A Community of Persons

Homily: The Most Holy Trinity – Cycle C

In my last semester of high school, I started to hang out with a classmate of mine named Bill Schmidtz.  Bill was an eccentric guy.  He had a great sense of humor, but was very intense.  It was either “off” or “on” with him, never in between.  This made him a lot of fun to hang around with because where my own inhibitions might keep me from expressing something as strongly as I might want, Bill would just let it fly!  Through our hanging out, Bill introduced me to one of his friends, Trisha, who proved also to be a lot of fun to hang out with.  Over a series of weeks leading up to our graduation—a couple of months perhaps—we spent a lot of time together: hanging out, joking, and enjoying each other’s company.

On one evening during this time, the three of us were at another acquaintance's house, hanging out.  Bill started talking about how cool he thought it was that the three of us were becoming something of an inseparable trio.  Then, in true Bill fashion, he took it to the next level, saying that we needed a name by which we would identify ourselves.  Of course, Bill had a name picked out.  He said, “We’re like a triangle.  We should call ourselves ‘The Triangle’”.  (As I said, Bill was intense... not the most creative, but intense.)  Being teenagers still and, therefore, still akin to lunging at silly things, I remember Trisha and I both agreeing to the name that night.  As the days and weeks went on, we had a lot of fun as “The Triangle”.

Soon, though, high school graduation came and went.  I would soon leave for Michigan to pursue my degree in engineering, Bill would begin his apprenticeship as a plumber, and Trisha had one more year of high school yet before she would graduate.  I’m guessing that it would surprise no one here if I told them that, as the members of “The Triangle” started down these different paths, this once-unified group of persons quickly dissolved into nothing.  24 years later, I don’t think I’ve run into or spoken with either Bill or Trisha.

So, why this story at the beginning of the homily on Trinity Sunday?  Well, because I think that Bill tapped into something fundamental when he recognized the bond, fragile as it was, that had grown between himself, Trisha, and I.  In calling us the “triangle”, he was recognizing what he thought was a completeness in us, just like a triangle is complete, in itself.  As the three points in the triangle, we had bonds of good will that, for a time, kept us together.  Those bonds proved to be somewhat superficial, however, and so they quickly dissolved once distance made it hard to stay connected.  Nonetheless, in recognizing the “community of persons” that these bonds created, Bill was projecting (somewhat unwittingly, I’m sure) an innate sense that, having been created in God’s image, we are meant to form these kinds of communities of persons: especially ones that are bonded together in deep ways.

Hopefully, at this point, you’re seeing where I’m going with this, because what I’m describing here is a faint reflection of what it is that we celebrate this Sunday: that God, himself, is a community of persons, who nonetheless remains singular in his being.  Just as the three points, bonded together by the lines that connect them, make the triangle; and just as the triangle dissolves into nothing if one of those points or bonds is removed; so God is whole and complete in himself as this community of persons, united in the bonds of their eternal outpouring of love.  If any one of these points is removed, or if the bond of love between them ceases to be, then God is no longer who he has revealed himself to be.  In fact, I’d be so bold to say that he would no longer be God, at all!

Having been created in God’s image and likeness, we are created to be a community of persons, inseparably united by the bonds of love.  This, in fact, is the reason for which we were created: to be one with God in the community of persons that he is in himself.  As little children use play to enter into the lives of the adults around them, acting as parents in make-believe homes and as professionals in make-believe offices, farm fields, and factories—instinctually knowing that they are destined to enter into that world someday—so we human beings know instinctually that we are meant to enter into that perfect community of persons in eternal life and, thus, strive to create that in this world by entering into exclusive unions with one another.  In naming our little trio, Bill was formalizing what we had done instinctually: formed a small community of persons.

Just as a child’s play in the world of adults quickly dissolves when it becomes work or simply uninteresting, so do many of these communities of persons into which we enter dissolve if there isn’t something substantial to hold them together.  “The Triangle” quickly dissolved because our bonds were our mutual enjoyment of each other’s company.  We didn’t know each other very deeply; and so, when distance meant that we could no longer enjoy each other’s company easily (that is, when it became work), we became disinterested and lost contact.

The three Persons of the Holy Trinity, however, are bonded by infinitely perfect bonds: the Father knows the Son infinitely and the Son knows the Father infinitely; and their infinite outpouring of love to each other bursts forth as a third Person, the Holy Spirit (who, himself, is infinitely known and loved by the Father and the Son and who infinitely knows and loves them each in return).  This Holy Spirit bursts forth so that the infinite love of these persons can be known and shared by all.

This last part—that who God is in himself allows that we could know and share in who he is as a community of persons—is our reason to celebrate and give thanks this day.  Every community of persons, even the community of persons that most closely resembles the Holy Trinity—that of the human family—is still, because of our limitedness as human persons, lacking the completeness that God is in himself.  Nonetheless, we instinctually recognize that we are made for that completeness.  If we could never achieve that completeness, however, then our lives would be a total frustration.  But God has made it so that we could enter into that completeness—a completeness that we lost in the Garden of Eden, but then was restored in Jesus Christ—and so, we can rejoice that the hope that we have instinctually of experiencing that completeness will not disappoint, as Saint Paul reminded us in our second reading, and thus worship God here with joy, in spite of whatever difficulties we may be facing in our lives.

Friends, this joy that we celebrate here today because of who God is in himself is the joy that we must take with us as we enter back into this Ordinary Time.  This is because, as missionary disciples of God, we must make this good news known to all: that God, perfect in himself, allows and deeply desires that we, his creatures, could know him and enter into his divine life and, thus, find our fulfillment.  And so, as we give thanks to him today in this Eucharist—itself a taste of this perfect communion with him—let us ask for the grace to make this good news known in our lives and thus make this earth a foreshadowing of the perfect community of persons we will enjoy in eternal life.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – June 15^th & 16^th, 2019

Frustration works for our good

Homily: 23rd Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B

A number of years ago, while I was still in the seminary, I spent time in Guatemala in order to study Spanish and immerse myself in Hispanic culture.  I remember that one of the things that struck me about life in Guatemala was how frustrating it seemed be for the Guatemalan people.  All of the infrastructure things that make our lives here relatively comfortable—things like, good roads, new cars, convenience stores, etc.—are relatively underdeveloped there (if they’re even developed at all).  I imagined that this meant that their daily lives are probably filled with frustrations as they try to accomplish even what I might consider to be the simplest tasks; because, for example, maybe the electricity shut off, or the gas station was out of fuel, or the road washed out in the heavy rain last night.  They, I supposed, are a people very familiar with frustration.

On some level, however, all of us are familiar with frustration in one form or another.  When your pen runs out of ink, or your coupon is expired, or you leave your leftovers on the table at the restaurant… these are all examples of how we experience frustrations even in the smallest things of our daily lives. Now, while this may seem weird, I want to propose to you that all of those frustrations have a purpose.  Yes, a purpose.  Believe it or not, frustrations are meant to be a signal to us that something isn’t right.  In other words, much in the same way that the pain that we feel in our hand when we touch a hot stove has as its purpose to warn us that we are doing something to harm ourselves, so too frustrations have as their purpose to remind us that the world is “out of order”. 

Why do we need to be reminded that the world is “out of order”?  Well, because our souls long for things to be “in order”.  Let’s think about this for a second: if being “out of order” was the way things were supposed to be, then we wouldn’t get frustrated because everything would seem to be just as it ought.  For example, in a world where “out of order” is the way things are supposed to be, if I were to blow out a tire on my car during a trip I wouldn’t get frustrated because I would be able to say to myself “Well, I expected this to happen because that’s how the world works.”  But “out of order” is not the “order” of things, and so we become frustrated when “out of order” things happen.  We instinctively know that “out of order” isn’t right and so we experience discomfort when we encounter it as a sign to remind us that it isn’t right.

And this is so important for us, and here’s why.  You see, when I think about it, I find that there are two basic ways that we deal with frustration: either 1) we confront it and try to overcome it (that is, we try to put back “in order” what is “out of order”) or 2) we resign ourselves to being frustrated and thus give up on trying to overcome it altogether (in other words, we accept that being frustrated with “out of order” is the only way that it can be).  Because there are so many things that are outside of our control in this world, we more often than not deal with frustration in the second way that I described.  The danger of this is that, if we are constantly facing frustrations, we might quickly lose hope that anything really ever could be “in order” again.  This can lead us into apathy, which numbs our sense of frustration, thus causing us to forget that there is an ideal “order” for which we should be striving, and “out of order” becomes the “way things are supposed to be”.

In the first reading, we heard an encouraging proclamation from Isaiah.  In his proclamation he is talking about how God is coming to vindicate his people from their enemies and he is using terms of restoration: that is, of restoring things that are “out of order” so as to put them back “in order”.  In other words, Isaiah is saying that, when God’s vindication comes, things that had been out of order—like eyes that are blind, ears that cannot hear, legs that cannot be used for jumping, and tongues that cannot speak—will be restored to order—for the blind will see, the deaf will hear, the lame will leap, and the mute will speak.  He proclaimed this to them so that they wouldn’t become resigned to accept what they couldn’t change and thus become apathetic to how “out of order” everything was.  In God’s eyes, it was better for the people to have a healthy sense of frustration, for that would keep them longing for the order that he planned to restore for them; and so, would strengthen their faith.

As Christians we know that God sent his Son Jesus to vindicate us from our enemies and thus to restore order to the world; and the stories recorded for us in the Gospels are meant to support this claim.  Today we heard of how Jesus opened the ears of a man who was deaf and of how he freed the tongue of that same man who also had a speech impediment.  This was a sign that Jesus had come to vindicate God’s people as he put back “in order” that which was “out of order” in this man.  When he suffered and died on the cross Jesus made atonement for our sins; and when he rose from the dead he put back “in order” that which was most “out of order” in us: as he restored mankind’s ability to be in communion with God, which is the very reason for which man was created.

Friends, none of you would be surprised if I told you that we are walking around in a world that is still gravely “out of order”; and none of you would be surprised if I told you that the Church has, in many ways, become “out of order”, too: this, in spite of the fact that Jesus left us the Church precisely to be the place in which we might experience the world put back “in order”.  I believe that God is permitting these scandals to come to light so that we might become highly frustrated once again and, therefore, by cooperating with his grace, put things back “in order” in his Church.

If we are going to do so, we have to pay attention to one extremely important thing.  Brothers and sisters, we cannot put the Church back in order if we are walking around deaf to God’s word.  In other words, God’s Church will never be restored to be the sign of a world put back “in order” as long as her members continue to ignore God’s Word—the Logos, the eternal Truth by which “order” is possible.  The “Ten Commandments” are known in the ancient Greek as the Decalogue—literally, the “Ten Words” of God: commands given to us to show us what the world looks like when it is “in order”.  Given the fact that 75% of Americans who identify as Catholic don’t attend Mass on a weekly basis and that a significant percentage of American Catholics have divorced and remarried without an annulment or have married outside of the Church, it should be pretty clear that a great majority of us are walking around deaf to these Ten Words of God.

Thus, the challenge for us is this: Ask Jesus to open your ears to hear these Words and then ask yourselves, “Am I truly (and I mean truly, without excuses) following them?”  If not, we must repent, confess our sins to a priest and receive absolution, and then strive with all our might to order our lives according to these Words once again.  Brothers and sisters, without your striving—without my striving, without Bishop Doherty’s striving, without Pope Francis’ striving—the Church—God's sign of a world “out of order” put back “in order—will continue to be an ineffective one that people ignore.  By our living witnesses, however, (imperfect though they may be) Christ’s power to open ears to hear his word and loosen tongues to proclaim his praise will flow through us; and the world, with all of its frustrations, will begin to look more and more like the kingdom of God: a place of order, harmony, and peace.

Therefore, my brothers and sisters, let us not be afraid to allow the Holy Spirit to illumine for us all that is “out of order” in us and then to bring those things to Jesus, who will forgive us and restore them to order for us.  And let us hold on to hope: the hope that we have in the fact that Jesus has vindicated us; and that the world of perfect order that our hearts long for—the kingdom of God—will come to us when Jesus himself comes again to make all things new.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – September 9th, 2018

The Holy Trinity: It's what we're here for

Homily: The Most Holy Trinity – Cycle B

          One of the fundamental questions of life is one with which both young and old struggle.  Normally the question comes up during some sort of life crisis or during some “liminal” moment in a person’s life: in other words, moments when the future of one’s life isn’t clear and that person is faced with making a decision that will determine the course of the next stage of his/her life.  That question?  “What is the purpose of life?”  Or, put more simply, “What am I here for?”

          For the young, this is a vocational question, right?  As we grow into adulthood, we all gain a sense that we were put on this earth to do something and that our task is to discover what it is that we have been called to do.  Modern culture has made this difficult for young people because it tells them that there are no guiding principles on which to base your decision.  “The sky is the limit” we tell them.  “Follow your dreams” …even though we know that dreams are fickle and that not everyone has the capacity to reach the sky.  It’s sad to see someone who has made it into their thirties, who has pursued their “dreams”, but yet finds him/herself adrift, still feeling like he/she doesn’t know what the purpose of his/her life is.

          For the elderly, the struggle can be just as real.  I’ve made it an effort during my time here to visit with our homebound parishioners and many of them express a feeling of purposelessness, too.  They’ll say to me: “Father, I just don’t know why I’m still here.”  They’ve worked, raised a family, and tried to be active in retirement, but now their health is limiting their ability to tangibly contribute to their community and so they start to question: “What am I here for?”

          This latter case is a bit surprising as many of our older Catholics grew up in the Church that taught the “Baltimore Catechism” almost exclusively.  This catechism provided the fundamental truths about life, about God, and about our relationship to him and the world in a straight-forward, question and answer format.  One of those questions was “Why did God make you?”  (In other words, “What are you here for?”)  And the answer… does anybody here remember the answer?  The answer is this: “God made me to know Him, to love Him, and to serve Him in this world, and to be happy with Him forever in the next.”  There it is, friends.  This is our guiding principle.  Simple, right?

          Yes, it is.  But we all know that when an unknown future or adversity squares its face against us that we can often forget this: the purpose for which we were made.  In a sense, we “can’t see the forest for the trees”.  Therefore, as we’ve returned to Ordinary Time after our long and joy-filled Easter celebration, the Church gives us this Sunday, Trinity Sunday, in order to bring us back to our roots and to help us step out on mission once again.  In celebrating who God is, in Himself—three Divine Persons in one unified Godhead—we are reminded of that fundamental relationship that directs our lives: that our lives come from God and are directed towards God.  Today’s scriptures reinforce this fact.

          In our first reading from the book of Deuteronomy, the Israelites have been wandering through the desert for 40 years and are on the cusp of entering the land into which God had promised to bring them, and Moses exhorts them to remember who God is when they enter the land.  He recounts how God had made himself known to them, his chosen people, by powerful signs and by leading them forth from slavery and he says, “This is why you must now know, and fix in your heart, that the Lord is God in the heavens above and on earth below, and that there is no other.”  In other words, Moses is exhorting them to know God; and to know him through the gracious way that he has cared for them throughout their 40-year exodus.

          This, too, is how we come to know God: by remembering how he has worked: both in our own lives, those unique ways that his graciousness has touched each of us, and throughout history, starting with the Bible and the history of the Church, especially in the lives of the saints.  This Trinity Sunday, we can commit ourselves to know God better by committing ourselves to studying the Bible and some of the great spiritual works of saints, both old and new.  The spiritual biographies/autobiographies of holy men and women like Saint Augustine, Saint Theresa of Avila, Saint Terese of Lisieux, Dorothy Day, Thomas Merton, Saint Theresa of Calcutta, and Saint John Paul II are just a few worth considering.  Knowing God is the basis for loving God.  Thus, this is an indispensable step to fulfilling our purpose in life.

          In the second reading, we hear Saint Paul speaking about the “Spirit of adoption” that we have all received.  He goes on to say that it is the Spirit himself that witnesses to the fact that we are now children of God.  As adopted sons and daughters of God (and, therefore, brothers and sisters of Christ), we are endowed with the grace of being loved by God as his beloved children.  In fact, as brothers and sisters of Christ himself—the Second Person of the Holy Trinity—we are caught up in the eternal outpouring of love that the Father makes to the Son and the Son returns to the Father, and which eternally explodes forth and pours out into the universe in the form of the Holy Spirit.

          Therefore, we love God as Christ loves the Father: by receiving the love that is poured out to us and by returning that love with an outpouring of our lives.  This love is expressed in adoration: which we can do privately, in our personal prayer time at home, lifting our minds and hearts to him, praising him for who he is and his glory that shines forth in the universe, and also publicly, like when we gather for the Eucharist or Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament.  These are acts of devotion, sprung forth from our knowledge of who he is and of his great love for us as his adopted sons and daughters.  It is this love for God that, then, impels us into service.

          In the Gospel reading, Jesus gives his disciples the “Great Commission”.  On this Trinity Sunday, we should certainly hear this command to baptize “in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit” as a revelation of who God is, in himself.  But in the context of this homily, it should also be heard as the commission to service.  Having spent three years with Christ as he preached and worked miracles, then having been witnesses to his Passion, Death, and Resurrection, Christ’s disciples knew and loved him.  Now, they were being shown how they would serve him: “Go and make disciples of all nations…”  And that they did.  With great love and devotion, they poured out their lives in service of the Gospel so that all peoples would come to know, love, and serve God in this world, and be happy with him forever in the next.

          We serve God when we seek out the particular way that God has called each of us to fulfill this great commission and then strive to live it.  When we know and, therefore, love him, we offer ourselves generously and seek a way of life that allows us to serve the building of his kingdom here on earth by working towards the good of others.  For some that means clerical state (that is, priesthood or the diaconate) or the religious life.  For most that will mean a career in some kind of trade or business and then, perhaps, raising a family.  In all, the question is not “what do I want to do?” (because if you know and love God, you want to serve him!), but rather, “what is God calling me to do?”  You will already know your purpose, but the answer to the latter question will show you how you are going to fulfill that purpose.

          And if you’re elderly and you’ve completed your career and your children are all grown and off on their own and if your health doesn’t allow for you to participate much in the life of your family, parish, or community… what is your purpose then?  It is still to know, love, and serve God in this world, and to be happy with him forever in the next.  Living out the last years of your life still striving to know God and love him more deeply, and still striving to serve him by praying and offering your sufferings for the conversion of sinners and the release of souls from purgatory, you will be fulfilling your purpose in life and you will become a saint.

          Friends, as we celebrate this great feast honoring God for who he is, in himself, may we commit ourselves to know him more completely, to love him more profoundly, and to serve him with our whole lives, regardless of the state in which we find ourselves; so that we, too, may one day share in the fullness of Divine Love that God is in himself: a foretaste of which we experience here in this Holy Eucharist.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – May 26^th & 27^th, 2018

The reality of God is bigger than our perceptions

Homily: Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity – Cycle A

          I love science!  As a former engineer, my brain is wired for science.  What I mean by that is that it is wired in such a way that, when I see something that I don’t understand, I automatically begin to wonder about it and try to figure it out.  Quite frankly, most of us are wired for science in some way: usually in a very practical way.

          Here’s what I mean.  Say that you enter a room with which you are unfamiliar.  It’s a little bit warm in the room and you observe that there is a ceiling fan.  You know a thing or two about ceiling fans, but you’ve never turned on this particular fan, so you set yourself to figuring out how to turn it on.  You think, “Maybe the wall switch will turn it on”, and so you flip the wall switches.  If that doesn’t work you think, “Maybe I need to pull the chain on the fan to turn it on”, and so you reach up and pull the chain.  If that doesn’t work you think, “Maybe there’s a combination of the wall switches and the chain that need to be aligned to turn it on”, and so you begin to turn switches on and off, pulling the chain at each setting.  If that still doesn’t work, we think… what?  That it’s broken… of course!  We’ve observed, hypothesized, tested each hypothesis and observed some more, and when we’ve run out of hypotheses we draw a conclusion.  That, my friends, is science; and we do it almost every day.

          As much as I love science, because I love figuring out how to make things work, I have one big problem with it.  You see, the problem with science is that it equates perception with reality.  In other words, science makes conclusions about reality based solely on what it can perceive.  In my example above, we concluded that the fan was broken because no switches or combination of switches would start it spinning.  We made a conclusion about reality based solely on what we observed.  The reality, however, could be that the fan functions perfectly well, but that the switch may be broken or maybe electricity wasn’t flowing at all to the system.  In other words, there could be factors beyond our perception that could contribute to the reality.  Science does not admit these factors and so sometimes draws incorrect conclusions about reality.

          For people of faith there is no other proof of the limitations of science than when we think about God.  Imagine for a moment that you didn’t know much about God (and let’s assume that you at least give credence to the fact that there is a God: that is, an all-powerful, all-knowing creator of the universe).  What would you do to figure out more about him?  Well, you’d observe, I suppose: you’d listen to what people said or wrote about him.  Then you might hypothesize about what he’d be like, followed by observing to see if you’re hypothesis was correct.

          Doing that you’d find out that people say that God is loving, kind, and merciful; that he has the power to control everything that happens in the universe; that nothing happens without his knowing about it and either making it happen or, at least, permitting it to happen.  Then you’d say, “Well, if that’s the case, then things should be pretty good around me.  People ought to be living in harmony with one another and there should be peace, because a God of love and kindness, who can control what happens in the world, would surely desire there to be love and kindness throughout the world.”  Having formed your hypothesis, you then observe the world and what would you see?  Love and kindness in many places, for sure; but also hatred, violence, and discord in as many, if not more places.  Having observed this, your conclusion might be: “God is not who people say he is, because what I perceive does not conform to that proposed reality.”  This is the error that many people in our society make today: they perceive a world broken by sin and they conclude that if God was who people say that he is, he wouldn’t allow the world to be like this.  Since the world is this way, God must not be who people say that he is; rather, he might be nothing more than a mythical creature meant to make people feel better about living in this broken world.

          The problem with this, of course, is that there are factors outside of one’s perception that contribute to the reality.  In other words, reality is greater than our perception.  Thinking theoretically, we can somewhat easily come to the conclusion that there must be a God: an all-powerful being—the uncreated creator—who created all things.  In order to know that God is benevolent, however, we would have to do a lot more work.  To see that all creation works towards the propagation of life, instead of against it, and that this propagation is a good thing, could lead us to conclude that God is good and has the good of creation in mind.  But to know God as we know him, as loving, kind, and merciful—or, as we celebrate him today, as a communion of persons—is something that we can know only if he, himself, has revealed it to us.

          Thankfully, this is something that he has revealed to us; and it is not something that he has revealed by some sort of divine declaration (even though he has done that).  Rather, he has revealed this to us by his actions.  In the book of Exodus, we read that God declared himself before Moses to be “a merciful and gracious God, slow to anger and rich in kindness and fidelity” and he proved this as time and again he spared the Israelite people from destruction, even though they had repeatedly offended him.  So gracious and merciful is he—and so deeply in love of his creation—that, as we read in the Gospel, he “gave his only Son so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.”  In doing so, he not only proved, once again, that what he said about himself is true, but he also revealed that he is a communion of persons within himself.  And how do we know that Jesus truly is the Son of God and, thus, God himself?  Because of the works that he did: most prominently his resurrection from the dead.

          Thus, the celebration that we come to today: the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity.  Today we celebrate who God is in himself: not because we somehow perceive this with our senses, but rather because of the gift of Faith that has been placed in our hearts and because of the works that he has worked in the past (and continues to work today) that go beyond our ability to test scientifically.  In celebrating God as Trinity, we not only celebrate who he is, but also what that means for us.  We know that God is Love and so is a community of persons.  Because of this we know that, when God creates, he creates in love.  We know that, having created human beings to be persons, like himself, he created us solely so that we might share in his divine life, which is love.  Finally, we know that, when we turned away from him in sin, he did not shun us, but rather came close to us, becoming one of us in his Son who would make atonement for our sins and, thus, make it possible for us to share in the divine life once again.

          And so, my brothers and sisters, as we celebrate today who God is in himself, let us rejoice also in who we are in him: beloved sons and daughters destined to spend eternity with him; and let us commit ourselves, therefore, to follow the admonition of Saint Paul to the Corinthians and “mend our ways, encourage one another, agree with one another, and live in peace” so that “the God of love and peace will be with us” and all those scientific skeptics might begin to see the truth that we proclaim: that the reality of God is much bigger than their perceptions, but that he nonetheless cares about each and every one; and that he desires that each and every one dwell with him in eternal light, happiness, and peace: the very same light, happiness, and peace that we experience, under sacramental signs, here at this altar.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – June 10^th & 11^th, 2017

Obedience makes us powerful

Homily: 2^nd Sunday in Lent – Cycle A

          Last week, as we celebrated the 1^st Sunday in Lent, I reflected on how the readings for the day seemed to indicate that God was asking us to enter into a 12-step addiction recover program this Lent.  I reflected how the journey through Lent can be like a journey through a 12-step program, as we acknowledge that we have sinned and have fallen short of all that God expects of us, that we, by ourselves, are powerless to overcome our sinfulness, and that we must give ourselves completely to the will of God (and his mercy)—particularly through the sacrament of reconciliation and the renewal of our baptismal promises at Easter—so that we can break free from the bonds of sin.  I noted how this last part is truly the key: that to hand over your will to one who is more powerful (and so, wise), yet loving—and to be completely obedient to him—actually leads to freedom, not greater slavery.

          In the Scriptures last week we saw this play out as the disobedience of our first parents (Adam and Eve) led them into the bondage of sin, while the obedience of Christ (as evidenced by his unwillingness to give into the temptations the devil presented to him) left him free and blameless before his Father.  This week, we once again encounter this theme of obedience in the Scriptures.  In the first reading, God commands Abraham to move from his native place to a land he doesn’t know based simply on a promise that God will give him blessings beyond his wildest dreams.  In the Gospel, we read how, at the transfiguration, Peter, James, and John hear God's voice identifying Jesus and commanding them "Listen to him".  This "listening" is much more than "hearing”.  Rather, it is a "listening" that results in "doing", which is obedience.  And so, in this way, it's like God is saying "This is my beloved Son … be obedient to him."

          But “obedience” often carries with it a negative connotation, right?  The common definition that many of us might give to obedience is “being subservient to the will of another”.  In this definition, obedience seems negative as it is often associated with one person’s domination over another.  Slaves and other servants are “obedient” to their masters, just as good children are “obedient” to their parents, grandparents, teachers, etc.

          The word obedience, however, comes from the Latin verb oboedire, which translates literally to mean “to listen towards” something, like when you lean in to listen because you value what is being said.  In this definition, obedience, implies a relationship between the one who speaks and the one who hears.  This is an affectionate relationship, since one would not “lean in” to listen to someone who he or she didn’t think had concern for him or her in return.  And so we see that obedience involves a level of intimacy between the one who speaks and the one who hears.  In a very real way, therefore, obedience, if it is true, is really an act of love.

          Given this, let’s think about Abraham’s obedience for a second.  If we take the reading literally (which can be a little dangerous to do), we see that Abraham didn’t say anything to God as God told him what to do and what he would give him for doing it.  Abraham’s response (“Abram went as the Lord directed him”, the Scripture says) would be crazy if he didn’t already have a relationship with God and knew his voice.  And so we must assume that he did have a relationship with God and that Abraham already trusted him to be a loving Father, who wouldn’t give him a rock when he asked for an egg or a scorpion when he asked for a fish.  With this loving relationship, therefore, it was easy for him to obey, even when that meant that he would suffer some hardships because of it.

          The apostles, too, would find that, because they spent three years with Jesus while he taught about the kingdom of God and worked miracles to demonstrate that it, indeed, had come to fulfillment in him, it would be easy to “listen to him”, because they already had a relationship with him and they knew him to be a loving master: more like a brother, than a boss.  Thus, they could give him their full obedience and not fear that they would ever be led astray.  Their obedience was not servitude, but truly was an act of love.

          Well, okay, Father, if obedience is love, then why is it so hard?  Well, perhaps it’s because we haven’t correctly understood love, either.  The love that we speak of here is so much more than affection (that is, good feelings for another person).  Rather, the love we are talking about here is the willing of the good (that is, happiness) for another: even if there is no reward (and, perhaps, even suffering) for yourself.  Obedience, therefore, often involves self-sacrifice.  This component of self-sacrifice is why we often view it as being slave-like.  We think, “I have to give up what I want in order for that other person to get what he or she wants.”  But true love doesn’t count the cost—it doesn’t count what I lose so that the other can receive something good.  This is why Jesus could say “No one has greater love than this; to lay down one’s life for one’s friends”.  And this is why Saint Paul, in our second reading, could remind Saint Timothy to “bear your share of hardship for the gospel”, because love sometimes asks us to bear hardships.  Obedience, therefore, willfully given, is really an act of love; and most especially when it involves some sacrifice of one’s self.

          Former farmer and US Secretary of Agriculture Ezra Taft Benson once said that “When obedience ceases to be an irritant and becomes our quest, in that moment God will endow us with power.”  Jesus is the Father’s “beloved Son” firstly because he was obedient.  Thus, the power on display in the transfiguration is the power that is available to us who seek to follow our Lord’s example of obedience.

          And so, my brothers and sisters, let us acknowledge that Lent calls us back to obedience; which means, then, that we are called to restore our relationship with God the Father through Christ Jesus.  And so, let us not spend this time of Lent in works that won’t draw us closer to God.  Rather, let’s engage works that lead us first to acknowledge our need for repentance (and, therefore, our need for God) and that help us, then, to submit our wills completely to his, because he has never proven to be anything but a loving Father who cares for us.  Because, when we do, we will see the power of the blessings that Jesus has won for us made manifest in our lives; the power that comes through true obedience; the power that comes to us here in this Holy Eucharist.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 11^th & 12^th, 2017

Purified through persecution

Homily: 33^rd Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          If any of us stopped to think about receiving a valuable gift, chances are that many of us would think of receiving something made out of gold.  Gold is a metal that we consider to be precious and valuable and so we only use it for things that will be valued and preserved.  In other words, we don’t make hammers out of gold because we expect them to be used, abused, and eventually discarded.  Wedding rings, the vessels we use at Mass, and gifts that we receive when retiring after a long career are made out of gold because they will be treasured, preserved, and valued for many years to come.

          What makes gold so precious to us is both its rarity and its beauty.  Its rarity is a characteristic inherent to gold itself.  There’s only so much gold in the world and to find a mine of it is valuable because it is a valued commodity.  Its beauty, however, is not something with which it comes naturally.  Rather, raw gold ore must be refined before it will begin to show the beauty for which it is highly prized; and this refining process is a violent one.  There are actually a few different methods of refining gold, but the two most common methods use either heat or chemicals.

          Refining with heat is one of the oldest methods of refining metals. Mentioned even in the bible, this form of refining involved a craftsman sitting next to a hot fire with molten gold in a crucible being stirred and skimmed to remove the impurities (or dross) that rose to the top of the molten metal. With flames reaching temperatures in excess of 1000 degrees Celsius, this job was definitely a dangerous occupation for the gold refiner. The tradition remains largely untouched today with the exception of a few advancements in safety and precision.

          In the chemical method of refining gold, strong acids such as nitric acid and hydrochloric acid are used to dissolve the impurities in the gold ore and, afterwards, are neutralized and washed away, taking the impurities with them. The resulting product is a muddy substance that is almost pure gold. This muddy substance is then dried until it is a powdered residue and then heated to melt the gold powder and fuse it so that it becomes a usable solid.  Both processes, as you can see, are pretty violent!  And I mention them here today because I think that they help us to understand what our Scriptures are trying to tell us today.

          Near the end of his time on earth, Jesus starts to say some disturbing things to his disciples.  He tells them that a time of violent unrest will come upon them and that no one, even his disciples, will be kept free from suffering.  In fact, he tells them, they’ll be persecuted, and some of them killed, even, perhaps, by their own family members!  This is not the image of triumph that his followers were hoping the Messiah would bring and so I can only imagine how disheartening Jesus’ words were to them.

          Nevertheless, Jesus makes a promise.  At the end of these words of “doom and gloom”, Jesus tells them, “…not a hair on your head will be destroyed.  By your perseverance you will secure your lives.”  In this promise Jesus shows his followers that there is a way through this time of tribulation and that is perseverance in faith.  Perhaps, however, this begs some questions: “If God is intent on preserving his faithful ones through this time of tribulation, why not just prevent the tribulation in the first place?  Is he just trying to test them to see if they will fail?  Is this a punishment for sins that they’ve committed, even though they were trying to follow him?”  The answer, I think, lies in our understanding of how gold is refined.

          The suffering that Jesus is predicting that his followers will experience is not the suffering of punishment or even the suffering of an uncaring God who just refuses to keep them safe from it.  I think, rather, that the suffering that is predicted is a suffering of refinement.  The tribulations that will befall Jesus’ followers are like the refiner’s fire: a violent aggression against the element that nonetheless purges its impurities so that nothing but the pure, precious element remains.

          The human person, marred by sin, is like raw gold ore: valuable more for what it could be than for what it is.  Unrefined, it is marred by the impurities that are mixed in with its chemical structure.  In order for its full beauty to be seen—and, therefore, its full value to be known—it must go through the violent and painful process of refining: stripping away its impurities, until nothing is left but pure gold, an element of striking beauty.  In preparation for the second coming of the Lord, the world—and, specifically, the human person—must also go through a refining process, because only those who are pure can stand in the presence of God.  Perseverance in faith through tribulations is like the gold maintaining the integrity of its chemical composition throughout the refining process: having endured the violent process, each person will emerge in the purity of his or her humanity and will be a strikingly beautiful creature to behold.

          The challenge, therefore, for Christians is two-fold: One, not to fall away from the faith when the tribulations come.  Remember, Jesus said “By your perseverance you will secure your lives!”  The second challenge for Christians is to hasten this transformation by living transformed lives here and now!  If we are truly anticipating Jesus’ return and the coming of God’s kingdom in its fullness, then we ought to be "stoking the flames" of the refiner's fire by living transformed lives and thus put into stark contrast the misdeeds of those who do evil.  Living the corporal and spiritual works of mercy beyond the close of the Year of Mercy is one major way to do this.  In other words, and this is counterintuitive, we prepare ourselves for the great tribulation—and, in a real sense, hasten its coming—when we readily seek tribulation in our lives: that is, opportunities to sacrifice ourselves in the name of Jesus to build up his kingdom and to purge all that is dark and impure within us.

          Another way that we can prepare ourselves for (and, thus, hasten) Jesus’ coming is our daily examination of conscience and our frequent celebration of the sacrament of reconciliation.  The examination is like a daily refiner’s fire that causes all of our impurities (that is, our sins) to bubble to the surface.  Then, in the sacrament, Jesus, the Divine Refiner, skims the dross of our impurities from the surface when we confess our sins and receive absolution.  As purified gold we then go forth to shine in the world to show it that purity is possible by the way we live our lives, now unhindered by the impurities that once discolored us.  Sure, impurities will begin to attach themselves to us once again as we intermingle with the world; and this means that this is a process that must be continually renewed until the end of time.  I believe, however, that this is what Jesus meant when he said: "By your perseverance you will secure your lives".

          My brothers and sisters, as human persons, many dark things separate us from one another and keep us from being the amazingly beautiful and pure creation that God intended us to be: a visible image of the communion of persons that he is in himself.  Therefore, let us use these frightful words that Jesus speaks to us today to inspire us to allow the refining process to work in our lives and then to be prophets in the world by which others come to acknowledge and accept their own need of refining.

          My brothers and sisters, the eternal salvation of many depends on the work that we do to bring them to accept this hard work of being refined.  Let us not fail them, but rather spend our lives for them.  In this way we will model our Lord's sacrifice for us and thus conform ourselves to his image, even as we help form the human family into the image of God on earth.  In doing so, we will secure our own salvation.  May the strength that can only come from God bring this good work to fulfillment in our lives.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – November 12^th & 13^th, 2016

An island big enough for everyone

Homily: 25^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          There certainly is a wealth of lessons to be learned and insight to be gained from our Scriptures today.  There always is, of course, but today there just seems to be more to “sink our teeth into” than normal.  Obviously I can’t cover it all in one homily, so I’ll have to choose something.  I think that this year, in particular because it is an election year, it would be good if we focused in on the reading from Saint Paul’s letter to Timothy.  First, a little background on these letters.

          Three of Saint Paul's fourteen New Testament Letters are called his "Pastoral Letters". Two of these were written to Saint Timothy and one to Saint Titus.  Both Timothy and Titus were disciples of Paul. Timothy's mother was Jewish and he had become a Christian through the influence of his grandmother, Lois. Titus had no Jewish background at all; he was a Greek convert from paganism. Timothy and Titus each accompanied Saint Paul on some of his missionary journeys around the Mediterranean and they also served as Paul’s messengers to churches that he was trying to guide from a distance. At the time when the New Testament Letters to Timothy and Titus were written, the two disciples had stopped traveling with Paul and each had been made an overseer, or "bishop", of a local church. The Letters contain advice and instruction from Saint Paul on how to lead their respective communities. In the passage we just heard, located near the beginning of Saint Paul's First Letter to Timothy, many themes emerge: themes that are as important for us today as they were for our Christian brothers and sisters in the first century. Today, however, we’ll just focus two of them.

          The first has to do with the Church's relationship with the world around it. In the first century, the civilized world in which Christianity was taking root was still pagan. The different cultures around the Mediterranean Sea had been forcefully united under the Roman Empire. The Empire's fabulous wealth opened the door to a pleasure-loving lifestyle among the rich and powerful. It also required the spread of slave labor and the injustice and misery that went along with it. Furthermore, it allowed for the spread and interaction of the many different pagan religions native to each culture. At that time, in the midst of this sea of paganism, Christianity was still only a tiny island.

          In his instructions to Timothy, Saint Paul lists as the first responsibility of those living on that “island” to pray for the pagan “sea” all around them—especially for the "kings and for all in authority"—the Emperor, the governors, and the other civil leaders… many of whom had already begun to persecute the Christians. You see, in Paul's mind, the Church was not only a boat journeying to heaven—or an island of refuge in the midst of a hostile sea—but it was also God's chosen instrument for the spread of a stable and prosperous society here on earth, in which everyone could live a "quiet and tranquil life in all devotion and dignity." And the primary way for the Church to do that, Paul instructs, was through prayer.

          Today, once again, the Church is an island in a sea of paganism. The island is bigger now, but the surrounding culture is still hostile to Christian values. So today it is still our responsibility as God's ambassadors to pray for peace, justice, and prosperity in society: which means, of course, to pray also for our leaders. God wants our culture to be healthy and our society to be stable and he chooses to use our prayers as channels for his grace to achieve this end.

          The second theme has to do with the extension of Christ's saving mission. Jesus Christ came as the Savior, but who exactly did he come to save? Did he intend to save only some members of the fallen human race? This is what some traditions of separated Christianity have taught and still teach. John Calvin, for example, one of the most influential figures in the Protestant Reformation back in the 16th century, taught a doctrine called "double predestination". This doctrine stated that from the moment when God creates a human soul, he destines that person either to heaven or to hell, and nothing that the person does can change that destiny. But that, of course, is not true. As Saint Paul wrote to Timothy, "God our savior... wills everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth."

          When Christ offered his own life as a sacrifice for our sins, he offered it as a sacrifice to atone for ALL our sins, for the sins of every human being who ever lived and who ever will live. This is what Saint Paul means when he writes to Timothy saying that, "Christ Jesus... gave himself as ransom for all." God doesn't play favorites and he doesn’t exclude. He offers the gift of salvation to every single person and he wants every single person to accept salvation by believing in and following Christ. But he won't force anyone to accept the gift: because then it wouldn't be a gift at all. This is why it is not a contradiction to say both that God wills the salvation of all people, but that all people will not necessarily be saved.

          And so, do you see now how important it is that we pray for “kings and for all those in authority”?  If we decide that some people don’t deserve our prayers because we don’t think that they should receive the gift of eternal life from God, then we have set ourselves against God’s will; and if we are against God’s will then we ourselves are in danger of losing the gift of salvation that comes to us from Jesus Christ!  And besides, are we any better than that dishonest steward about whom Jesus speaks in the Gospel if we try to hoard the treasure of salvation for ourselves, instead of praying that everyone would share in it?  No, we’re not!

          And so, in the Gospel reading, when Jesus seems to agree with the master’s commendation of the dishonest steward’s actions, it isn’t because he agrees with the steward’s actions, but rather it is to make a point: that the dishonest are better and more committed to being dishonest than the good are at being and being committed to being honest!  And he makes this point to make a further point: that is, that in order for the Gospel message to be received as authentic, then Christians must live the faith authentically.  My friends, this begins with charity; and today Saint Paul teaches us that an essential part of charity is to pray for everyone, without discrimination.

          My brothers and sisters, our faith is a vast treasure house of truth and light: a treasure that our world so desperately needs today! And so today, as Christ comes once again to nourish our souls in Holy Communion, let's thank him for this priceless gift of our Catholic faith, let's pray for the salvation of the entire world, as Saint Paul encourages us to do, especially for the politicians and government officials that seem to be lost, and let's renew our determination to follow Christ faithfully this week, so that we might be authentic witnesses to the Gospel that lead all those around us to the joy of eternal life.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – September 18^th, 2016

Mercy demands "applied Christianity"

Homily: 15^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          In the world of advanced studies, there are generally two categories of persons: those who generate knowledge and those who apply that knowledge.  If you look at the degree offerings of major colleges and universities, you’ll often find degrees both in “mathematics” and “applied mathematics”, “physics” and “applied physics”, “chemistry” and “applied chemistry”.  This is evidence of what I am saying: that in the world of advanced studies, there are two categories of persons, those who are concerned just with knowing things, and getting to know more about those things, and those who are concerned with applying this knowledge of things for some purpose.

          And both of these are necessary, right?  Certainly there is value in knowing things—such as the principle of gravity—because it increases our awe and appreciation of a world that has been so wonderfully made and simply helps us to exist in it.  But what if that’s all we had?  Just knowledge of the fact that gravity exists (and perhaps why it exists)?  A whole world of technology wouldn’t exist if we hadn’t tried to apply that knowledge towards some purpose.  Almost any mode of transportation that we use today fundamentally relies on an understanding of the principle of gravity for it to work.  Knowledge, therefore, is necessary!  But knowledge without application—that is, without action—tends to be something lifeless.

          This principle of applying our knowledge to purposeful action is something fundamental to the Christian life and our readings today reinforce this.  In the reading from the book of Deuteronomy Moses is giving his last instructions to the people whom he has led through the desert for 40 years.  He will die soon and he wants these people to remember the most important things.  So he tells them, “If only you would heed the voice of the Lord, your God, and keep his commandments and statutes that are written in this book of the law… [which are] not too mysterious and remote for you … No, it is something very near to you, already in your mouths and in your hearts; you have only to carry it out.”  In other words, he’s saying: “You already know what God demands of you, but it isn’t enough just to know it!  You must also apply it to your lives and live by it.”

          This is also the lesson that emerges from the episode that we recounted today from Luke’s Gospel.  There, Jesus was confronted by a “scholar of the law”—in other words, someone focused on “knowing things”—who wanted to test Jesus on his knowledge of the Law.  Deftly, Jesus doesn’t engage his debate, but in turn tests the scholar on his knowledge of the Law.  The scholar having answered rightly, Jesus agrees with him; thus demonstrating both Jesus’ knowledge of the law and that he does not see himself or his teaching as being above the law.  The scholar was not satisfied, though, so he asks a follow-up question: “But who is my neighbor?”  At this point, Jesus decides not to give him a “book” answer, but rather to enlighten the answer with an application: the parable of the Good Samaritan.

          Notice in this that only implicitly did Jesus answer the scholar’s question: “Who is my neighbor?”  The robbers’ victim—the person in need of mercy—is implicitly identified as every man’s “neighbor” when Jesus asks the scholar “Which one of these was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?” and the scholar replies “The one who treated him with mercy.”  In doing this, Jesus did two things: 1) he identified as our neighbor anyone whom we find in need of mercy and 2) he demonstrated that knowledge of who our neighbor is and what our neighbor demands of us is not enough, but rather that we must also apply that knowledge in action if that knowledge is going to be worth something.  The robbers’ victim was neighbor to both the priest and the Levite, but only the Samaritan was neighbor to the victim because he not only acknowledged him as his neighbor but then acted on that acknowledgement.

          Let me restate this once again, lest it get lost: knowledge is necessary!  First we have to acknowledge what is true and which truth demands the most of us.  For the believer it is that God is supreme and therefore we must love him with our whole selves.  Then, that Man is made in the image of God and therefore is due great honor, that all men are created equal and therefore demand equal treatment, and, thus, that we must love our fellow man as we love ourselves.  Then, however, we have to act on that knowledge.  "See how one acts towards his neighbor?", Jesus asks, "Go and do likewise … and you will live."

          My brothers and sisters, this is not complicated.  Remember what Moses said: "It is something very near to you, already in your mouths and in your hearts; you have only to carry it out."  But it isn’t necessarily easy, is it?  If it was easy there wouldn't be any of the violence that plagues our world, right?  Because of sin, however, that which, by nature, should be easy for us has become difficult to practice.  Thus, we have to work hard to love both ourselves and then our neighbor.

          Now, so we don’t forget that first part, let me say a word about loving ourselves.  We love ourselves when we do what's truly best for ourselves: purging sin from our lives, building disciplined lives of prayer, pursuing truth, goodness, and beauty, and taking care of our relationships.  Notice that “loving ourselves” doesn’t mean “do what is most pleasurable for ourselves” (though the pursuit of truth, goodness, and beauty ought to be pleasurable), but rather “do what is best for ourselves”, disciplining our bodies when necessary in order to ensure that our hearts remain pure.  Loving our neighbor, then, requires that we do what is truly best for them, too: helping them in their need and supporting them as they also strive to love themselves.  The prayer service for fighting the drug epidemic in our community was a great example of putting aside our projects and desires to do something for our neighbors in this community who are suffering because of drug use and abuse.

          My brothers and sisters, in giving us this year of mercy, Pope Francis hopes to do what Jesus did for that law scholar that day: he hopes to remind us of who our neighbor is (that is, anyone in need of mercy) and he hopes to move us to be neighbor to them by "treating them with mercy", which is the same Mercy that God has already shown to us: who, seeing us assaulted by Satan to the point that we were left for dead, did not pass on the other side, but came close to us, sending us Jesus to dress our wounds and to take us to a place (that is, the Church) where we could be healed and recover.  We must, therefore, go and do likewise.  This is the great "missa"—or "sending"—that we receive at the end every Mass.

          Thus, the question we must confront today is this: Will we allow our lives to be interrupted to care for others?  Like it or not, “yes” is the answer that Jesus expects of us.  Our work this week, therefore, will be to become more aware of and, thus, to respond to the opportunities to give mercy that God's providence places in front of us.  My brothers and sisters, through this Eucharist, the love and mercy of God—Jesus, himself—comes to us and dwells in us.  May our knowledge of this inspire us to open our hearts to others so that his love and mercy might spread and grow among us.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – July 9^th & 10^th, 2016

Tattoos are marks from our past

Homily: 11^th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          Seven and a half years ago (according to the article), Mount Angel Abbey's serene hilltop campus in north-central Oregon shook, as leather-clad Bobby Love rolled in on his motorcycle. Love removed his helmet revealing pierced ears and a mop of dreadlocks. With tattoos on his hands, arms and neck, he looked like an extra on "Sons of Anarchy" not someone attending a retreat for those who might become Benedictine monks. As he dismounted his bike, he was aware of the images on his skin and the absurdity of his arrival. As awkward as he must have felt attending a discernment retreat at a Benedictine monastery, I imagine that it must have been just as awkward for the monks who received him that day.

          I imagine the monks probably looked him over in much the same way that each of us might look over a stranger who walked into our church here looking the same way.  Perhaps we might stop and think, “Who is this guy?” and “Where did he come from?”  Because, perhaps, we’ve become accustomed to associating men and women with tattoos, dreadlocks, and who ride loud motorcycles with those who live sinful lives, we would likely also think to ourselves something like “Whoa, he’s in the wrong place” or “Wow, he’s probably done some pretty bad things.”  Then, if he came forward to receive communion, we might find ourselves saying “Really?  That guy’s going to communion?”  I know that we would all want to react better, but look around you.  Nobody here looks like this guy that I’ve described and so the shock of seeing someone like that among us would cause us to react instinctually; and our instincts, which are always out to protect us, would react in a defensive way.

          In many ways, this is the reaction of the Pharisee in today’s Gospel reading.  He, an upstanding Jew, threw a dinner party to which Jesus was invited.  During the dinner, this woman, whom everyone in town knew was a sinful woman, made an entrance and then made a scene as she knelt at Jesus feet, bathed them with her tears (and you can imagine just how much you would have to cry in order to produce enough fluid to actually wash something), dried them with her hair (meaning that her hair was uncovered, which was taboo both in public and in the presence of men), and then anointed them with oil, kissing them incessantly.  Simon, the Pharisee, whose rigorous observance of the law would make him very sensitive about ritual impurity, is rightly upset that this woman, whom everyone knows is ritually impure because of her sins, would come and disrupt his dinner party in this way and that she would touch a rabbi, whom he would have at least assumed was intent on staying ritually pure.  Perhaps even more, Simon was amazed that Jesus allowed her to do it without protest.  Simon couldn’t see past this woman’s past.  But Jesus, on the other hand, did.

          Jesus, seeing her present, tattooed as she was because of her sins, acknowledges her contrition and pours out his merciful love upon her, much to the shock of Simon the Pharisee.  Simon thought that Jesus should rebuke her for her sins, but Jesus knew that this wasn’t a moment for rebuke; he knew that she wasn’t here trying to make excuses for her sins, but rather she was trying to make atonement for them.  Jesus did not judge her past (for it was obvious that she had already judged herself) and he did not judge her future (that is, whether or not she would be able to leave off her sinful lifestyle), he judged only her present; and in her present she showed deep sorrow for her sins and deep love for Jesus.  In her littleness, as she lovingly poured ointment on Jesus’ feet, Jesus lovingly poured out his mercy upon her.

          Perhaps it’s not hard to see ourselves as the Pharisee.  Like when we imagined the tattooed, dreadlocked, motorcycle-riding stranger coming into our church, participating in Mass, and receiving communion, our tendency to judge instinctually may cause us to focus on whatever that man’s past may be, instead of acknowledging his present.  We must acknowledge this tendency within us and, if we wish to be more like Jesus, we need to work daily to counteract this tendency within us so that, instead of closing ourselves off to others, we remain open to others: to meeting them in their present, just like Jesus did for the woman in today’s Gospel reading.

          Perhaps the greater challenge for us today, however, is to see ourselves as the sinful woman.  Each of us has a past that is tattooed by our sins; and although they might not be just as visible as physical tattoos are, they nonetheless remain with us the rest of our lives.  If we think that turning away from our sins and starting to live a more upright life alone is enough, then we’ve stopped at becoming a Pharisee.  Simple observance of God’s commandments can never achieve for us the abundant life that God wants to give us.  It is a necessary step, of course, but never the only one.  Only if we also turn to our Lord in deep sorrow for our sins—which, in itself, means that we’ve also acknowledged our past as having been sinful—will we find the merciful love of God poured out upon us.  In other words, we must abandon ourselves to Jesus’ mercy if we want to enjoy the fullness of life.  This is exactly what Saint Paul speaks to in our second reading today: No mere observance of the Law can earn for us eternal life.  If it could, we would have had no need for Jesus!  Rather only faith in Jesus—that is, trust, confidence, abandonment to him—will open for us the floodgates of his merciful love.

          My brothers and sisters, all of us are covered in the tattoos of our past sins.  Thankfully, I dare say, most of us here have already felt God’s merciful forgiveness for these sins.  Nevertheless, try as we may, new tattoos appear when we fail in our battles against sin.  If we then fail to acknowledge these for what they are—and, in turn, look only to our attempts to live according to God’s commandments (saying often to ourselves, “But I’m a good person”)—then we limit ourselves to being Simon the Pharisee: the man who was justified in his own eyes, but cut off from Jesus’ merciful love.  When each of us acknowledges that we each have much of which we need to be forgiven, we will then love Jesus even more and Jesus, in return will even more abundantly pour out his merciful love upon us.

          Bob Love—the tattooed, dreadlocked, motorcycle-riding man who took part in that discernment retreat at Mount Angel Abbey—is now known as Brother Andre.  Although he no longer rides a motorcycle and his dreadlocks have long since been cut off, he still has the tattoos on his hands and neck, his Abbot denying his request to have them removed.  The Abbot’s reasoning was that it was “part of who Br. Andre is”.  Perhaps, however, he hoped that it would be a visual reminder to the rest of the monks that Jesus doesn’t meet us in our past, but in our present; and that he walks with us into our future… that is, if we let him.

          My brothers and sisters, Jesus meets us in our present in a special way here in this Eucharist.  Let us offer to him here the fragrant ointment of our praise and thanksgiving as he pours out on us the ointment of his merciful love in the form of his Body and Blood; and let us allow him to walk with us into our future—into a joy-filled life that living according to God’s commands allows us to live—so that we might one day enjoy the life of perfect peace and happiness that awaits us in heaven.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – June 12^th, 2016

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P.S. Here's a link to an article about Br. Andre.  His is a fascinating story!

http://www.statesmanjournal.com/story/life/2014/11/07/mount-angel-abbey-art-museum-brother-andre-love-iconography-icons-benedictine-tattoo/18602733/