Homily: Tuesday, 31st Week in Ordinary Time - Year A

Readings: Rom 12:5-16; Ps 131; Lk 14:15-24

———————————-

Back in 1951, I was seven years old. My dad was an Army officer stationed in Germany and that Christmas we were vacationing in Bavaria. We spent a few days in Munich, and one morning while my mom and brother were back in the hotel restaurant having breakfast, my dad and I went for a walk headed for a nearby newsstand where he knew he could buy an English language newspaper.

And as we walked, for the first time in my brief life, I saw a man on the sidewalk begging. He had no legs and sat on a makeshift wooden pallet with roller skate wheels. He propelled himself with two pieces of wood, one in each hand, that he pulled along the ground. The war had ended only a few years before, and he had a couple of military medals pinned to his old coat. In his lap was a tin can with a few small coins in it.

I remember all this because I had stopped to look at him. Children aren’t easily embarrassed, and neither was he. He smiled at me, so I decided to try out my German and said very formally, “Guten Morgen, mein Herr” – Good morning, sir. With that, his smile grew and he replied, “Guten Morgen, Junge” – Good morning, boy.

At that point Dad spoke to him and they exchanged a few words in German, which I didn’t understand. They both laughed, and then Dad put four five-mark coins in the tin can. 20 marks was quite a lot back then. The man then called me closer, reached out and with his fingertips, made the sign of the cross on my forehead. As we walked on to the newsstand, Dad simply said, “Two things, son. First, Jesus is always present in others, and second, that could be you.” 72 years ago, but I’ve not forgotten that encounter with a war-torn beggar on a Munich street.

Of course, back then I hadn’t read Paul’s letter to the Romans; but my Dad had. Much of the letter contains great theological insights about God and our relationship to him in Jesus Christ. But then, here in chapter 12, as his letter draws to a close, Paul offers us some very practical advice on actually living the Christian life. He begins with:

“We, though many, are one Body in Christ and individually parts of one another.” [Rom 12:5]

Because Christ is present in each of us, we’re united, bound to each other, “parts of one another.” Have you ever thought about that? In other words, that legless beggar, my father, and I are together in one Christian family. To ignore that man on the street would be like ignoring my brother. And because we’re essentially fused together in the Body of Christ, we can serve Jesus Christ only when we love and serve each other.

That’s the wonderful thing about Christianity: we’re not isolated individuals. We’re a community, each of us offering his particular gifts to help the others. And because evangelization is the Body of Christ’s primary responsibility, we must reach out into the world, and bring others into communion with us.

I’ve always thought Paul’s awareness of this communion in the Body of Christ, originated when he heard those words of Jesus on the road to Damascus:

“Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” [Acts 9:4]

Hearing those swords, pondering them, Paul came to understand that by persecuting Jesus’ disciples, he had been persecuting Jesus himself, because they are one. And I really believe that question of Jesus was the catalyst for Paul’s teaching on the Body of Christ.

Paul then lists many of the gifts, the charisms that let Christians build up the Body of Christ. Among them is almsgiving. In Paul’s time, many Christians were poor, unable to give alms. Every community had its sick, poor, elderly, orphans, and widows. But some Christians had a surplus to share, and Paul told them to give generously.

The same is true today, brothers and sisters. But living here in The Villages, in our rather antiseptic enclosed community, we don’t see it, despite the reality that surrounds us. Diane and I served at the Wildwood Soup Kitchen for many years.; and when I was on the board, I’d often go out with one of our drivers, delivering meals to shut-ins. We’d drive down streets where the poverty was so palpable it simply enveloped you; and then enter dwellings where no human being should live.

On Thanksgiving, our secular feast, will we just thank God for all He’s done for us, for all those gifts? Or will we also thank Him for leading us through our own highways and hedgerows, to seek out those with whom we can share those gifts he has let us use?

After all, we’ve come together this morning to receive the Body of Christ, so let’s leave here in Communion as the Body of Christ – to love and serve the Lord by loving and serving one another.

Homily: Monday 29th week in Ordinary Time

I've posted a video of this homily below. It was preached  a couple of weeks ago, on Monday of the 29th week in Ordinary Time, but I just realized I had the video. The complete text follows the video.

______________________

Readings: Romans 4:20-25; Luke 1:69-75; Luke 12:13-21

Some years ago, I read these words. I don’t recall who wrote them, but I jotted them down. Today’s Gospel brought them to mind.

First, I was dying to finish high school and start college.

Then I was dying to finish college and start working.

Then I was dying for my children to grow old enough to go away to college

Then I was dying to retire.

And now I’m dying…

and suddenly I realize that I forgot to live.

The man Jesus describes is much like that, isn't he? He's the kind of person many admire, regardless of the time and place, but he’s also a man who forgot to live. That he was seen as successful was due largely to his obvious wealth. He worked hard, planned for the future, invested well, and seemingly secured himself a comfortable retirement. But from a Christian perspective, his life was a mess, driven by seriously misplaced priorities. 

First, he never saw beyond himself. His plan of life was a constant repetition of “I” and “my”. “I”, the shortest word in the English language, and requires just one stroke of the pen, perhaps an indication of its relative importance. Secondly, he refused to see beyond this world, and based his security entirely on his wealth.

The world hasn’t really changed much, has it? For many today, no less than it was for the rich fool of the Gospel, the driving force is to build better and bigger barns, to create increasingly more personal wealth.

Now wealth, in itself, isn’t an evil. But when it’s misused…when it’s seen as an end in itself and not a means to help others…when it’s unjustly accumulated at the expense of others…when greed and envy become the guiding forces in its acquisition…then it leads to evil.

During my years in corporate America I encountered more than a few men and women very much like the rich man in the Gospel. Indeed, Jesus’ message is nothing new. Greed and avarice will always be with us. So too will those who let their wealth and their property own them.

The psychology of possession is full of paradoxes. Those driven by greed to collect riches end up proving how poor they are. For them, no amount of wealth is sufficient, for no amount ever brings true happiness. How sad for them. They devote their lives to adding zeroes to their net worth – so much work for just another zero!

Remember, too, Jesus preached this parable to people who were far from rich, even by the standards of their day. But one doesn’t have to be rich to be greedy. Greed and meanness are among the most common of human failings and aren’t confined to the wealthy. We can all succumb in our struggle to earn our daily bread. The only difference between the greedy rich man and the greedy poor man is that the former succeeded in turning his greed into wealth. But in their greed, both behave as if they will live forever.

When the man in the Gospel unexpectedly encounters death, his true poverty is exposed. Suddenly, his wealth means nothing, its value eclipsed by the person he had become.

Those whom the world sees as successful can be abject failures in the deepest sense because they try to live without God’s sustaining power. Jesus is warning us against going it alone, trying to hold the future in our own hands, of focusing only on our possessions and life’s comforts, of wasting our time on that which doesn’t last.

We need the humility to recognize that our planning may be futile, and the courage to trust that the Good Shepherd continues to lead and guide us along paths we cannot wholly anticipate, let alone understand.

Self-sufficiency is one of the great myths of our time. Just as “with God, nothing is impossible,” so too without Him, nothing lasting is possible. There’s a hunger today for more than bread, more than possessions. We are created as spiritual beings and the only truly satisfying nourishment – God’s word poured into our hearts -- comes to us from the one who is pure spirit. 

Let’s pray that we strive always to seek God’s will for us

…that we will not arrive at the end of our lives having forgotten to live

...and that we may live well so we won’t be afraid to die.

Homily: 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year C

I have embedded a video of this homily here. The text is posted below the video.

------------------------------
Readings: Am 6:1,4-7; Ps 146; 1 Tim 6:11-16; Lk 16:19-31

------------------------------

Lazarus – it’s a name that means, “God has helped.”

Interesting, isn't it? In all of Jesus' parables, Lazarus is the only person who's given a name. It's as if Jesus wants to be sure we see the poor, the forgotten, the dispossessed, the helpless as unique human beings, as children of God with names attached. And yet Lazarus was almost invisible, wasn't he? Invisible, but he had a name.

After we've heard the parable a few times, we wonder how he ended up as he did. What did he do? Did they have drug addicts or alcoholics in first-century Galilee? I don't know, maybe, but probably not.

So, what happened to him? Had he been injured? No workman’s comp back then. Maybe that’s what happened. 

Was he a thief, like the dishonest steward in that other parable? Did he get fired? The word gets around doesn’t it? And no one else would hire him.

Maybe he just got sick. Or could he simply be one of those people who've always been like that? Always lost, never able to climb out of the depths.

Jesus doesn’t tell us, though, does He? 

But we 21^st-century Christians can’t help but wonder. He probably did something, or just refused to do anything.

We really don't know much about him, do we? Jesus simply tells us what he is, not how he got there. 

He has a name, though. His name is Lazarus.

Then there’s the rich man, tucked away in the warmth and comfort of his home. Yes, he was well-dressed, well-fed, well-rested…and he was also nameless.

Have you ever wondered why?

If Jesus had given him a name, well that’s who he’d be. And it would be harder to see ourselves in him, wouldn’t it? Easier to do if he doesn’t have a name. Maybe that's why he was nameless.

The rich man really doesn’t care about Lazarus, because he doesn’t even know he’s there. Yes, Lazarus is invisible, isn’t he? Even lying there right outside the door.

Did the rich man’s servants throw him a scrap or two? Doesn’t sound like it. Maybe one of them did. But we’ve all watched Downton Abbey, haven’t we? And seen how the servants can become more aristocratic than the aristocrats.

At least the dogs liked him…and licked his sores. I’m not really sure if that’s good or bad.

But then Lazarus dies, and he’s carried by angels into paradise, to the bosom of Abraham.

The rich man also dies, but he’s not so fortunate. He calls out to Abraham, “Have pity on me…for I am suffering torment in these flames.”

And it’s only in death that he learned about Lazarus.

Had the rich man mistreated Lazarus? No, he really did nothing to the poor man.

Did he swear at him, or yell at him? No, as far as we know he never said a world to Lazarus.

And to our knowledge he wasn’t like those rich folks the prophet Amos railed against. They cheated people. They stole from the poor. And they lied about it. But the rich man in the parable? He didn't do any of those things. He was just rich, and he lived well because he was rich.

He didn’t really see the poor around him. They were invisible, even the one lying at his doorstep, the one named Lazarus.

You see, brothers and sisters, it’s not always what we do, is it? It’s often what we fail to do. It’s our sins of omission that create that “great chasm” that can separate you and me from the salvation God desires for us. 

I think about that chasm sometimes, and all the omissions of my life, omissions that have deepened it and widened it.

And that’s when I remember a man named Willie.

It didn’t seem important, not at the time...

Just another poor man, dressed like the bums who came knocking at the door when I was a kid in New York.

That's what we called them then...bums.

Remember? You do if you’re old enough, and didn’t live in a fancy house with a fence and a gate to keep the riffraff out.

My mom would give them a sandwich, maybe a paper cup of lemonade, and always a paper napkin.

She’d talk to them too, just a few words of encouragement, a promise to pray, and always a smile.

Back in 1951, for about a year we lived in a little beachfront cottage right here in Florida, in Panama City Beach. 

It was very different in those days. The chain gangs would pass the house every afternoon - a black gang and then a white gang - they were segregated back then, even the chain gangs.

Mom would take paper cups and a pitcher of cold water or lemonade out to the road - Highway 98, a very quiet highway in 1951.

I'd sometimes tag along, just to see the prisoners, and the guard's shotgun.

Mom would ask the guard, "...if the boys could have some?”

He’d always say yes. And then, as she filled the cups, she’d smile at them and promise to pray.

Anyway, I guess I’d forgotten that the hungry need more than food, that the thirsty need more than drink.

It didn’t seem important. After all it’s a soup kitchen and folks like Willie came there for food. We always gave him a meal, a good hot meal, with a nice dessert, and seconds until we ran out.

That seemed like enough. It really did.

I even brought him coffee when he came in early, as he always did – cream, lots of sugar – just the way he liked it.

I carried the coffee to his table, so he didn’t have to get up. I thought that was pretty good on my part.

It didn’t seem important, at least not to me.

After all, I was working at the soup kitchen, doing God’s work, feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, doing those corporal works of mercy, being the good Christian God wants me to be.

I’d hand him that cup of hot coffee and I’d smell the booze, the old stale smell of cheap booze on his breath.

He’d slur a “thankya” but missing all those teeth he was hard to understand. So, I’d just nod and hurry back to the kitchen. I was busy.

I think I actually talked with him once. I guess I had the time that morning.

After I handed him his coffee, he looked up at me and said, “Pastor…”

He’d always call me, Pastor,” even though I told him, time and again, that I was a deacon at St. Vincent de Paul Church. I was not a pastor.

Anyway, this day he looked up at me and asked, “Pastor, do ya think I’ll go to heaven?"

“Sure,” I laughed, “of course, you will.”

We talked for maybe a minute, but it just didn’t seem important…

Until they found him lying there, early on that cold morning, one of those frozen mornings we sometimes get here in Florida in early February.

Curled up on the hard ground behind the bushes, with his face looking up.

He had died outside the door of the soup kitchen.

It just didn’t seem important to ask him about his life, to pray with him, or hug him, or tell him of God’s love for him.

...and so, I never did.

But after he died, I learned his name was Willie.

Video: Homily for Saturday, 3rd Week of Lent

The lovely Krysten, our parish IT genius, apparently discovered another recorded homily, one I preached at morning Mass a few weeks ago, on Saturday, 30 March 2019. She sent me the video file, so I uploaded it to YouTube and embedded it in this post (below). The text of this homily can be read here: Homily: Saturday, 3rd Week of Lent.

Homily: Monday, 34th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Rv 14:1-3, 4b-5; Ps 24; Lk 21:1-4

A few days ago a parishioner asked why the Catholic Church doesn't demand tithing, as many other churches do. My response wasn't particularly satisfying, but at some point I decided to refer to today's Gospel passage from Luke and let Jesus answer for me.

Yes, Luke shares with us a seemingly trivial event that took place at the Temple in Jerusalem. It's just a brief passage, isn't it? Just four short verses. But is it really trivial, or is it something far greater, something that might well bear on our own salvation?

Jesus had just spoken to His disciples about the scribes and their false pride, how they abused their authority and took advantage of the poor, especially poor widows. Our Lord then turned their attention to one of the many receptacles located throughout the Temple grounds into which people placed their donations. He and the disciples watched as several wealthy Jews placed large donations into the receptacle. 

The disciples were likely impressed by the generosity of the wealthy, but not Jesus. No, He focused instead on the act of an impoverished widow who willingly gave all that she had, two small copper lepta, the least valuable of coins.

Unnoticed by others, she was nobody; and in the eyes of the world her gift of everything was seen as nothing. Everyone else was eying the wealthy, no doubt commenting on their large donations. But Jesus sees the true value of everything. He knows how little their gifts meant to them, gifts they could easily spare. 

To tithe, to give some set percentage of your surplus, really means little when you have so much. Compare this to the gift of the widow, a gift of everything, every cent she had. Indeed, her seemingly small gift, her sacrifice, was an emptying of more than a purse; it was the emptying of the self.

How about our giving? Do we give from our surplus or form our need? Is it a mere plea for recognition? Or perhaps it's a self-congratulatory pat on the back: "Boy, did I write a big check today." Yes, indeed, Jesus knows our motives. 

And we shouldn't focus only on our giving of money. Can we sacrifice our time, our effort, our talents, and instead of using them only for ourselves can we turn them over to God? Is our giving an emptying of self? 

True emptying is the kenosis of Jesus who poured out His lifeblood from the Cross for our salvation [Phil 27-8]. But true emptying is too often ignored by the world [Jn 1:10]. It's ignored because the world doesn't want to think about it. It doesn't want to hear Jesus' call to carry our cross, to give all for Him. 

But to give all, to live the Gospel without compromise, is to love God by doing the work of God, the work of holiness. Such work, never done for personal glory, usually goes unnoticed by all except God. The widow, you see, gave all and did so out of love. Despite her poverty she gave not just a little, but all; while the wealthy gave not just a lot, but nothing.

And as a faithful Jew, worshipping God at His Temple, she knew what the psalmist had promised, how the Almighty "is the father of orphans, and the judge of widows. God in His holy place" [Ps 67:6].

She was so very much like Our Blessed Mother who willingly gives everything for our God, and does so again and again, everything and all things, in the silence, in the anonymous silence of her hidden life.

Speaking of the widow, St. Augustine put it well: "She gave whatever she had, for she had God in her heart. But she had plenty, for she had God in her heart."

Yes, like Mary, she had God in her heart. Is God in your heart? Is He in mine? Do we let Him dwell there or just stop by on occasion?

Our Blessed Mother is the model of those whom Jesus praises, those "who do the will of my Father in heaven" [Mt 7:21]. We too are called to do the will of the Father so we can be Temples of the Lord, carrying Jesus Christ, carrying His presence to others.

How did St. Paul put it? "Do you not know that you are the Temple of God?" [1 Cor 3:16]

Today, through the Eucharist, you and I will also become God-bearers, Temples of the Living God. And so as we process together to receive Our Lord this morning let's all ask Mary to intercede for us, to pray that we may always do the will of the Father, to give all, and so become true Temples of the living God.

Homily: Wednesday. 25th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Proverbs 30:5-9; Psalm 119; Luke 9:1-6
--------------------------------
When Diane and I travel we always overpack. Hotel bellman cry out with prayers of thanksgiving for the expected tips. Yes, despite our best intentions we carry all sorts of baggage on our journey. It's certainly not very apostolic of us. 

For Jesus tells the apostles to take next to nothing! And do you know something? He tells us to do the same. You see, Jesus knew that the more we take on this journey of ours, the more we'll rely on those things and the less we'll rely on God. The less we rely on God, the harder it will be to see God in others, especially those who lack the material blessings we've been given. And I suspect the more we're encumbered with stuff, the harder it is for others to see God in us.

A few months ago, in a conversation with one of my fellow volunteers at the Wildwood Soup Kitchen, I remarked that the meal we were serving that day looked particularly appetizing. She just shrugged her shoulders and said, "I suppose so, but I really don't think much about food." Just then one of our guests, who had overheard her comment, said, "You would if you didn't have any."

What do you think? Did he see God in us that day? It's easy to overlook another's empty plate when our own is overflowing. Perhaps having too much to eat is worse than having too little. It tends to make us insensitive to those who hunger, and ungrateful to God for all His gifts.

Jesus invites us to rely on Him for everything we need, so we're not tempted to take credit for the good in our lives.

When He sent out the Apostles, He gave them something far more valuable than things. He gave them a companion and a message; he also gave them power and authority. He took away their transportation, their luggage, food, money, and extra clothes. He didn't make reservations for them at the Ritz Carlton, or the Holiday Inn, or even Motel 6. Instead he told them, "Whatever house you enter, stay there and leave from there" [Lk 9:4]

Too often we do exactly the opposite of what Jesus tells us, with predictable results. Why? Because we just don't trust God enough to do it His way.

This is a particularly fitting theme for our parish because tomorrow we celebrate the memorial of our patron, St. Vincent de Paul. Vincent was the epitome of trust. Like Mother Teresa, 300 years later, he placed total trust in God and achieved great things. Listen to what Vincent once said about trust:

"Free your mind from all that troubles you; God will take care of things. You will be unable to make haste in this (choice) without, so to speak, grieving the heart of God, because he sees that you do not honor him sufficiently with holy trust. Trust in him, I beg you, and you will have the fulfillment of what your heart desires."

St. Vincent knew poverty because he lived a life of poverty, and devoted himself and the orders he founded to helping the poor.

His life was an echo of today's reading from Proverbs: 

Put falsehood and lying far from me, give me neither poverty nor riches; provide me only with the food I need; lest being full, I deny you, saying, "Who is the Lord?" Or, being in want, I steal and profane the name of my God [Prv 30:8-9].

Yes, St. Vincent knew that "poverty of spirit" frees us from greed and preoccupation with possessions and gives God room to act in our lives.

The Lord wants us, His disciples, to be dependent on Him and not on ourselves - for then He will work through and in each of us for his glory. So, the question for us today is: Are we ready to handle the power and authority God wants us to exercise on His behalf? 

He entrusts us with His gifts and talents.  Are we eager to place ourselves at his service, to do whatever He asks, and to witness His truth and saving power to all He sends to us?

Homily: Wednesday, 23rd Week of Ordinary Time

Given the busyness of my life in recent weeks, I neglected to post this brief weekday homily. Better late than never, I suppose.
----------------------

Readings: 1 Cor 7:25-31; Ps 45; Lk 6:20-26

How did Paul put it? “The world as we know it is passing away” [1 Cor7:31].

Kind of a scary thought, isn’t it? Well…not really, since it’s one of those statements that’s always going to be true, for the world and those who live in it are always undergoing change, always, in a sense, passing away. So it’s really not that radical a thought…at least not to our way of thinking today.

But for the ancients, who lived when Paul wrote these words –the Greeks, Egyptians, Persians, Romans – these words were radical indeed. About the only people of that time who would have accepted this idea were Jews and Christians. You see, the Greeks and virtually all other pagan societies saw the world in cyclical terms. To their way of thinking, all of life, all of history, imitated the seasons, the movements of the heavenly bodies, always returning, constantly repeating, never moving toward any defined end.

If you think about it, this way of thinking was utterly depressing, and led to nothing but despair. It saw humanity as spending eternity on the global equivalent of a gerbil wheel, expending lots of energy but never really getting anywhere. And their pagan religions mirrored this thinking. The pagan concept of the divine came from within man and depicted the gods as man envisioned them.

But Judaism and Christianity were different…very different. You see, their concept of God -- our concept of God – comes from God Himself. It’s not so much a religion as a revelation. The pagans described their gods as they saw them, created in their image. The Jews and later the Christians received God’s revelation of Himself. They described God as He revealed Himself and His relationship with humanity. God creates us in His image.

God reveals Himself to Moses with the words, “I am who am” [Ex 3:14-15] – in other words, I am existence itself -- words no pagan, with the possible exception of Aristotle and perhaps a few other Greek philosophers, would likely have used to describe a divinity.

"I am who I am." ...This is what you will tell the Israelites: I AM has sent me to you.

At the center of this revelation – this self-disclosure by God – is His plan for the future of humanity. And it has an end – eternal life and the consummation of the world – an end revealed in those closing words of the book of Revelation, “Come, Lord Jesus” [Rev 22:20]. Yes, the world will be consumed, and so as Christians we must avoid getting caught up in the things of this world…always considering ourselves as poor in spirit.

For the Kingdom of God belongs only to those who experience this stark poverty. Brothers and sisters, never deny that reality. Never fail to acknowledge the hunger of your heart for God's food. If we don’t experience poverty in its realistic starkness, let us be poor in spirit and accept our own inner poverty. And let us always be oriented practically to the needs of the poor, Gods blessed ones.

And so let us pray today that we may not be conformed to the world but transformed by the Holy Spirit with the spirit of poverty.

“Come, Lord Jesus.”