"WHY ARE YOU TERRIFIED?"

Homily for July 2^nd: Matthew 8:23-27.

          Jesus has dealt with the two would-be disciples whom we met in yesterday’s gospel reading. One promised to follow the Lord wherever he might go. Jesus warns him that discipleship may have a higher price than the man had reckoned. “The Son of Man,” he says, “has nowhere to lay his head.” The second man, already a disciple, wants to bury his father before responding to the Lord’s call. 

          Only now is Jesus able to break away from the crowd and embark in the boat with his friends. Following a long day of teaching and healing, Jesus is totally exhausted. He is fast asleep when a violent storm comes up, without warning, throwing up steep waves which threaten to swamp the boat. “Lord, save us!” the disciples cry out as they wake him. “We are perishing!” Awake now, Jesus says calmly, “Why are you terrified, O you of little faith?” Then he rebukes the winds and the sea. “And there was great calm,” Matthew tells us.

          Immediately the disciples’ panic is replaced with amazement, as one of them asks the question that is in everyone’s mind: “What sort of man is this, whom even the winds and the sea obey?” The Jewish Scriptures, especially the Psalms, speak often of God ruling the sea and the waves. Now Jesus’ disciples have seen him act as only God acts.

          The story is Matthew’s gift to the Church, and to each of us who have become members of the Church in baptism. Time and again the Church, and we its members, are storm tossed. That we are frightened at such times is only natural. The story is the Lord’s assurance that he is always with us. No matter how often we have strayed from him, he remains close. He saves us for one reason alone: because he loves us – with a love that will never let us go. 

ARE JESUS' STANDARDS TOO HIGH?

Homily for July 1^st, Matthew 8:18-22.

          Jesus has spent a whole day healing. He is drained: physically, but also spiritually. Immediately before the start of today’s gospel reading Matthew writes: “Seeing the people crowd around him, Jesus gave orders to cross to the other shore.” Before he can get into the boat with his friends, however, there are two other petitioners he must deal with. The first is a Jewish scribe who tells Jesus he wants to join him: “Teacher, wherever you go, I will come after you.” Jesus tells him that discipleship has a price. “The foxes have lairs, the birds in the sky have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” Matthew does not tell us whether the scribe was put off by this or not.

Another man, already a disciple of Jesus, says: “Lord, let me go and bury my father first.” To which Jesus replies, no less sternly: “Follow me, and let the dead bury their dead.” Burying the dead was a sacred duty for Jews. For Christians it is one of the so-called seven corporal works of mercy. Yet Jesus does not hesitate to say that the call to follow him as precedence over every other call.

            Jesus’ standards are high, no doubt about it. For unaided human nature they are too high. That is why he offers the help of his Holy Spirit to those who ask for it. When the tasks that Jesus sets before us seem impossible, we need to pray for that help. Here are some verses of an evangelical hymn that do just that. They go like this:

Precious Lord, take my hand

lead me on, let me stand,

I am tired, I am weak, I am worn

Through the storm, through the night, lead me on to the light,

Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.

  

"YOU ARE PETER."

Homily for June 29^th, 2019: Matthew 16:13-19.

You are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my Church." In Jesus' language, Aramaic, the words for Peter and Rock were the same. In calling his friend, Simon, Peter," Jesus was giving him a new name: "Rock."

In reality, Peter was anything but rocklike. When, on the night before he died, Jesus told Peter that within hours Peter would deny him three times, Peter protested: "Even though I have to die with you, I will never disown you." (Mt. 26:34f) We all know the sequel: Jesus was right, Peter wrong.

Jesus gave the position of leadership of his Church to the friend whose love was imperfect; whose impetuosity and weakness made the name Jesus gave him "Rock" ironic: as ironic as calling a 350-pound heavyweight "Slim."  Before he was fit to become the Church's leader, however, Peter had to experience his weakness. He had to become aware that without a power greater than his own, he could do nothing.

With Peter the Church honors the Apostle Paul. His call was as surprising as the choice of Peter to be the Church's leader. Who could have imagined that the Church's arch-persecutor, Saul, would become its first and greatest missionary, Paul? If Peter was impulsive, impetuous, and often weak, Paul was hypersensitive, touchy, subject to wide swings of mood: at times elated, at others tempted to self-pity. No one who knew Paul would ever have accused him of "having it all together," to use modern jargon.

Is there anything like that in your life? When you look within, do you see any of Paul's touchiness, or Peter's impetuosity and weakness? Take heart! You have a friend in heaven -- two friends, in fact: Peter and Paul. The same Lord who gave the vacillating Simon the name of "Rock"; who summoned the Church's arch-enemy, Saul, to be her great missionary, Paul, is calling you. In baptism he made you, for all time, his dearly loved daughter, his beloved son. He called you to be not only his disciple, but an apostle: his messenger to others. You say you're not fit for that? You're right. Neither am I! God often calls those who, by ordinary human standards, are unfit. But he always fits those whom he calls.  

God has a plan for your life, as surprising and wonderful as his plans for Peter and Paul. Knowing this, and aware of how God was accomplishing his plan in Paul's own life, Paul could write: "I am sure of this much: that he who has begun the good work in you will carry it through to completion, right up to the day of Christ Jesus" (Phil. 1:6).

Those words are part of the gospel, the good news of Jesus Christ. And the best news of all is simply this. The only thing that can frustrate the accomplishment of God plan -- for you, for me, for any one of us -- is our own deliberate and final No.

THE SACRED HEART

Homily for June 28^th, 2019: Deut. 7:6-11; 1 John 4:7-16. Matt. 11:25-30.

          There is single, golden theme running through all three readings for today’s feast of the Sacred Heart: love. “Not that we have loved God,” we heard in the second reading, from the apostle who in the gospel that bears his name is always called, “the one Jesus loved.” Rather “that he loved us and sent his Son as expiation for our sins.”

          God’s love for his people is the theme of the first reading, from Deuteronomy. “It was not because you are the largest of all nations that the Lord set his heart on you and chose you, for you are really the smallest of all nations. It was because the Lord loved you … that he brought you out with his strong hand from the place of slavery, and ransomed you from the hand of Pharaoh, king of Egypt.”

          In the gospel we hear the One whom God sent to us, out of love, “as expiation for our sins,” speaking words of thanksgiving to his heavenly Father for revealing his love to “little ones,” while hiding the message of love from “the wise and learned.” Who are these “wise and learned” today? They dominate the media and Hollywood. They run the great foundations, with names like Ford, Rockefeller, and Gates. They teach in our elite universities. They consider the killing of babies in the womb whose birth might be inconvenient or burdensome a sacred right. When we protest that abortion is a crime no less grave than slavery in a previous age, they treat us with disdain, or worse – accusing us of waging a “war on women.” And why not? In their eyes we are only “little ones,” as ignorant and irresponsible as small children. When we say that marriage is possible only between a man and a woman, they call us bigots, homophobes, and enemies of equality.

          Refusing to be silent about such things is part of the burden Jesus speaks about in the gospel. He calls that burden light. We often experience it as heavy. It becomes light, however, once we accept the yoke placed on our shoulders to help us bear the burden. Then we find we can carry it easily, realizing that however heavy our burden may be, Jesus’ burden was heavier. He walks beside us, sharing with us the fire of love which burns brightly in his Sacred Heart. Once set on fire with that love, we can break down any barrier, leap over any wall, coming finally into the presence of the One who is love himself.    

HOUSE BUILT ON ROCK

Homily for June 27th, 2019: Matthew 7:21-29.

"Everyone who listens to these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock.” Only a fool would build a house on sand. After each heavy rain, a torrent would come and wash away anything in its path. Jesus had probably seen structures carried away by heavy rains and storms in Palestine.

To build one's house on sand means building our lives on things that are unstable and fleeting, things that cannot not withstand the tests of time and the hazards of chance. What are such things? Money, success, fame, and even health and prosperity. None of those things is reliable or solid.

To build one's house on rock means  building our lives on things that are solid, enduring, things that cannot be carried away with Life’s storms. “Heaven and earth will pass away,” Jesus says later in this gospel according to Matthew, “but my words will not pass away.” (24:35) To build our house on rock means building our life on God. Rock is one of the preferred biblical symbols for the God. “Trust in the Lord forever,” we read in the prophet Isaiah, “for the Lord is an eternal rock.” (26:4). The book Deuteronomy says the same: "He is the Rock; his deeds are perfect. Everything he does is just and fair. He is a faithful God who does no wrong; how just and upright he is." (32:4)

To build one's house on a rock means, therefore, living in the Church and not remaining on the fringe, at a distance, using the excuse that the Church is filled with corruption, dishonesty, and sin. Of course it is! The Church is made up of sinners like ourselves.

Today's gospel starts with what seems a harsh message. For the first time Matthew speaks about people who refer to Jesus as their Lord. But what good is it to cry out, "Lord, Lord," Jesus asks, when your works are done not for him but for your own glory? When we cry out "Lord," it should mean that we belong to him at all times, and not just as temporary acquaintances. When the Lord responds, “I never knew you; depart from me, you evildoers,” (a harsh message indeed) Jesus is really expressing his longing for people who are truly close to him in daily life. Those who do things in his name to be seen and honored, yet refuse to live in daily fellowship with him are fraudulent. Those who are deaf to the Word of God, who do not act upon it, and whose lives are not built upon God will be swept away when the storms of life descend.

"BY THEIR FRUITS YOU WILL KNOW THEM"

Homily for June 26^th, 2019: Matthew 7:15-20.

          Catholics now in their late sixties came of age in a day when the Catholic Church was proud to be “the Church that never changes.” That boast was actually only half true – as such then young Catholics started to discover with the close of the Second Vatican Council in December 1965. The Church’s faith never changes. There has been development, of course. But we believe that this development has been guided by the Holy Spirit, so that what we believe today about the Pope, to take one example, is an entirely legitimate development of what the apostles believed. Just about everything else except our beliefs has changed and will change: styles of worship, of preaching, and methods of handing on the faith to others. No one has stated the need for such change better than the great 19^th century English convert, at the end of his life a cardinal, Blessed John Henry Newman. “To live is to change,” Newman said, “and to be perfect is to have changed often.” Catholics in their late-60s and older today have grown up in a Church which is rapidly changing.

          Are all the changes we have seen over the last half-century good? Clearly not. How can we judge such changes? Jesus tells us in today’s gospel: “By their fruits you will know them.” The most obvious change over the last half-century is in worship. Catholics who came to Church in 1960 experienced a Mass which was almost entirely silent; the few parts spoken aloud could seldom be understood: not just because they were in Latin, but because most priests took them at breakneck speed. Fifteen and even twelve minute celebrations of a rite considerably longer than today’s Mass were common. Praying the prayers aloud, as we now do, and in the language of the people, has enhanced popular participation in the Mass, at least where priests have learned to lead the celebration with reverence. 

          The charismatic renewal is another change. It did not exist before Vatican II. Speaking recently to some 50,000 charismatics in Rome, Pope Francis confessed that he was initially mistrustful of their movement. Now he endorses it enthusiastically because of its good fruits. It has made prayer real for millions for whom prayer was once just reciting words out of a book.

          The renewal of religious life for women has produced both good and bad fruits. The Sisters’ orders which have modernized, while retaining such things as community life, an updated uniform or habit, and enthusiastic faithfulness to Church teaching are growing rapidly. Those which are have erased all signs that they are different have no recruits at all and, though visibly dying, still insist that they are the wave of the future. Once again we see: “By their fruits you will know them.”

13th SUNDAY: GENUINE DISCIPLESHIP

June 30^th, 2019: 13^th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C. 

1 Kings 19:16b, 19-21; Galatians 5:1, 13-18; Luke 9:51-62.

AIM: To help the hearers make an unconditioned commitment to Jesus Christ.

 

Seventy-one years ago, at Easter 1948, I entered seminary to pursue the goal to which I had aspired from age twelve: to be a priest. It would be six more years before I reached that goal. I had many difficulties, and not all those years were happy. But I never doubted the goal: not for a single day then, not for a single day since.

Upon entering the seminary, we new seminarians were given a little book called Principles: pithy, short sayings to guide our lives. One of them, entitled “On getting work done,” said this: “When work is committed to you, remember your responsibility is for getting it done, not for providing the reasons why it was not done.” That impressed me seventy-one years ago. It impresses me still.

The gospel reading we have just heard tells about a number of people who had reasons for not doing, or for postponing, something they knew they should be doing. Their reasons were all good ones. None of them, however, was good enough.

The Samaritans who refuse to give Jesus hospitality were closely related to Jews ethnically, as close as Sunni and Shiite Moslems in Middle East today. Like those two closely related groups, however, Samaritans and Jews were bitter enemies. In refusing hospitality to a Jewish rabbi and his followers, the Samaritans thought they were being patriotic. Love of one’s own people and one’s country is a virtue. But patriotism does not absolve us from kindness to strangers. In the world of that day hospitality, which is a form kindness to travelers, was considered all important. The Samaritans thought they had a good reason for refusing Jesus hospitality. The reason wasn’t good enough.

The man who says to Jesus, “I will follow you wherever you go,” seems just the kind of disciple Jesus was looking for: eager to follow the Master and to do what is right. Why, then, Jesus’ warning? “Foxes have dens and birds of the sky have nests,” Jesus tells him, “but the Son of Man has nowhere to rest his head.” Perhaps Jesus saw in this eager applicant for discipleship a person who valued personal and financial security. Should the road which this man is so eager to embark on today prove tomorrow to be more costly than he had reckoned, he would find reasons to turn back. Jesus warns him in advance that those reasons would be irrelevant. Seeking security for one’s self, and for those one loves and for whom one has responsibility is good. When this stands in the way of wholehearted following of Jesus Christ, however, something is wrong.   

The last two people Jesus encounters want to postpone the call to follow Jesus. In both cases they give family reasons. “Lord, let me go first and bury my father,” the first man says. The second wants to defer joining Jesus until he has said goodbye to his family at home, as Elisha does in our first reading before leaving home to follow the prophet Elijah. Care for parents is enjoined by the Fourth Commandment: “Honor your father and mother.” When it comes to following Jesus Christ, however, all other duties take a back seat. And one who sets a hand to the plow and looks to what was left behind, Jesus says, is not fit for the kingdom of God.

None of the would-be disciples in today’s gospel is without fault. Yet Jesus does not reject any of them. Jesus meets each of us where we are and challenges us to a decision. Many Catholics have never really made a decision for Jesus Christ. Their faith is something they have inherited and take more or less for granted, like their American citizenship. For most such Catholics their faith is not liberating but confining. Sooner or later they experience the inner conflict which Paul writes about in our second reading: “The flesh has desires against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; these are opposed to each other.”

How can we resolve that inner conflict? How can we make our faith what Paul says it should be, when he writes in that reading: “You were called for freedom, brothers and sisters”? To experience that freedom, to make our faith a source of joy and not a burden, we must make a conscious, mature commitment to Jesus Christ with no ifs, ands, or buts. For most people that seems threatening. In reality it is liberating. Once we make a deep and unconditioned commitment to follow Jesus Christ, we discover that though discipleship is costly, it is also the fulfillment of our deepest longings and desires. 

How can we know whether we have made such a commitment? Ask yourself this question: Can I complete the sentence: “I will follow Jesus Christ on the condition that ...”? If you can fill in the blank in that sentence, then you are like the people we meet in today’s gospel: good people who thought they had reasons to postpone or abandon following Jesus’ call, or not to respond at all.

I began with a story from my youth. Let me close with another story. A priest was waiting in line at the filling station he always patronized to have his car filled with gas just before the long Fourth of July weekend. The attendant worked quickly, but there were many cars ahead of him waiting for their turn at the pumps.  Finally, the attendant motioned the priest toward a vacant pump. "Sorry about the delay, Father," said the young man. “It seems as if everyone waits until the last minute to get ready for a long trip.” The priest chuckled: "I know what you mean, son,” he said. “It's the same in my business."

Are you ready?

 

'ENTER THROUGH THE NARROW GATE."

Homily for June 25^th, 2019: Matthew 7: 6, 12-14.

"Strive to enter through the narrow gate," Jesus says. That "narrow gate" stands for every situation in which God's demands weigh heavily on us and seem too hard to bear. We all experience such situations. When they come, it is important to know that trials and troubles are not signs not of God's absence, but of his presence. Everything that threatens our peace of mind, or even life itself, is a challenge, and an opportunity to grow. Our trials and sufferings are the homework we are assigned in the school of life.
The idea that God is a supernatural protector who guards his own from all suffering is not a Christian idea, but a pagan one. Why is there suffering in a good world, created and upheld by a good and just God? Which of us has never asked that question? Our faith does not answer it. Faith gives us instead the strength to endure amid suffering.

Our teacher in this school is Jesus Christ. Whatever trials and sufferings we encounter, his were heavier. The letter to the Hebrews says of Jesus: "Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered; and when perfected, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him …" (5:8f).

This is the "narrow gate" of which Jesus speaks in the gospel: the patient endurance of all the hard and difficult things that life sets before us. Jesus never promised that God would protect us from trials and sufferings. He promises that God will be with us in every trial and in every suffering. 

We pray, then, in this Mass in a special way: “Be with us, Lord, in times of darkness, when clouds shut out the sunshine of your love. Be with us in the power of your Holy Spirit. Lead us ever onward. Give us the protection of your holy angels, to lead us to you.”