1 Kings 12:26-32; 13:33-34
Psalm 106:6-7, 19-22
Mark 8:1-10
This is the second story we have where Jesus feeds a lot of people with just a little food. In the other story, there are 5000 families, five loaves, and two fish. This time there are only 4000 families, and Jesus starts with more food: seven loaves and a few fish. Also, more food is left over the first time, twelve baskets full versus seven baskets full.
Some scholars think that Jesus only did it one time and the Apostles remembered the numbers differently and made it into two stories, but St. Mark considered the difference between the two stories so important that out of only about 11,000 words in his Gospel, he devotes 160 to tell the story the first time and another 140 to tell it this second time. This would be sort of wasteful just to get both sets of numbers down. No, Mark either wrote both down to let us know that it all happened at least twice or, and this is more likely yet, because he wants us to compare the two events and learn something.
If we are going to learn something, we should begin with the disciples. Did they learn anything? Last time, they told Jesus to dismiss the crowd. This time, they trust Jesus. He calls them, not at the end of one day, but after three days of teaching. Last time, the disciples went to Jesus as it was getting late in the day, because they were afraid that he did not know that the people are hungry; this time, they trust him. Jesus knows that the people need to eat, and he cares that the people need to eat. After two days someone could have accused Jesus of letting the people starve to death, of being uncaring, but Jesus knew that he could provide for the people when the people needed providing for.
Sometimes it seems as if we are not being provided for because we see a need in the future and do not have the solution right now. We do not know how we are going to get over the next mountain which we see looming on the road ahead. Jesus wants us to stop worrying about the next mountain and focus on the road under our feet. We have everything we need for right now. The concerns of each day are sufficient; do not be anxious about tomorrow.
Daily Homilies
Showing posts with label Anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anxiety. Show all posts
Triduum Message
This was a message for the parish bulletin:
What a delightful opportunity it is to go on a retreat! We fight the battle every day: at work, at home, with ourselves; how essential it is to retreat periodically. No one can keep fighting continuously. We retreat to the loving embrace of our God and Father, and he gives us energy and will to fight again. A retreat is different from a vacation because the object is not merely a break from the usual course of things but to return to the one who loves us, whose love is the reason we continue to fight the good fight.
A retreat can involve going away to a quiet place, a place apart from the causes of stress, but even without the ability or need to change our location, a retreat is about changing our mindset. If a person climbs to the top of mountain, they may find God there, but he was just as present at the bottom of the mountain. A retreat means simply deciding to live life differently for a little while; how differently depends on the situation of each person. A retreat is about living, for just a little time, in a way that has the power to transform the rest of the time.
Holy Week is the most important week of the Church year. Holy Week begins with Palm or Passion Sunday, where we remember the triumphant entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem and his passion and death, and ends with the Easter Triduum, the three days of remembrance. These three days are the yearly retreat of every Christian.
The Easter Triduum, though three days long, is one act of remembering the central mystery of salvation history. On Holy Thursday evening, we recall how Jesus, on the night before he died, ate supper with his disciples, how he washed their feet, how he gave us his Body to eat and Blood to drink in the form of bread and wine, and how he prayed all night. On Good Friday, we remember how Jesus was betrayed and arrested, and we make the journey recorded in the Stations of the Cross with Jesus, our beloved Savior, and stand at the foot of the Cross with Mary. On Holy Saturday, we begin, seemingly without hope, with Jesus in the tomb, but after the sun has set, we light the Easter fire and celebrate the Easter Vigil: the Resurrection of Jesus that is the proof of our future resurrection. It is most fitting that this night, the greatest of all nights, is the occasion to welcome new Christians into our community and reunite with Christians who desire to join visibly with the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church. Then on Easter Sunday morning, we rise up in joy because our Savior has risen from the dead.
These three days, this Triduum, become an opportunity to be immersed in the Mysteries we proclaim. Though we go home between the parts of the one liturgy, though some may have to return to their work each day and all deal with everyday concerns and the preparations for Easter, we are anchored in this act of remembrance that we keep returning to. By participating in the Triduum, we are conforming ourselves to the actions of our Savior: we die with Christ and rise with him.
By means of the Triduum, we step out of the present moment with all its worries and anxieties, and return to a moment of history, 2000 years ago, that is the central moment of history. Then, by means of remembering, we bring the truth of that moment into our present lives, where it transforms the events we are experiencing in the present moment.
You are invited to the communal celebration of the Triduum here and whether you are able to join us for some or all of the Triduum services, I encourage everyone to participate in the Triduum as much as they are able. Let these three days, that will soon be here, be in your homes and workplaces a time for silence and prayer and remembering and then the shout and celebration of Easter joy.
What a delightful opportunity it is to go on a retreat! We fight the battle every day: at work, at home, with ourselves; how essential it is to retreat periodically. No one can keep fighting continuously. We retreat to the loving embrace of our God and Father, and he gives us energy and will to fight again. A retreat is different from a vacation because the object is not merely a break from the usual course of things but to return to the one who loves us, whose love is the reason we continue to fight the good fight.
A retreat can involve going away to a quiet place, a place apart from the causes of stress, but even without the ability or need to change our location, a retreat is about changing our mindset. If a person climbs to the top of mountain, they may find God there, but he was just as present at the bottom of the mountain. A retreat means simply deciding to live life differently for a little while; how differently depends on the situation of each person. A retreat is about living, for just a little time, in a way that has the power to transform the rest of the time.
Holy Week is the most important week of the Church year. Holy Week begins with Palm or Passion Sunday, where we remember the triumphant entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem and his passion and death, and ends with the Easter Triduum, the three days of remembrance. These three days are the yearly retreat of every Christian.
The Easter Triduum, though three days long, is one act of remembering the central mystery of salvation history. On Holy Thursday evening, we recall how Jesus, on the night before he died, ate supper with his disciples, how he washed their feet, how he gave us his Body to eat and Blood to drink in the form of bread and wine, and how he prayed all night. On Good Friday, we remember how Jesus was betrayed and arrested, and we make the journey recorded in the Stations of the Cross with Jesus, our beloved Savior, and stand at the foot of the Cross with Mary. On Holy Saturday, we begin, seemingly without hope, with Jesus in the tomb, but after the sun has set, we light the Easter fire and celebrate the Easter Vigil: the Resurrection of Jesus that is the proof of our future resurrection. It is most fitting that this night, the greatest of all nights, is the occasion to welcome new Christians into our community and reunite with Christians who desire to join visibly with the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church. Then on Easter Sunday morning, we rise up in joy because our Savior has risen from the dead.
These three days, this Triduum, become an opportunity to be immersed in the Mysteries we proclaim. Though we go home between the parts of the one liturgy, though some may have to return to their work each day and all deal with everyday concerns and the preparations for Easter, we are anchored in this act of remembrance that we keep returning to. By participating in the Triduum, we are conforming ourselves to the actions of our Savior: we die with Christ and rise with him.
By means of the Triduum, we step out of the present moment with all its worries and anxieties, and return to a moment of history, 2000 years ago, that is the central moment of history. Then, by means of remembering, we bring the truth of that moment into our present lives, where it transforms the events we are experiencing in the present moment.
You are invited to the communal celebration of the Triduum here and whether you are able to join us for some or all of the Triduum services, I encourage everyone to participate in the Triduum as much as they are able. Let these three days, that will soon be here, be in your homes and workplaces a time for silence and prayer and remembering and then the shout and celebration of Easter joy.
February 11, 2012 - Saturday of the Fifth Week in Ordinary Time
Today's Readings
This is the second story we have where Jesus feeds a lot of people with just a little food. In the other story, there are 5000 families, five loaves, and two fish. This time there are only 4000 families, and Jesus starts with more food: seven loaves and a few fish. Also, more food is left over the first time, twelve baskets full versus seven baskets full.
Some scholars think that Jesus only did it one time and the Apostles remembered the numbers differently and made it into two stories, but St. Mark considered the difference between the two stories so important that out of only about 11,000 words in his Gospel, he devotes 160 to tell the story the first time and another 140 to tell it this second time. This would be sort of wasteful just to get both sets of numbers down. No, Mark either wrote both down to let us know that it all happened twice or, and this is more likely yet, because he wants us to compare the two events and learn something.
If we are going to learn something, we should begin with the disciples. Did they learn anything? Last time, they told Jesus to dismiss the crowd. This time, they trust Jesus. He calls them, not at the end of one day, but after three days of teaching. Last time, the disciples went to Jesus as it was getting late in the day, because they were afraid that he did not know that the people are hungry; this time, they trust him. Jesus knows that the people need to eat, and he cares that the people need to eat. After two days someone could have accused Jesus of letting the people starve to death, of being uncaring, but Jesus knew that he could provide for the people when the people needed providing for.
Sometimes it seems as if we are not being provided for because we see a need in the future and do not have the solution right now. We do not know how we are going to get over the next mountain which we see looming on the road ahead. Jesus wants us to stop worrying about the next mountain and focus on the road under our feet. Right now, we are still afloat. We have everything we need for right now. The concerns of each day are sufficient; do not be anxious about tomorrow.
This is the second story we have where Jesus feeds a lot of people with just a little food. In the other story, there are 5000 families, five loaves, and two fish. This time there are only 4000 families, and Jesus starts with more food: seven loaves and a few fish. Also, more food is left over the first time, twelve baskets full versus seven baskets full.
Some scholars think that Jesus only did it one time and the Apostles remembered the numbers differently and made it into two stories, but St. Mark considered the difference between the two stories so important that out of only about 11,000 words in his Gospel, he devotes 160 to tell the story the first time and another 140 to tell it this second time. This would be sort of wasteful just to get both sets of numbers down. No, Mark either wrote both down to let us know that it all happened twice or, and this is more likely yet, because he wants us to compare the two events and learn something.
If we are going to learn something, we should begin with the disciples. Did they learn anything? Last time, they told Jesus to dismiss the crowd. This time, they trust Jesus. He calls them, not at the end of one day, but after three days of teaching. Last time, the disciples went to Jesus as it was getting late in the day, because they were afraid that he did not know that the people are hungry; this time, they trust him. Jesus knows that the people need to eat, and he cares that the people need to eat. After two days someone could have accused Jesus of letting the people starve to death, of being uncaring, but Jesus knew that he could provide for the people when the people needed providing for.
Sometimes it seems as if we are not being provided for because we see a need in the future and do not have the solution right now. We do not know how we are going to get over the next mountain which we see looming on the road ahead. Jesus wants us to stop worrying about the next mountain and focus on the road under our feet. Right now, we are still afloat. We have everything we need for right now. The concerns of each day are sufficient; do not be anxious about tomorrow.
October 4, 2011 - Memorial of Saint Francis of Assisi, religious
Today's Readings
We should begin by clarifying what would have been an obvious point to the early readers of this passage but has been lost in cultural translation: Jesus is not alone with Martha and Mary. When I was young, I imagined a house and I imagined Martha working in the kitchen and Mary listening to Jesus in the living room. Forget that image. There was no house; they were probably eating outside. Jesus was sitting and teaching his disciples. Lazarus was probably there. Anyone from the village who saw that Jesus was in town might have stopped by.
What is happening in this passage is that Martha is being traditionally sexist. It reminds me of Thanksgiving at my grandparents’ house. I would ask my grandmother whether I could help get things ready. “No. You go watch TV”, she would say. Then she would turn to my sister and tell her to set the table. Mary is sitting and listening to Jesus with all the men. This is perhaps the most “feminist” passage in all the Gospels: Martha is complaining about the gender-role society has forced her into, that she has to serve at table while the men just sit there; Mary is doing something about it by refusing to accept the role.
Whether Martha had said anything to Mary before appealing to Jesus or not, we cannot be sure, but I feel confident that there were at least some very specific looks to convey her meaning. She was probably very upset by the time she interrupted Jesus’ teaching to get him to correct her sister. It was this worry and anxiety that Jesus is referring to in his response. Instead of gladly serving Jesus and his disciples, she was obsessing with what her sister was doing.
When we serve Jesus, and all the service we give to our brothers and sisters is service to Jesus, we must do so out of love, not societal obligation. Only one thing is necessary, and that one thing is love. All we need is love; love is all we need, whether love makes us sit at the feet of Jesus and listen to him or love makes us knead the dough and stir the soup. Whatever love has inspired you to do, do it out of love. You cannot live other people’s lives for them; it is difficult enough living your own life. Just do that well. Do that out of love.
We should begin by clarifying what would have been an obvious point to the early readers of this passage but has been lost in cultural translation: Jesus is not alone with Martha and Mary. When I was young, I imagined a house and I imagined Martha working in the kitchen and Mary listening to Jesus in the living room. Forget that image. There was no house; they were probably eating outside. Jesus was sitting and teaching his disciples. Lazarus was probably there. Anyone from the village who saw that Jesus was in town might have stopped by.
What is happening in this passage is that Martha is being traditionally sexist. It reminds me of Thanksgiving at my grandparents’ house. I would ask my grandmother whether I could help get things ready. “No. You go watch TV”, she would say. Then she would turn to my sister and tell her to set the table. Mary is sitting and listening to Jesus with all the men. This is perhaps the most “feminist” passage in all the Gospels: Martha is complaining about the gender-role society has forced her into, that she has to serve at table while the men just sit there; Mary is doing something about it by refusing to accept the role.
Whether Martha had said anything to Mary before appealing to Jesus or not, we cannot be sure, but I feel confident that there were at least some very specific looks to convey her meaning. She was probably very upset by the time she interrupted Jesus’ teaching to get him to correct her sister. It was this worry and anxiety that Jesus is referring to in his response. Instead of gladly serving Jesus and his disciples, she was obsessing with what her sister was doing.
When we serve Jesus, and all the service we give to our brothers and sisters is service to Jesus, we must do so out of love, not societal obligation. Only one thing is necessary, and that one thing is love. All we need is love; love is all we need, whether love makes us sit at the feet of Jesus and listen to him or love makes us knead the dough and stir the soup. Whatever love has inspired you to do, do it out of love. You cannot live other people’s lives for them; it is difficult enough living your own life. Just do that well. Do that out of love.
October 2, 2011 - Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time
Today's Readings
No one, not even a priest, may add, remove, or change anything in the liturgy on his own authority. Nevertheless, some priests do, and of all the things which priests change at Mass on their own authority, one thing I have heard that particularly bothers me is when a priest changes the phrase “protect us from all anxiety” to “protect us from all unnecessary anxiety.” The strange implication being that there exists such a thing as “necessary anxiety.” There is no such thing. In our second reading, St. Paul tells us, “Brothers and sisters: have no anxiety at all.”
Anxiety is concern that things may not happen as we have planned. We make plans, and then we are anxious to see those plans through. To be protected from all anxiety does not mean that we stop making plans. It does not mean that we stop trying to succeed in our plans. It means that we are ready to see our plans fail.
Anxiety and control go together. If we try to control what we cannot in fact control, we become anxious. We cannot control this world, even though we want to. We cannot control much of our own lives; indeed, there is very little under our control. The whole world seems to be going to Hell in a handbasket, and there is so very little that we can do about it. Above all, this is because we cannot control other people. We can only live our own lives as well as we are able to.
The epitome of anxiety is a parent who is anxious about their child’s poor decisions. The parent can try to guide their child; they can teach and punish and reward their child, but they cannot become their child and make the right decisions for them. Every parent has plans for their child, but these best-laid plans go often awry. Sometimes this is for good. Sometimes the child has their own plans and their own success which the parent could not have imagined. Sometimes not. Sometimes it is just a disaster. Either way, there is no point to being anxious. Everything will work out or it will not. Who has ever changed anything by being anxious?
Consider the position that God is in. He had plans for his children, plans for every single one of us individually and plans for the whole world. He started us off in a garden, and we destroyed that plan. Every plan that he has had for the world has been foiled by our sinful disobedience. He loves us, and he watches us destroy ourselves, yet he has no anxiety. He has love without anxiety, because he knows that he cannot control us. Of course, he could, if he chose to, but he has chosen for us to have free will instead, and he cannot control us and give us free will at the same time.
So how does he deal with a world full of disobedient children? We see the answer in our readings today. The psalm today poses the question, “Why have you torn down the walls of this vineyard?” Israel is the vineyard. God planted them; he brought them out of Egypt and gave them a country to dwell in, but now he has allowed the Babylonians to conquer and completely destroy what he built. The psalm poses this question and the Old Testament answers it. God has destroyed the vineyard because it had not produced the fruit that he wanted. He looked for justice but saw bloodshed.
God is willing to destroy what he has built up. He does not hesitate to tear down the wall that he built and let wild animals trample the vines he loves. Since we are the vineyard of the Lord, we do not appreciate it: we do not want the wall torn down; we do not want to be trampled, but God does not want wild grapes. We were built for a purpose. God has plans for us to live with him forever in heaven. How can we expect God to continue caring for us if we are not fulfilling the purpose for which he made us?
There is good news. God destroyed Israel, but then he built them back up. From the perspective of 2500 years, we can see that the destruction was always part of the plan for building up. Israel went to Babylon in exile, weeping, but it was there that their faith matured; it was there that they were prepared for the coming of the Messiah. This is easy to see from the perspective of millennia, but it was surely not easy to see while it was happening.
God loves us so much that he will not give up on us. He will not leave us alone to pursue our own destruction. So long as the possibility of saving us remains, he will save us, even if saving us means destroying our lives, even if saving us means tearing down the wall and letting the wild animals trample our lives. This destruction is a common human experience: divorce, losing a job, being convicted of a crime. Many people have seen their lives and the lives of those they love crumble around them. If anyone has not, they nevertheless await the final destruction of everything we have planned in this life, which is death.
So what should we do? Many times God told the Israelites to go willingly to Babylon: we are supposed to accept the destruction as the will of God. When they got to Babylon, they had to resist the worship of pagan Gods: we are supposed to resist in the midst of acceptance. When we are confronted with destruction we need both acceptance and resistance.
What we need is indifference. Indifference is the opposite of anxiety. Not the worldly indifference of simply not caring. We need the indifference of love, where we willingly love God’s plan for our life. This does not mean indifference to anything that happens. It does not simply mean that we accept every injustice that comes our way. It means a constant attitude of abandonment: the readiness to accept what we do not want. Even while we fight injustice, we must be ready to accept the destruction.
Indifference is difficult. It requires that we trust God completely. He loves us, and he is all-powerful. His plan, his overall plan for the universe and his plan for us individually will be fulfilled. It may include destruction, but he will see us through it all. Indifference is difficult, but what is the alternative? Anxiety, which accomplishes nothing? Indifference just means admitting to ourselves that most everything is out of our control, and that is okay.
No one, not even a priest, may add, remove, or change anything in the liturgy on his own authority. Nevertheless, some priests do, and of all the things which priests change at Mass on their own authority, one thing I have heard that particularly bothers me is when a priest changes the phrase “protect us from all anxiety” to “protect us from all unnecessary anxiety.” The strange implication being that there exists such a thing as “necessary anxiety.” There is no such thing. In our second reading, St. Paul tells us, “Brothers and sisters: have no anxiety at all.”
Anxiety is concern that things may not happen as we have planned. We make plans, and then we are anxious to see those plans through. To be protected from all anxiety does not mean that we stop making plans. It does not mean that we stop trying to succeed in our plans. It means that we are ready to see our plans fail.
Anxiety and control go together. If we try to control what we cannot in fact control, we become anxious. We cannot control this world, even though we want to. We cannot control much of our own lives; indeed, there is very little under our control. The whole world seems to be going to Hell in a handbasket, and there is so very little that we can do about it. Above all, this is because we cannot control other people. We can only live our own lives as well as we are able to.
The epitome of anxiety is a parent who is anxious about their child’s poor decisions. The parent can try to guide their child; they can teach and punish and reward their child, but they cannot become their child and make the right decisions for them. Every parent has plans for their child, but these best-laid plans go often awry. Sometimes this is for good. Sometimes the child has their own plans and their own success which the parent could not have imagined. Sometimes not. Sometimes it is just a disaster. Either way, there is no point to being anxious. Everything will work out or it will not. Who has ever changed anything by being anxious?
Consider the position that God is in. He had plans for his children, plans for every single one of us individually and plans for the whole world. He started us off in a garden, and we destroyed that plan. Every plan that he has had for the world has been foiled by our sinful disobedience. He loves us, and he watches us destroy ourselves, yet he has no anxiety. He has love without anxiety, because he knows that he cannot control us. Of course, he could, if he chose to, but he has chosen for us to have free will instead, and he cannot control us and give us free will at the same time.
So how does he deal with a world full of disobedient children? We see the answer in our readings today. The psalm today poses the question, “Why have you torn down the walls of this vineyard?” Israel is the vineyard. God planted them; he brought them out of Egypt and gave them a country to dwell in, but now he has allowed the Babylonians to conquer and completely destroy what he built. The psalm poses this question and the Old Testament answers it. God has destroyed the vineyard because it had not produced the fruit that he wanted. He looked for justice but saw bloodshed.
God is willing to destroy what he has built up. He does not hesitate to tear down the wall that he built and let wild animals trample the vines he loves. Since we are the vineyard of the Lord, we do not appreciate it: we do not want the wall torn down; we do not want to be trampled, but God does not want wild grapes. We were built for a purpose. God has plans for us to live with him forever in heaven. How can we expect God to continue caring for us if we are not fulfilling the purpose for which he made us?
There is good news. God destroyed Israel, but then he built them back up. From the perspective of 2500 years, we can see that the destruction was always part of the plan for building up. Israel went to Babylon in exile, weeping, but it was there that their faith matured; it was there that they were prepared for the coming of the Messiah. This is easy to see from the perspective of millennia, but it was surely not easy to see while it was happening.
God loves us so much that he will not give up on us. He will not leave us alone to pursue our own destruction. So long as the possibility of saving us remains, he will save us, even if saving us means destroying our lives, even if saving us means tearing down the wall and letting the wild animals trample our lives. This destruction is a common human experience: divorce, losing a job, being convicted of a crime. Many people have seen their lives and the lives of those they love crumble around them. If anyone has not, they nevertheless await the final destruction of everything we have planned in this life, which is death.
So what should we do? Many times God told the Israelites to go willingly to Babylon: we are supposed to accept the destruction as the will of God. When they got to Babylon, they had to resist the worship of pagan Gods: we are supposed to resist in the midst of acceptance. When we are confronted with destruction we need both acceptance and resistance.
What we need is indifference. Indifference is the opposite of anxiety. Not the worldly indifference of simply not caring. We need the indifference of love, where we willingly love God’s plan for our life. This does not mean indifference to anything that happens. It does not simply mean that we accept every injustice that comes our way. It means a constant attitude of abandonment: the readiness to accept what we do not want. Even while we fight injustice, we must be ready to accept the destruction.
Indifference is difficult. It requires that we trust God completely. He loves us, and he is all-powerful. His plan, his overall plan for the universe and his plan for us individually will be fulfilled. It may include destruction, but he will see us through it all. Indifference is difficult, but what is the alternative? Anxiety, which accomplishes nothing? Indifference just means admitting to ourselves that most everything is out of our control, and that is okay.
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