Holy Family

What Makes a Family Holy?

I recall reading an article entitled “Family: They Mess You Up”. It was all about how the miserable lives of children, in all of their dysfunctions, and how they could be traced back to bad parenting. Now, it can certainly be true that bad parenting can result in children facing a whole host of challenges in adulthood, but what is subject to debate is what constitutes “good parenting”.  As Christians, good parenting always involves nurturing the child to grow strong in one’s faith, and represent this faith going out into the world.

As Christians, the spiritual heroes of parenting are, of course, Mary and Joseph.  Mary is honored for her submission to God’s will and her devotion to her son, while Joseph’s role, though less recorded, was his obedience to the angel’s admonition not to abandon Mary. In addition, one can imagine the difficulties Joseph must have endured given Jesus’ public ministry. What is clear from today’s readings is Jesus’ family ‘s obedience to the Torah and their relative poverty (they offered doves for sacrifice). The real story today begins with the presentation. 

Jesus’ presentation, though, is really more of a sacrifice, resonating with the dedication/sacrifice made of Old Testament figures such as Samuel to serve God as prophets.  Jesus’ ritual presentation prefigures the sacrifice he would later make on the cross. John Paul II called Simeon’s speech a “Second Annunciation” since he lays out the very difficult road ahead for Jesus as the “light to enlighten the nations and the people of Israel”.  What is clear is that leaving the Temple, Mary and Joseph must have been filled with a sense of great joy as well as anxiety over the prospects of their child’s life. What is telling is the summation at the end of the reading that reveals that “The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him.” This is all canonical scripture tells us about Jesus’ youth. What is apparent, however, is that the foundation for Jesus’ ministry was rich with the close ties to his cousin John, and the freedom with which his mother and father afforded him in his growing ministry. As all families must do, Jesus’ family stepped into the background to contemplate the mystery of God’s gift not only to them but also to the world.

At some point, every family must let go of the gift given to them by God, their children. As with all spiritual and temporal gifts, they are never fully owned but only given to further God’s grace and the outpouring of love into the world.. For parents who cling too tightly to their children, attempting to form them into their own image, are years of regret for a loss of intimacy between parent and child. For in order to fully love one’s child, the parent must ultimately allow the child to become someone apart from them; however, the lasting bond between parent and child is not broken but rather strengthened. Such is God’s gift of love revealed in the freedom of choice for us. This freedom is our gift to our children.

 The dynamics of this freedom are fruitful in that they are built strongly on the foundation of love and mutual respect. St. Paul’s admonition in today’s reading from Colossians to  “Put on, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, bearing with one another and forgiving one another. . . .” When this love is manifested in the relationship between the parents, the ultimate lesson of love is learned, and more importantly, passed on.

—Fr. Todd

Christmas

"Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For today in the city of David, a savior has been born for you who is Christ and Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger."

 I want to begin this Christmas season by focusing on the call of the shepherds rather than moving right to the Nativity.  In fact, if you follow the various gospel readings that the Church offers, you would find the vigil Mass (afternoon of the 24th) through the daytime Mass (Sunday mid-morning) you would find the Christmas story and the theology of the Christ across three of the four gospels--quite a rich fare which few, unfortunately, experience.

Back to the shepherds, then.  Shepherds were a despised lot in Jesus' time. You can lump them in with tax collectors, prostitutes, and Samaritans.  Of course, as we have seen throughout God's interaction with humanity, this makes them prime candidates for a special grace.  So, it was to them the invitation was extended.  The much discussed "wise men" or magi, come later (probably didn't arrive until a year or so after the birth).  

So, as the story goes, as with all angelic visitations, it begins with fear.  It takes a lot to scare a shepherd who defends his flock from any number of hazards; they are a grizzly lot.

But, as the gospel records, "...they were struck with great fear".  The appeal of the angel not to fear is based upon the message of a savior that will "be for all the people."  This is followed by a "multitude of the heavenly host" singing "Glory to God in the highest."  Quite a night for the shepherds, and some essential truths about the nature of God and salvation for us tonight.

Like God's appointing David as king (the least likely candidate), God's favor rests on Mary, Joseph, outsiders like the Magi and shepherds.  Notice the absence of anyone really important like Temple priests, scribes, Pharisees, important legates or even the chief priest.  God's dealing once again with the complete outsiders, widely believed to be outside of salvation history.  How ironic, then, that these were the people most intimately associated with God's arrival as the Christ.

If Advent has sharpened our senses for seeking justice and finding a place with the poor to be in the right place; this visitation of the shepherds remind us that we are now in the right place at the right time---with the poor, alone, late in the night. Dismal.

But it is with the outcast, far from the comfort of daylight, deep in the night, that God's greeting arrives proclaiming joy and salvation.  Like so much of what God has done in his relationship with humanity: "Who woulda thought?"

In your deepest moment of darkness and doubt,  when your prayers are bouncing back off of the ceiling, ridiculing your attempt to reconnect with God after seemingly failing every time, I want to remind you that those prayers that you think mock your devotion made it through.  They were in God's heart before they ever left your lips. Like the shepherds, the most unlikely folks in the most unlikely place, God finds us.  Search no further than your need, your loneliness, your feelings of being left out. For the still small voice of God speaks to you here, now, inviting you to come home and find the sign of God being with you in the most humble of circumstances.  Join with Christians worldwide to not give up following the light until it rests over the manger where Christ is to be found---in the most unlikely place, at the most unlikely time. 

Third Sunday of Advent

St. John the Baptiser and Our Mission

In the third week of Advent, our focus shifts to John the Baptizer's admonition to "make straight the way of the Lord'" in Jesus' first coming. John prepares for the first coming of Christ, while we are now preparing for the Second Coming!

This Sunday is Gaudete, or Praise Sunday. What are we praising? We are joining with Isaiah and Mary and proclaiming "In my God is the joy of my soul!".  Both Isaiah and the Magnificat are the responses to a praiseworthy God. Isaiah's praise is a good place to start to see our role in "making straight the way of the Lord".

For us, it is not how will but how is the "glory of the Lord" revealed. One key aspect is "bringing glad tidings to the poor". It is more than simply meeting the financial needs of those less fortunate financially than ourselves, though that is an excellent place to start. It is about establishing community with the poor, of accompanying the poor and identifying with them as fellow seekers who value them as fellow travelers. While we may eagerly, and too often temporarily, provide material support, we are called to enter into their poverty with our blessings of grace which we have experienced in our journey. The poor come in all areas of our lives. It is the poverty of social isolation where we find ourselves the center of attention and can see others on the sidelines longing for inclusion. It can be the person who is in need of an attentive ear to vent frustration and anger. It can even be one who is angry with us who believes we have not treated them justly that means, for us, entering into the poverty of asking for forgiveness. All of the "poor" require our immediate attention, our wakefulness, to remind us that God found expression best with humanity, his creation who left the riches of Eden for the poverty of isolation.

Isaiah also speaks of "proclaiming liberty to captives". Our liberation from the alienation of sin is a great place to start. As we proclaim God's grace as a great liberation, we are likewise to extend that grace to everyone. Forgiveness isn't a single act but a way of life, living in the receiving of forgiveness for those whom we have offended and rejoicing in their mercy (all mercy, ultimately, is God's mercy) and extending to those who have offended us reconciliation that isn't conditional upon them asking for our mercy.

Our lives as Christ-bearers, light in the darkness, smooth pathways through rough terrain, enable us to join Mary in declaring "My soul rejoices in God my savior" because though poor, he has brought me glad tidings.

Christ the King

There is that famous line from Mel Brooks's movie History of the World: Part I,"It's good to be king!"  Being king brings up beautiful imagery of elaborate court ritual, absolute authority, and feasting; it sounds a lot like the institutional church!   But Jesus' words to Pilate betray this image of opulence.  When asked about his kingdom, Jesus replies, "My kingdom does not belong to this world" (New American Bible).  Another translation has it as "My kingdom is not of this world"(New International Version).  The sense of Jesus' reply is that his kingdom is neither the kingdom of Rome nor the kingdom envisioned by the religious authorities; both groups lose.

The Solemnity of Christ the King that embraces Jesus as king is relatively new.  It was established in 1925 to counter what the Church saw as an increasing tendency to worship human wisdom and power, which was loosely defined as Modernism.  By later positioning the solemnity at the end of the Church's liturgical year in 1969, it further enhanced its standing as the summit of Christ's rule and, implicitly, the Church as Christ's kingdom.

However, the songs and imagery associated with this celebration often blunt the irony of Christ as king.  The common representation is a resurrected, non-bloody Jesus hovering (rather than being nailed) on the cross.  The image of Christ as king is ironic because he is the king with a crown of thorns, a procession of humiliation, and a knightly court of cowards.  As St. Paul writes in his letter to the Corinthians, "For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God."

The ironic image of Jesus, as king nailed to the cross, speaks of a different kind of power than the power of earthly kingdoms.  In a general audience at the Vatican, Pope Benedict XVI suggests ‘the power of God’ which is different from human power; it reveals, in fact, His love.” 

"The power of God's kingdom as embodied by Jesus' death isn't exclusively revealed by the resurrection, although the saving power of God is most apparent here. It is the magnitude of God's love for His creation in self-sacrifice that shows Christ's real power as king. " 

The ultimate love is the love that sacrifices oneself for another. This is the real power that defines Christ's kingdom.  This is why evil can never ultimately triumph over good; evil avoids self-sacrifice.  Evil always seeks what is best for the self over and against the other.  It destroys the community and ultimately destroys itself.

On the other hand, self-sacrificing love is the ultimate Christian act where one falls into the opened arms of Christ on the cross, trusting in the power of God's ability to bring life from death.  Christ's kingdom is not of this world, but it is for this world.  Nothing is of more importance than conforming ourselves to this likeness of Christ as King.

Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost

God's Currency

I remember getting a brand new baseball mitt in junior high school, only to have it stolen out of my P.E. locker the next day. It was eventually recovered, taken off of a kid who had written his name, letter by letter, across the back of the mitt as if to reaffirm his ownership. The rather ostentatious claim to ownership notwithstanding, the mitt was mine.

Such is the claim made by Caesar (Tiberius) in today’s gospel. In Jesus’s famous dictum: “Then render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, and render unto God what is God’s, ” he avoids the tricky situation of answering the question of the Herodians and Pharisees as to whether or not it is in accordance with the Law to pay the tax required by the Romans of all citizens. If Jesus answers “no,” then he will gain favor with the people but commit a treasonous act and be punished by the Romans. If he says “yes,” he loses favor with the people and affirms he supports the Roman occupation. Instead, Jesus suggests that the coin’s temporal worth is owed to the temporal leader, Tiberius Caesar, and that God is entitled to what is His. Of course, what is God’s is also “stamped” with God’s image: humanity.

            The coin might belong to Caesar, but Caesar belongs to God. What we lay claim to so often has our image, in one form or another, all over it. But likewise, all that we are should have God’s image revealed. In Acts 17, St. Paul proclaims in the Aeropagus defends Christianity to the philosophers by proclaiming, “In him [God], we live and move and have our being”; as even some, your own poets have said, ‘For we too are his offspring.’ Since we are God’s offspring, we ought not to think that the deity is like gold, or silver, or stone, an image formed by the art and imagination of mortals.”

              St. Augustine’s sermon on this passage from Matthew develops this idea: 

“Just as Caesar seeks his image in your coin, so God seeks his image in your character. Give back to Caesar, he says, what belongs to Caesar. What does Caesar look for from you? His image. What does God look for in you? His image”(Sermon 113A).  

 What we possess is God’s image as our true character; we are the coinage of God, each and every one of us, ultimately rendering our lives back to God, having either spent God’s currency wisely or foolishly. God's currency, of course, is love. This is our true wealth and is inscribed indelibly in God's image. When we love, we gift others with God's wealth and, in turn, render unto God what is God's.

Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

God: “Do as I am, not as they say”

     Last night, I encountered a person who used Hitler as an example of someone they could not forgive. Look, I completely understand the symbolic nature of the statement, but Hitler has not done anything personally to them (as far as I know). The person was simply trying to help me understand that forgiveness and mercy have limits, and Hitler embodied the limit for them. On reflection, however, it seems that forgiveness is denied rarely because of some abstract sense of limit, but rather is denied out of a profound sense of being personally wronged. The "wrong" done God./father of the sons in today's parable from Matthew, was personal because of the disobedience--one rather insidious and the other overt---damaged a personal relationship, not simply defied a category of acceptable behavior.   

    The context for Jesus' teaching in Matthew: Jesus has just finished his Palm Sunday entrance into Jerusalem, and is making a point to let everyone know the religious leaders will enter heaven after tax collectors and prostitutes. Not a great way to start off Passover in Jerusalem, but this was personal.

     As the passage from Ezekiel suggests, today is all about what the Greeks refer to as metanoia, which is literally a “change of mind”, but also implies a complete “change of heart”,  a change which finds its fulfillment in action. Today’s parable is all about our actions lining up with our words.

     The hero of our parable refused the wish of his father to work in the vineyard at first, but changed his mind and began work. The other sons put up no resistance, but did not go work in the vineyard; they served only with their lips. Our hero’s virtue was his change of heart and his follow-through of working in the vineyard. This is the son that did the will of the father.

      There is another level important for us in today’s parable. The un-favored son did comply externally while inwardly they betrayed their word; the lone dissenting son’s actions were always transparent, always honest so that when his metanoia occurred, the virtue did not lie solely in words but found fulfillment in his actions. His actions were the transparent manifestation of his heart.

     Our obedience to God must come from a change in heart, not simply a change in mind that gives lip service to obedience. God’s mercy is always most profound for those whose hearts have been changed, not simply a change in “words”. All of salvation history reveals God’s actions, not simply God’s words. God’s Word, Jesus, was God’s action. The epitome of God's love is a person, not a text, or a system of laws or creeds. While doctrine, stories, history and other texts are part of our heritage and integral to our faith, we must remember all things are subordinated to the person of Christ.

     Our lives, then, are the testimony of our faith, not how well we can quote Scripture and point an accusing finger of disapproval at our neighbor. We confront sin with compassion and mercy, the way God has confronted our sin. God’s mercy confounds us because His forgiveness is personal; His love is everlasting.

Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

A Fair Wage: The End of the Line

What is fair?  Recall the words of Isaiah from the first reading: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. As high as the heavens are above the earth, so high are my ways above your ways and my thoughts above your thoughts.” Is God really that inscrutable? Some would use this as an excuse to simply abandon all reason, which usually means embracing whimsy and self-interest. Considering the passage in the context of Isaiah 55, however, we can see that the prophet is suggesting it is God’s great mercy that is inscrutable; for indeed, it is God’s mercy that touches humanity, not God’s wrath, in the person of Jesus.

     Jesus, in today’s gospel, is addressing his disciples on the heels of Peter’s declaration, “Look we have left everything and followed you. What then will we have?” Like so many of Peter’s declarations, we might cringe, but we can easily see ourselves in such questioning. Peter’s question brings us an important issue for those who “have left everything”. Clearly, Peter regards the disciples as being the leaders of the Kingdom, most deserving of salvation; however, Jesus’ parable, when applied to that attitude clearly seems to indicate a position at the end of the line (“…the last will be first, and the first shall be last”). The ordering of first and last in the sentence, placing last first, suggests a reordering of Peter’s sense of entitlement. “Scramble for the back of the line” seems to be Jesus’ advice to the disciples, but the ambition to be last so that one may be first seems to bring us back to the same problem: “I am entitled to compensation”. We can hear Peter’s petulance at the end of the line: “Okay, now I’m at the end, let me be first!”

      What we need to do is abandon our “line mentality”. The Kingdom isn’t about where we are, it’s about who is there with us. Like the master of the vineyard in today’s parable, God does not regard time as an indication of virtue. In eternity, time is meaningless. Like the refrain from Amazing Grace “"When we've been here ten thousand years/Bright shining as the sun./We've no less days to sing God's praise/Than when we've first begun." Our reward for our relationship with God is the relationship itself, not an enhanced environment.

      There is the story of the man recently arrived in heaven being disappointed at the plain furnishings and amazed to see the utter joy on the faces of the people who are enjoying themselves in blissful communion. He approaches one of these folks as asks them if this is heaven. “Yes, it is!” the man replies. “How can this be heaven; it is so plain and unattractive?” “Oh, that,” the man replies. “Heaven isn’t out there”, gesturing at his surroundings, “heaven is in here” gesturing to his heart. Our reward of faith isn’t something we get, it is someone we become: the image of the One who made us.

Hell for those expecting more.

Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

“Love does no evil to the neighbor;
hence, love is the fulfillment of the law.”

Although both Old Testament and gospel readings this morning speak of sin and the duty of confronting the sinner, it is easy to go no further than separating from the sinner and going about one’s business, content that the community is a better place without them. This rather myopic reading of Scripture “misses the mark” if we take it no further.

Ezekiel was a prophet in exile, well over a thousand miles from his home in what today is Iraq. As a priest, he no longer could perform his priestly function, and so God appointed him to explain why they are in exile (faithlessness in practice) as well as a vision of a new Israel restored and closer to God.

Likewise, in the gospel, while it can seem that Jesus is simply preaching what to do with unrepentant sinners (treat them as you would tax collectors and Gentiles: separation), perhaps one could also consider the more important lesson of forgiveness than communal purity.

With whom did Jesus seek communion? He sought out those not included in traditional Jewish society: tax collectors and Gentiles, to name two outcast groups. Likewise, while today’s text discusses the seriousness of sin within the Christian community, its focus is on the extraordinary lengths a community should go to re-evangelize those whose actions separate them from the community. While we need to clearly identify sin, we should focus on forgiveness because sin can destroy communion and community.  The sins in today’s gospel seem to be the failure to reconcile, the great pride of self-righteousness, anger, and despair.

Jesus begins by announcing what to do “if your brother sins against you.” This isn’t some sin against the Law or a laundry list of do’s and don’ts; this sin is personal. If we had to approach everyone using this method for even serious sins, we would be spending most of our time confronting one another and very little time for anything else. This sin here is when we feel personally offended by someone in our community, our brother (or sister!).

 Personal grudges and long-simmering unresolved feelings of ill will are a much greater poison to a faith community than failure to live up to high moral standards. Taking personal offense at someone for living up to a moral code is not helpful. We should refuse to tolerate unresolved conflict, things that destroy communion.

One who refuses to forgive is living in greater sin than the action that occasioned the offense. Such stubbornness involves at least three serious sins: pride, anger, and despair. Our community of brothers and sisters, to follow Jesus’ model, should be a community whose personal conflicts should be resolved through mutual forgiveness and reconciliation. To read this story as simply one confronting another about sin—-though there is a place for this in the community—the real culprit here is latent anger, pride, and despair brought about by those who have been offended.

St. Paul, in today’s lesson, reminds us of the true hierarchy of righteousness:

“Love does no evil to the neighbor;
hence, love is the fulfillment of the law.”

We fulfill the law in loving our neighbor; forgiveness is the single greatest act that “loosens” sin; pride, anger, and despair keep sin “bound” and lead to death.

Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

     The words of passion from Jeremiah in his love affair with God remind me of the “burning” of Pablo Neruda’s poem “Ode to a Naked Beauty”: “As if you were on fire from within./The moon lives in the lining of your skin.”  Jeremiah complains that loving God puts him at odds with the world and causes him to suffer; he is not a willing sufferer but has been seduced by God. The usual translation is “duped,” but a mystical tradition within the Church that renders patah as “seduced,” and I think it is appropriate, especially for this passage.  Jeremiah’s love for God is all-encompassing. He is in love with a being, caught up in a passion that will not be denied.  Indeed, these lines could have been taken from the lover’s complaint of a Shakespearean sonnet.

“I say to myself, I will not mention him,
I will speak in his name no more.
But then it becomes like fire burning in my heart,
imprisoned in my bones;
I grow weary holding it in; I cannot endure.”

            This intensity finds its resonance in today’s gospel reading from Matthew, where God’s love for humanity is likewise intense and “foolish” in the person of Jesus, who realizes that he will soon suffer and die because of this passionate love for humanity.  That is why he sharply rebukes Peter, whom he had praised just moments before, and suggests that seeking to avoid suffering is an inclination from Satan. Clearly, Peter loves Jesus and wants Jesus to avoid suffering and death. Peter wants the Triumphant King, not the Suffering Servant, but clearly, Jesus is the Suffering Servant, and many who followed him equated him with Jeremiah, for whom the Suffering Servant was likely penned (some thought Jesus as the resurrected Jeremiah).

            Of course, in word and action, Peter was perhaps the most passionate of all the disciples. I think Jesus realized that what is essential for the continuation of the mission was passion, not administrative acumen (though we need not find them as opposing qualities). Peter’s passion needed to be directed toward God’s mission of embracing humanity. Our purest expression of love for God is our love for those whom God has created.  Jesus makes falling in love with God less of a mystical affair and one of flesh and blood reality. Jesus’ Great Commission (John 15:12) isn’t about loving God directly but loving one’s neighbor. It is in loving one’s neighbor, then, that the love of God becomes flesh and blood. Like God, our love will be often rejected, and we will indeed pay a high price for having been “seduced” to love the God we can see in each other because our love of Christ compels us beyond the love of family, or nation, or tribe, and seeks the love of God in all, not just among the "lovable."

Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

Who do you say that I am?

The story in Isaiah this morning about Shebna being denounced by Isaiah is classic. Shebna, a royal steward of the palace, is being rebuked because he has taken upon himself honors associated with the king (viz., having a tomb built in the place reserved for the Davidic kings). Shebna was the one who controlled access to the king, hence the phrase “when he opens, no one shall shut; when he shuts, no one shall open”(Is.22:23). This is juxtaposed in today’s readings with Jesus’ declaration to Peter, “Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven” (Mt.16:20). It’s all about the power to grant access, and Peter has been rewarded with this power through his confessional statement to Jesus’ question of identity, "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Mt.16:17).  For Roman Catholics, the whole “key” issue is understood as referring to the office of St. Peter; he was the first leader of the church, and the primacy of this office has been handed down to present day. As a rather rough generalization, The Orthodox (and Old Catholics) have a more collegial view, with the “keys” power being distributed evenly among the episcopacy, while the Protestant view generally asserts that the entire body of the faithful has been given the “keys.” 

It is easy to get wrapped up in the discussion as to whom the power of access has been granted to “loose and bind” and forget Jesus’ original question: “Who do you say that I am?” Perhaps the link between the Old Testament and the gospel has more to do with simply a study of ecclesiastical pedigree. Perhaps it also has something to do with the cautionary tale of Shebna, who abrogated the power of the king for himself to allow the power of the office to go to his head and, as a result, lost the office altogether. 

Positions of power within the church today, as in all positions of authority, can become extensions of personal egos. The larger the institution becomes, and the more the power of that institution becomes concentrated in the hands of the few, the legacy becomes not “good news” but an obsession with control. The church, divinely instituted, is administered by humans, and humans have a lousy track record with unchecked control. Such abuse of authority in the Roman Catholic Church is an easy target, but the problem of control extends well beyond the borders of the Roman Catholic Church. What is clear is that Jesus’ question can get buried too easily in the “court intrigue” and political power plays in any church. 

           While the institutional church is for Jesus, its members must be from Jesus. It is not enough to proclaim ideological affiliation; we must animate our ideology with a living relationship with God through Christ. While the Creed may guide us, it is our responsibility to finally access the deeper reality opened to us by the church. As an institution, the institutional church will never be “good news,” but only the members of the body working across denominational lines, responding to Jesus’ call to confess him through their lives as The Christ, the Son of the Living God.

Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

Jesus’ action with the Canaanite woman in Matthew’s gospel is troubling for us who experience the universalism of the Church and the belief that God has offered salvation to the entire world. However, the church of Matthew’s gospel were Jews, and the Canaanites were well outside God’s covenant with the Jewish people, and it seems Jesus sided with the popular understanding of such a separation. Although this story is also present in the Gospel of Mark, the change in Matthew to a Canaanite from a Syro-Phoenician woman speaks of Matthew’s desire to emphasize how much outside God’s covenant she was. Add to this Jesus’ words of rebuke, and the stage is set rhetorically for what comes next.

The woman’s response to Jesus’ rebuke of “It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs” with, “Please, Lord, for even the dogs eat the scraps
that fall from the table of their masters” is a coup of a well-tempered response that upends Jesus’ harshness; it is a moral drama being played out in front of a crowd who sides with Jesus. So what does Jesus do? He proclaims her daughter is healed because of her great faith to see beyond what the crowd saw: an insurmountable barrier to God’s grace. This event is on the heels of Jesus proclaiming in front of the Pharisees and scribes, “…it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles” The Canaanite woman is yet another instance of Jesus proclaiming God’s reign isn’t localized, or dependent upon the traditions of “the elders”, but upon compassion and justice, making a strong connection with the first reading from Third Isaiah, which asserts that God’s justice and mercy is also a function of allowing “foreigners” to serve at the Temple if they agree to keep the Sabbath and the Law of the Covenant. To do so would be a great act of faith not only for the foreigners but also for the Jewish people.

Contempt for “the foreigner” is a cultural characteristic, it seems, for many. Most recently, children and young adults seeking refuge in this country have had to endure not only exile from their homes and families but also the contempt born of fear from many in our country and some in our church. Jesus’ morality drama played out to staunch the flow of animosity for the Canaanite who represented the consummate foreigner. Jesus’ clear message to the crowd: Faith trumps creed because faith is the foundation of creed, not the other way around.

We worship a living God, not a living document. Too often, text takes the place of a living faith. Where the community’s faith is strong, the “traditions of the elders” are always held accountable by living faith. When creed runs contrary to the living faith, it is discarded or altered to reflect the current reality. Ours is a living relationship with God, not a relationship with a text; that is simply another more insidious form of idolatry. Our true worship is as old as Isaiah in establishing justice and righteousness and calling brother or sister all who nurture faith in a living God.

Tenth Sunday after Pentecost

I'm in way over my head!  Where is God in all of this?

Imagine, if you will, that you have been sent by God to your people to demonstrate God’s power over and against 450 false prophets before the kingdom.  In a mighty display of God’s power, you call down fire from heaven completely obliterating the false prophets.  There is a giant pause as this object lesson settles in. People are amazed; they are frightened and break out into astonished applause. Then the crowd turns and walks away as you begin your well-rehearsed speech about being the true prophet of God. Then, the queen of the kingdom, out of fear, turns against you and forces you to flee to a cave in humiliated retreat. What went wrong?  Where is God in all of this?  Such is the situation Elijah finds himself in in today’s Old Testament reading from Kings.

After the great spectacle of God’s almighty power, the demise of the prophets of Ba’al, God appears now to Elijah, not in a way he appeared to Moses: wind, earthquake, and fire; God was not in the great wind, not in a mighty earthquake, and not again in fire, but only in a “tiny whispering sound”. Elijah hears the sound, but if Israel won’t pay attention to fire raining down from heaven, what will a whisper do? God tells Elijah that he is to go and anoint another leader and that a remnant of Israel will be faithful. So, the whisper leads to a renewal of a remnant of Israel (7,000) who reestablish God’s covenant with the faithful, the faithful who found God in a whisper.

With such great and grand injustices in the world, who doesn’t long for God as spectacle? Fireballs raining down on false prophets (or at least on ISIS!). Fireballs against our enemies, bread for the hungry, hope for the poor. What we get is a whisper that lies below the din of talk shows, political speeches, and mob violence; the whisper speaking to all who listen, who quietly and with great faith assert God’s presence in the whisper of individual acts of love well on the sidelines of social media.

Jesus, responding to the fear of his disciples in a boat on rough waters, accepts Peter’s rather glib challenge, and calls him from the boat. Peter’s salvation comes not by being successful at walking on water but succeeds in having his faith deepened in Christ’s saving him from his own fears and doubts. In this case, again, God was not in the storm, not in the spectacle of turmoil, but in quieting the storm and allaying fears. “Lord if it is really you, command me to come to you on the water” was Peter’s rather dim-witted proof of trust (If it wasn’t Jesus, but perhaps Satan, why not fool Peter?). Somehow, deep in Peter’s consciousness, he knew Jesus—present or absent-- would protect him, and he stepped out of the boat.

Faith didn’t save Peter, but Christ’s unconditional love; you don’t need to have great faith to be saved by Christ, but you’ve got to step out of the boat. You’ve got to be willing to fail at walking on water, at having your spectacular plans fail so that you can fall into the arms of the living God whose call is a whisper no one seems to hear.

Transfiguration of Our Lord

Do You See Me Now?

    To be transfigured means to change bodily; in Greek, the word is metamorphosis. Jesus, in today’s gospel, is transfigured to be radiant as God is radiant. Clearly, the event makes clear the divinity of Jesus to Peter, James, and John; but why now?

     The Transfiguration is a “book-end” event in Jesus’ life. It marks the beginning of the end when Jesus moves toward his death in Jerusalem. Like the baptism (the other “bookend”), the voice of God the Father announces His pleasure towards the Son. More importantly, it positions the disciples, Peter, James, and John, as new priests, those selected to mediate God to His people as on Mount Siani when Moses took up Aaron, Nadab, and Abihu (Exod 24:9) to see the presence of God, to enable them to witness to God’s presence. In the case of our story today, Jesus is the new Moses, and the three high priests are replaced by the new priests of Peter, James, and John. Matthew is connecting the old with the new to reveal the fullness of Jesus’ identity, the one who embodies both the Old Testament Law (Moses) and the Old Testament prophets (Elijah). The story establishes Jesus’ divine authority, the revealing of Jesus’ closeness to the Father.

     What was revealed on Mt. Sanai with Moses now becomes the new revelation of the New Law with Jesus as the law-giver. The new Law becomes the summation of the Law and Prophets in Jesus’ statement of the requirement to love God and neighbor (the summation of the Law and Prophets); only, in this case, it isn’t a text that has been given to the people, it is God who has now been given to His people in the person of Jesus. The message is no longer confined to text but lives in the heart of every believer via the Holy Spirit. It replaces Temple sacrifice and priests who stand between God and humanity and replaces it with priests who stand with every believer who also is priest, prophet, and King by virtue of their baptism. The “Holy of Holies” of the Temple has been replaced by access to God himself in the Eucharist, not mediated by the priest, but offered to the people as the minister of The Sacrament so that we who receive the Body and Blood may, in turn, convey this healing Grace to the world sick with sin.

Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

“We know that all things work for good for those who love God “--St. Paul

Too Small to Fail: A Purposeful Calling

One of the fundamental mistakes made in deciding upon success in the spiritual life is using the same criteria we use for any enterprise. Usually, one of the signs of success is size—the bigger, the more successful. Success, often, is envisioned by many members working in large, impressive, buildings affecting large segments. Visible signs of wealth also come into play and work well in concert with size. By joining such an enterprise, we can then associate ourselves with this type of success and, by transfer, consider ourselves successful. Unfortunately, using this criterion in the spiritual life is a mistake.

In today’s Old Testament reading, Solomon, instead of asking for riches and conspicuous signs of success, asked for “an understanding heart”. In turn, God richly rewarded him with “...a heart so wise and understanding that there has never been anyone like you up to now, and after you, there will come no one to equal you.” 

In Paul’s letter to the Romans, he declares that  “We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose .” Quite often this is misremembered as “All things work together for those who love the Lord”. Notice the difference. What our life of following Christ gives us is the sure faith that all our pain and suffering “work together” to fulfill God’s purpose (the good) in accordance with our calling. Everyone God has called has a role to play in God’s plan of salvation for humanity; however, not everyone heeds the call, but, everyone who heeds God’s call, through the merits of Christ, walks blamelessly before God. We are reminded by Paul to remain faithful to our calling not the pursuit of wealth and importance. Indeed the wealthy and powerful are offered salvation and are called according to their purpose, but their wealth and power, like what we have been given, is instrumental, not essential, in fulfilling God’s purpose. For us, failure in the eyes of the world is always an option. We are the people united under the cross of Christ with the motto: “Too Small to Fail”.

Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

The Weeds in the Wheat: Stay Out of the Garden!

This parable is part of a series of parables Jesus continues to use, which develops Matthew’s theme of fulfillment(“I will open my mouth to speak in parables; I will proclaim what has been hidden from the foundation of the world”--Psalm 78). Indeed this parable is part of a series of parables about the acceptance and rejection of Jesus. this them of acceptance tinged with rejection is especially relevant for Matthew’s community who, at the end of the first century are experiencing rejection within the Jewish community.

 Today’s parable suggests the “weeds” appearing among the “wheat” represent those within the Christian community who are subverting Christ’s kingdom, “the field”. On another level, the field is the landscape of the human heart where the Christian must pursue the spiritual life while struggling against the evil from within.

In response to the “weeds among the wheat”, Jesus counsel’s patience and tolerance. It is the Son of Man who will oversee the final judgment and separation of the weeds from the wheat. We are asked to refrain from weeding the fields lest we destroy the good with the bad. Christians on a weeding tear have historically done a great deal of damage. Think of the Inquisition and the Crusades as a couple of notable examples. In considering the substantial damage done to the kingdom by zealous gardeners, best we leave the weeding to the pros. But what can we do with our itch to weed? 

Perhaps our zealous weeding should first be practiced within our hearts, where the Holy Spirit and mature spiritual direction can affect a greater purification. Put away your weed killers and trowels; see what the weeds look like first that lie sprouting within your heart, and by the time you have finished that job, God’s judgment will surely have been visited upon the world.

Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

A Little Seed Goes a Long Way

Today’s gospel presents us with a parable that is quite striking. For us, we are part of the “inner circle” of Jesus’ disciples who get it and wonder why Jesus wouldn’t be willing to explain it to the crowds, but rather seem to dismiss them as being blind and deaf. Why, then, speak to the crowd at all? Jesus was not trying to win over crowds, but to call individuals to follow him; Jesus wanted people to walk with him, not for him.

The crowd is the landscape, and Jesus is the farmer sowing himself, giving himself as the Word of God with the power of words to germinate in the heart of the ones who are listening and whose hearts are fallow, but not sown.

Jesus is, in Greek the logos, or word of God. In Hebrew, dabar, which suggests like the Greek, word associated with talking or writing. But both terms suggest much more. Logos suggest God’s reason, His willed purpose revealed in Jesus. Dabar is the essence of the speaker contained in the word, much as the potential of a plant contained in the seed.

Jesus’ interpretation in the longer version of today’s reading was not, however, likely part of Jesus’ original discourse; it was added to allow the reader to be part of the inner circle rather than the clueless crowd left scratching their heads. The purpose of interpreting the Gospel in this manner was to emphasize ultimate success in spite of what appears to be a complete failure. This is why Jesus suggests that the harvest of the small amount of seed that falls on fallow earth will reap a harvest of “a hundred fold”; the average good harvest is seven fold.

God’s ultimate purpose for humanity as embodied in The Kingdom---the community of believers as living word of God’s sowing---is that despite what appears to be crucifixion and death is resurrection and life. That our hearts as landscapes have captured but a little of God’s Word in the words, but this is sufficient for building the kingdom. Tend to the small patch of fertile heart, and don’t allow the vast fields of unproductive soil to dishearten you. If faith is a mustard seed, you don’t need a lot to realize a spectacular harvest.

Third Sunday after Pentecost

Who is afraid of good news?

As Christians living in 21st century America, we have little to fear from society. 70.6 percent identify themselves as Christian. Unlike Jesus’ disciples, we are not likely to be persecuted for our faith, and we can shout from rooftops or street corners until we are out of breath and will likely not receive anything more than disapproving stares or neighbors yelling at us to be quiet. So how do the words of Jesus in Matthew’s gospel apply to us? A little context might help.

This part of Matthew’s gospel was part of Jesus’ commissioning his disciples to go into the world and assuring them that things will go rough, but that eventually the truth will be revealed and they will stand in favor with God. What has been revealed in secret is not to be proclaimed from “rooftops”. Considering the persecution of the followers of Jesus in Matthew’s time, it isn’t surprising that he incorporated Jesus’ admonition to not be fearful in today’s gospel. We, too, are often hesitant to evangelize, perhaps less out of fear than out of discomfort at what the popular notion of evangelization entails.

Most people when they hear evangelization picture people acting irrationally on the streets shouting the same Bible verse over and over again and handing out tracts; however, evangelization is nothing more (or less) than delivering good news. In fact, it is more than good news—though it must be at least this—- it is the Good News of Christ.  A good question to ask yourself at this point is how is this Good News, good news?

Today’s reading from Romans captures an essential truth that is certainly good news: What was created, through sin, by Adam has been destroyed by Christ. Adam’s sin led to the alienation of humanity from God, not through some genetic predisposition, but through the building of our human traditions and goals outside of living in daily communion with our Creator. In Christ, “all things are made new”. 

This newness is the restoration of communion with God. How, then, do people who are happily going about their daily lives, consider this good news? It seems their lives are good news already.  Here comes the essential part of biblical evangelization patterned after Jesus’ ministry.

As Christians, we bring the good news as healing for those whose lives are weeping wounds. These are those who long for human communion, let alone Divine communion; we can offer them both! Often these lives are messy, full of unreasonable demands on our time, and burden our sense of duty. Who the world has abandoned we come delivering the Good News of communion, first with ourselves, and through this healing relationship, communion with God.  And we don’t need to venture far to find those longing for the good news of the Good News.

                We begin our missionary journey in our own hearts. Before we can share God’s healing, we must allow God working in us to heal our woundedness, our chaotic dysfunctions—the messiness in our lives first. Before we can be Christ to the world, we need to allow our fellow Christians to be Christ for us. That is why the notion of “I can be a Christian alone” is deceptive. As a monk, I am not disparaging the very special vocation of the hermit; what I am suggesting is that all Christians are first and foremost called to witness to the Gospel in in their lives. The Gospel proclaimed on the lips must first come from the Gospel proclaimed in the heart of the believer.

                Now the “fear” becomes apparent. For many, allowing others to heal us means we must first acknowledge our need for others, to let the wounds of Christ be visible in us so that the healing of Christ can begin.  We must learn to be docile to the good intention of others, and in allowing others to see our woundedness, allow them to love us from our faith that God has loved us into being first. It is only then we will have a story of healing to bring to the world, and the good news of the Good News to share.

The Holy Trinity

"Batter my heart three-person God"

--John Donne, "Meditation 14"

Preaching on theological-theme-Sundays is particularly challenging because it invites abstraction and can quickly turn into a lecture; even in a seminary, seminarians want to hear a homily rather than a lecture at Mass.

The Holy Trinity is difficult because the official declaration of God's identity as "three persons one God" seems to run contrary to our understanding of what it means to be a person. For many, such language brings up popular images of "multiple personalities" in a single person suffering from a mental disorder. There is a quotation from the spiritual masterpiece The Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis that gives us a great place to start:

What good does it do to speak learnedly about the Trinity if, lacking humility, you displease the Trinity? ( Book 1, Chapter 1)

The first thing we should recognize is that any theological understanding finds its ultimate meaning in the goal of all Christian life: to allow God to transform us daily into becoming more like Christ. With that in mind (and heart), let's consider today's readings, how the Blessed Trinity is revealed in them, and the implications for our life in Christ.

One of the essential characteristics of the Trinity is God's nature revealed through relationships not only among the persons of the Trinity but also with us. God's revelation is an invitation to join this relationship of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. God has become known to us through revelations (the Prophets), redemptive action (Jesus as Christ), and acting within us (The Holy Spirit) in such a way as to recognize in oneself and one's neighbor, the Divine. This three-part structure: God-self, God-revelation, and God-within, is the basis of how we know God.

Deuteronomy speaks of God's existence in both heaven and earth, acting in both revelation and redemption.

...fix in your heart, that the LORD is God in the heavens above and on the earth below, and that there is no other . . . . that you and your children after you may prosper, and that you may have long life on the land . . . ."

In Paul's letter to the Romans, he explicitly writes of God in terms of Father and Spirit and of being "heirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ" The text takes an interesting turn, then, and suggests that this relationship is only fully recognized (The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit) "if only we suffer with him." Paul is suggesting that we will be led by the Spirit into the sufferings of Christ to enter into the glory of the Father. How often do we regard God as aloof and incapable of suffering because of the attribution of "perfect". Something perfect does not suffer, but God as the Christ did suffer (contrary to the rather insipid claim of the Gnostics) and does suffer. The reason God suffers, for Paul, is clear: we are all God's children. God suffers because of His great love for his creation and his perfect love expressed in our free will to walk away from our inheritance like a petulant child walks away from Disneyland to play in the backyard on a dry, brown lawn with broken toys in the summer heat to spite his parents.

In Matthew's gospel, the Trinity is explicit in the triadic baptismal formula with the promise that the role of the disciple is to teach the world "all that I have commanded you". If you remember three weeks ago, Jesus commands his disciples: "love one another". The mission, then, of both the Church and the individual, is one of "going out" into the world, as Christ and the Father "went out" of themselves---God in creation, revelation, and redemption, Christ in perfect obedience to the Father. This centrifugal force of the Spirit, though, is only possible as a fruit of loving one another--the centripetal force of the inwardness of God's presence within us and Christ's presence in the community of the faithful. What draws us together, leads us to the mission. 

The mission will "batter" us, to quote the epigraph from Donne, but we live because we are embraced by God's Spirit in following the battered Christ resurrected. Donne's pleading seems masochistic until one realizes that to join in this family of God's children, the way of life and glory is also the way of suffering and death for love of the other, embodying the practice of the Trinity. Who could ever understand such love?