"YOU CANNOT SERVE GOD AND MAMMON."

Homily for November 11^th 2017: Luke 16:9-15.

         The sayings of Jesus which Luke has collected into today’s gospel reading are comments on what we heard in yesterday’s reading. That was about the unjust steward who realized that he was about to lose his job because of mismanaging his employer’s property. To assure himself of friends who would be indebted to him, and might offer him future employment after he was let go, he calls in the people who owe money to his master’s estate and settles their debts for fifty cents on the dollar. To our surprise Jesus commends the steward “for acting prudently.” Jesus does not praise the man’s dishonesty. He praises his prudence. Realizing that the knife is at his throat, the man acts, desperately, to ensure his future.    

         Today’s gospel continues Jesus’ teaching about money, for which he uses the ancient Hebrew word mammon. This culminates in the sayings, “No servant can serve two masters. … You cannot serve God and mammon.” Jesus is not saying that money and possessions are bad. Nothing that God has made is bad; indeed everything that comes from God is good. It participates in some measure in the absolute goodness of God the Creator. What is at stake is how we use money. Used to support people and causes we love, money is good. Given the central place in our lives by trying to amass more and more and more, money makes us unhappy and frustrated (as people who give money the central place in their lives soon discover) – because we find we can never get enough.

         Jesus’ personal religion taught the law of tithing: giving the Lord out of gratitude, the first claim on our money and possessions. For most Catholics that seems so out of reach to be almost preposterous. There is one place in our country, however, where tithing is a reality: the diocese of Wichita, Kansas. There, after decades of teaching, tithing is all but universal. One consequence is that whereas all other dioceses are struggling to maintain Catholic schools in the face of today’s rising costs, all the Catholic schools in the Wichita diocese are tuition free! Another consequence: the Wichita diocese has almost as many seminarians as does our own archdiocese of St. Louis – which has five times the Catholic population of Wichita.                         

Think about that, friends. Above all, pray about it.  

THE MIDNIGHT CRY

Homily for Nov.12th, 2017: 23^rd Sunday in Ordinary time, year A. 

Wis. 6:12-16; Thess. 4:13-18; Mt. 25:1-13.

AIM: To help the hearers live in the light of our final end.

 

          “We do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, about those who have fallen asleep.” These words from our second reading direct our attention to a subject we mostly try to avoid: death. The Church puts death front and center during this month of November. It begins with All Saints’ Day, which is immediately followed by All Souls’ Day, when we pray in a special way for our departed loved ones.

          The celebrated eighteenth century Englishman and wit, Dr. Samuel Johnson,  said once: “Depend upon it, Sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully.” In a sense we are all like the man who knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight. We all know we must die. What better time to think about death than in this month of November, when we can do so calmly and prayerfully, rather than pushing the whole uncomfortable subject out of our thoughts until the knife is at our throat?

          In our second reading Paul says that when the Lord Jesus returns in glory, those who have already died “will rise first. Then we who are alive ... will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air.” That is poetry. It is symbolic, not literal. Throughout the Bible clouds symbolize God’s presence. God appeared to Moses in a cloud atop Mount Sinai to give him the Ten Commandments (Ex. 24:15-18). God spoke from the same cloud at Jesus’ transfiguration (Mk 9:7). At his ascension Jesus disappeared into a cloud (Acts 1:9). He said he would come again “on the clouds of heaven” (Mk 14:62). 

          When that will be, we cannot know. The Bible nowhere gives us any kind of timetable for predicting the end of the world. Jesus himself says this quite specifically: “That day or that hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, not even the Son, but only the Father” (Mk 13:32). Nor can any of us know the time or circumstances of our own death.

          The Bible tells us that we are to prepare for this great and final event, and for our own personal death, not by speculation about the date, but by living here and now in the light of Christ’s return and God’s final triumph. This means living not for ourselves, but for God and for others. It means pursuing justice instead of exploitation; trying to build people up rather than tearing them down; being more interested in giving than in getting. That way of living is the “wisdom” we heard about in our first reading: “The perfection of prudence,” that reading told us, which makes those who pursue it “quickly free from care.” 

          In today’s gospel reading Jesus warns that those who spurn this wisdom, living for themselves, heedless of life’s meaning and of God’s claims on them, are headed for disaster. They are like the foolish bridesmaids who made no preparations. They assumed that they could always get more oil for their torches whenever they needed it, and that the door of the house would be opened for them even if they arrived late. The foolish bridesmaids are shocked to discover that, at the decisive hour, they are unprepared, and excluded. Until then, there seemed to be no difference between the wise and foolish bridesmaids. “They all became drowsy and fell asleep,” Jesus tells us. The midnight call to action finds the wise prepared, however, and the foolish unprepared.

          Here is a modern commentary on this gospel story. It’s a young woman’s letter to the man she loves. Someone I can no longer identify sent it to me by e-mail long ago. Here’s what the young woman wrote:

          “Remember the day I borrowed your brand new car and dented it? I thought you'd kill me, but you didn't. And remember the time I flirted with all the guys to make you jealous, and you were? I thought you'd leave me, but you didn't. Remember the time I forgot to tell you the dance was formal and you showed up in jeans? I thought you'd drop me, but you didn't.

          “Yes, there were a lot of things you didn't do. But you put up with me, and you loved me, and you protected me. There were a lot of things I wanted to make up to you when you came back from Afghanistan.

          “But you didn't come back.

          “We think there is always tomorrow; but one day soon our tomorrow will be

on the other side. Today's parable of the wise and foolish Virgins is asking us: on which side of a locked door do you wish to spend eternity? We need to make our decision now, not later; because soon that will be too late.”

          Let me conclude by telling you the story of the medieval morality play Everyman. It is still performed today, in some places. At the play’s opening Everyman is walking home, thinking happily of dinner, family, and fireside. He almost bumps into a black-clad figure. Startled, he asks the man’s name.

          “My name is Death,” the man replies. “I have come to take you with me.”

          “There must be some mistake,” Everyman insists. “I never felt better in my life.”

          “There is no mistake,” Death tells him. “You must come with me.”

          Desperate, Everyman pleads: “At least let me bring a friend with me.  I don’t want to go alone.”

          Death smiles: “If you can find a friend who will go with you, he may come. I will give you one hour. Then meet me here.”  

          Everyman hurries back toward town to the house of a friend he knows well, knocks on the door, and pours out his story to his friend. The man looks at him with mingled sadness and terror. “I cannot come, my friend. It’s impossible.” The friend’s name is “Riches.” Increasingly desperate, Everyman hurries to the house of a second friend, then to a third. In each case the answer is a frightened, “I’m sorry. I cannot come.” Their names are “Fame” and “Pleasure.”

          Slowly Everyman turns back down the path to his rendezvous with Death.  As he walks along, he comes upon another old friend, one he has not seen lately.  Without much hope, he tells his sad story again. To his astonishment, this friend replies: “Sure, I’ll go with you.” His name is “Good Deeds.”

          Death was a familiar figure in the Middle Ages. Average life expectancy was under forty; infant mortality was common. There were no hospitals or nursing homes. People tended their dying and buried their dead. Death at a great age was rare. Today we take it for granted. We Americans tend to insulate ourselves from death. When it comes, we cosmeticize it. Perhaps it’s all a way of trying to avoid Everyman’s question:

          Who will go with me on my final journey?

          There is Someone who would love to go with you. But he doesn’t walk with strangers. If you want Him to go with you on your final journey, you must start to make friends with Him now.

          His name is Jesus Christ.

 

         

THE DISHONEST STEWARD

Homily for November 10^th, 2017: Luke 16:1-8.

“The master commended that dishonest steward for acting prudently.” From antiquity Bible commentators have disputed about who is meant by “the master.” Is he the man’s employer – or Jesus himself? It is difficult to believe that the praise can have come from an employer who has just told his steward – we would call him a manager -- that he is about to be fired. So the praise must come from Jesus himself. How is that possible? Clever the manager may have been. But honest? Hardly. How can Jesus praise what all can see is a swindle?

          Jesus does not praise the manger’s dishonesty. He praises the man’s ability to recognize his desperate situation. For him, it is now or never. Jesus addresses the parable to those who remain indifferent to his message. The story is Jesus’ attempt to shake them out of their complacency. His message confronted them with the need to decide: for him, or against him. To postpone this decision, to continue living as if nothing had changed, with the attitude of “business-as-usual”, was in fact to decide against Jesus. That meant disaster. Trapped in what looks like a hopeless situation, the manager cleverly found a way out and acted while there was still time. It is this cleverness and enterprise which Jesus commends, not the man’s dishonesty.

Jesus Christ asks us for the same decision today: for him, or against him. It is not a once-for-all decision – something like learning to ride a bicycle: once you’ve learned, you know it for life. Our decision for Jesus Christ needs to be renewed every day.

For those who are trying to renew their decision for Jesus Christ every day, joy awaits, beyond our imagining: eternal life with Him who alone can fulfill the deepest longings of our hearts.

THE CHURCH: BUILDING OR PEOPLE?

Homily for Nov. 9^th, 2017: Dedication of the Lateran Basilica: 1 Cor. 3:9c-11, 16-17; John 2:13-20

            As a devout Jew, Jesus worshiped regularly in the Jerusalem temple. There he was brought as an infant to be dedicated to God. There, at age twelve, he was found by his anxious parents after a frantic three-day search. There, as we heard in today’s gospel reading, he overturned the tables of the money-changers, rebuking people for turning God’s house into a marketplace.

            That temple did not long survive Jesus. Not forty years after his death and resurrection Jerusalem was plundered by the Romans, who pulled down the temple Jesus had known, and in which Peter and the other first Christians continued to worship even after Jesus’ resurrection and ascension. Now, Paul writes in today’s second reading, we are God’s temple: “Do you not know that you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?”

            Today Catholics all over the world celebrate the dedication of a Christian temple: the Church of St. John Lateran in Rome. Though not well known, St. John Lateran and not St. Peter’s Basilica is the Pope’s Cathedral as Bishop of Rome. It is customary in every diocese or local church throughout the world to celebrate the dedication of the cathedral, the bishop’s church. We celebrate this feast in St. Louis on October twelfth. Because the Pope is the chief shepherd of the whole Church, Catholics all over the world celebrate the dedication of his cathedral each year on the ninth of November. Only when that date falls on a Sunday, however, do most Catholics become aware of the observance.

            The preface to the eucharistic prayer for this feast helps us to appreciate the significance of today’s celebration: “You give us grace upon grace to build the temple of your Spirit, creating its beauty from the holiness of our lives.” Even as we celebrate the dedication of a building, therefore, the Church’s public prayer reminds us that the most important temple is the one built not of stones, but of people. 

            A parish where I once served used to attract many visitors. They would often remark: “Father, you have a beautiful church.” To which I always replied: “Thank you. And we think the building is nice too.” The Church is people before it is a building. “The temple of God, which you are,” Paul writes in our second reading, “is holy.” “Holy” means ‘removed from ordinary use, set apart for God.’ It is in this sense that a chalice is holy. It is not an ordinary cup. It is used only for the Lord’s Precious Blood. The buildings in which we worship are holy: they are not auditoriums or theaters. They are set apart for worship.

            We too are people set apart. When did that happen, you ask? In baptism! The Catechism says: “Baptism not only purifies from all sins, but also makes the neophyte [the newly baptized person] ‘a new creature,’ an adopted son of God, who has become a ‘partaker of the divine nature,’ member of Christ and co-heir with him, and a temple of the Holy Spirit.” [No. 1265]  The whole of the Christian life, therefore, is not a striving after high ideals which constantly elude us. It is living up to what, through baptism, we already are: temples, dwelling places of God’s Holy Spirit.

            Today, therefore, we celebrate not merely the dedication of a building: the Pope’s cathedral in Rome. We celebrate no less our own dedication as people set apart for God. What that means in daily life St. Paul tells us in stirring words in his letter to the Philippians: “Show yourselves guileless and above reproach, faultless children of God in a warped and crooked generation, in which you shine like stars in a dark world and proffer the world of life” (2:15) There is no call higher than that, no life more worth living.

COUNTING THE COST.

 

Homily for Nov. 8^th, 2017: Luke 14:25-33.

AIf anyone comes after me,@ Jesus says, Awithout hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.@ In speaking about Ahating@ those dearest to us, Jesus was using a Semitic word which meant simply detaching one=s self from someone or something. He was saying that He must come first.

AWhich of you wishing to construct a tower,@ Jesus begins, Adoes not first sit down and calculate the cost?@ It was the dream of every small farmer in Palestine in Jesus= day to have a proper tower on his property. During harvest time he could sleep in the tower, keeping watch for trespassers and predatory animals, to insure himself against loss.

Valuable as such a tower might be, Jesus= hearers also knew that it would be folly to start building one without first calculating whether the available resources were sufficient to complete the job. If not, the farmer would have nothing to show for his hard work but some useless foundations. And his friends would laugh at him for his imprudence.

The second parable begins differently: not Awhich of you ...@, but Awhat king ...@ That too was easy to understand, even though none of Jesus= hearers were kings with an army at their disposal. Common to both parables is the sentence about first counting the cost. If you want to be my disciple, Jesus says, count the cost. First reflect. Then act. So let=s reflect. If following Jesus Christ really means putting him first B ahead of money, possessions, success, ahead of those we love most B if Christian discipleship means that, which of us could say with confidence that we had the necessary amount of self-denial and staying power?

Does that mean that we should not follow Jesus Christ? Of course not. It does mean, however, that we should never try to follow Jesus Christ in dependence on our own resources alone. If today=s gospel is good news, it is because of what it does not say: that there are resources for Christian discipleship available to us which are adequate. What we could never achieve on our own, we can achieve if we depend not on our own strength, but on the strength that comes from God alone.   

That is why Jesus tells us in several places to become Alike little children.@ Little children are naturally dependent on others. It never occurs to them that they can make it on their own. As children grow, we encourage them to become more and more independent. That is fine in the things of this world.

In spiritual things, however, and hence in our relationship with God, we must unlearn that spirit of independence which, in worldly affairs, is the difference between childhood and maturity. When it comes to following Jesus Christ, we dare not trust in our own resources. Jesus never asks us to fight against impossible odds. He does not want us to build with inadequate resources. That is why he gives us his resources. They are always adequate. If we trust in the power which God alone can give us, we are safe. We can build with confidence. We can fight confident of victory.

 

"I WANT MY HOUSE TO BE FULL."

Homily for November 7^th, 2017: Luke 14:15-24.

            Some Scripture commentators suggest that the host in the parable we have just heard was a tax collector. His party is an attempt to break into society by inviting the leading citizens of the town and providing lavish entertainment. His guests have all told him, in the offhand way that people do, that  they’d be happy to come to his house.  “Any time,” they’ve all said. When the invitations arrive, however, it turns out that these acceptances were insincere. The excuses offered are so flimsy as to be almost pathetic.

            Jesus’ hearers would have smiled as they heard of the frustration of the host’s plans. He thought he was going to make a big splash. Now all his guests have stood him up. The man’s growing anger enhances the humor of the situation. He resolves to repay the insults of his intended guests with an insult of his own. He will give a party for people whom those originally invited hold in contempt. That will show them! 

            The parable, like many others, contains a warning — but also good news. The warning is the exclusion of those first invited. They represent Jesus’ critics: people confident that the best seats at the banquet were reserved for them. They assume that there will be other opportunities, other invitations. Too late, they discover that this was their final chance. 

The parable’s good news is contained in the description of the

substitute guests. They are a portrait of Luke’s own Christian community: “the poor, the blind, the crippled, the lame.” The parable’s good news is its assurance that God welcomes not just the fit and strong, people whose good moral character makes them role models and leaders. The Lord who was reproached in his earthly life for welcoming sinners and eating with them continues to do the same today. To claim a place at his table we need to show him not our successes but our failures; not our strength but our weakness; not health but sickness.

            Preaching on this parable back in 2006, Pope Benedict XVI told about bishops from Western countries, Europe especially, telling him on their visits to Rome about how people refuse the Lord’s invitation to his banquet. Yet at the same time, the Pope said, “I also hear this, precisely from the Third World: that people listen, that they come, that even today the message spreads along the roads to the very ends of the earth, and that people crowd into God’s hall for the banquet.”

            Are you among them?

 

 

"INVITE THE POOR, THE CRIPPPLED, THE LAME, AND BLIND."

Homily for November 6^th, 2017: Luke 14:12-14.

          “When you hold a banquet,” Jesus says, “invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind.” He directs these words to his host, whom Luke describes as “one of the leading Pharisees,” clearly a person of social prominence. We get an idea of the other guests at this Sabbath dinner from Jesus’ words about those his host should not invite: “your friends, your brothers or sisters or your relatives, or your wealthy neighbors.” Those were the people Jesus saw when he looked around him at this dinner. “They may invite you back,” Jesus says, “and you have repayment.”

          Invite people, Jesus is telling his host, who cannot repay you. When you do that, Jesus says at the end of this brief gospel reading, “you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.” What Jesus clearly means is that then God will repay you. And his repayment is the only one worth receiving.

            Instead of inviting people from whom you can expect gratitude and some kind of repayment, Jesus says, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind. If you do that, Jesus continues, you will be “blessed indeed.” That means, you will be truly happy; for you will receive a reward which is infinitely beyond the greatest of earthly rewards, since it will come from God himself.

          Jesus reinforces this teaching with his own example. When does he do this, you ask? He does it at every Mass! We who are Jesus’ invited guests at the table of Jesus’ word, and the sacramental table of his Body and Blood are spiritually poor. Our sins cripple us and make us lame. And too often we are blind to the greatness and depth of God’s love for us. St. Augustine says that God loves each and every one of us as if, in the whole world, there were only one person to love.

          So this little story, about Jesus attending a dinner with a group of elite guests, turns out to be Good News for us. It tells us, once again, that Jesus loves us with a love that will never let us go.