HOMILIES
33RD SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME
LIFE AS IT IS
The 'Realism' of the Jesus' Teachings (Luke 21:5-19)
“While some people were speaking about how the temple was adorned with costly stones and votive offerings, Jesus said, "All that you see here-- the days will come when there will not be left a stone upon another stone that will not be thrown down”.
Imagine being a tourist, standing with a whole bunch of people, ‘ooh-ing’ and ‘aah-ing’ at the beauty of some magnificent tourist spot. You’re snapping photos right and left as you listen to a guide say all sorts of interesting historical stuff about the place. Then all of a sudden, there’s this man who starts saying rather unpleasant things—even frightful ones. What would your reaction be? You’d probably go, “Ok… whatever buddy…” And you’d most likely begin moving slowly away, to enjoy the scene and take your photos, far from this scary person.
Now put yourself in the position of the people around Jesus in today’s gospel. Historians tell us that the Temple of Jerusalem was a sight to behold. All the gold and jewels embedded in its walls made it shine and glimmer in the sunlight for miles. So all these people were there, admiring its beauty. Then Jesus suddenly says: “This will all be destroyed”. And then he continues by talking about disasters that are going to take place: wars and insurrections, nation rising against nation, earthquakes, famine and plagues.
If I were one of the people there, I probably would be a bit scared, and I’d move away from the guy. I don’t want anyone ruining my vacation.
What seems to have gotten into Jesus in today’s gospel? Why is he being so pessimistic? Was he in a bad mood perhaps? Or was he saying something else?
The fact is, the things he mentions did take place. Israel was destroyed by the Romans and the temple was obliterated in 70 AD. All that remains today is one of its walls. Jesus wasn’t being scary. He was just being realistic about things and about life.
If you really think about it, one of the really odd things about human history is that there seems to be more bad news in it than good ones, more destruction than construction, more death than life. Despite all our hopes, “our history”, as one philosopher said, “seems written in blood”.
Who can forget the revelry of the year 2000? The whole world was so hopeful and happy. The Y2K scare proved to be a dud. The future looked bright for everybody. Perhaps human beings would now learn to live in peace. A year later of course, September 11 happened, and much of our optimism about humanity hit the hard rocks of reality.
Jesus wasn’t being pessimistic. He was in fact being realistic about the world and the challenges we face. Our faith as Christians doesn’t isolate us from the hard realities of life. The headaches and heartbreaks of life are real. And being a Christian won’t shield us from them. In today’s gospel, Jesus is simply showing us, life as it is.
Christianity is a very realistic religion. It doesn’t promise us a pie in the sky. It doesn’t tell us that if we believe, everything in life will be easy, or that everything will be alright. Rather it tells us that at times, or even often, things will not be easy. Many times, things will not be alright.
It makes us realize and accept that suffering and difficulty are part of life. We can’t escape or deny them. If Jesus went through it all, so will we. Our faith in him doesn’t assure us a carefree and worry-free existence.
But Christianity is also a religion of genuine hope. Because sorrow and pain are not our promised lot. God’s promise to us is one of joy, of fulfillment, of abundance and life. As Saint Paul tells us, “suffering and death are not the final word. Life is.” And just as Jesus triumphed over suffering and death, so will each one of us triumph over the headaches and heartbreaks of life. The joy and hope of a Christian lies not in the guarantee of an untroubled existence; it rests rather in the conviction that “my Savior lives! And where he has gone, so shall I be”.
"The souls of the just are in the hands of God", the Book of wisdom tells us, “and no torment shall ever touch them”. For while our Christian faith gives us no guarantee of a problem-free life, it does guarantee us that Christ will always be there for and with us, guiding us at every moment of our life, our names forever written in the palm of his hands.
“Do not worry too much”, Jesus tells us in today’s gospel. “Try not to be too weighed down when the difficulties and challenges of life come your way. And they will come. But trust. Because not a hair on your head will ever be destroyed”.
32ND SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME
"Let justice flow like a river, and righteousness
like a never-failing stream."
Reflections on the Feast of the Basilica of St. John Lateran, John 2:13-22
There are only two instances in the New Testament when Jesus is portrayed as being angry. Today's account of the cleansing of the temple is one. The other is when he asks the Scribes and Pharisees if they thought it was more acceptable to do good or evil on the Sabbath, and they keep silent rather than give him an honest answer. Here the gospel of Mark says that "he looked at them in anger, distressed at their hardness of heart". (Mark 3:5)
In his narrative of the temple cleansing, John tells us that Jesus, "made a whip out of cords and drove them all out of the temple area, with the sheep and oxen, and spilled the coins of the money-changers and overturned their tables.” (John 2:15)
It would be wrong to think that Jesus drove the people out of the temple simply because they were doing something evil or illegal or unacceptable. If we take a closer look at the circumstances surrounding the presence of these animal sellers and currency changers, we see that the situation is a little more complicated.
First, consider the animal sellers. Animal sacrifice was necessary for temple worship, and the Law stipulated that the animals to be offered be unblemished. Now that's precisely what those selling animals in the temple area were doing - selling unblemished offerings that were in fact guaranteed by a "quality-checker".
Now animals were also offered outside the temple area; but these tended to be of poor quality and were consequently unacceptable. Worshipers thus had to purchase them inside, or they'd just be wasting their money on what were essentially rejects. What the animal sellers were doing was therefore perfectly normal.
Next, consider the money changers. The pilgrims who came to the temple in Jerusalem were from all over the empire, and they had to make monetary offerings at the temple. Now the Law stipulated that coins to be offered cannot have "graven images" on them, which most of the coins of the pilgrims had.
The money changers inside the temple were consequently doing an important service to both the pilgrims and the temple itself. They were changing the pilgrims' coins which had the images of emperors, kings, and pagan deities to Jewish coins that were acceptable to God. Like the animal sellers, therefore, the currency changers were doing something perfectly normal and even necessary.
Why was Jesus so angry then?
It was not so much what the animal sellers and money changers were doing that angered him; rather, it was the manner by which they conducted their affairs and what this meant for temple worship that caused him no small amount of distress and indignation. More than the physical mess itself, it was what such mess truly pointed to that truly angered Jesus.
First, consider the animal sellers. While the service they provided was legitimate and necessary, they also literally turned the outer area of the temple into a marketplace. This outer area was called the "Court of the Gentiles". It was a space reserved for non-Jews who wanted to pray and be close to God.
But the animal sellers were allowed by the temple authorities to turn this area into a filthy place which stank because of animal manure. It had become so noisy with all the animals and bargaining going on that those who sought to pray there could hardly do so.
More than anything thus, it showed how low the Jews regarded the Gentiles. A stinking, noisy, messy place for prayer was good enough for them. And this was done in the name of religion! That was completely unacceptable to Jesus.
For how can one profess true faith and true religion when he can’t even treat people with fairness, simply because they’re different from himself?
Next, consider the money changers. They were known to cheat people by charging them unreasonable exchange rates. The temple offering was worth a day and half’s wage; but these changers sometimes charged double that amount, making it amount to three days’ wages.
Most of these pilgrims were poor. Consequently, these money changers were fleecing the poor, in the name of religion. It showed how low these people regarded those who were already poor—and, once again, this was being done in the name of religion. This too was completely unacceptable to Jesus.
For how can one profess true faith and true religion when he can’t even treat people with justice, simple because they are poor?
Why was Jesus so angry then? Because what he saw was a religion gone out of control. It wasn’t even true religion anymore.
What he saw in the temple was a kind of religion that had become a show. It had forgotten what authentic religion is all about. And so Jesus makes a whip of cords and drives the sellers and money changers out: “Take these out of here”, he cries. “Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!”
He was angry because these men were giving religion a bad name. They had forgotten that religion isn’t only about the externals of sacrifice and offering and ritual.
True religion is true relationship, with God and with people, especially the weak, the outcast, the poor, and those who live on the margins of society. How can it be true religion when one treats others unjustly, without respect, or even excludes others?
“It is justice that I desire, not sacrifice!” God himself repeats over and over again in the Old Testament. And the prophets were no less severe in their condemnation of religious practices that were solely meant for show, rituals that had to do purely with externals but caused no change whatsoever in one's heart, mind, and soul.
If we think Jesus' action in the temple was harsh, we only have to consider the words God spoke through the prophet Amos:
"I hate, I despise your religious feasts. I cannot stand your assemblies. Even though you bring me burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them. Though you bring choice fellowship offerings, I will have no regard for them. Away with the noise of your songs! I will not listen to the music of your harps. But let justice flow like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream!" (Amos 5:21-24)
The mess at the temple, which Jesus had to cleanse, symbolized a religion that had forgotten its heart and core, one that had lost sight of its meaning and substance. Jesus’ anger was meant to demonstrate that in the most dramatic way.
The sellers and money changers and temple officials weren’t bad people. In fact they were good persons who were doing their duties. But they had lost sight of the true meaning of what they were doing.
Even the best among us can sometimes lose sight of the true meaning of our faith and our religion. We get lost in the externals, and we forget that what goes on, on the outside, must be consistent with what goes on in our hearts.
The sellers, money changers and temple officials lost themselves in the superficial and peripheral because they had forgotten what was essential and substantial.
In another part of the Gospel, someone approached Jesus and asked him what was the greatest commandment of religion, and how he can gain everlasting life. His reply was simple:
“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your mind, and with all your strength. And you shall love your neighbor as yourself”.
The Jews at the temple had forgotten that. Today, Jesus invites each one of us to remember.
I SHALL LIVE FOREVER
IN THOSE WHOSE LIVES I TOUCH
Thoughts on the life of a celibate, fatherhood, the joy of touching peoples' lives, and living forever
in the memory of God who "loses nothing," on the Feast of All Souls
How many infants did he baptize?
How many marriages did he celebrate?
How many confessions did he hear?
How many dying individuals did he anoint?
How many masses did he celebrate?
How many people did he comfort and guide?
I wonder if he still has family who remembers him?
I wonder if anybody still comes to visit?
And finally, the question that caused a little bit of distress: Is this what awaits me? Is this what awaits us priests? Who will remember us?
Several summers ago, I remember having a conversation with my dad who had just celebrated more than five decades of marriage to my mom. "You two are so lucky to have one another," I said to him. "You have your students," he replied.
"Yes, and they’re a blessing", I answered. "But it doesn't make things easier some days. You come home and mom’s waiting for you. I come home to a farting English bulldog". [I've had my English bulldog Bella for more than four years now and she does pass deadly gas. My students can attest to it.]
He laughed and said. "You have God; he's always there.”
Today, we remember and pray for all of our loved ones and friends who have died, and all the faithful departed, both those remembered and those whose names are now known to God alone.
But more than that, what we celebrate today is a powerful reminder that, as the first reading says, "our souls are in God's hands". It's a reminder that our lives and everything about us, is held by those powerful and loving hands.
Nothing we experience, no thought, no happiness, no pain, is ever consigned to oblivion, for they are all - from the biggest to the smallest of our experiences - remembered and cherished in God's fatherly heart.
"I do not lose anything that the Father has given me", says Jesus in the gospel (John 6:39).
Still, I’d be lying if I said I no longer, from time to time, ask those questions I asked at that priest's grave.
Is this what awaits us priests? Who will remember me?
There’s pain and even sadness in the questioning, and it becomes more acute whenever I see fathers with their sons. On a flight from LA to Miami a few years ago I sat next to a dad and his boy and started chatting with them. It turned out to be a real pleasant trip.
“I wonder what that feels like,” I thought to myself, “having a son?”
Who will remember us when we go? we priests who do not have offspring who shall carry our genetic material?
When I defended my dissertation on Sept. 19, 1998, Professor John Van der Veken, my dissertation adviser, who was also a priest, said these words before the proceedings began:
"I am retiring and Ferdinand will be my last advisee, and it truly makes me sad to see an important chapter of my life ending. But I am comforted by the thought that wherever Ferdinand goes, I will go; whoever he teaches, I shall teach, those whose lives he touches, I shall touch. I shall live forever in my students and in those they in turn shall serve and teach".
On those nights when I couldn’t sleep, and the questions I asked at that priest’s grave bring fear in my heart, I try to recall Fr. Van der Veken's words.
And I am comforted by the thought that I shall not only live in those whom I teach – that we shall live on in the lives of the people we serve - but that the ultimate life each one of us touches is the life of God himself, He who loses nothing, and in whose everlasting memory we shall all be cherished, forever to live, never to die.
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis. And may the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
Amen.
For a number of years now, I’ve tried to make it a point to look at the names of clergy who have died that are listed in the Ordo; I remember their names when I pray the Liturgy of the Hours and celebrate Mass. The practice began a few years ago after visiting my grandparents’ grave and I noticed this rather unkempt grave that had become so overgrown with weeds. I cleared it up a bit and saw that it belonged to a priest who had died in the late 70's. As I stared at his gravestone, reading his name and saying a prayer, I also found myself wondering:
OF HEROES AND CELEBRITIES
On the Solemnity of All Saints
Matthew 5:1-12a
“Embrace your celebrity. It's good to be popular. You may not like it, you may not have sought it. But if it’s given to you, I say make full use of it.” That was the advice of a good friend who, while surely well-meaning, most likely didn’t fully understand the shallowness of that which he suggested was to be embraced. A well-known American actor was once asked why he chose acting as a career. His answer was: “Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.” There was a reason he gave that reply, and it wasn't depth. He has long since passed, his skills, looks, talents, abilities and gifts now all but a memory – that is, to the few who even still remember. Such is the way of celebrity: here today, gone tomorrow.
Today’s Solemnity isn’t about celebrities. It’s about heroes. And there’s a world of difference standing between them. The philosopher of religion, Mircea Eliade, points out that we can discern three general characteristics of those who are heroic—traits that clearly distinguish them from mere celebrities. We can call them “struggle”, “self-awareness”, and “selflessness".
First, a celebrity wants things easily. He prefers the quick fix, the easy way out. He wants things instantly, comfortably, and conveniently. In contrast, a hero struggles. He experiences a tug between the familiar and comfortable, and the unfamiliar and challenging. Joseph Campbell points out that the first stage in the “journey” of the hero involves a “call or separation”, in which an individual experiences himself being “called” to an “adventure”, to leave the comfort and convenience of what is familiar in order to live solely in confidence and trust in the voice that has called him.
It’s a journey from “terra firma” to “terra incognita”, from the safe and secure, to the challenging and arduous. Despite his instinct to stick to the former, the hero chooses, not the easy road, but the high road. And thus his adventure begins, and while he will inevitably experience anxiety, turmoil, and perplexity as he struggles to let go of what he’s used to, the hero learns to face his fear with calm, fortitude, and trust.
Second, a celebrity creates an image of himself, he fashions a mask that’s meant to hide his true self, not only from others, but sadly, even from himself. This façade is meant to facilitate what he is really about: self-promotion, a goal towards which he gives himself with all the zest and enthusiasm he can muster. But with every moment of successful self-promotion, the celebrity loses awareness of self, as his true nature and reality recede further and further into the distance; till such point that he can no longer distinguish between himself and the mask he created. A hero on the other hand, ceaselessly struggles to bring the exterior and the interior of himself into a closer consistency.
This journey towards self-knowledge, brings the hero face to face with the reality that he is part of something greater and larger than himself. That he is “meant to do a job, a task—something that was given to him and him alone to accomplish, a mission in life. The self awareness that results from this experience leads him to discover his true selfhood, with its darkness and its light. He becomes “great” and “humble” at the same time. And this is why when heroes do something heroic, instead of promoting themselves, we usually—to our great surprise and bafflement—hear the same refrain: “I was just doing my duty”.
Third, a celebrity lives for himself. He does things to expand his ego, his sense of success and fulfillment. Even the help he gives others is meant to shine a spotlight on himself. The task of promoting oneself is endless. In contrast, a hero is selfless. He takes the road of self-giving, of total and absolute surrender and sacrifice to whatever task he’s confronted with. Joseph Campbell points out that the third stage in the hero’s journey is that of return and oblation.
The hero offers himself in total self-giving, in order that others may partake of the experience he himself has had, and taste of the wonders he tasted on his journey of struggle and self-knowledge. Ultimately then, the hero’s journey is a journey taken not for himself alone, but for something and someone larger than himself, whether this be articulated in terms of “Life”, “God”, or “people”. A hero lives not for himself, but for others; though in living such a selfless existence, he paradoxically finds himself even more.Those we commemorate on this Solemnity of All Saints, those declared blessed by the Beatitudes, are not the ones the world would ordinarily consider “blessed” or “happy”. They aren’t the celebrities who constantly hog the limelight. Instead, they are the heroes and heroines who struggle to be faithful and true to God and to themselves, in the silent anonymity of everyday life.
Today’s celebration puts before us, the quiet heroism of many to whom the world will never confer celebrity-status, but whom God has recognized and welcomed into the joy of his presence. They are the ones who at the end of their struggle hear—not the world, but God saying to them: “Well done good and faithful servant…come and share your master’s joy” (Matt. 25:23). More than a mere celebration, today’s feast is an invitation to be heroic: to struggle, to be self-aware, to be selfless. What does this mean concretely?
First, be willing to struggle. Do not waver. Stand firm. Do not choose the soft way of comfort, entitlement, and convenience. “Difficult” should never mean “impossible”. None of the world’s instant-fixes can take the place of diligent and painstaking effort.
Choose the way of Christ, not the way of ease. The Spanish intellectual Miguel de Unamuno, ends his book Del Sentimiento Tragico de la Vida (The Tragic Sense of Life) with the words:¡Y Dios no te dé paz y sí Gloria! (“May God deny you peace and give you glory!”) Jesus calls us, not a life of comfort, but to one in which we will have to spend ourselves completely, to our last breath.
Second, heed the counsel of the ancient Greek philosophers. Gnothi seauton. “Know thyself”. A hero is one who willingly faces his fears, and the greatest fear one can have is the fear of having to confront things about himself that may be undesirable and dark; things that need to be changed. Only self-knowledge can lead to self-transformation. To know oneself is the first step towards healing and redemption.
Finally, take to heart the words of one of the greatest heroes of our time, Teresa of Calcutta: “Give. Give until it hurts. It’s the only true kind of giving”. Live for others. A selfish, self-oriented existence is the worst kind of life there can be. We only truly gain our lives when we willingly and generously give it away.
Today, we are reminded that our ultimate vocation is to heroism and sainthood. Our calling isn’t to success, fulfillment, brilliance, intelligence, effectiveness, political correctness, theological or philosophical orthodoxy, or worldly excellence. In fact, our calling isn’t even ultimately to the priesthood. Our calling is to sanctity of life, our vocation is to become like the men and women we commemorate today. We are called to be “heroic”: to struggle, to become self-aware, and to offer ourselves in radical surrender and gift to the God who has called us.
God wants us to be saints. That’s no laughing matter. If our motive is anything less than that, we should seriously rethink our reasons for being here. Joachim Jeremias, one of the leading scripture scholars of the last century, says that the Beatitudes show us how Jesus calls his disciples to a very high standard that surpasses even the highest standards of the world. It’s a challenge “to be more”, because he believes we “can be more”.
Today, the challenge goes out to each one of us: “Be that ‘more’ that God wants you to be: in your studies, in your spiritual life, in your relationships with each other, in your pastoral work, in everything you do. As St. John Vianney reminds us: “Offer only to God what is worthy to be offered”.Let us be heroes. Let us be saints.
HAPPY SOLEMNITY OF ALL THE FRIENDS OF THE LORD.
30TH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME
Before the Lord, we can rest, be at ease, and simply be who we are.
The Pharisee and the Tax Collector, Luke 18:9-14, A Reflection on Pride, Humility, and Divine Affirmation
The problem with the Pharisee in today’s gospel was not that he wasn’t all those things he said. He really was a good person. He wasn’t greedy, or dishonest or adulterous. He was obedient to God’s Laws and really did his best to be righteous. But he had two big problems. First he kept comparing himself to others. “I’m not like the rest of humanity”, he said. And second, he probably felt that he had to be “on” all the time. He had to constantly prove himself before God.
What an awful way to live! Comparing oneself with others makes us either too puffed up with pride at being better than everyone else. Or it makes us disappointed and upset because we might not be as good as them.
A person who constantly compares himself with others will never be rid of the anxiety, tension and stress of feeling that he has to prove himself all the time: to himself, to others, and even to God.
On the other hand, the tax collector wasn’t looking down on himself. Those words he uttered really mean what they say. When he says, “O God, be merciful to me a sinner”—he was simply acknowledging the fact that he was indeed one. Sometimes, when we read this passage, we read it with the thought that the line made him somehow “holy”. Far from it. It simply made him real, and most of all, humble.
Humility, says St. John Vianney, is recognizing who we are before God – no more and no less. Humble people are very realistic ones.
Humility simply means accepting that life has its good days and bad days, and sometimes we’re good, sometimes we’re not. And God knows and accepts that. We don’t need to put on a show for him or wear masks to make us look good.
The biggest problem with the Pharisee was that he couldn’t be honest: not with God, not even with himself. That was a sign of a true lack of humility.
Now “humility”, says St. Augustine, “is the foundation of all the other virtues and thus, in a soul in which humility does not exist, there cannot be any other virtue except in mere appearance.”
This weekend, I revisited two books I read many years ago in seminary. The first is called “The Psychology of the Saints, by Henry Jolly. The other, entitled, “Ignatius of Loyola: The Psychology of a Saint” was written by William Meissner. Both authors are priests and psychologists. Joly and Meissner put forward similar ideas, the most important of which is perhaps the fact that God seems to specifically choose men and women with particular backgrounds, temperaments, and psychological make-ups for specific tasks. But what’s even more astounding is that, these men and women, to a very great extent, are defined by theircharacter and psychological make-up for the rest of their saintly lives.
Consider these following men and women, for instance. Francis of Assisi, joy-filled, exuberant, and care-free man that he was, at certain moments of his life, was quite careless. Thomas Aquinas was reserved, thoughtful, and detailed, even nit-picky. Augustine was deeply passionate, though at times he seems a tad fanatical about certain things. Ignatius of Loyola was committed and thorough, though he also exhibited signs of obsessive compulsiveness. John of the Cross was undeniably a romantic, though reading his works, one couldn’t help but wonder if he had a melancholic temperament. St. Peter was certainly child-like, but he was also brash and impulsive. Paul had very strong opinions but was quite stubborn. John XXIII was cheerfully optimistic, some say a tad too much. Mother Teresa was very strong-willed, though some say that at times she was stubborn and inflexible. And John Paul who lost his mom at a very tender age had an almost legendary devotion to the mother of God.
One thing’s for sure, holiness didn’t blot out the personalities, characters, and temperaments of these men and women. Rather their commitment to God, allowed them to transcend these and offer them as worthy instruments that God used.
What is true of the saints, is true of each one of us. I learned that from my spiritual director when I was a seminarian. You see, I was a stubborn, aggressive, skeptical, analytic, cynical, and deconstructionist seminarian. Rules suffocated me. But I also marveled at the devotion of some of my brother-seminarians.
One of them in particular, still stands out in my mind. Whenever I was in chapel, ripping to shreds, in my mind, whatever penalty my dean of men imposed on me for breaking a rule, I always felt bad when I thought of him who was the most rule-abiding of my friends. On several occasions, I asked my spiritual director, “Why do faith and devotion seem to come so easily to him?” “Is there something wrong with me?” “Maybe I’m not meant for the priesthood”.
My spiritual director said to me: “That’s not what God made you to be. That’s not how you’re made up psychologically, temperamentally, and intellectually. Never wish to be anything other than what God made you. That wouldn’t be grateful. Learn to accept and offer to God who and what you are; ask Him to transform you and do with you as He pleases.
Who we are, and what we are: our character, temperament, psychological, emotional, and intellectual make-up, our background and upbringing – no matter how good or not – these we must bring to Christ and ask him to transform and use them.
The saints were ordinary people – just like you and me, but what made them special and remarkable, and what would make each one of us become like them –instruments in the hands of God - is our willingness to stand before him and to say with all sincerity and humility of heart:
“Lord, this is who I am. This is all of me: my strengths, my weaknesses, my fears, my worries, my anxieties, my talents, and skills. I hide nothing from you; I keep nothing from you; I hold nothing back. I stand before you, just as I am, with no masks, no pretensions, no made-up ideal image of myself. Just me. And I am truly grateful. Use me if you will. Change and transform me. I place my life completely in your hands.”
29TH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME
FATIGARE DEOS
"Tiring the gods"
The Unjust Judge and the Persistent Widow, Luke 18:1-8, A Reflection Prayer, Patience, Persistence and Perseverance
Children have different ways of getting their parents to give them what they want. When I was a kid, I used to pester my parents with small notes I’d tape all over the place. I’d put them all over the house. And just to make sure I have all the bases covered, I’d also call up my grandparents and get them to put in a good word for me.
I also made sure I behaved myself at home and school and was extra helpful in the house. When I now remember all the things I did as a child to get what I wanted, I feel rather silly. But it always worked! I always did get what I want, usually after my parents got sick and tired of all my reminders.
The pagans of Jesus time had a term for a similar practice. They called it fatigare deos, “tiring the gods”. They believed that their perseverance in telling the gods what they want would pay off, because the gods would eventually get sick and tired of hearing their prayers and would finally grant their requests.
The story of the woman and the judge in today’s gospel reading could perhaps resemble this ancient pagan practice of “tiring the gods”.
And yet it’s very different! The point of Jesus’ story in fact is that we aren’t like this poor ignored woman before God, and that God is not at all like this indifferent judge. God isn’t someone who will hear and respond to us only because we’ve worn him out with our prayers.
"Consider the birds of the air”, Jesus says. “They neither sow nor reap. Yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Or look at the lilies of the field. They neither sew nor spin. Yet not even Solomon in all his splendor was arrayed like them”.
"If you know how to give your children good things, how much more will your heavenly Father give you what you need”.
Trusting in God’s wisdom is the point of Jesus’ story in today’s gospel. He asks us to trust that God knows all our needs even before we say them. “Even the hairs on your head have all been counted”, he tells us, because “God knows each one of us by name”.
We don’t have to ‘tire’ God; we have to trust him. And trusting him means two things.
First, it means trusting that while he may not immediately give us what we ask for, or give us what we want, God always knows what we need, and will always give it to us when we need it.
Abraham was promised a son, and was promised to be the father of many nations. Years later, we hear him saying, “O God, what good is all my wealth if I have no son?”
In due time, of course, God did give him a son. In fact God gave him not one, but two: Ishmael and Isaac; and Abraham did become the father of many nations.
In due time, God does respond to our prayers. And while the reply may not be in accord with what we want, it will always be in accord with what we need and what is for the best—something that may not be as clear initially, but turns out to be so eventually.
Second, trusting in God’s wisdom also means realizing that we pray, not to tire him into giving what we ask, but to remind ourselves of our dependence on him.
To persevere in prayer is to increase our trust in God, because in doing so, we increase our confidence in ourselves.
The ultimate purpose of prayer isn’t simply to receive what we ask, but to make us strong, confident, and without fear in facing the challenges, difficulties, and hurdles life sometimes puts in our way.
It makes us remember what Scripture says: “Do not fear. I have your name written on the palm of my hand”.
It is when we realize the profound meaning of trust in God’s all-embracing care that we discover deep within our very selves, a power and a force capable of overcoming tremendous odds—something that is itself a gift of grace.
To borrow the words of the atheist, Albert Camus, “in the midst of winter,” prayer allows us to “find in ourselves, an invincible summer”.
“Persevere in prayer”, Jesus is reminding us in today’s gospel, and trust that with God “nothing is impossible”.
27TH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME
THE DESIRE FOR POWER
IN ANY SHAPE OR FORM
IS A BETRAYAL
OF CHRIST CRUCIFIED
Service is the Only Language of Power
Jesus Gave His Church
Power is such an ambiguous reality. Exercised in and by the church throughout history, it has brought with it tremendous good as well as enormous suffering, pain, destruction, and yes, evil. No age in the history of the Christian community has been spared from its fortunate as well as unfortunate effects. This is perhaps the reason Christ, Scripture tell us, “emptied himself” (Phil. 2:7), and commanded his church to speak another language. This is also why before commanding his disciples to preach the Good News in Matt. 28:18, Jesus reminds them first that “all power in heaven and on earth” had now been given to him (and to him alone). He also chose to give it a different name altogether when exercised by his followers. (Mk. 9:35) He called it ‘service’.
This isn’t ‘power for the sake of service’, nor is it ‘service exercised in and through power’. These are modifications and distortions of the simple and straightforward Gospel message by what became an imperialistic medieval Christianity whose claim to fame are the bloodbaths of the crusades and the torture and burning of countless souls. There’s can be no ‘power interpretation’ here. Christ called it ‘service’, period. And one who doesn’t get that is no different from James and John, and pretty much the rest of the disciples who, at one point, couldn’t understand that Jesus did away with the language of power once and for all. Of course, not all ‘couldn’t’ understand; some simply ‘wouldn’t’. And the spectacle of individuals throughout the church’s history who sought to ‘qualify’ or ‘modify’ Christ’s statement in order to accommodate ‘power interpretations’ is proof of this.
Consider Judas, supposedly the most intelligent of the disciples. Scripture scholars tell us that Judas most likely knew in his heart of hearts that Jesus was the Messiah. More than any in Jesus’ ‘inner circle’, he was the one who was most convinced that this carpenter was indeed the savior Israel was waiting for. Why otherwise would such a bright and clever man choose to follow a nobody? But more than any disciple as well, Judas was the one who not only failed to comprehend the kind of ‘power’ Jesus preached, he was also the one who refused to do so. And so began his effort to ‘qualify’ and ‘modify’ Christ’s message—according to his own interpretation. It was in fact Judas’ belief in what had become for him a ‘distorted’ understanding of Christ’s version of ‘power’ that led him to commit that fatal mistake.
We must not imagine Judas’ betrayal as a mere act of hatred towards his master, even if this might seem logical given the rebuke he receives from Jesus earlier on in the gospels (Matt. 26:6). It is rather, very possible that Judas, realizing that Jesus would never go the route of power as he understood it, resorted to something more drastic, something that in his mind, would force the hand of God to reveal to the world, once and for all, that this man Jesus was his Son, the all-powerful Messiah of Israel and the Savior of the world. If an act of betrayal would cause God’s only-begotten to suffer in the hands of the unrighteous, and if that would lead to the Almighty coming down with all his might and fury at the tormentors of his Son, then Judas was willing to take the chance and betray Christ—anything to once and for all show to the world, the might that he was convinced Jesus always had.
Sadly, Judas miscalculated, and in despair took his own life. Jesus would never go the way of power, especially not in the way the world had understood and wielded it. Judas got it all wrong. For the Incarnation, the kenosis or “self-emptying” of God represented the death-blow to power; and the life, death, and resurrection of Christ was the final act in the drama whereby power, though it continued to wield its influence in the world and its allure among men, would have forever been defeated. Christ’s death on the cross is the Father’s final ‘stamp’ in the saga of power’s demise and the ultimate affirmation that from hereon, the way of the “suffering servant” is the only way:
“Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me”. (Mk 8:34)
Judas, however, wasn’t the only one. Neither was Peter, the ‘prince of the apostles’, an easy convert to Jesus’ understanding of power as ‘service’. Peter would hear none of the suffering Christ would endure (Matt. 16:32), and had flat-out rejected Jesus’ offer to wash his feet. He probably thought it unbecoming of a leader to stoop down and wash dirty feet (Jn 13:6). But Jesus was clear about it. Rebuking Peter in the gospel of Matthew for putting an “obstacle” on his way (Matt. 16:23), he lays down in very clear terms, for his disciples and all his future followers, the way power was to be understood from hereon:
“Do you understand what I have done for you? You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. I tell you the truth, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him”. (Jn. 13:12-16)
‘Service’ is the only genuinely Christian way of understanding power, there is no other. We on our part, however, have often reduced Christ’s action to a ‘symbol’—like the washing of his disciples’ feet on Holy Thursday—that we fail to see how literal it was and how ‘non-symbolic’ is the demand attached. Service isn’t a ‘symbolic act’ done in order to merely recall Jesus’ action two thousand years ago. Service is a ‘real’ and ‘literal’ act expected of a Christian, especially a priest, in order to continue Jesus’ two-thousand-year old action, making it present in every age. Service is no after-thought, no icing on the cake, no mere sugar-coating. Service is what we are, or at least what we as followers of Jesus ought to be about.
Service is the only language of “power” those who wish to follow in the footsteps of Christ ought to use, for it was the only language Jesus himself employed. And self-effacement is the only acceptable response to the inevitable interpretation that the world will give to the service that we render—for the world can’t do otherwise. It will call our service, ‘power’, or ‘influence’, at times ‘clout’ or ‘importance’. At other times it will entice us with the thought that has entered the minds of a not a few well-meaning churchmen: that it’s perfectly alright to seek power as long as we seek to use it for good as well. Perhaps the unspoken idea is that it’s better to have it than not, for by having it, one can use it for doing good.
I was once talking to a fellow-priest (a friend from seminary in Belgium) who was so happy he was being given a new ‘title’—for him an obvious promotion. “This isn’t only a personal honor”, he told me when I asked why he seemed so delighted at the prospect, “this is also an opportunity for me to make use of the position and the title to further my pastoral plans and projects for the church. It’s not just for me, it’s for the people I’m serving as well”. Knowing he was a good man, I kept silent, inclined with all my heart to believe him and wish him well as he embarked on what I knew was going to be a dangerous and tricky game. In my mind meanwhile, a phrase I remembered from literature class in seminary kept repeating itself: “He who sups with the devil must use a long spoon”.
Power is a corrupting reality. On rare occasions perhaps, and with the rarest of men, it may fail to do so. Think of Pope John XXIII, for instance. There was a man who understood quite well Christ’s warning about power. But how many among us can withstand its corruptions once it becomes ours? Mind you, Jesus himself said a very clear ‘no’ to it, right from the start. The temptation story in Matthew 4:1-11, as the theologian Bernard Harring says, “totally unmasks the satanic temptations to use religion for the sake of utility, self-exaltation, and earthly power; and it reveals these temptations to be in direct opposition to the vocation of the Servant-Messiah”.
In his book Priesthood Imperiled, Häring tells an interesting event at the end of Vatican II:
“At the Second Vatican Council, warnings against Church triumphalism were frequently sounded. At the very last session, several cardinals, patriarchs, bishops, and some theologians, including myself, were gathered to discuss a final proposal to the Council, and it was this: We had planned that the Council Fathers should not return to their respective dioceses without first having solemnly pledged apostolic poverty and, above all, apostolic simplicity by renouncing all antievangelical titles... Several hundred bishops were ready for this step. However, time was pressing, and the proposal never came to pass”.
One can’t help but wonder what the church would be like if things had turned out differently, if what Häring relates came to pass. But that’s all wishful thinking now. What is certain is that we all have a long way to go in living out the ‘new understanding of power’ which Jesus had inaugurated, spoken in the plain and unadulterated language of self-effacing service that says simply, “I serve. All power belongs to Christ”. We have but to remind ourselves of what Paul and Barnabas did at Lystra when those who saw them heal a cripple wanted to offer them gifts and sacrifices, thinking they were gods (Acts 14:9-18). The pair refused the adulation, telling everyone that they were no different from them, and then pointing to God as the source of their good deed. (Acts 14:15)
The desire for power in whatever shape or form is a betrayal of Christ crucified. It’s a betrayal of the Christ who was baptized by John in the Jordan. It’s a betrayal of the Christ who washed the feet of his disciples at the Last Supper. It’s a betrayal of the Christ who refused Satan’s offer of power in the desert. Make no mistake about it, and do not think that there can be a justification for seeking it. Calling it ‘responsibility’ doesn’t work, nor does saying that with it one can ‘do more’ for the church. And neither does piously declaring it to be a ‘burden one does not seek but which was merely placed on one’s shoulder’ make it more palatable. True discipleship consists in service, minus the trappings of power, honor, prestige, and popularity. Incidentals you call them? Then we can do away with them. They don’t belong to the substance and essence of what we are and what we’re supposed to be about anyway. There’s only one kind of ‘power’ that sits well with the Christ of the Gospels, its name is ‘service’. It has no other.
Strive, even in seminary therefore, to rid your minds of any possible ‘qualification’, ‘modification’, or ‘personal interpretation’ of the message of Jesus who came “to serve and not to be served” (Matt. 20:28). Instead, take the plain words of Christ literally, and take it to heart. There are some instances in which we must simply allow the plain and simple voice of Scripture to speak to us, with no attempt at dissembling. And the admonition to service is clearly one of those instances. Jesus’ rejection of the devil’s temptations in the desert is proof of it. One who seeks to follow in his footsteps must not only avoid actively seeking power and authority, he must not even think about it, especially not when he thinks of the service he is asked to render. This isn’t easy. But it has to be done. We must not deceive ourselves; it is best to steer clear of power, even the thought of it. Do not even contemplate what you would do if you were given the position “without seeking it or working for it”. This is idle thinking, and idle minds are the devil’s workplaces. Just free your mind of such thoughts and when they do enter your heads, banish them as quickly as you can. Remember, “He who sups with the devil must use a long spoon”. “Serve”, that’s all that Jesus asks us to do.
28TH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME
GRATITUDE IS A SIGN OF CONSISTENCY
BETWEEN OUR EXTERIOR
AND INTERIOR LIFE
(Reflections on the Gospel, Luke 17:11-19)
Getting the outside and the inside of things (and even persons) to be consistent with each other can be difficult at times. At other moments (and for certain kinds of persons perhaps), it can seem almost impossible. Think, for instance, of the Pharisees whom Jesus called "whitewashed tombs", for looking outwardly pious and holy while being inwardly filled with contempt for their fellow human beings.
Why did the nine lepers who were also healed by Jesus, fail to return to say ‘thank you’ for the miracle he had done for them? Were they that ungrateful? Were they forgetful? Or were they healed on the outside, but still unhealed on the inside?
One thing’s for sure, despite their bitter experience of leprosy, and despite the good deed Jesus had done to them, very little seems to have changed in these nine. Unlike the Samaritan who came back and gave thanks, they merely went back to their old ways, their old selves, and their old lives.
Perhaps their illness went much deeper than the leprosy they suffered on their skin. Their inability to show gratitude shows a deeper kind of illness—one that afflicted their heart and their soul. And it’s a disease they continued to suffer, and from which they will most likely never be cured. That’s why they never came back.
On the other hand, the Samaritan’s gratefulness was a sign that he wasn’t only healed of his external disease. He was also healed inwardly. For he had also found himself converted to Christ.
Today’s gospel reading isn’t just about gratitude, it’s also about why some persons are capable of thanks and why others are not. Why one returned to give thanks, and nine others didn’t. And the answer is simple. What had happened to the nine didn’t really sink deep enough as it did for the Samartian who returned.
The comparison between him and the ungrateful nine leads us to reflect on our own lives as well. It leads us to ask ourselves how deep into our own hearts and souls have our religious practices sunk. How much of what we do externally as Christians, transforms what we are—internally—as persons?
It challenges us, for instance, to ask ourselves how much of our behavior, our attitude, and our way of dealing with others is consistent with our faith and practice of our religion? Is our weekend religious observance consistent perhaps with our weekday secular life? Are the external manifestations of our faith consistent with our internal dispositions and intentions?
The bible tells us that God searches the mind and the heart. He looks not at externals, but at what truly lies within each human heart, and what he looks for most is consistency in a person’s faith and life.
The leper who came back was good on the outside because he had allowed himself to be transformed on the inside as well. His gratitude was a sign that internally and externally, he was well. There was a consistency to his life: mind and heart, body and soul.
Today the gospel puts before us a choice. Are we to be like the grateful Samaritan whose life was consistent, inside and out? Or are we going to join the other nine?
In the poor, it is Christ who saves us from ourselves.
A Brief Reflection on the Feast of Francis of Assisi
It was an encounter with a leper, a creature that lived in the farthest margins of society that brought Francis his redemption and allowed him to first come in intimate contact with the God he had longed to know all his life.
His embrace of this poor man, loathsome and undesirable to the rest of the world, brought Francis face to face, not only with his own personal poverty and insignificance, but also with his utter dependence on God.
Mother Teresa always said: "We must love the poor, not because they remind us of Jesus. We must love the poor because they are Jesus". In Francis' encounter with the leper, we do not merely gain insight into the truth of Mother Teresa's words, but we also come face to face with one of the most sublime paradoxes of Christ's Incarnation.
The paradox of loving the poor is that when we come to their aid, it isn't really we who do something for them. In reality, it is they who do something for us. When we love and assist them, we aren’t only loving and assisting Christ. We are, in truth, really loving and assisting ourselves.
For when we immerse ourselves in the lives of the poor, the weak, and the needy, and we do everything in our power to save them from suffering and pain, we come to realize that it is really Christ who, in them, is saving and liberating us, from ourselves.
Teach us to find you in the poor, O Lord,
open our eyes to your presence,
in their weak and pained humanity,
in their cries for comfort and consolation,
in their agony, hunger, loneliness, and thirst.
Grant that we may never fail,
to see you in them,
they who are your dwelling places on earth;
that in doing so, we may come face to face,
with our own poverty, and in it
find our own redemption.
Amen.
26TH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME
There's nothing wrong with wealth; unless it makes us forget that it comes with great responsibility.
Does the Bible have something against the rich? When we read both the Old and New Testaments, we encounter again and again, this seeming dislike for wealth and money.
The prophets constantly spoke of God’s love for the poor and the need to care for them. Jesus himself was the son of a poor carpenter, most of his disciples and friends were poor. And many of the stories he told, seemed to always cast the rich in a bad light.
There was the story of the rich man who went to hell and the poor man who went to heaven, the poor widow who gave the few coins she had, and the rich man who gave from his excess cash. And today, we see it again. Jesus seems to be saying to this rich young man who comes to him for advice: “You want to get to heaven, give up your wealth”.
What’s wrong with being rich? Does Jesus want all his followers to be poor? In today’s gospel, he says it’s hard for the rich to enter the Kingdom of God. And as if to make his point stick, he repeats it, except the second time, he doesn’t just say it’s hard, he says it’s almost impossible. He says it’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a wealthy person to get to heaven.
Those of us who have tried getting a piece of thread into a needle know that it’s not easy, but a camel?
While the images Jesus uses in the gospel are quite vivid, they’re actually drawn from real life. Jewish cities usually had two gates. One was a big gate through which everybody passed, including merchandise carried on camels. This gate was closed and guarded at night to protect the city. The other was a very small gate through which one could pass only if he stooped real low. It was these small gates that were usually called “needle’s eyes”, and things could only pass through them with great difficulty.
Making camels pass through these small gates was obviously an exaggeration. But once again, Jesus was merely driving home a point. But was he in fact saying wealth is wrong? What did he really mean when he told the rich young man to give his wealth to the poor? What did he really mean when he said the rich will have a hard time getting to heaven?
Being poor can’t be that good. I once knew this 34-year old woman who was diagnosed with cancer and had to undergo chemotherapy. Unfortunately, she lived in a third world country that didn’t have health care for the poor and she had no insurance. She also happened to be the breadwinner of the family, as both her parents died in an accident, leaving her and two teenage sisters behind. Eventually, money ran out, friends could no longer help, and treatment had to stop. She died. I pity her two sisters whose lives have become so tough since their elder sister died. Surely, Jesus can’t be saying it’s better to be poor.
As a wealthy and not-so-religious friend of mine once quipped: "The rich may have a hard time entering heaven, but who wants to be poor and miserable on earth?"
But Jesus wasn’t simply criticizing wealth in today’s gospel, nor does the Bible have something against the rich. In fact, both the Old and New Testaments speak of God as a God of abundance, wealth and blessing. And Jesus often compares the life of faithful people to that of a rich banquet where all their needs and desires are satisfied.
What Jesus criticizes in today’s gospel is what wealth can sometimes do to a person. The rich young man was not a bad person at all. He obeyed all the commands. He didn’t’ steal. He didn’t lie. He didn’t commit adultery. He didn’t defraud anybody. He followed all the rules. And that was enough for him.
But it wasn’t enough for Jesus. In effect, what Jesus was saying to the young man was: “Don’t be satisfied with just being ‘not bad’, go and do some more. ‘Do good’. Get out there and use your wealth to do good to others. Not hurting others isn’t enough. You have to actually do good to them.”
The problem of the young man was not that he was rich. His problem was that his wealth had made him complacent and self-satisfied. Wealth and riches aren’t problems. It’s the complacency, self-satisfaction and smugness they can create in us that’s the problem.
When wealth makes a person say to himself: “As long as I’m not hurting anyone, I’m ok. I don’t need to actively help others. Why should I? I’m not harming anyone.” That’s when wealth becomes a hindrance to entering God’s kingdom. That’s the kind of wealth Jesus and the bible criticize and warn us against.
For a true follower of Christ, it isn’t enough to simply say: “I’m not harming anyone. I’m not bad. I’m ok”. Jesus invites us, just as he did the rich young man, to actively pursue “being good”. He invites us to break out of the complacency of our faith and actively look for opportunities to help others, to show care and concern for them, to “do good” to them.
When Confucius the Chinese philosopher first spoke the Golden Rule a couple thousand years before Christ, he said: “Do not do unto others what you do not wish others to do unto you”. Do not do unto others….
When Jesus came along, he turned that rule from a negative to a positive. He said: “Do unto others what you wish others to do unto you”.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with wealth and riches. They are, in themselves, good. But they’re even better when they enable us to assist those who are in need.
Like everything else in life, wealth and riches are gifts given to us, not to be kept and hoarded, but shared. They come attached with a great responsibility: to generously give to others, especially those in need, because God had been generous to us first.
September 11, 2024
Wednesday of the 23rd Week in Ordinary Time
Gospel Reading: Luke 6:20-26
"Raising his eyes toward his disciples Jesus said: "Blessed are you who are poor, for the Kingdom of God is yours. Blessed are you who are now hungry, for you will be satisfied. Blessed are you who are now weeping, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude and insult you, and denounce your name as evil on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice and leap for joy on that day! Behold, your reward will be great in heaven. For their ancestors treated the prophets in the same way. But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. But woe to you who are filled now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who laugh now, for you will grieve and weep. Woe to you when all speak well of you, for their ancestors treated the false prophets in this way.”
The Beatitudes bring us face to face with a choice we must make throughout our lives. Do we take the easy way which yields immediate pleasure and profit, or will we take the hard way which yields immediate toil and sometimes suffering? Do we concentrate on the rewards of this world? or, do we concentrate on Christ? If we take the way of the world, we cannot but abandon the values of Christ. If we take Christ's way, we must abandon the values of the world.
Christ had no doubt which way brought happiness ultimately. As one Christian writer said, "Jesus promised his disciples three things--that they would be completely fearless, absurdly happy and in constant trouble."
While we must all try to make the world a better place, the fact remains that it isn’t our real home. It is Jesus' teaching that the joy of heaven will be more than enough to compensate for our troubles here on earth. As Paul says, “The afflictions we experience here are preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison" (2Cor.4:17).
The challenge of the beatitudes is simple: "Will we be happy in the world's way, or in Christ's way?"
