Friday, September 27, 2013

"THEY WERE AFRAID TO ASK HIM."


Homily for Sept. 28th, 2013: Luke 9:43b-45.
          “They were all amazed at [Jesus’] every deed,” today’s brief gospel reading begins. Immediately before this verse Luke has described Jesus’ healing of an epileptic boy, the only son of his father (9:38). The man has already asked Jesus’ disciples for healing, without success. The youth has an epileptic fit even as he is being brought to Jesus. The Lord heals the boy with a word and gives him back to his father. “And all who saw it marveled at the greatness of God,” Luke tells us (vs. 43a).  The opening words of our gospel today follow immediately: “All were amazed at [Jesus’] every deed.”  
          Jesus breaks into the people’s amazement to tell them something he wants them to remember. “Pay attention to what I am telling you” are the words we heard. What Luke writes literally is: “lay up in your ears these words. The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into the hands of men.” This is so jarring that the people do not understand it. “They were afraid to ask him about this saying,” Luke tells us.
          This fear can be understood if we reflect that the miracle of healing which the people have just witnessed, indeed all Jesus’ miracles, kindled in them a desire for something we all want: a success story. Being betrayed into the hands of men certainly didn’t sound like success. No wonder the people were afraid to enquire too deeply about Jesus’ meaning.
          The day would come, however, when people would understand. After Jesus’ death and burial his women disciples, more faithful than the men, visit his tomb as soon as the Sabbath rest is over, intending to do what had been impossible Friday evening, when the Sabbath had already begun: anoint the Lord’s body. The women find not Jesus’ body but “two men in dazzling garments” (clearly angels) who ask them: “Why do you search for the Living One among the dead? He is not here; he has been raised up.” And then, Luke tells us, the angels tell the women: “Remember what he said to you while he was sill in Galilee – that the Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.” “With this reminder,” Luke writes, “[Jesus’] words came back to them” (Lk 24:4-8).
          We pray, then, in this Mass: “Open our ears, Lord Jesus, to listen to your words. And  when we do not understand, give us patience to await the day when we shall understand, since we shall see you face to face. Amen”

Thursday, September 26, 2013

ST. VINCENT DE PAUL



Homily for Sept. 27th, 2013: St. Vincent de Paul.
          St. Vincent de Paul, whom we celebrate today, is an unusual character. Born in 1581 to a poor peasant family in southwestern France, he became a priest – several years under the minimum age – because he thought it would assure him an easy and comfortable life. A priest related to Vincent’s father lived comfortably on the income of a hostel he administered for pilgrims on the way to Compostella in northwestern Spain. Decades later Vincent would say: “If I had known what priesthood was all about, as I have come to know since, I would rather have tilled the soil than engage in such an awesome state in life.”
          Wealthy benefactors financed his university studies in Toulouse. One of them arranged for him to become Pastor of a parish when he was not yet eighteen, and not even a priest. Vincent enjoyed the endowed income, while a poorly paid assistant priest took care of pastoral duties -- something quite possible in the Church of that day. We know little about Vincent’s early years of priesthood. We know, however, that in 1605, while on a coastal voyage in the Mediterranean, he was captured by pirates and spent the next two years as a slave in North Africa. He was freed when his fourth owner took Vincent back to France. Later he would ascribe his liberation to Mary’s intercession.  
          By 1608 Vincent was in Paris. Something of a confidence artist all his life, he got himself appointed chaplain to the queen. This brought him into contact with the French king's chaplain, a saintly priest named Pierre de Bérulle, who discerned in Vincent a capacity for true holiness. With Bérulle’s help Vincent came to regard priesthood as a service and not a career. While continuing to associate with the rich and famous, he developed a fruitful ministry to the poor, to prisoners, and to his fellow clergy. With associates he founded the Company of the Mission, which continues today, and seminaries to raise the level of the clergy.
When Vincent, now a member of the Council which advised the French king about the selection of bishops, refused the request of a duchess that her son should receive a miter, the enraged lady threw a stool at Vincent’s head, drawing blood. To the lay brother who was with him, Vincent remarked unfazed: “Isn’t it wonderful to see a mother’s love for her son.”
          By 1660 Vincent, now approaching 80, was worn out from his labors and knew he was dying. At four in the morning of Sept. 27th the Lord called him home as he sat by the fire in his room. It was the hour at which, for years, he had risen from his bed to begin a day filled with prayer and with activity for others. Vincent de Paul was starting his first day of eternity. With joy and gratitude we pray to him: “St. Vincent de Paul, pray for us, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

THE MAN GOD HELPED



LAZARUS, THE MAN GOD HELPED
Homily for Sept. 29th 2013: 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C. Luke 16: 19-21
          Like many of the parables, this one is a story of contrasts. These are stark, both in this life and in the hereafter. The rich man has every comfort that money can buy. The beggar at his gate has only his name: Lazarus, a word which means “may God help,” or “the one whom God helps.” This name is significant, as we shall see.
          The rich man’s clothing (“purple and linen”) and lifestyle (he “feasted splendidly every day”) proclaim abundance and luxury. He is far above the social-economic level of Jesus’ ordinary hearers. According to the conventional morality of the day, however, which viewed wealth as a sign of God’s blessing, the hearers would have admired the rich man as an upright pillar of society. 
          The description of Lazarus’ plight is remarkably similar to that of the younger son in the far country in the parable of the merciful father and the two lost sons -- usually called the parable of the prodigal son. The young man in that story “longed to fill his belly with the husks that were fodder for the pigs” (Luke 15:16). Lazarus “longed to eat the scraps that fell from the rich man’s table.” To understand this description we need to know the eating customs of the day. Food was eaten with the fingers, which were wiped afterwards with pieces of flat bread that were then cast aside to be eaten by the household dogs. The persistent Gentile woman, beseeching Jesus to heal her little daughter, reminded him of this custom when she said: “Even the dogs under the table eat the family’s scraps” (Mark 7:28).
          The contrast between the two men in the story extends to the smallest details. The rich man is “clothed in purple and fine linen.” Lazarus is “covered with sores.” The rich man “feasted splendidly every day.” Lazarus “longed to eat the scraps” of bread discarded by the rich man and his guests at their daily banquets. The rich man is active. Lazarus is passive, unable even to fend off the dogs whose attentions increase his misery. We are not even told that Lazarus begged. He simply lies there at the rich man’s gate, unnoticed by the rich man as he passes in and out each day. The rich man is an insider, Lazarus is the quintessential outsider.
          Death reverses these contrasts. “The beggar died,” Jesus tells us with stark economy of language. The description becomes richer, however, as we hear about Lazarus (still passive) being lifted out of this world, in which he had been a neglected outsider, and “carried by angels to the bosom of Abraham.” Lazarus is now the quintessential insider.
          Unlike Lazarus, the rich man has a funeral: “The rich man likewise died and was buried.” Now he becomes the outsider, buried in the ground of this world.  Where previously he had “feasted splendidly”, now he is “in torment.” His daily feasting is replaced by craving for a drop of water to cool his tongue, parched from the flames which surround him. 
          And now the rich man does something he has not done before. For the first time, Jesus tells us, “he raised his eyes and saw Lazarus” — no longer near, however, but “afar off” in Abraham’s bosom, in a place of honor like the “disciple whom Jesus loved” leaning on the Lord’s breast at the Last Supper (cf. John 13: 23ff). 
          The significance of Lazarus’ name is now manifest. He is the man whom God helps. Ignored in life — by the rich man, his guests, and everyone else — Lazarus is disclosed at death as someone especially dear to God, who sends angels to carry him to a place of consolation and honor. This would have puzzled the story’s first hearers, accustomed to thinking that unfortunates like Lazarus were receiving the just reward for their sins. 
          Equally disturbing for the hearers would have been the rich man’s punishment. This cannot have been the consequence of his wealth, for Abraham was rich. Nowhere does Jesus say that the mere possession of wealth brings condemnation or that poverty guarantees salvation. Like those on the king’s left hand in Matthew’s parable of the sheep and the goats, the rich man is punished not for anything he did, but for what he failed to do. In that other parable those at the king’s left protest at the injustice of their condemnation, demanding to know when they have ever transgressed God’s law. The rich man in this parable utters no protest. Seeming to recognize the justice of his fate, he merely asks that Lazarus (still passive) be sent “to dip the tip of his finger in water and refresh my tongue, for I am tortured in these flames.” The rich man has forgotten nothing and learned nothing. He still assumes that he can command others to do his bidding.  Significantly, however, he directs his request not to Lazarus but to Abraham, a wealthy man like himself, but unlike him a model of hospitality. 
          Abraham’s response is gentle. Addressing his petitioner as “my child,” Abraham discloses that the separation between the rich man and Lazarus, formerly the result merely of the former’s neglect and hence reversible, is now permanent because established by God. 
          The dialogue which follows takes the parable to a new level. The rich man, who for the first time has “raised his eyes” and seen Lazarus, now makes his first move to repair his previous failure by helping others. Still assuming that others are there to serve him, he asks Abraham to send Lazarus to his brothers on earth as “a warning, so they may not end in this place of torment.” Abraham’s response to this seemingly reasonable request sounds callous: “They have Moses and the prophets.  Let them hear them.” The rich man immediately counters with an objection as plausible as his original request. “No, Father Abraham. ... But if someone would only go to them from the dead, then they would repent.” 
          Across the distance of seventy years I can still recall my reaction to the annual reading of this gospel in my youth, on one of the many Sundays after Pentecost. ‘He’s got a point there,’ I thought each time I heard the rich man’s objection. ‘If someone were to go them from the dead, that would shake them up!’  Enlightenment came one Sunday during my teens, when, listening to this gospel, I realized: ‘Hey. A man did rise from the dead once. It didn’t shake anyone up. The only people who believed in him were those who had believed in him before, and even they had to overcome initial skepticism.’ 
          Luke’s language confirms this youthful insight. Abraham speaks of resurrection: “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, they will not be convinced even if one should rise from the dead.” “Moses and the prophets” means simply “Holy Scripture.” Jesus uses Abraham’s refusal of the rich man’s final request to state what Jesus himself has already experienced many times over: signs and wonders, no matter how dramatic, can never compel faith in those who have not already gained faith through attentive reading or hearing of God’s word. The greatest of all Jesus’ signs was the empty tomb of Easter morning. It was the occasion of faith to one man only: the disciple whom Jesus loved, as he is called in John’s gospel (cf. John 20: 2-8). Jesus’ other followers came to faith in the resurrection only through seeing the risen Lord. Those who had refused to believe in him before the crucifixion had a simple explanation for the empty tomb, reported in Matthew 28:12-15: Jesus’ disciples stole his body while the soldiers guarding the tomb slept.
          Abraham’s seemingly callous reminder that the rich man’s brothers need only “Moses and the prophets” to avoid his fate is Jesus’ way of telling his hearers, ourselves included, that present circumstances are always enough for us to believe in God and serve him. Most of us, most of the time, live and work in circumstances that are less than ideal. Confronted with our modest achievements, we plead that they are a consequence of our limited opportunities. When things change and we get into better circumstances, we shall be able to accomplish so much more. That is an illusion.        
          The golden opportunities that beckon on the other side of the horizon will never arrive if we are not using the opportunities, however limited, that are before us right now. It is here and now, in the present moment (the only time we ever have) that we are called to faith in God, and to generous service of God and others — and not somewhere else, tomorrow, when everything changes at the touch of some magic wand and our lives cease to be drab and become wonderful.   
          The parable tells that we must listen to God’s word. If we do this, not just occasionally, but faithfully — day after day, week by week and year after year — we shall find ourselves strengthened, guided, and fed. Faithful, patient sitting at the Lord’s feet, listening and pondering his words like Mary of Bethany, will enable us to understand the words of Cleopas and his unnamed companion after their encounter with the risen Lord at Emmaus on the first Easter evening: “Were not our hearts burning inside us as he talked to us on the road and explained the Scriptures to us?” (Luke 24:32) .
          To be close to the Lord, we need to do also what the rich man in the parable failed to do. We need to see the needs of those around us. And like the despised outsider in the parable of the Good Samaritan, we need to minister to those needs in caring, costing ways. The Lord seldom demands heroism. Often a kind word, a friendly gesture, or an encouraging smile is enough. But unless we are open to the needs of those we encounter on life’s way, and are trying to meet those needs, we shall discover one day that we have lived far from God, no matter how many prayers we have said. And if we have lived far from God in this life, we shall live far from him in eternity. God’s judgment is not something imposed on us from without. It is his ratification of the judgment we make in this life by the way we choose to live here and now. 
          This story of the rich man and Lazarus is clearly a parable of judgment. God’s judgment need not be fearful, however. In reality it is part of the good news. The judgment meted out in this parable to Lazarus — passive throughout and speaking never a word — assures us that the inarticulate, the weak, the poor, the marginalized and neglected, are especially dear to God. Lazarus, the man whom God helped, tells us that in the kingdom Jesus came to proclaim the blind see, the deaf hear, the lame walk and run without growing weary; those who hope in the Lord renew their strength and soar as on eagles’ wings; the tone-deaf sing like René Fleming and Placido Domingo; the poor are made rich; the hungry feast at the banquet of eternal life; the sorrowful are filled with laughter and joy; and those who are ostracized and persecuted because of the Son of Man receive their unbelievably great reward.
          That too is the gospel proclaimed by this parable. That is the good news.

"YOU HAVE EATEN, BUT NOT BEEN SATISFIED."



Homily for Sept. 26th, 2013: Haggai 1:1-8.
          “The time has not yet come to build the house of the Lord,” the people of God tell the prophet Haggai in our first reading. It’s the oldest excuse in the book for failing to do something we know we ought to do. ‘Postpone it,’ we say, ‘the time is not ripe.’ The excuse is so old, in fact, that we have a name for it: procrastination.
          God’s people have come back to Jerusalem from decades of exile and oppression in Babylon. The Temple, the dwelling place of God on earth which was destroyed long ago by their enemies, is still in ruins. But the people are doing just fine, thank you, living high on the hog in their rebuilt paneled McMansions.
          Haggai challenges his people. Are you really happy? “You have sown much, but have brought in little. You have eaten, but have not been satisfied. You have drunk, but not been exhilarated [he’s talking about drinking wine]. You have clothed yourselves, but not been warmed. And whoever earned wages, earned them for a bag with holes in it.”
          What’s the reason for this frustration? The people have looked after themselves. But they have neglected the Lord God. The first thing we owe Him is worship. That’s why the Church asks us to come to Mass on the Lord’s day. ‘But I don’t get anything out of it,’ many say; or 'Mass is boring.’ The proper answer to such complaints is: “So what?” We don’t come for moral uplift, for a nice warm feeling inside, to be entertained by lively music or a sparkling homily, or to rejoice in human togetherness. Those things may happen, or they may not. But they are not the reason why we come. We come to worship! To praise and thank God who gives us all that we have, and all that we are – sin excepted: our sins are all our own. We come, in short, not to get, but to give.
          And all experience teaches that those who get most are those who give most: generously, never thinking of themselves, but only of the Lord God, who gives us always so much more than we deserve.

Monday, September 23, 2013

"TAKE NOTHING FOR THE JOURNEY."



Homily for Sept. 25th, 2013: Luke 9:1-6.
          “Take nothing for the journey,” Jesus tells the Twelve as he sends them out “to proclaim the Kingdom of God and to heal the sick.” He wants those whom he commissions as his messengers to travel light. They are to depend not on material resources, but on the Lord alone.
          Jesus’ words are especially relevant today. All over the world, the forces hostile to the Church are rising. In our own country the government is trying to impose on Catholic organizations, such as Catholic hospitals and universities, conditions which we cannot, in conscience, accept. We are being asked, for instance, to pay for sterilization and abortion. In Ireland, unlike the United States a historically Catholic country, there is even an attempt to pass a law which would compel priests, in certain instances, to violate the seal of the confessional. TV entertainers air gross jokes about Catholic priests which they would not dare making about Muslim imams or Jewish rabbis. And the media show little interest in reporting studies which show that Christians are the Number One target of religious persecution in the world today.
          We rightly lament this tide of anti-Christian and anti-Catholic sentiment. But it has a good side as well. Whenever in its two thousand year history, the Church has been favored by the powers that be, whether financially or in other ways, it has grown spiritually flabby and weak. The Church is always at her best in times of persecution. When persecution is raging it is difficult, mostly impossible, to see this. Things become clear only when we look back. So let's look back.
In recent centuries the most violent attack on the Church came in the French Revolution, which started in 1789 and lasted more than a decade. Thousand of priests were murdered under the guillotine. Most of the French bishops fled the country. Those who remained had to accept restrictions on their ministry which they justified on the plea that there was to other way to continue offering the sacraments to God’s people.  
         As the Church moved into the nineteenth century, however, there was an explosion of religious vocations in France, and the foundation of an unprecedented number of new religious orders, for both men and women.
          When we grow discouraged at the hostile forces confronting us, we need to remember: God can bring good out of evil – and he does, time and again!

Sunday, September 22, 2013

LIVING BY GOD'S LIGHT



Homily for Sept.23rd: Luke 8:16-18.
          The short sayings which Luke gives us in today’s gospel immediately follow the parable of the sower and the seed. Much of the seed the farmer in that story sows never comes to fruition. The parable describes the Church’s work in every generation. Despite the failure of so much of our efforts, some of the seed we sow falls on good ground, puts down roots, and produces not only an abundant harvest, but a super-abundant one. Jesus told the story as an antidote to discouragement.  
          In today's brief reading Jesus continues to speak about the good news of the gospel. It is like light, he says, set on a stand at the entrance to a house for all who enter to see. Jesus is telling us that the light of God’s truth is given to us, like all God’s gifts, to be shared. If we don’t share the Lord’s gifts, we lose them. We can’t keep them unless we give them away.
          How do we share the light of God’s truth? We do so first of all and always by the way we live. St. Francis of Assisi used to say: “Preach the gospel at all times; when necessary use words.” People must be able to see that we live by higher standards than those of the world around us, with its emphasis on getting rather than giving; and on repaying injuries according to the slogan, ‘Don’t get mad, get even!’
          Jesus’ final saying seems to be unfair: “To anyone who has, more will be given, and from the one who has not, even what he seems to have will be taken away.” Jesus is saying that if we truly walk by the light of God’s truth, sharing that light with others – at least by the way we live, when necessary and possible with words as well – we shall receive more light. If we keep the light of God’s truth for ourselves, we shall gradually lose that light until we find ourselves walking in darkness.
          Remembering how the Holy Spirit came to Jesus’ friends at the first Pentecost in the bright light of fiery flames, we pray in this Mass: “Lord, send us your Holy Spirit.”