Homily: 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year C

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

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

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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.

Homily: Monday 8th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Sir 17:20-29 • Psalm 32 • Mk 10:17-27
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Two more days...That's right, just tomorrow and then it's Ash Wednesday. I suppose the big question is: Are we ready?

I always think I'm ready. Look at me now. I spent the weekend on a deacons' retreat -- lots of prayer and contemplation, trying to step away from the confusions and busyness of my daily life and redirect my spiritual life. I came away all charged up for Lent, ready to follow through on all those promises, that repenting, that re-thinking, that conversion the Spirit asked of me.

But then I encounter the Gospel, a message I've encountered many time before, and yet it almost knocks me flat with its firm but unmistakably clear demands. 

Sometimes the Gospel shakes the very foundation of our world, turning everything we believe in upside down.

Sometimes it forces us to question the honesty and depth of our response to God's personal call, placing our lives in stark contrast to the lives we're called to lead. I know you heard it.

"It is easier for a camel to pass through a needle's eye than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God" [Mk 10-:25].

OK, maybe a little Jewish hyperbole, but like so many of Jesus' words, it's often misunderstood, misinterpreted and misapplied.

Some, trying to soften the metaphor and open Heaven's door a bit wider, claim the Needle's Eye was the name of a small gate in Jerusalem's walls. Maybe...but to focus on that misses the entire point of what Jesus tells us.

At the opposite extreme others assume wealth is the great disqualifier, that only the poor can enter the Kingdom of God. This, too, misses the point, and ignores Jesus' relationships with many who were far from poor.

Remember Zacchaeus, the tree-climbing tax collector in Jericho? "Lord, I give the poor half of my goods." Not all...but half. And still Jesus told him, "Today salvation has come to this house" [Lk 19:8-9].

And did Jesus tell His friends, Lazarus, Mary and Martha to dispossess themselves? Did He tell Nicodemus or Joseph of Arimathea that they were excluded from the kingdom because of their wealth?

Even John the Baptist, dressed in animal skins and eating only honey and locusts, told the crowd, "If you have two coats, give away...one" [Lk 3:11].

So is Jesus trying to confuse us? Or do His words betray a deeper meaning, something not so obvious when taken out of the context of His teaching?

What did his words mean to these 1st-century Jews? What exactly did He have in mind? And what does it all mean to us today?

It's little wonder the disciples were shocked by what they'd heard, for Jesus had just contradicted a powerful and long-standing Jewish tradition, in which wealth was seen as a sign of God's favor.

Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, were all wealthy men, blessed by God who enriched those He loved. 

\And hadn't Moses promised the Chosen People that if they obeyed God they'd prosper in a promised land where they'd lack nothing?

It's a common Old Testament tradition: if you feared God, if you loved Him, you'd be blessed with the good things of the earth.

Yes, you and I are astonished because we assume Jesus meant that entering God's Kingdom is hard, especially for the rich. 

But the disciples understood it as hard even for the rich, whom God has blessed. If even the rich, those whom God has blessed, cannot enter, then who indeed can be saved?

So when the rich young man approached and knelt before Jesus, the disciples were impressed. Wealthy, respectable, intelligent, self-assured -- a young man who'd been blameless keeping the Law.

Jesus, too, treated him affectionately. When asked, "Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life," Jesus didn't say, "Get rid of your wealth." No, instead he said, "Keep the commandments."

It is only when the man persists, saying in effect, "I've done that, but I want to do more," that Jesus looked on him with love. With love, just as he looks on you and me with love, even as He demands more of us.

Yes, Jesus loved him and in that love issued His unexpected and radical challenge:

"...one more thing you must do. Go and sell what you have and give to the poor; you will then have treasure in heaven. After that, come and follow me" [Mk 10:21].

The effect? 

"At these words, the man's face fell. He went away sad, for he had many possessions" [Mk 10:22].

He was so sure of himself, wasn't he? Brimming with confidence, pleased with his irreproachable life. He'd followed the rules, and done nothing wrong. Aware of his innocence before the Law, but unaware of his weakness before God. 

This day, for the first time, a great sacrifice was asked of him. But he lacked the heart for it. The peace that he sought was beyond his reach because he couldn't let go of his possessions. He saw the way, but feared the renunciation. And this fear, this failure to follow God's personal call, always produces sadness.

Jesus, of course, saw the weakness; as the Letter to the Hebrews put it: 

"Nothing is concealed from Him; all lies bare and exposed to the eyes of Him to whom we must render an account" [Heb 4:13].

What of this weakness? Was it the love of money and material possessions? Or a love of things over the love for others? Or something deeper?

Was it really that disordered, deep-seated self-love, a confused love that refuses to place God first, that will inevitably turn its back on Jesus. 

You see, Jesus doesn't fault the rich solely because of their wealth. No, His concern is for those of us who place anything ahead of God. Material things, in themselves, are good. The sin lies in excessive attachment, in trusting in them, in failing to realize that everything is a gift from God which must be shared for the good of others.

And that sin of attachment will cause you and me, like the young man in the Gospel, to turn our backs on God.

"I am the way, the truth, and the life" [Jn 14:6], Jesus tells us, and therefore nothing, absolutely nothing, should take precedence over Christ in my life, over His right to rule over my heart.Christ

What takes precedence in your life, in my life? Is it God's Will or like the young man, are we consumed by possessions or our financial worth?

Perhaps our lives center on a desire to be liked. But even human friendships, or a love for another, can manipulate us, strangle us, lead us away from God.

That which we place first in our lives - when it is not God - becomes a prison. Only when we place God first do we experience true freedom.

With that our material wealth or poverty matter little, for we are doing God's will, allowing Him to act in our lives. And with Him in charge, well...

"For men it is impossible, but not for God. All things are possible for God" [Mk 17:27].

God is calling each of us, brothers and sisters, and He never stops calling. Just as I am sure he never stopped calling the rich, young man. What did we read in Sirach earlier?

"How great the mercy of the Lord, his forgiveness of those who return to him!" [Sir 17:29]

Yes, indeed, in return for our response, for our submission to His Will, He promises a different kind of wealth, a treasure far greater than we can imagine.

But only arms that are empty of self can stretch out to receive that gift...just as Jesus did when He emptied Himself giving everything on the Cross.

Homily: Monday, 29th Week of Ordinary Time - Year 2

Readings: Eph 2:1-10; Ps 100; Luke 12:13-21
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That’s quite a man Jesus describes in today’s Gospel passage – a real success story, the kind of person many would admire, even today. His perceived success is measured by his wealth, attributed to his hard work and good planning. But that’s not how God sees him. For Jesus, this man’s life was a mess, guided by misplaced priorities.

His first wrong priority was never seeing beyond himself, focused only on “I”. But “I” is the shortest word in our language, and requires just one stroke of the pen. Perhaps this is the best indication of its relative importance.

His second wrong priority was his inability or unwillingness to see beyond this world. A true materialist, he based his security entirely on his personal wealth, showing us again how little the world has really changed since Jesus’ time. For many today the driving force is to build better and bigger barns, to create increasingly more personal wealth.

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

During my working years I encountered many like the man in the Gospel. So consumed by their desire for wealth or fame or power, they ignored or neglected the morality of their actions. So driven by greed, or so self-absorbed, they were indifferent to its disastrous effects on others.

So the Gospel message is nothing new. Greed and self-absorption will always be with us. Many people are still owned by their possessions; and yet, by spending their lives collecting riches, they prove only how poor they are. And for the truly greedy, no amount of wealth is sufficient, for no amount can bring true happiness. How sad for them. They devote their lives to adding zeroes to their net worth – so much work for nothing, just another zero!
 

Remember, though, Jesus preached this parable to people who were far from rich, so don’t assume you must be wealthy to be greedy. Greed and meanness, and the self-absorption that breeds them, cut across all income levels. The only real difference between a greedy rich man and a greedy poor man is that the former has managed to convert his greed into wealth.

But both behave as if they will live forever. Did you notice that it’s through the rich man’s encounter with death that his true poverty is exposed? All that wealth is suddenly eclipsed by the person he became during the process of living. Yes, this man the world sees as so successful is an eternal failure in the deepest sense because he tries to live without God’s sustaining power.

So the parable is really a story of a person who spends life with little or no reference to God. Jesus warns us against going it alone, trying to hold our future in our own hands, of wasting our time, of reveling in our possessions and life’s comforts.

We need humility and courage to trust that the Good Shepherd will continue to lead us and guide our lives along paths we cannot wholly anticipate, let alone understand. Self-sufficiency, so highly touted today, is one of the great myths of our time. For just as with God, nothing is impossible [Mt 19:26; Lk 1:37], so too without Him, nothing lasting is possible.

Brothers and sisters, we are a spiritual people; for that is how God created us – in His image and likeness – so there’s a hunger in our hearts for more than bread, more than possessions. We hunger for the transcendent. We hunger for God – a hunger He will satisfy, if only we let Him. The only truly satisfying nourishment – God’s Word poured into our hearts – comes to us from the One Who is pure spirit – the holy mystery at the heart of our universe.

Instead of grasping after the world's riches, which all pass away, seek what God offers. As St. Paul reminds us in our first reading:

"God, who is rich in mercy, because of the great love he had for us...brought us to life with Christ" [Eph 2:4-5].

Let’s pray today that we open our hearts to the riches God offers us, that we strive always to know God’s will for us, and that we use well the gifts He has given us, especially the gift of life itself. 

Homily: Monday, 8th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: 1 Pt 1:3-9; Ps 111; Mk 10:17-27

“Are you saved?”

I remember the first time I was asked that question. It was about 40 years ago, and my young family and I were at the San Diego Zoo when a young person came up to us and shouted those words at me: “Are you saved?”

At first I was taken aback and didn’t say anything. But when he was joined by another young person who asked the same question, I simply said, “I working on it, but like St. Paul I’m working out my salvation with fear and trembling.”

I then said quietly, “Philippians 2:12”, gathered my family, and walked off to check out the gorillas.

It was one of those rare lucid moments when I actually said the right thing. Most of the time my perfect response comes to me about an hour later.

Of course, Jesus always said the right thing. And today’s passage from Mark is a wonderful example.

When the rich young man approached and knelt before Jesus, the disciples were surely excited that of one so favored might join their ranks. Jesus, too, treated him affectionately. 

'...he went away sad..."

When asked, "Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life" [Mk 10:17], Jesus didn't say, "Get rid of your wealth." No, instead he told him to keep the commandments.

It is only when the man persists, saying in effect, "I've done that, but I want to do more," that Jesus looked at him with love, and issued His unexpected and radical challenge:

"…one more thing you must do. Go and sell what you have and give to the poor; you will then have treasure in heaven. After that, come and follow me" [Mk 10:21].

And the effect? At these words, the man's "face fell, and he went away sad, for he had many possessions" [Mk 10:22].

He’d been so sure of himself, hadn't he? He’d done nothing wrong; he’d followed all the rules. He was aware of his innocence before the Law, but unaware of his weakness before God. On this day, for the first time, a great sacrifice was asked of him. But he lacked the heart for it. The peace he sought seemed beyond his reach because he couldn’t let go of his possessions. He saw the way, but feared the renunciation. And this fear, this failure to follow God's personal call, always produces sadness.

Jesus saw the man's weakness, for nothing is concealed from Him, but says nothing else to him. And what of this weakness? Is it the love of money and material possessions? Or are these merely symptoms of something else, something deeper? The man's inability to shed his wealth results from his love of things over his love of others. But at the root of this disordered love is something even more serious: a form of self-love that refuses to place God first.

You see, Jesus doesn't condemn the rich solely because of their wealth. No, His concern is for those of us who place anything ahead of God. Material things, in themselves, are good. The sin lies in attachment, in trusting in them as if they will solve all your problems. Everything we have is a gift from God, a sacred trust which must be shared for the good of others.

"I am the way, the truth, and the life" [Jn 14:6], Jesus tells us. And therefore nothing, absolutely nothing, should take precedence over Christ in my life, over His right to rule over my heart. As St. Peter reminded us in our first reading, your faith is "more precious than gold" [1 Pt 1:7].

Let each of us meditate on that question today: What takes precedence in my life? Does my faith place God's Will first, or am I consumed by something else? Even human friendships, or the love for another person, can manipulate us, strangle us, and lead us away from God. For that which we place first in our lives – when it is not God – becomes a prison. Only when we place God first do we experience true freedom.

God is calling each of us, brothers and sisters, and He never stops calling. In return for our response, for our submission to His Will, He promises a different kind of wealth, a treasure far greater than you and I can ever imagine.

But only when we empty our arms of self can we stretch them out to receive the gift of salvation…just as Jesus, in total humility, and acceptance of the Father’s Will, emptied Himself and stretched out his arms on the Cross.

Then, when you stand before Jesus, with the fear and trembling well behind you, and He asks, “Are you saved?”, you can say “Yes, indeed.”