the Eucharistic gift of Jesus, we can carry the Gospel, carry His love, to all we encounter.

If we accept the challenge, if we carry God’s love into the world, the Holy Spirit will come and teach us all things. He’ll change us, if we want Him to, if we welcome Him, if we stop resisting Him, and if we look to Him for everything.

If we render to him all that is His…our very being.

 

Homily: Tuesday, 1st Week of Lent

Readings: Is 55:10-11; Ps 34; Mt 6:6-15

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The “Our Father” is likely the prayer we pray the most. And the version we just heard from Matthew’s Gospel is the more complete version, the one with which we’re all familiar. Yes, indeed, the Our Father – or the Lord’s Prayer – gets a lot of coverage in our lives as Christians.

It was certainly among the first prayers I learned as a child. Our mother taught us the Our Father, the Hail Mary, the Glory Be, and the brief Guardian Angel prayer-poem. We learned them all by heart, back when we were still smart and could remember things well. And I expect most of you had similar experiences as children.

And most of us still pray the Our Father daily. Of course, we pray it during every Mass, and each time you pray the Rosary, you pray the Our Father six more times. Depending on how often you pray, it probably finds its way into other parts of your prayer life. I know it’s my last prayer before I go to sleep each evening. There’s just something soothing and all-encompassing about this prayer that Jesus taught to His disciples.

How did Isaiah put it in our first reading?

“So shall my word be that goes forth from my mouth; it shall not return to me void, but shall do my will…”

And because of this, because it’s the prayer of Jesus, it comes from the mouth of God and must have special meaning for all of us.

For me the very fact that Jesus asks us to call God our “Father” is particularly wonderful, especially for the Baptized who are His adopted children. That's a very special, very personal relationship that perhaps we don’t appreciate as we should. 

Jesus goes on to remind us that the Father’s name is holy, beyond anything we can imagine. He then includes the truth that our God’s will rules the entirety of creation, fulfilled in both heaven and on earth. A nice reminder that perhaps we should suppress our sinful wills and unite our wills to His.

Those few words should also generate a deep sense of humility within us. I’ve always believed humility to be the foundational virtue, without which no other virtue can exist. Humility is simply a manifestation of the reality of existence, an acceptance of the vast difference between God and me. It also helps me understand that I am no better than anyone else created by God.

The prayer then turns to a plea, asking the Father to provide all that we need to live His gift, this gift of life. Yes, we ask for “our daily bread” that which sustains us physically, but more than that, even spiritually, for Eucharistic Bread also sustains us, and provides the indwelling of God promised by Jesus Himself.

We then beg our Father for forgiveness, don’t we? But it comes with a qualification, doesn’t it?

“Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

How many of us consider the depth of these words? That we tell God not to forgive us if we fail to forgive others…for that’s exactly what we’re saying.

Now I’m not a priest. I’m just a deacon, a servant, but a lot of folks seem to confess a lot to me – not in a sacramental confession, just a human one. Most often they don’t realize they’re confessing. You see, they just talk to me and in doing so complain about all kinds of things. But so often it’s really about their anger, anger about something their kids or grandkids have done, or something a neighbor said or did, something they tell me they just “can’t” forgive. Of course, in truth it’s just something they won’t forgive, and I tell them so. They usually don’t like that.

I find it interesting that immediately afterwards this is the part of the prayer on which Jesus focuses. Perhaps Jesus sees it as the most important part since it can have such an effect on our salvation. I get the sense He wants to ensure we understand what we’re praying. Forgiveness is easy, brothers and sisters. After all it’s what we sinners expect from God and in our efforts to become more Christlike, God simply calls us to do the same.

Maybe that would be a good Lenten task for us today. Is there someone in need of your forgiveness? Don’t delay. Offer it to them. Or perhaps you need another’s forgiveness for something you’ve said or done. Humble yourself and ask for it. After all, by doing so you give them an opportunity to become more Christlike by forgiving you.

I think that’s enough.

God’s peace…

 

Homily: Tuesday, 2nd Week in Ordinary Time - Year 2

Readings: 1 Sam 16:1-13 • Psalm 89 • : Mk 2:23-28

What a wonderful Gospel passage, where Mark clearly shows the New Testament fulfilling the Old. 

Mark tells us that Jesus and the disciples were walking through a wheat field on the Sabbath; and as they walked the disciples picked the heads of grain and ate them.

Several places in Exodus, Leviticus, and Deuteronomy apply here. In fact, the Law allows the gleaning, or picking grain from another’s field [Dt 23:25], but only with your hand. Pick just enough to satisfy your hunger. You can’t roll through someone else’s field with a combine. Then there are the Ten Commandments, requiring the observation of the Sabbath day by doing no work [Ex 20:10; Dt 5:12-15].

The Pharisees, of course, were shadowing Jesus, intent on finding fault, so they challenged Him, asking why His disciples were violating the Law. As usual, they interpreted the Law narrowly, but Jesus, as usual, turned the tables on them.

Jesus began by criticizing their ignorance of Scripture: “Have you not read what David did…?” Here He referred to the 1^st Book of Samuel. David and his companions were fleeing King Saul. Hungry, David approached the priests of the sanctuary at Nob and requested bread. But the only bread available was the Bread of the Presence, which, by Law, was reserved for priests alone [Lev 24:9]. But Abiathar, the high priest, gave the bread to David. In his anger, Saul later slaughtered the priests at Nob, not because he thought they had violated the Law, but because they had helped David.

Jesus uses this event to explain the true meaning of the Sabbath, that the letter of the Law is not more important than helping those in real need. The letter of the Law might be violated, but not the good the Law intends. Jesus summed it up:

“The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath” [Mk 2:27].

God instituted the Sabbath, Jesus reminded the Pharisees, not for its own sake, but for our benefit. For Jesus the deepest intention of the Law is not to bind us but to set us free. How did He put it? The truth will set you free. When you think about it, this isn’t surprising. Surely God wants to set you and me free: our freedom is God's gift. Did not Jesus come “to set captives free” (Lk 4:18)?

And then Our Lord said something remarkable:

“The Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath” [Lk 6:5].

Mark doesn’t reveal the Pharisees’ reaction to these words, but they must have been horrified. For them this was blasphemy. Using the Messianic title “Son of Man” was bad enough, but He also claimed the divine title, “Lord of the Sabbath.” Yes, Jesus in effect proclaimed His divinity, as He who gave the Law to Israel, the Lord of the Sabbath, with authority over the Law, over creation.

In our first reading from 1 Samuel, we encounter the young David, a shepherd, the seventh and least likely of Jesse’s sons. And yet, he is God’s choice. He will become the greatest of the kings of God’s People, and a type of Jesus Himself.

This is the David Jesus praises to the Pharisees who have conveniently forgotten the true meaning of God’s Law, the David who act points a thousand years ahead to the Lord of the Sabbath.

Perhaps, you and I should consider how we celebrate the Sabbath, the day on which we proclaim Jesus’ glorious Resurrection. Other than taking part in a vigil or Sunday Mass, what do we do to keep the day holy? Is it just another day to spend on the golf course, or in front of the TV?

Or do we take time to help those who are far from free, perhaps the lonely, the homebound neighbor with no family and few friends, someone who yearns for a visit and for words of kindness.

And like the disciples, do we also take some time to walk with Jesus, to talk with Jesus, to pray with Jesus on the day He has declared holy?

  

Homily: 2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A

Readings: Is 49:3,5-6; Ps 40; 1 Cor 1-3; Jn 1:29-34

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Did you notice one of the common themes running through all our readings today: the idea that God always seems to be calling people to do all kinds of stuff for Him.

We heard it in our first reading when God calls the prophet Isaiah – heck, He does more than that; He calls the entire nation of Israel – and He calls them to do what? Well, in His words, to “be a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.”

Wow! That’s kind of a heavy call, isn’t it? Especially since it was given to a bunch of people who tended to resist whatever He commanded them to do. Does He want that from us, too, from you and me? To be a “light to the nations?” Maybe. But how do we do it?

So, perhaps our second reading will tell us more. It’s from the opening verses of Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians. And what do we find there? Another call – actually, more than one.

Paul, referring to himself, and perhaps indirectly to all of us, says he’s called to be an “apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God.” Okay, what’s an apostle? Basically, it’s someone who’s been sent, sent by God.

Of course, we have the 12 Apostles, plus Paul, and I’ve always thought of them as Apostles with a capital "A". Maybe we’re called to be sent too, as apostles, but maybe with a little “a”. After all, those first Apostles were pretty important; but don't downplay your own importance. We're all called to do important things for God. 

But that’s not all; there’s more. Paul then tells us we’re called to be “holy.” Why? Because we “have been sanctified in Christ Jesus.” So, Jesus sanctified us, made us holy. And you know when He did that? At our baptism.

Our baptism made us holy because our sins were forgiven. Now if, like me, you were baptized as an infant, your only sin was original sin. But if you were baptized as an adult, all sin, original sin, actual sin – it was all forgiven.

What else? We became adopted children of the Father, sisters and brothers of our Lord Jesus. We were brought into God’s family. As Paul tells us, we can now approach Him as, “Abba, Father!”

We also received the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit lives within us, and through His power we can resist sin, or as Paul would say, we can resist living “according to the flesh.”

Finally, Baptism makes us members of God’s Church, so we can take full advantage of the graces that flow from the Holy Spirit, through the sacraments, directly to us.

So far, then, we’ve been called to do quite a few things: Called to be a “light to the nations;” to be apostles of Christ Jesus, sent by God, but sent to do what? And we’re also called to be holy…But what does holiness involve? So, we still have some questions.

Maybe we can get answers from our other readings: the Responsorial Psalm and our Gospel passage. Let’s look at the Gospel first, from John, chapter 1. There we encounter John the Baptist – not the most attractive person in the world. Dressed like a caveman, he ate locusts and wild honey – not the kind of guy most of us would hang out with. And he wasn’t particularly open to discussion or a lot of dialog. Still, we’re drawn to him, aren’t we?

John was certainly called; he even tells us why:

“…the reason why I came baptizing with water was that He might be made known to Israel.”

He, of course, is Jesus Christ. Like Isaiah, John is a witness with a single focus. He just points to Jesus:

“Now I have seen and testified that He is the Son of God.”

Yes, John came to introduce Jesus to the world; and, boy, does John make Jesus known. Pointing to Jesus, he says, “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.”

John calls Jesus “God’s lamb” – God’s sacrificial Lamb. That's what lambs were in the Temple, used for sacrifice.  So John is telling the world that Jesus, God’s Son, will be sacrificed in obedience to God’s will. Why? For one reason. To take away the sin of the world. With those few words, John prophesies Jesus’ redemptive act. And how shocked the Jews who heard those words must have been.

At that Baptism of Jesus, we encounter the Holy Spirit and hear the words of the Father; so, John introduces the world to the very centerpiece of Christian belief, the Holy Trinity. With that, we get a glimpse of what our redemption means: eternal life with Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Note, too, that John tells the crowd: Jesus will baptize with the Holy Spirit. As we’ve already seen, it’s through the gift of the Holy Spirit, through His power, that we can strive for the holiness God desires for us. Scripture, then, has taught us something else: God’s call to be holy is to live with the Holy Spirit dwelling within us, guiding us as we strive to live the Christian life.

A little, actually a not so little, aside...Did you notice that both Isaiah and John were called from the womb? Yes, God and the world see the unborn so differently, don’t they? God loves them and the world slaughters them. Yes, indeed, God calls us in many ways, doesn’t He?

But to understand better God’s call for us, let’s turn to our Psalm from the Old Testament, to the first words we heard and sang together:

Hear I am, Lord; I come to do Your will.

These words – “I come to do your will” – can also be found in the New Testament, in the Letter to the Hebrews when it quotes Jesus as saying:

“Behold, I have come to do your will, O God.”

So, another call, to imitate Jesus, by doing what? By doing the will of God. We’ve heard that before, too, haven’t we? Paul “called to be an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God.”

So, what’s God’s will? What does He will for us and from us? Paul actually tells us. Later, to the Thessalonians he writes: “This is the will of God, your sanctification…” Our sanctification, our holiness. You and I are called to be holy, something else we’ve heard before. But who are the holy ones? They're the saints. You see, you and I are called to be saints: holy children of God who do His will.

Speaking of saints, Augustine once said something pretty interesting that applies here: "Love God and then do what you will." Sounds a bit strange, almost contradictory. What he’s really saying is that if we truly love God and His will, then God’s will and ours will be the same.

It all has its roots in love, doesn’t it? It’s all based on God’s great commandment: to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength...Oh, and while we're at it, to trying loving each other – love our neighbor as ourselves – the foundation of the Christian life.

Yes, that’s our calling, every single one of us: to love and do God’s will. This, brothers and sisters, is the Christian life, the life God calls us to live.

Of course, Jesus never said it would be easy. But He did promise we’d never be alone, because His gift of His Spirit will always be there, always with us. Writing to the Romans, Paul reveals that we’re called to follow our Lord, Jesus, the crucified Messiah, as we journey through this hostile world.

Indeed, Paul continues by letting us know that the Christian life involves suffering. 

Now, I can’t speak for you, but I really don’t enjoy suffering. I mean, do you? I just got over a nasty virus that put me down for several weeks. So, I slept, drank liquids, took meds, read the Bible, watched some TV, surfed the Internet…And I kept encountering stories of the worldwide persecution of Christians; happening everywhere.

For example, in Nigeria tens of thousands of Christians have been murdered in recent years…simply because of their Christian faith. And there I was in my comfortable home in The Villages grumbling about a cold virus that let me goof off for a couple of weeks. All that, while many in the world are following in the footsteps of the crucified Messiah. Are we called to do the same? Maybe. Time will tell.

Scripture, the revealed Word of God, just shouts at us, doesn’t it? Created in God’s image and likeness, we’re called to be like Jesus, His Son. What does it mean, this likeness, this image we possess?

Is it our intelligence? Our free will? Our willingness to love? Or is it also our humanity, the power to imagine, to build, to shape the things of our world? I guess it’s all these things…plus the grace to suffer as Jesus suffered, to cry out to the Father from the depths of our own little Gethsemanes:

“Remove this cup…yet not my will but yours be done.”

You see, brothers and sisters, God works in our world, He plays in our world, He loves in our world, and He does so through His images, that us, His image and likeness, through you and me. You and I point to Christ by who we are, by being Christlike, by living as He lived, by doing what He did, and, yes, by suffering as He suffered.

How did Jesus put it?

“I do not seek my own will but the will of the one who sent me.”

I guess the question for each of us is: How are you and I pointing to Christ? How are we witnessing to Christ? Do we begin each day by praying:

“Father, help me to do your will in all things today. Help me to point to Jesus.”?

You’ll never get a better compliment than when someone says to you, “You remind me of someone…Oh, I know, you remind me of Jesus.”

Because that, dear friends, is our calling, our Christian vocation, the fruit of our baptism: to be Christlike.

And we have no excuse because through His gift of grace, he’s given us the power to do all that He asks, to abandon ourselves, to do His will, not ours.

Homily: Tuesday, 3rd Week of Advent, Year 1

Readings: Zep 3:1-2,9-13; Ps 34; Mt 21:28-32

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Many years ago – I think, at the time, I was probably 11 or 12 years old – I got into a discussion with my dad about Larry, a friend of mine who had lied about selling me a bicycle.

It was an old, beat-up bike, but Larry promised to sell it to me for $5. I had the money, thanks to my paper route, and planned to fix it up the bike and use it just to tool around town. So, I told Larry I’d buy it and went home to get the money.”

When I returned to pay him and pick up the bike, he said he didn’t have it anymore. He just shrugged his shoulders and said, “Someone else gave me $7 so I sold it to him.”

Naturally, I was upset, and I said something like, “Hey, you promised me.”

He just said, “Yeah, big deal.” So, I just went home, really angry about the whole thing.

Later, while I was talking to my dad about what had happened, the doorbell rang. When I answered it, Larry was standing there.

He just said, “Hey, you were right. I did promise you the bike. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sold it to someone else. Are we still friends?”

“Yeah,” I said. And Larry went home.

When my dad asked if I’d forgiven Larry, and I told him “Yes,” he went on to tell me something I’ve never forgotten.

“Son, you’ll meet a lot of people who will say one thing and do exactly what they say. And that’s fine, but only if what they say and do is good.

“But the better person is the one who may say and do the wrong thing, but then ends up doing what is right…like your friend, Larry.

“Of course, you’re not going to get that bike,” he said, “but you’ll still have your friendship with Larry…and that’s much more important.”

This little childhood event popped into my aging brain yesterday when I re-read today’s passages from Matthew and the prophet Zephania.

I realized how difficult that must have been for Larry – to walk down to my house, admit he’d been wrong, and apologize.

It was a humbling thing that Larry did. In fact, he really echoed Zephaniah’s call to be a “people humble and lowly.” Hard to do, isn’t it? To be openly humble…

Yes, it’s never easy to accept our faults and to admit them openly. But that acceptance always leads us closer to God,

Because with it, we come to realize that God’s will for us is always better, more perfect, than our will, which so often is just flat-out wrong.

I also think admitting and accepting the truth about ourselves keeps us honest. It’s hard to lie to yourself when the truth is staring you right in the face.

After describing the two sons in His parable, how did Jesus put it to the chief priests and elders?

“…which of the two did his Father’s will?”

And they got it right, didn’t they? “The first,” they said. The one who did what was right. Yes, they understood the moral theological question Jesus had asked them.

But they failed to apply it to their own lives.

As Jesus reminded them, those with the courage and humility to change their minds – even the worst of sinners – who admit their faults and acknowledge their complete dependence on God...It is they who will enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

And so I guess the lesson for us is to stop lying to ourselves and to others, to say and do what is open and good, so we can experience the peace God wants for us.

Over the years I’ve lost track of my childhood friend, Larry, but I expect he went on to lead a good life. I hope we can renew our friendship in the Kingdom.

Homily: Tuesday, 34th Week in Ordinary Time - Year 1

Readings: Dn 2:31-45; Dn 3:57-61; Lk 21:5-11

If you were in Manhattan, standing down near Wall Street, at Christmas in the year 2000, and someone said to you:

“Do you see those twin towers? A year from now both those buildings will be gone. There will not be a stone upon another stone that will not be thrown down."

You’d probably think he was crazy, or perhaps that he’d just made a terrorist threat. So, you can imagine what the people of Jerusalem thought of Jesus’ comments about the Temple. After all, even then it was one of the wonders of the known world.

This magnificent, glorious building had been under construction for 40 years, since the days of Herod the Great. The great buildings of the ancients tended to last for centuries, so the Temple wasn’t going anywhere.

Of course they were wrong, and 40 years later, Titus, a Roman general, not only destroyed the Temple but went on to destroy much of the city, killing thousands, and enslaving many others.

As you’d expect the locals asked Jesus when it would happen, but He answered not by describing the end of the Temple, but the end of the world. Nations and kingdoms at war, utter destruction, along with earthquakes, plagues, and famines. Sounds pretty bad, and I expect it will be.

In our reading from Daniel, God had already used the prophet to interpret the dream of King Nebuchadnezzar. Daniel describes a series of world empires, from the kingdoms of his time all the way to the end times. This dream confirms that God’s kingdom will endure and never be destroyed.

T. S. Eliot, who’s probably my favorite poet, once wrote, “In my end is my beginning.” It’s a statement I’ve been known to include in cemetery committal services, especially when a grieving family is so overwhelmed by the end of a loved one’s life.

I’ve always liked that statement because it so concisely reflects an important truth of our Christian faith. Yes, indeed, the end of this life is only the beginning of an eternal life. A lot of people, including many Christians, seem to forget this and get all wrapped up in fear as they worry about the approach of the end of the world. 

As for me, I learned long ago that I have absolutely no impact on the end of all things. Believe it or not, God did not delegate that power to me, or to anyone else. Not only that, I also haven’t a clue as to when it will all happen.

And yet, like the people of Jerusalem, or ancient kings like Nebuchadnezzar, so many want to know about the end that God has revealed is coming. Yes, so many, focused on the end, should rather be looking toward the beginning,

Now I’m no prophet, but given the demographics of our parish, I suspect very few of us will see the end of the world. But every one of us will see the end of his or her world and experience the beginning of the next.

If you think about it, Jesus Christ was all about beginnings for He brought the world something wonderfully new. Perhaps St. Paul said it best. Tucked away in his 2^nd Letter to the Corinthians, he wrote:

“If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation” (2 Corinthians 5:17).

Yes, brothers and sisters, because we are in Christ, we are new creations, always on a continual journey of conversion to new beginnings.  

Next Sunday, with Advent, we begin a new liturgical year. So, let’s look forward to that, and yes, as we spend these last few days aware of our mortality, we can also celebrate the truth that God is totally in charge of every aspect of His Creation. There’s no reason to fear.

Indeed, God has given us work to do: to bring others to Jesus Christ and His Church. And believe me, these days they are brought to the Church by seeing Christians loving their enemies, seeing us joyful in suffering, patient in adversity, forgiving of injuries, and showing comfort and compassion to the hopeless and the helpless. This, brothers and sisters, is our calling.

And if we’re not doing it, let’s begin.

Homily: Year C - 33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Mal 3:19-20a; Ps 98; 2 Thes 3:7-12; Luke 21:5-19

A few weeks ago, I came across one of Pope Leo’s homilies – actually, it was a homily he preached several years before he was elected pope. It was all about God’s call to evangelize the world, what the Church proclaims as its primary mission. I guess what he had to say made an impression, because as I began to prepare this homily, I was struck by something I read in today’s Gospel passage that reminded me of evangelization. Tucked away in that passage from Luke’s Gospel is one brief sentence from Jesus:

It will lead to your giving testimony.

What exactly does that mean? What will lead to this? Well, Jesus tells us.

The day will come, He warns, when your temple lies in ruins…when you are powerless, terrified, betrayed…when you’re tempted by lies and handed over by family and friends because of my name. Jesus echoes the prophets here, doesn’t he? We heard it in first reading from Malachi:

“For the day is coming, blazing like an oven, when all the arrogant and all evildoers will be stubble, and the day that is coming will set them on fire, leaving them neither root nor branch, says the LORD of hosts.”

That’s pretty scary stuff…well it is if you think you’ll live long enough to see it. But I don’t worry too much about something I can’t predict…like the end of the world.

Of course, Jesus was also talking to the people of Jerusalem about a day a few decades later when the Romans would come in and destroy their city. 

But I also think Jesus is talking to us about another day, a day we all know is coming: the last day of our lives, of your life and my life. The day will come, Jesus says, when the only thing you have is your testimony. That’s right; the day will come when all we have left is our witness to Jesus Christ, to our Christian faith.

We Catholics aren’t used to giving public, personal testimony. It’s rare when someone calls on us to stand up and give witness to our faith. I suspect if I asked you to testify now, most of you would hide under the pews. 

Oh, we’ll testify about almost everything else. We’ll talk to anyone about our politics, our favorite team, the best restaurant, the traffic this time of year. And the older we get, the more we inflict our opinions on others.

Now, I’m not saying all these conversations and interactions are trivial. No, some are important.  But maybe in all the busy-ness of our interactions with others, we forget to make room for something else.

Somehow, our personal testimony rarely comes up in these conversations. We forget that Jesus calls us to testify, to witness to the truth.

How often do we witness to our faith? How often do we proclaim the truth of Jesus Christ, our Redeemer, the Son of God? And how often do we do it beyond the physical borders of this parish? The pope is right: evangelization is the Church’s primary mission, and we, sisters and brothers…we are the Church.

Jesus reminds us that our work is God’s work, and in this work, He’s creating something powerful, even amid all the chaos we see around us today. He calls us to newness. He reminds us that old ways fall, so something new can arise.

It will lead to your giving testimony.

That’s a prophecy, isn’t it? But it’s also a kind of promise: It will lead to your giving testimony.

Are we ready to do that? A lot of people say, “My faith is something private. I see no reason to broadcast it to the world.” I suppose for them, testimony is something they read in a book or hear from the ambo on Sunday. It’s certainly not something they share on Saturday afternoon at Home Depot, or on Monday morning at aerobics. Anyway, isn’t that why we have bishops, priests, deacons, and all those parish ministries ? Isn’t that their job?

Do they think they’re not important enough, worthy enough, faithful enough for their stories to matter? Maybe they’re silent because they’re not glib or knowledgeable, or even very nice. Maybe they wonder what anyone could learn from their ordinary lives and garden variety sins.  

Yet, 2,000 years ago, Jesus looked at all of the flawed and fragile people around him — people just like us — and said,

“The time will come when you will lose everything, even your temple. You will be hated, handed over, perhaps even put to death, and yet it will lead to your giving testimony.”

Among that audience of early followers were prostitutes, and thieves, and beggars. There were self-righteous Pharisees, rich young men, and women whose lives scandalized the neighborhood. Some were wracked by illness, plagued by demons. Many were haunted by sins of the past. 

And then there's Jesus' friends, His apostles. James and John argued privilege and position; Peter denied Christ three times, Thomas demanded proof, and none truly understood him. None of them lived perfect lives, did they? And yet each of them testified.

Even if, like Peter, we sometimes deny the truth, we still have a truth to speak that the world needs to hear. Even if, like the woman who washed Jesus’ feet, we have a sinful past, you and I still have a message to share with a world of sinners. Even if, like Paul, we stir things up and irritate our friends, even if we’re burdened with a painful infirmity, even if we’ve been run out of town or imprisoned, we have something important to say about God…something so many need to hear.

I think of all those I’ve encountered during my many years of ministry as a deacon. 

An abused woman, searching for the strength to leave a violent relationship. She needs to know that God will sustain her, even when times seem hopeless and terror wears a familiar face.

The lonely -- and we're surrounded by so many lonely people here in The Villages -- caught in a web of grief and pain, they need to hear that God loves them, holds onto them, even in the midst of a fall.

A young father, or single mother, suddenly unemployed and struggling to feed a family, they need to know God is there, calling others to help.

The caregiver of a spouse, overcome by worry, needs the strength and hope that God offers in a world that is sometimes so exhausting.

Those suffering from illness or addiction need to understand that we are God’s beloved and that true healing comes only from Him.

Yes, brothers and sisters, we are God’s beloved; we each have a Gospel story to tell, a testimony that someone else desperately needs to hear. We are witnesses, people who have seen something — maybe something big, maybe we’ve come face-to-face with evil. Or something small, so small it seems unimportant, except to the one who’s searching.

Maybe our testimony can be found, not in words but in our stumbling and falling and finding the courage to try again, in letting others see us struggle to live our faith. Maybe our testimony can be found in the way we care for our families, the way we volunteer our time, the way we welcome a stranger. Maybe our lives, that seem so ordinary, are truly epic in nature, the stuff of legends, worthy of being told and retold, even if only a few listen.

Do we come of age as Christians before we’re willing to share our faith stories aloud, with someone else? We need to testify that we follow a mighty God, a living God, a loving God constantly working in our messy, imperfect lives.

Maybe today is a good time to start…to start with those closest to us: family, friends, grandchildren?

These little ones watch, you know. And they listen, and they imitate. How do we spend our time with them? What do we do and talk about together? Do we pray with them? Will they know they are made in God’s image and called to mirror His love? Will they know the evils surrounding them today will lead them away from God? Talk to our young ones about these things. Let them know what God desires for them, the greatness and the goodness to which God calls them.

This is where Jesus is, brothers and sisters. I love that scene at the beginning of Acts. Jesus had just ascended and the disciples are standing there staring up. Two angels appear and ask them:

“Men of Galilee, why are you standing there looking at the sky?” (Acts 1:11)

Yes, brothers and sisters, don’t look for Jesus in the clouds. Look for Him where He already is. Look for Him right here in the community of His faithful gathered together. Here is the Body of Christ, His Church; and He is with us, for the Head cannot be separated from the Body. Look for Him is His Word, for the Word of God is Jesus Christ, just as present to us as if He were standing here in person. Look for Him in the Eucharist. He’s present there – really present in every way – Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity. Look for Him at home in the faces of those you love, for He is in them too. And look for Him especially where He told us to look: the hungry and thirsty, the stranger, the sick, the imprisoned.

You see, Jesus has given us plenty to do before He returns in glory as Christ the King. As Christians, as members of the Body of Christ, we’re called to prepare the world for the Lord's return, but we must first prepare ourselves. And so, I suppose the question is: How ready are you and I to receive Him? Are we willing to give testimony? To tell and show others our faith, always with courage and love?

Each of us will have his or her own end of the world. That day, as we stand in the presence of Jesus Christ, our Savior and our judge, and say to Him, "Here I am, Lord. Do you like what you see?"  

What will be His response?

Homily: 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C)

Exodus 17:8-13; Psalm 121:1-8; 2 Timothy 3:14-4:2; Luke 18:1-8

_________________

The other day Walmart was packed. I tend to avoid those self-checkout lines, so I picked a check-out aisle with a relatively short line and waited patiently. I soon realized my mistake. I was behind a pregnant mom with two little ones, maybe 4 and 6 years old. Standing next to mom, holding onto the cart, the two children weren’t as patient as the deacon. The older one, a boy, began to poke his sister. She started screaming, looking to her mother for justice. The line behind us grew, people were getting antsy.

It was then that brother and sister simultaneously realized two things: First, the nearby shelves in the check-out aisle held candy and small toys; and second, they had their mom in a highly vulnerable position. They went on the attack. The boy grabbed a toy and began to beg just as his sister, cleverly grabbed a bag of M&Ms off the opposite shelf.

I was impressed. It was as if they had worked it all out in advance. This battle of wills went on for maybe a half-minute, and like any parent I pulled for Mom. She was tough. She got the toy back on the shelf but then noticed her daughter had opened the M&Ms and was eating them. Instantly, all was lost. Mom had to buy the candy, and to keep the peace, retrieved the toy and tossed it on the counter as she pulled out her credit card. The kids looked pleased. Mom simply looked relieved.

Now you might find this hard to believe, but as I watched the three of them head for the exit, I found myself thinking about today’s Gospel reading. Do you see what Bible Study does? It leads us to find echoes of Scripture in our everyday lives.

Like the widow in the parable, the children knew their persistence would eventually pay off. And like the judge, the young mom just wanted some peace and to avoid what could turn into a public embarrassment. 

In Jesus’ parable, the corrupt judge had absolute authority to settle cases before him however he chose. The young mom at Walmart had both parental authority and the credit card. And the widow and the children? They seemed to be virtually powerless, and yet actually possessed real power. But any power we possess exists only to the extent that it is recognized, accepted, and exercised.

Years ago, I used to teach a course on negotiation for corporate clients. One small element addressed something I called “the power of no power.” Centuries of martyrs have shown this to the world’s powerful. They willingly suffered death, driven by an unseen power, a power their enemies couldn’t comprehend.

Today’s Gospel passage is really a lesson on God’s power and how, through His love, He has given us the ability to tap into it. Jesus revealed to His disciples that the Father gives us access to His power through prayer. We are called to be persistent, just like the widow, and not lose heart.

Right before He related this parable, Jesus had described the time of tribulation, trials, persecutions, martyrdom, even a final failure of faith. Hearing this, the disciples were afraid. How could they endure such trials? How could they remain faithful to the end? Don’t be anxious, Jesus told them, don’t lose heart, for the power of the Holy Spirit will be with you. Then God will come and establish His kingdom in justice. He will right all wrongs. He will deliver men and women from sin and death.

20 centuries of Christian martyrs all the way back to St. Stephen, give testimony to the power God grants to those who believe in His love. In the face of a worldly power that ultimately took their lives, a power they rejected, these saints persisted in their faith. They didn’t lose heart.

One common trait shared by all the saints and martyrs is prayer. Through prayer we gain access to God, and to the divine power He desires to share with us. 

Prayer gives us strength; it helps us do things we could otherwise never do. Through prayer God invites us into His world, one very different from ours. How did Jesus put it as He prayed in the presence of His apostles the night before He died?

“I gave them your word, and the world hated them, because they do not belong to the world any more than I belong to the world.” (Jn 17:14)

We are called to live in the world, but not be of the world. Hard stuff when the world surrounds us and calls to us constantly. Prayer, then, takes us from the world and lets us go beyond human hopes, human reasons, human fears, human desires.

Recall Jesus in the garden the night before He died. Wracked by human fears and the vision of the world’s sinfulness, He fell prostrate in prayer to the Father. Jesus turned His eyes to the Power of His shared divinity and found the strength He needed from the Father: “Thy will be done!”

The very next day, Jesus was nailed to the Cross with arms outstretched. Did anyone witnessing the crucifixion see the image of Moses, with his arms also outstretched and “the staff of God in his hand” until the battle was won?

Moses’ prayer formed a channel for God’s power. But even then, Moses couldn’t do it himself, could he? Without Aaron and Hur holding up his arms, those pesky Amalekites would have defeated Joshua and his army, changing the course of human history.

But who helped Jesus on the Cross? What did the witnesses scream at Him?

“If you are the Son of God, come down from that cross.”  (Mt 27:40)

But Jesus would not, not until the battle was won, until He had conquered sin and death, until He had made death merely a thing of this world, a thing of time, but one that led to eternal life.

And we shouldn’t overlook that Moses needed Aaron and Hur, just as we need each other. God calls us to communion, Communion with Him in His Eucharistic Presence, and communion with each other on our journey to eternal life. Yes, we need each other. As I like to tell married couples, your primary task is to help the other get to heaven. 

Although, as Christians, we continue to wage spiritual warfare against the powers of this world, Jesus has already won the decisive battle for us…and the outcome is assured. But prayer gives us more than the strength to fight these daily battles. It gives us the insight necessary to accept God’s will in our lives.

Prayer also connects us to the power of God’s love. Prayer, driven by the Holy Spirit, focuses our attention on the needs of others instead of our own. 

And without prayer, our faith will wither and die. Mother Teresa put it beautifully, “Prayer is the oil that keeps the lamp of faith burning brightly.”

How brightly does our faith burn? Did not Jesus ask:

“But when the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on the earth?”

Will we have lost heart because we’ve trapped ourselves in our world, and lost sight of God’s?

Sometimes we excuse ourselves by saying we haven’t the time to pray. And yet we manage to find the time to eat, to study, to work, to play. We nourish our bodies and our minds. We fill our lives with activity, but we starve our souls and deprive our lives of their fruitfulness.

St. Paul instructs us to “pray without ceasing,” because he knew our lives must be a continual prayer. Like breathing, prayer is a necessity. For only through prayer can we receive the help and strength we need to get safely through this life to our true home in heaven.

One pressing problem is that we just love to tell God what to do. We pray only for what we want, never considering what we need…and then we expect instant results. 

Sisters and brothers, we can tell God nothing He doesn’t already know. He won’t refuse what’s good for us, and grants what we ask in His time, not ours. 

But always remember, it's His will, not ours, that will bring peace and goodness. When we get our prayer right, it’s always a prayer that God’s Will be done, in our lives and in the world. Then all will fall into place. 

It doesn’t matter if we’re joyful, depressed, or angry. It doesn’t matter if we’re confused or aimless, if we’re giving thanks or need forgiveness. It doesn’t matter if we’re ashamed of how we’ve lived and sinned. When we pray, we’re in the presence of a dear friend who understands and forgives, a dear divine friend who shares in our humanity.

God, in His Love, always listens. For love calls for love in return, and prayer is an act of love. So maybe we can keep all of this before us and rouse ourselves to love our merciful God – Father, Son, and Spirit – through prayer. Don’t lose heart, brothers and sisters. Believe in His love. Believe in the power of your prayer.

Oh…and please pray for that mom in Walmart. I think she needs lots of prayers.