Twenty Ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time

(2016)

 

            I believe it is safe to say that most Catholics and many other people of faith, at least those whom I have known throughout my life, consider themselves “persistent prayers.” Of course, they do not pray around the clock or twenty four seven, but they do have a consistent habit of praying: morning and evening prayer, prayer before and after meals, prayer at certain critical moments of life, acts of faith, hope charity and contrition, the Angelus, novenas to our Blessed Mother, First Friday devotions and countless others. This does not mean either that they are stuck on numbers, imagining that more is always better. More correctly, it is about establishing a manner of being prayerful rather than giving an occasional nod and a wink toward the One who guides every moment of our life. In short, prayer is a way of life for Catholics and other spiritually dedicated people. Given those assumptions, let us think a little about this way of being prayerful that we have learned and nurtured from our childhood.

            We have a ready example for this in Luke’s gospel for the Twenty Ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time. Luke introduces the topic by writing that Jesus once told a story about a persistent widow who kept hammering away at a certain recalcitrant judge, demanding that he decide a certain case for her. Immediately, therefore, we know that this going to be a story about a widow who feels aggrieved. She will not give up until she receives due justice. Finally, the judge decides that she is wearing out his patience and decides in her favor. (Not a great motive for justice perhaps, but at least he did move slowly in her regard!)

            So, having read only this far, you might imagine that this story is all about a certain Jewish court issue. Not so! If you read farther, you will find that Jesus only uses the story to speak about the importance of persistence in being and persistence in prayer. We already know Jesus’ attitude about multiplying prayers when in Matthew’s gospel we read: “When you pray, do not babble on like the pagans, who think that they will be heard because of their many words” (Matthew 6:7) Jesus, obviously, is not talking about multiplication but about persistence, determination or doggedness. “Do not become weary,” Jesus, says, “do not succumb to discouragement.”

            That, of course, brings up a very human problem we all face when we pray, particularly in what we call the prayer of intercession, sometimes humorously referred to as the “gimme prayers.” “Lord, I want this or that and the sooner the better. I want it and I want it now, not later. I want a raise in salary now, I want to be admitted to an Ivy League school now, I want to be cured of this illness now, I want justice now.

            Of course, it is not unlikely that we should choose to pray like this: first of all, because, for us earthlings, time is an important element in life. We just do not have the time or the patience to wait for something that is of ultimate importance to us to happen.

            The problem with this attitude, however, is the problem of time: our time and God’s time. Secondly, given our limited sense of time, we have so little patience. We want the horror of war to cease now, justice be done for the under-privileged now, discrimination to be silenced now, tolerance be shown to all now! Unfortunately, of course, we have little control over the time element of our plea. Should that prevent us from making our plea? Hardly! The prayer of intercession is not about being heard now; it more about voicing our persistent feelings about the inequalities, the inequities in this world where we live, work and pray

            So, admittedly, the word wait is not a term we very much like to hear. “Justice delayed is justice denied,” said Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Nonetheless, Dr. King’s continuing and persistent cry for justice over the years has slowly continued to make it happen.

            So too therefore regarding the rest of us as we plead each day for so many things in this broken world: We may not receive all that we demand or hope for in life, but the fact that we persistently let God know that we are still concerned is at least a step in the right direction.

 

The scriptures:

Exodus 17: 8-13

2 Timothy 3: 14-4-5

Luke 18: 1-8

Twenty Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

(2016)

            Among the various prayers that I say each morning and evening there is one that is very personal to me. It runs something like this: “Dear God, after all these many years living on this earth, I want to thank you that I can still practice the Catholic faith that my ancestors of generations past handed on to me. Forgive me if I seem to betray your trust. My only hope is that you will nourish and sustain me until some day you will call me home. Amen.

            When I think about it, it almost seems like some kind of ancient miracle that this Catholic faith has been passed on to me throughout thousands of years of history. Given the accidents of time, it could have easily been lost. I could have been born into a non-Catholic or a non-Christian family; my Catholic link could easily have been severed for any number of reasons. Nonetheless, here I am still working at this word processor still thanking God for something that seems a great mystery to me. I am sure that my many Protestant friends must feel the same way. Faith is a mysterious gift somehow tangled up with history.

            Faith, obviously, is also an undeserved gift of God but also a treasure that has been handed on by the thousands of people who have come through our lives over the centuries.

            The word faith, of course, has several meanings: As I have indicated thus far, it could refer to the body of doctrine and teachings that are part of the church. On a more personal level it could also mean the conviction of the heart that we hope to do God’s will throughout our life.

            Thomas Merton, the Trappist, monk in his book Thoughts in Solitude wrote the following: “My Lord God, I will trust you always though I seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.”

            I think Merton is saying that faith is more than an act, more than a doctrine; it is rather a deep trust, a personal conviction that God will sustain us throughout our life. On our own, we are helpless.

            In the life of Jesus we see many such instances where he threw his whole life into the hands of the Father, especially at those times when all he believed and worked for seemed to be lost.

            Given all we have said thus far, we now turn to the scriptures for the Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time that speak so eloquently of faith.

            The first lesson comes from the pen of the prophet Habakkuk who like many of the ancient prophets felt the call from God to preach reform to the Israelite people. Much to his consternation, however, his words fell on deaf ears. So, he makes this plea: “How long, O Lord, must I cry out violence, ruin, misery and discord while you do not seem to listen?” In response, God urges him to have patience. Reform takes time; if you have faith your words will ultimately be heeded.

            The gospel of Luke offers us a quaint incident from the life of Jesus’ apostles. They obviously were having some difficulty understanding and believing his teachings. So, they say to Jesus “increase our faith,” assuming that more is always better than less. Jesus settles the question by telling them that if they even had faith the size of a tiny mustard seed they would be able to do unbelievable deeds.

We are not told whether this answer settled their minds, but it is also good advice for us modern believers who often imagine that the more theology we learn, the more catechism answerers we memorize, the more novenas we make…these will somehow increase our faith.

            I still clearly remember my dear grand mother who probably learned very little catechism as a child but who taught us how to say the rosary and how to make the act of contrition. It probably never occurred to her that we did not need to know much more than that to be faithful Catholics. Now that I think of it, she was probably right.

The scriptures:

Habakkuk 1: 2-3; 2, 20-4

2 Timothy 1: 6-8, 13-14

Luke 17: 5-10

Twenty Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

(2016)

            Among the various prayers that I say each morning and evening there is one that is very personal to me. It runs something like this: “Dear God, after all these many years living on this earth, I want to thank you that I can still practice the Catholic faith that my ancestors of generations past handed on to me. Forgive me if I seem to betray your trust. My only hope is that you will nourish and sustain me until some day you will call me home. Amen.

            When I think about it, it almost seems like some kind of ancient miracle that this Catholic faith has been passed on to me throughout thousands of years of history. Given the accidents of time, it could have easily been lost. I could have been born into a non-Catholic or a non-Christian family; my Catholic link could easily have been severed for any number of reasons. Nonetheless, here I am still working at this word processor still thanking God for something that seems a great mystery to me. I am sure that my many Protestant friends must feel the same way. Faith is a mysterious gift somehow tangled up with history.

            Faith, obviously, is also an undeserved gift of God but also a treasure that has been handed on by the thousands of people who have come through our lives over the centuries.

            The word faith, of course, has several meanings: As I have indicated thus far, it could refer to the body of doctrine and teachings that are part of the church. On a more personal level it could also mean the conviction of the heart that we hope to do God’s will throughout our life.

            Thomas Merton, the Trappist, monk in his book Thoughts in Solitude wrote the following: “My Lord God, I will trust you always though I seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.”

            I think Merton is saying that faith is more than an act, more than a doctrine; it is rather a deep trust, a personal conviction that God will sustain us throughout our life. On our own, we are helpless.

            In the life of Jesus we see many such instances where he threw his whole life into the hands of the Father, especially at those times when all he believed and worked for seemed to be lost.

            Given all we have said thus far, we now turn to the scriptures for the Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time that speak so eloquently of faith.

            The first lesson comes from the pen of the prophet Habakkuk who like many of the ancient prophets felt the call from God to preach reform to the Israelite people. Much to his consternation, however, his words fell on deaf ears. So, he makes this plea: “How long, O Lord, must I cry out violence, ruin, misery and discord while you do not seem to listen?” In response, God urges him to have patience. Reform takes time; if you have faith your words will ultimately be heeded.

            The gospel of Luke offers us a quaint incident from the life of Jesus’ apostles. They obviously were having some difficulty understanding and believing his teachings. So, they say to Jesus “increase our faith,” assuming that more is always better than less. Jesus settles the question by telling them that if they even had faith the size of a tiny mustard seed they would be able to do unbelievable deeds.

We are not told whether this answer settled their minds, but it is also good advice for us modern believers who often imagine that the more theology we learn, the more catechism answerers we memorize, the more novenas we make…these will somehow increase our faith.

            I still clearly remember my dear grand mother who probably learned very little catechism as a child but who taught us how to say the rosary and how to make the act of contrition. It probably never occurred to her that we did not need to know much more than that to be faithful Catholics. Now that I think of it, she was probably right.

The scriptures:

Habakkuk 1: 2-3; 2, 20-4

2 Timothy 1: 6-8, 13-14

Luke 17: 5-10

 

Twenty Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

(2016)

            Among the various prayers that I say each morning and evening there is one that is very personal to me. It runs something like this: “Dear God, after all these many years living on this earth, I want to thank you that I can still practice the Catholic faith that my ancestors of generations past handed on to me. Forgive me if I seem to betray your trust. My only hope is that you will nourish and sustain me until some day you will call me home. Amen.

            When I think about it, it almost seems like some kind of ancient miracle that this Catholic faith has been passed on to me throughout thousands of years of history. Given the accidents of time, it could have easily been lost. I could have been born into a non-Catholic or a non-Christian family; my Catholic link could easily have been severed for any number of reasons. Nonetheless, here I am still working at this word processor still thanking God for something that seems a great mystery to me. I am sure that my many Protestant friends must feel the same way. Faith is a mysterious gift somehow tangled up with history.

            Faith, obviously, is also an undeserved gift of God but also a treasure that has been handed on by the thousands of people who have come through our lives over the centuries.

            The word faith, of course, has several meanings: As I have indicated thus far, it could refer to the body of doctrine and teachings that are part of the church. On a more personal level it could also mean the conviction of the heart that we hope to do God’s will throughout our life.

            Thomas Merton, the Trappist, monk in his book Thoughts in Solitude wrote the following: “My Lord God, I will trust you always though I seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.”

            I think Merton is saying that faith is more than an act, more than a doctrine; it is rather a deep trust, a personal conviction that God will sustain us throughout our life. On our own, we are helpless.

            In the life of Jesus we see many such instances where he threw his whole life into the hands of the Father, especially at those times when all he believed and worked for seemed to be lost.

            Given all we have said thus far, we now turn to the scriptures for the Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time that speak so eloquently of faith.

            The first lesson comes from the pen of the prophet Habakkuk who like many of the ancient prophets felt the call from God to preach reform to the Israelite people. Much to his consternation, however, his words fell on deaf ears. So, he makes this plea: “How long, O Lord, must I cry out violence, ruin, misery and discord while you do not seem to listen?” In response, God urges him to have patience. Reform takes time; if you have faith your words will ultimately be heeded.

            The gospel of Luke offers us a quaint incident from the life of Jesus’ apostles. They obviously were having some difficulty understanding and believing his teachings. So, they say to Jesus “increase our faith,” assuming that more is always better than less. Jesus settles the question by telling them that if they even had faith the size of a tiny mustard seed they would be able to do unbelievable deeds.

We are not told whether this answer settled their minds, but it is also good advice for us modern believers who often imagine that the more theology we learn, the more catechism answerers we memorize, the more novenas we make…these will somehow increase our faith.

            I still clearly remember my dear grand mother who probably learned very little catechism as a child but who taught us how to say the rosary and how to make the act of contrition. It probably never occurred to her that we did not need to know much more than that to be faithful Catholics. Now that I think of it, she was probably right.

The scriptures:

Habakkuk 1: 2-3; 2, 20-4

2 Timothy 1: 6-8, 13-14

Luke 17: 5-10

Twenty Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

(2016)

            Among the various prayers that I say each morning and evening there is one that is very personal to me. It runs something like this: “Dear God, after all these many years living on this earth, I want to thank you that I can still practice the Catholic faith that my ancestors of generations past handed on to me. Forgive me if I seem to betray your trust. My only hope is that you will nourish and sustain me until some day you will call me home. Amen.

            When I think about it, it almost seems like some kind of ancient miracle that this Catholic faith has been passed on to me throughout thousands of years of history. Given the accidents of time, it could have easily been lost. I could have been born into a non-Catholic or a non-Christian family; my Catholic link could easily have been severed for any number of reasons. Nonetheless, here I am still working at this word processor still thanking God for something that seems a great mystery to me. I am sure that my many Protestant friends must feel the same way. Faith is a mysterious gift somehow tangled up with history.

            Faith, obviously, is also an undeserved gift of God but also a treasure that has been handed on by the thousands of people who have come through our lives over the centuries.

            The word faith, of course, has several meanings: As I have indicated thus far, it could refer to the body of doctrine and teachings that are part of the church. On a more personal level it could also mean the conviction of the heart that we hope to do God’s will throughout our life.

            Thomas Merton, the Trappist, monk in his book Thoughts in Solitude wrote the following: “My Lord God, I will trust you always though I seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.”

            I think Merton is saying that faith is more than an act, more than a doctrine; it is rather a deep trust, a personal conviction that God will sustain us throughout our life. On our own, we are helpless.

            In the life of Jesus we see many such instances where he threw his whole life into the hands of the Father, especially at those times when all he believed and worked for seemed to be lost.

            Given all we have said thus far, we now turn to the scriptures for the Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time that speak so eloquently of faith.

            The first lesson comes from the pen of the prophet Habakkuk who like many of the ancient prophets felt the call from God to preach reform to the Israelite people. Much to his consternation, however, his words fell on deaf ears. So, he makes this plea: “How long, O Lord, must I cry out violence, ruin, misery and discord while you do not seem to listen?” In response, God urges him to have patience. Reform takes time; if you have faith your words will ultimately be heeded.

            The gospel of Luke offers us a quaint incident from the life of Jesus’ apostles. They obviously were having some difficulty understanding and believing his teachings. So, they say to Jesus “increase our faith,” assuming that more is always better than less. Jesus settles the question by telling them that if they even had faith the size of a tiny mustard seed they would be able to do unbelievable deeds.

We are not told whether this answer settled their minds, but it is also good advice for us modern believers who often imagine that the more theology we learn, the more catechism answerers we memorize, the more novenas we make…these will somehow increase our faith.

            I still clearly remember my dear grand mother who probably learned very little catechism as a child but who taught us how to say the rosary and how to make the act of contrition. It probably never occurred to her that we did not need to know much more than that to be faithful Catholics. Now that I think of it, she was probably right.

The scriptures:

Habakkuk 1: 2-3; 2, 20-4

2 Timothy 1: 6-8, 13-14

Luke 17: 5-10

 

Twenty Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

(2016)

 

            I believe it is true to say that there are certain street corners in cities of our country that we may remember with discomfort. It may not be the street corner itself we remember but rather the individuals who felt constrained by the circumstances of their lives to stand on that corner holding up a cardboard sign with the words: Broke. Will Work For Anything.

            There was such a busy corner that I remember very clearly as I drove to work each morning in Anchorage, Alaska. Most of the people standing on that corner were Native Alaskans or transients from other states who found it very difficult to secure the sort of work that would support them and their families. I dreaded stopping on that intersection to offer a handout, fearing the blaring of horns from the traffic stacking up behind me. Nonetheless, as I reflect on the people standing on that corner asking for help, I must admit sadly that I gradually got used to it, becoming complacent, even hoping that they might not be there on this day or that the light would remain green long enough for me to easily squeeze through. A shameful admission, I fully admit now.

            I must also admit, however, that, unlike the folks standing on that corner, I myself have never been truly poor at any time in my entire life. I have not lived luxuriously, of course, but, at the same time, I have never needed to worry about where I would find my next meal. I have also found it comforting to appease my conscience over the years by helping the needy in whatever way I can.

            What does continue to bother me considerably, however is a growing sense of self-complacency: it does not seem to trouble me very much, for instance, that there are many people in the very city where I live who are going hungry every day. Oddly, the fact that I have enough to get along on each day seems to smother my concern for the plight of others. Could it be possible that this may even be a common attitude gradually growing among many people in our country today who need not worry about their future? True or not, it does not seem to assuage my own personal embarrassment.

            Having made my personal “act of contrition,” let me turn now to the scriptures for this Twenty Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time, that speak so graphically of complacency. The first reading comes to us from the writings of Amos, the 8^th Century BC prophet, and a man who felt no hesitancy in pointing out the exaggerated lifestyles of his own people. He paints a vivid picture of conspicuous consumption: beds of ivory, consuming the finest wines, eating specially prepared meats, entertaining themselves with the finest music available. Interestingly, the prophet does not make a personal censure of individual people. He simply uses these glaring examples to point out how embarrassing their lifestyles are to the poor in their very midst. You have become so complacent in the way that you live, says Amos, that you do not even realize that there are poor people living right next door. “Woe to the complacent,” says Amos.

            The point Amos is insisting on here is actually a much broader issue, namely that the rich and the unconcerned are actually a threat to the very land of Israel itself.

            If we were to draw a contemporary illustration, we could find it in Laudato Si, the pope’s recent instruction on the environment He draws a comparison to the words of the Prophet Amos when he writes “There is an intimate relationship between the poor and the fragility of the planet…everything in the world is connected.”

            Finally, we come to another graphic story of complacency in Luke’s gospel, the well-known tale of Lazarus the poor man who happens to be lying at the doorstep of a rich man. The disproportion again is overwhelming: the rich man is dressed in finest purple and linen, he feasts on the finest food every day. Lazarus, on the contrary, lies at the gate, ill and starving. Eventually, both men die. The beggar is welcomed into the arms of father Abraham. The rich man finds himself in the flames of punishment, calling out to Abraham for consolation. Too late Abraham replies; the chasm that you created in the world between yourself and the poor man continues even now.      Once again, however, as in the earlier story, the author does not criticize the riches as such but rather the chasm they cause between the rich and the poor.

            All I can say at this point is that the sight of those people standing on that street corner in Anchorage so long ago still cause me shame, but happily the two stories I have just shared with you have gradually been helping me close the chasm.

The Scriptures:

Amos 6: 1a, 4-7

1 Timothy 6: 11-16

Luke 16: 19-33

 

 

 

 

 

 

Twenty Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

(2016)

 

            In my long years of ministry I have occasionally heard it said that one of the things Christians do not like to hear spoken of from the pulpit of their church is money or riches. For what it is worth, my sense is that most pastors or ministers themselves do not like to speak about money or riches from the pulpit. None-the-less, if the pulpit is the place from which scripture is proclaimed, we have a ready-made example of some speakers in our past history who have spoken boldly about this subject.

            If we can assume that the words of scripture are meant not only for the assembly but for the preacher as well, I must admit that there are some passages that make me a little nervous when I read them. Indeed, that happens to be true on this Twenty Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time.

            The first preacher is Amos, the prophet. When you hear his words you may want to say: “I hope he never comes to our pulpit!” Amos seemingly knew full well the scandalous mercantile practices that were current in his time: “When will the Sabbath end, so that we can go back to selling our grain?” “Let us sell the chaff of the wheat for whatever it is worth; let us adjust the scales to increase the price of our produce.” To that scandalous practice, Ammos declares: “You are buying the poor person for the price of a pair of sandals. You take advantage of those who have no control of the prices of the produce they need to live on.” Isn’t it odd that economics has changed so little over the centuries?

            In Luke’s gospel we hear Jesus’ story of a steward who cheated the owner of the land by cutting prices, all in order to curry favor with his friends. Oddly, Jesus praises the steward for his worldly cleverness to make friends. Some day, however, such practices will catch up on you and you will end up being the loser anyway.

            The lesson that arises in both these scriptures is the issue of control, money and power, problems that are so clearly evident in the politics and business of our country today.

            But even among those of us who steer clear of the money and power issues, we may still occasionally ask ourselves how we esteem what we personally own: money, automobiles, home(s), clothing, insurance policies, position and name in the community et cetera. Most of us would probably say that these things do not own us, but it is still worthwhile to ask if they have some influence over the way we see ourselves in the world today.

            Here is a quote from Saint Basil the Great, 3^rd century bishop of Caesarea in Cappadocia, which could easily provide some thought if preached from American pulpits today:

            “When someone steals another’s clothes we call him a thief. Should we not give the same name to one who could clothe the naked and does not? The bread in your cupboard belongs go the hungry; the coat unused in your closet belongs to the one who needs it; the shoes in your closet belong to the one who has no shoes; the money which you hoard up belongs to the poor.”

            I have never actually used that quote of Saint Basil in a homily, but now I am beginning to wonder why. Perhaps I am afraid that it may reflect badly on my own life. The great power of scripture is that it makes the preacher and the assembly think once again about life in Twenty First Century America. If we are made to blush a little, well perhaps the word of God has had its way.

 

The scriptures:

Amos 8:4-7

1 Timothy 2: 1-8

Luke 16: 1-13

 

 

 

 

 

 

Twenty Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

(2016)

 

            When you open up the Old Testament to the Book of Genesis the first thing that strikes you is that God is totally in charge of the process of creation. Everything that God creates turns out to be good and in accord to the eternal plan. It is only when God decides to create the two human persons, Adam and Eve, that the plan runs into difficulty. The problem became evident because the two persons were endowed with freedom of choice. It was only then that bad choices seemingly began to twist God’s plan in a direction never planned.

            And thus it has been so in the twisted history of humankind. The human community has consistently chosen to act contrary to its nature and God’s eternal plan. That has been the pattern that we humans have so often decided to follow throughout our millions of years of history.

            One might well begin to think that God’s eternal plan of good order had incurred some basic fault at its inception and was due for annihilation. Not true, not true, my friends! Let me suggest that God already had a back-up plan in mind when the first plan began to go awry, not because of any fault of God’s of course. The back-up plan was to be labeled FORGIVENESS. It was only right and just, of course, that God should have such a plan in mind. God obviously seemed to know that if God should endow the human person with freedom of choice, there might well be the chance that they would make the wrong choice, a choice contrary to their human nature and, indeed, contrary to the very nature of the planet earth they would name home. So, FORGIVENESS was the obvious alternative plan.

            It seems obvious, therefore, that God has been willing to be patient, MERCIFUL with us throughout all eternity, the divine hope being that we, each of us, would come to our senses and live according the eternal plan planted deep in our human consciousness. One can hardly imagine such a divine plan falling into total disarray at its very inception. In some sense, the back-up plan, not only saves us from eternal doom, but also saves face for God as well.

            That is the picture that we find in the readings of the liturgy for the Twenty Fourth Sunday in Ordinary time; it is called failure and recovery, sin and redemption.

            The first story comes to us out of the desert travels of the Israelite people. Despite the fact that God had endowed this people with the instinctual sense of belief in the Divine and worship thereof, they decided to create gods of their own, artificial calves and bulls, gods not made in the image of the Eternal One, but rather of silver and gold…those precious metals of the age.

            Fortunately, for the Israelite worshipers of artificial gods, Moses, their wise leader saw through this farce and reminded them that God had made a pact with them since the days of their forefathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. This pact God would not abandon despite their years of disobedience. “So, the Lord relented in the punishment he had threatened to inflict upon his people.”

            Another second chance, backup-story comes to us from the life of Saint Paul. As we all remember from reading his life history, he grew up in the strict observance of the Jewish law and tradition. When the followers of Jesus began to grow in numbers, he was determined to put this religious outbreak to a stop. On his way to Damascus to curtail the Christian uprising, he encountered Christ in a vision that invited him to come to his senses and become a missionary to the gentiles. Paul then admitted that Christ had demonstrated great patience with him and had given him the eternal second-chance.        

            Finally, in the gospel of Luke we read three lost and found (second chance) stories: the lost sheep, the lost coin and the lost son. In each of these we learn that in the eyes of the Creator, the least, the last and the lost in this world are of eternal importance and significance. In the eyes of the Creator they are among the least, the last and the lost of this world. Thus, our God is named PATIENCE and FORBEARANCE.

            No matter how far we, the creatures of earth may have wandered in our lifetime, the God whose name is patience and forbearance continues to wait patiently for us. This God of ours is ultimately named the God of second chances. For those of us who need second chances almost every day, that is really good news.

 

The scriptures

Exodus 32: 7-11, 13-14             1 Timothy 1: 12-17           Luke 15: 1-10

 

 

 

Twenty Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

(2016)

 

            Observing little children, especially those newly born, can be a delightful and instructive endeavor. I do not have the opportunity very often to watch the actions of little kids but when I do, the thing that first captivates my attention is the child’s early-on effort to discover and understand whatever surrounds it: the softness of its mother face, the warmth of her breast. Later, the child will try to explore whatever is within its reach, especially bells that jingle or objects that are colorful. I am going to make a bold assertion now and suggest that all this activity is actually a search for wisdom even though the child may not perceive it as such. Nonetheless, it all seems to be an exploration into the unknown, the mysterious, the mystical, even, I dare say, the holy that surrounds this tiny being.

            Obviously, as that child grows into maturity, it will continue to be exposed to many more complicated experiences of learning at a higher level Nonetheless, that basic human instinct of attempting to discover the unknown, occupies much of our time and effort for the remainder of our lives. We never seem satisfied unless we continue to plumb the depths of everything that is understandable in this fascinating universe around us. That instinct seems to be written in our very being, the sense that there is a deep, impenetrable and profound meaning in this planet where we dwell; it is up to us to discover what that is. Again, it is all involved with the human pursuit of wisdom.

            Interestingly, our first reading for this Twenty Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, coming to us from a Hebrew text called the Book of Wisdom, seems to say that this quest for wisdom is an incomplete and limited endeavor. We do not know the author by name but the moment we begin to read the text we immediately discover that he had thought long and deeply about the difference between human wisdom and the wisdom of God. He points out to us that the human mind is weighed down by the body, the corruptible body that burdens the soul; we are overwhelmed with the infinity of human concerns. “If then the things of earth are hardly within our grasp, how can we expect to understand matters of Spirit?”

                        When we read the life of Jesus in the gospels we often find that he also faced this same dilemma we just spoke of, the question of how humans can speak of things divine.

            Most biblical scholars will insist that Jesus, like most other people of his day, could not read or write; and yet when we hear Jesus speak to the crowds, he seems to be able to convey the sense of the sacred to his listeners by way of human stories, examples, metaphors, even a bit of humor occasionally. He would say, for instance, when speaking of God’s kingdom: “Consider the lilies of the field, the swallows of the air; think about the meaning of the evening sunset; perhaps it is a predictor of rain tomorrow, who knows.”

            What Jesus seems to be doing here and in other instances as well, is to suggest that the way of insight into the divine is through the earthly, the natural, the historical, especially the human. There is a certain sense of the sacred contained in whatever is around us on this planet.

            Could it be possible, therefore, that each time we try to understand some mystery, when we try to find clarity in some human experience, we are actually on a quest for divine knowledge, the search for divine wisdom? It does not sound too outrageous, does it? After all, God created the human mind for some mysterious (divine) purpose.

            Here, finally, are two quotes that may give us a further bit of insight into this matter of wisdom. First, from T.S. Eliot the British-American poet: “We will not cease from exploration; and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”

            And now from Saint Augustine: “Our hearts are created for thee, O God, and restless are they until they rest in thee.”

            In short: The search for wisdom is a search for God.

The scriptures:

Wisdom 9: 13-18

Philemon 9: 10, 12-17

Luke 14: 24-33

 

 

 

 

Twenty Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

(2016)

            There are approximately forty-five Holy Cross priests and brothers, including myself, living at this retirement home on the campus of the University of Notre Dame. We are all fairly similar in background: Caucasian, Catholic, well educated, professing the same religious vows, being from average middle-class families; we all received much the same training over the years. And yet, when I first came to this house, it surprised me how many different individual groups seemed to have formed. It became most evident to me especially in the dining room. It took me a while before I finally found a group with whom I could feel comfortable and find it easy to associate with.

            I have often reflected on that on-going experience and I believe it is similar to the experience of many in the human family: Individuals consort with those who seem to have the same background, characteristics, plans for their lives, etc.

            Another common characteristic seems to be our human tendency to compare ourselves to others and somehow assume that we belong at a higher social, intellectual, even spiritual level than they. As I mentioned above, the tendency toward cliquishness often arises most clearly when we ask the question: “With whom do you prefer to eat?”

            Jesus asks that same question in the gospel for this Twenty Second Sunday in Ordinary time. When was the last time we invited “social outcasts” to dinner and ate with them, especially those who would have no way to reciprocate: the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, LGBT folks? Would our association with them advance or hurt our social standing? In other words it seems true that the people we regularly choose to dine with have a way of defining who we are or think we are. Most of us Christians, I imagine, would claim that we espouse diverse values, yet how often do we make a deliberate choice to eat with anyone not of our own racial, political, religious or ethical affiliation? For many of us, that might be an embarrassing question.

            Pat Marrin, a columnist for the periodical Celebration recently made this point when he wrote: “We look around us in church and if all we see are people like ourselves—our zip code, economic and educational status—have we really heard the challenge Jesus proposes in today’s gospel?

One of the scandals of the Christian church is that Sunday morning is still the most segregated time in America.”

            So, then, what options does Jesus offer us in today’s gospel? It all becomes clear when He notices invitees at a dinner each straining to find the most prestigious and important place at the banquet table. Using my own words, Jesus points out that a higher place at table does not make you any more important in the eyes of your associates. Going even further. Jesus suggests that if you are planning a banquet, do not first send invitations to those whose presence you believe will make you look important and invite you back to a dinner in return. No, if you wish to be seen as truly important in the eyes of others, invite beggars, the crippled, the blind and the lame. You should be pleased that they cannot repay you. You will be repaid in the kingdom of your Father.

            Without doubt, this is a challenging gospel; of course, Jesus hardly ever taught us anything that would make us feel comfy and satisfied. Rather, if after reading Jesus’ words we begin to feel a bit embarrassed, perhaps at that point the beginning of the lesson has begun to soak in especially for those of us who live in this nice, comfortable retirement home where we seldom encounter the blind, the lame, the crippled or even LGBT folks.

The scriptures:

Sirach 3: 17-18-20, 28-29

Hebrews 12: 18-19, 22-24a

Luke 14: 1, 7-14