Homily: Tuesday, 20th week in Ordinary Time (Year 1)

Readings: Jgs 6:11-24a • Ps 85 • Mt 19:23-30

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Today’s readings always make me more than a little uncomfortable.

Our first reading from Judges really addresses something we’ve all encountered. No, we all don’t have to face armies of nomadic Midianites out to destroy us. But we’ve all experienced times in our lives when things seemed to be crumbling, when all that we hoped for seemed suddenly unattainable. Or when work problems or family problems or health problems just erupted and got to the point where we simply couldn’t handle them well.

And so, like Gideon, we turn to God and ask that question: “Dear Lord, You know I’m faithful; if You’re with me, why is this happening?”

We pray every day, we attend Mass, we read our Bible, we do what we can to serve the poor and we give freely of our treasure to those in need. How come God doesn’t seem to see all the good we’re doing?

And then, inevitably, when all seems to be going so wrong, God brings some level of healing into our lives. We come to realize there’s only so much we can do ourselves, that the only real solution is to let God handle it, most often by leading us to where we need to be.

Unlike Gideon, one of the Judges of the Israelites, God has never sent an angel to guide me – at least one that I could see. But He has sent me others – perhaps they were angels – but they were often the least likely people, and yet they inevitably showed me the way.

Looking back on my odd life, I find myself concluding that God is truly responsible for all the accomplishments I like to take credit for. But it’s not just my successes that are touched with pride. Even in my failures, I find it hard to admit that I was the cause…and that’s pride too.

Yes, it’s all pride. St. Augustine called pride "the love of one's own excellence." I’ve come to think that sums it up pretty well. When we’re doing well, it’s hard to admit that everything is a gift from God.

Then, we’re faced with today’s Gospel passage. After the sad meeting with the rich young man who could not accept Jesus’ invitation to be a disciple, Our Lord comments on the effects of wealth. In doing so, He offers us the wonderful metaphor that it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God. Some say Jesus was referring to a narrow gate in Jerusalem’s city wall called the “eye of the needle.” But if so, that still means little, since He’s really telling us it’s next to impossible – except for God.

So, what does the Gospel mean by being rich? I think it means having a large surplus while around us are so many who lack the basic needs of life. With all that going on around us, but too often unnoticed, how can we claim to belong to the Kingdom, the reign of God, which is a kingdom of love and justice?

Later in his Gospel, in chapter 25, Matthew describes our judgment, at a time when Jesus equates Himself with those in deepest need.

“I was hungry, you gave me no food; I was thirsty, you gave me no drink; a stranger, you didn’t welcome me; naked, you didn’t clothe me; ill and in prison, and you did not care for me.”

When I hear this, and stop, and look inward, I see all the things that trouble me, everything that takes up my time, all the stuff I think is so very important…and discover it all has nothing to do with caring for "the least" of Jesus' brothers and sisters.

And yet, this is how we will be judged. It’s all about how we use the gifts God has given us. You see, it all belongs to Him, not to us. And so, we’re called to return it all to him, by serving those He loves.

Dear friends, God is omniscient; He knows and sees everything we do, and it gives Him great joy when we live the Gospel.

But for too many today, this is a hard thing to accept, a hard thing to do, especially here in our little Florida island of moderate affluence.

A Story of Success, Failure, and Salvation

Years ago, an acquaintance — let’s just call him Fred (not his real name) — died rather suddenly, the result, as I recall, of a brain embolism. Fred, a financial wizard of some repute, was considered, by most human standards, very successful. His expertise in the confusing and challenging area of international finance landed him an influential position at a major financial institution. His reputation grew, his expertise was sought, so he decided to start his own consulting firm providing financial and organizational advice and direction to companies hoping to expand their international business. Instantly successful, he opened a Manhattan office and even maintained a small apartment in the city which he used when work was especially demanding. Fred, his wife, and their two teenagers lived in a large home in an upscale New York suburb. They vacationed in all the best places, and the kids went to the best schools. Yes, indeed, Fred enjoyed a very good life. Well...it would have been a good life, had he actually enjoyed it. If you had asked those who thought they knew Fred well to describe him using one word, I’m sure most would have responded with, “angry.” 

Fred and I were both consultants and first met when we happened to be assisting the same company at the same time. Our work, of course, was very different. Fred showed his clients how they could make tens of millions by expanding internationally, while I provided needed training for front-line managers and sales and support people. Occasionally I also offered some customer-focus direction. Fred got paid very big bucks, while I got paid. We were both happy...well, I was anyway.

I referred to Fred as an “acquaintance” because our few meetings had always been in business situations, and we certainly weren’t friends. I suspect Fred had few, if any, real friends, something that become more apparent over time. The last time we met was a dinner Fred and I shared in the restaurant of the hotel in which we were both staying. For once he seemed quite pleasant. For whatever reason he was unusually talkative that evening and far more revealing than ever before. Perhaps he’d concluded I was no threat. Anyway, for several hours, over dinner and drinks, we talked about of many things. Fred told me about growing up as an only child in a rural Pennsylvania community. His dad was a heavy equipment operator and his mom taught elementary school. 

I can’t recall how or why, but at some point the subject of religious belief arose. He told me his father was Lutheran and his mother Jewish, so “religion wasn’t something we talked about. It was pretty much avoided, so I suppose I’m agnostic.” His family wasn’t poor but neither were they wealthy. He said he had always envied those with money and decided he would find a way to join their ranks. He had some memorable lines; for example, “Education actually became my religion, the path to the salvation I hoped for.” He studied hard, earned scholarships, and in graduate school chose a challenging field in high demand. His was a planned success. In his words, “My work is my life, and my life is my work.”

At some point that evening, when I asked him about his family, he responded oddly by saying only, “I take care of them, so they’re happy enough.” He then changed the subject and began to describe the weaknesses of the client company management that had hired us both that week. The occasion was a company-wide series of meetings. I would conduct about a week of customer focus training for the company’s field engineers, while Fred would work with the management team, helping them implement the plan he had developed for their fledgling international operations. As he spoke to me about their lack of vision, he grew more irritated and more sarcastic. I suppose my expression of surprise tipped him off, for he stopped suddenly and laughed. “As you can tell, I don’t suffer fools gladly.” Indeed he didn’t, but I knew he was wise enough not to display his irritation in the client’s presence. And I knew he trusted me, knowing I would never reveal his true feelings to those he served. 

It was my turn to change the subject. “Fred, you said your family was happy, but how about you? You’ve worked hard. You’re certainly successful. You’ve just published a book. Quite honestly, though, you don’t seem very happy. What are you hoping for in this life you’ve been given?” 

The question obviously surprised him, but Fred was an intelligent man and far more introspective than I’d expected. “An interesting question,” he said, “but with no easy answer — the kind of question I’d usually avoid. I’ve never thought of my life as a gift. You’re getting theological on me, aren’t you?” He raised a hand to stop me from responding and added, “Let’s just leave it at that. You’ve given me something to think about, and that’s always a good thing.”

I never saw Fred again. When I returned home, I sent him a copy of Peer Kreeft's book, Making Sense Out of Suffering. It had been published just a few years before and for some reason I thought Fred would benefit from it. I suppose I saw his anger as a symptom of a suffering soul. He responded with a brief, rather cryptic note: "Thanks for the book -- a lesser gift, but it's led me to think of a greater one. We'll see. - Fred"

Fred died about a year later, but It was some weeks before I heard the news. I believe he was in his mid-50s at the time, probably ten years my senior. I can't explain why, but I felt compelled to call his wife, a woman I had never met, to express my condolences. After a few explanatory comments, she said, "Oh! You're the one who sent the book. It really had an impact on Fred.” I didn’t pursue that comment but just told her I would pray for her and her children, and would also pray for Fred. She thanked me for that.

So often, as we struggle through life’s ups and downs, we mistakenly assume only wealth and success can bring the happiness we all seek. Fred was perhaps a perfect example of this fruitless search, a man who had achieved much in the eyes of the world and yet was demonstrably unhappy. I sensed he had reached a turning point, a realization that life pointed to something greater than the material rewards he had actively pursued. Our loving, merciful God offers His gift of faith to all of us, and does so repeatedly in ways to which we are most likely to respond. Our task is to recognize the offering, the wonder of this gift, and to respond in thanksgiving and love. I pray that Fred, before God called him to eternity, had come to understand and accept God’s gift of life as “the greater” gift. 

Homily: Monday, 29th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Eph 2:1-10; Ps 100; Luke 12:13-21

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In today’s Gospel passage Luke describes an encounter between Jesus and a man fretting about his inheritance. The man came to Jesus because these were the kind of disputes a rabbi would often settle, and by calling Jesus “Teacher” he indicates that Our Lord is seen as a kind of rabbi.

But Jesus turns the tables on him, doesn’t he? He treats the man kindly, calling him “Friend,” but then indirectly reprimands him, doesn’t He? You see, Jesus knows what’s in the man heart, the same vice that thrives in so many hearts. Jesus sees greed and materialism.

Now Jesus’s audience that day was probably not the wealthy of 1^st-century Palestine. He’s just speaking to folks, mostly poor folks, struggling to make living. But one doesn’t have to be rich to be greedy. Greed and avarice 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, or to achieve wealth through other means. The only difference between greedy wealthy and the greedy poor is that the former succeeded in turning greed into wealth.

Jesus, of course, knows what the people need to hear, that one’s life does not consist of possessions. And to make His point, He relates a parable. I’ve always called this one, the “You Can’t Take It With You Parable,” because that’s really what it’s all about.

If you reread the parable, you might notice that perhaps the most common word used by the rich man is “I.” As Sister Francis Jane told our eighth-grade class, “The fact that it’s the shortest word in the English, made with a single stroke of the pen, is probably a good indication of its relative importance." The rich man saw nothing beyond himself, nothing beyond his little self-contained world, apparently assuming it would continue indefinitely.

Has human nature really changed in 2,000 years? Many today, as was for the rich fool of the Gospel, are driven to build the equivalent of better and bigger barns, to gain ever 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 do good…when it’s unjustly accumulated at the expense of others…when greed and envy become the guiding forces in its acquisition…then it always leads to evil.

Throughout my life I’ve encountered more than a few men and women very much like the rich man in the Gospel, focused solely on possessions, yet unaware of the obvious paradox of possession. Those driven by greed to collect riches only prove how poor they really are. For them, no amount of wealth is sufficient, because no amount can ever bring true happiness. How very sad. They devote their lives to adding zeroes to their net worth – so much work for just another zero! 

When the rich man of 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 can neither anticipate nor understand.

Self-sufficiency is one of the great myths of our time, a myth preached constantly by the world. 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, especially, I think, among younger people. We must help them turn to Jesus Christ as the solution, as the source of true happiness, and do so by our own example.

We were created as spiritual and bodily beings and the only truly satisfying nourishment while we’re here on earth is God’s Presence poured into us in Word and Sacrament. And it’s all a gift. As Paul told the Ephesians, by God’s grace we are saved.

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: 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.

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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.

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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, 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.