Hebrews 12:1-4
Psalm 22:26-28, 30-32
Mark 5:21-43
The theme of the readings today is “struggle”. To struggle is to fight, specifically to fight against a force preventing you from moving toward your goal. Without a goal there cannot be a struggle. We see a woman trying to touch Jesus’ cloak, and there is a crowd in her way. We see a man trying to help his daughter, and in his way are several people who are telling him that that his effort is useless. We hear in the reading from Hebrews an exhortation to all Christians to run the race despite the sin clinging to us.
What an interesting point: “In your struggle against sin you have not yet resisted to the point of shedding blood.” There is such a difference between the way that a person struggles and the way that a desperate person struggles. Of course, desperate is exactly the wrong word but conveys the right image. Desperate means “without hope”, but a person without hope does not struggle at all. What I mean by a desperate person is someone who has nothing except hope. The woman who needed healing did not stand on the sidelines and vaguely wish that she could touch Jesus’ cloak; some pushing and shoving went on. When the people came up to Jairus and tried to tell him to give up on his daughter, we are told that Jesus disregarded them, but if one of them stood in front of Jairus and grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to get him to see reason (“Your child is dead! Give up!”) I think they may have gotten a broken nose.
Now consider your struggle against sin. Are you struggling recklessly or, when you first feel the slightest resistance, do you twist a little bit before shrugging your shoulders and giving up, like a bad actor? Our attitude toward temptation should be like a three-year-old’s attitude toward naps: there should be some kicking and screaming involved. “In your struggle against sin you have not yet resisted to the point of shedding blood.” When you have ropes and chains holding you to sin and you want to run to Jesus, you going to have to struggle. You might lose your shirt or some skin. It is going to hurt, but that is okay: that is just the feeling of what is holding you down finally tearing away.
Daily Homilies
Showing posts with label Hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hope. Show all posts
October 20, 2012 - Saturday of the Twenty-eighth Week in Ordinary Time
Ephesians 1:15-23
Psalm 8:2-7
Luke 12:8-12
When we hear this Gospel, perhaps we even feel a little fired up, ready to acknowledge Jesus before a firing squad. Certainly, if we are ever called upon to deny Jesus and worship idols, we will have to die as martyrs, but in the meantime, there is more than one way to deny him before others. Have we acknowledged him by our words and actions each day? Every time we curse at someone, we are denying Jesus. Every time we hurt someone we are denying Jesus. Every time we fail to help someone we are denying Jesus. They can turn to us and ask, “How is it that you speak about this human who was God but you do not even treat me like a human being?” and we will have no answer. That is what it means to deny Jesus before others.
We acknowledge Jesus when we give up a life of riches to preach the word and serve the poor, because then someone will ask, “How is it that you have given up everything you could have had, just to tell people about Jesus and take care of the poor?” and we will say, “Jesus had nothing.” How much more powerful is this testimony than any number of televangelists with million dollar homes! We acknowledge Jesus when we suffer gladly, speaking of him even in the midst of pain, because then someone will ask, “How is it that even though you suffer you have not given up on God?” and we will say, “Jesus suffered too.” How much more powerful is this witness than any number of pamphlets! We acknowledge Jesus when we love others, especially our enemies, because then someone will ask, “How is it that you can love them when they have done such terrible things to you?” and we will say, “Jesus loves everyone, even you and me.” How much more powerful is this testimony than any number of preachers on soapboxes!
By faith, hope, and love we acknowledge Jesus before others. Faith that causes us to act. Hope that endures through every trial. Love without qualification. It is not normal to see such things, but with God all things are possible, so when the impossible happens right in front of people’s eyes, they will have to acknowledge that God was at work in us. That is what it means to acknowledge Jesus before others.
Psalm 8:2-7
Luke 12:8-12
When we hear this Gospel, perhaps we even feel a little fired up, ready to acknowledge Jesus before a firing squad. Certainly, if we are ever called upon to deny Jesus and worship idols, we will have to die as martyrs, but in the meantime, there is more than one way to deny him before others. Have we acknowledged him by our words and actions each day? Every time we curse at someone, we are denying Jesus. Every time we hurt someone we are denying Jesus. Every time we fail to help someone we are denying Jesus. They can turn to us and ask, “How is it that you speak about this human who was God but you do not even treat me like a human being?” and we will have no answer. That is what it means to deny Jesus before others.
We acknowledge Jesus when we give up a life of riches to preach the word and serve the poor, because then someone will ask, “How is it that you have given up everything you could have had, just to tell people about Jesus and take care of the poor?” and we will say, “Jesus had nothing.” How much more powerful is this testimony than any number of televangelists with million dollar homes! We acknowledge Jesus when we suffer gladly, speaking of him even in the midst of pain, because then someone will ask, “How is it that even though you suffer you have not given up on God?” and we will say, “Jesus suffered too.” How much more powerful is this witness than any number of pamphlets! We acknowledge Jesus when we love others, especially our enemies, because then someone will ask, “How is it that you can love them when they have done such terrible things to you?” and we will say, “Jesus loves everyone, even you and me.” How much more powerful is this testimony than any number of preachers on soapboxes!
By faith, hope, and love we acknowledge Jesus before others. Faith that causes us to act. Hope that endures through every trial. Love without qualification. It is not normal to see such things, but with God all things are possible, so when the impossible happens right in front of people’s eyes, they will have to acknowledge that God was at work in us. That is what it means to acknowledge Jesus before others.
October 4, 2012 - Thursday of the Twenty-sixth Week in Ordinary Time
Job 19.21-27
Psalm 27.7-8a, 8b-9abc, 13-14 Resp. 13
Luke 10.1-12
Job is complaining today about his friends who have come to make his suffering worse. They come with advice about how he ought to handle the sickness. This is very easy to do: to see someone suffering greatly and begin offering advice. Job begs his friends to have mercy on him and leave him alone. Then he declares the reason why their advice is meaningless? “I know that my Redeemer lives”, he says. He is suffering from a serious and painful skin disease, and he says that even if his skin falls off, he will see his God in the flesh. In the midst of his suffering and illness, he has kept his eyes focused on the right place: heaven.
Hope is the virtue that keeps our eyes focused on what really matters, no matter our immediate circumstances. By Faith we believe in God, but hope is the reason this matters to us. Hope, in the darkest pit, turns us to God and gives us a reason for living. Hope takes many forms. Sometimes it surprises us when we least expect it with a glance of heaven. Sometimes it is found in the structure of everyday life, full of gentle reminders that this world is not enough. Without hope we will spend our live trying to build up a pile of money or just wandering from pleasure to pleasure. Happiness can be found in this world in limited doses, but chasing these ephemeral highs is enough to make us forget what really matters. If a person has hope, they remember.
Hope is not merely thinking about heaven. Any time we think about God rather than the mundane, that is hope at work. Every time we look at a homeless person with the eyes of love, that is hope at work. Hope does not take us out of this world, but it does transform what we experience. Temptation is defeated by hope. So many of our sins are simply because we forget that this world is not the only world. Job is a great example of hope: in the midst of his great suffering, he was thinking of God.
Hope is given by God, but, like every virtue, it is strengthened by practice. The more often we think of what really matters, the more often we will think of what really matters. If we spend some time each day focused on God, then, when we need him, we will find our mind naturally going that way.
Psalm 27.7-8a, 8b-9abc, 13-14 Resp. 13
Luke 10.1-12
Job is complaining today about his friends who have come to make his suffering worse. They come with advice about how he ought to handle the sickness. This is very easy to do: to see someone suffering greatly and begin offering advice. Job begs his friends to have mercy on him and leave him alone. Then he declares the reason why their advice is meaningless? “I know that my Redeemer lives”, he says. He is suffering from a serious and painful skin disease, and he says that even if his skin falls off, he will see his God in the flesh. In the midst of his suffering and illness, he has kept his eyes focused on the right place: heaven.
Hope is the virtue that keeps our eyes focused on what really matters, no matter our immediate circumstances. By Faith we believe in God, but hope is the reason this matters to us. Hope, in the darkest pit, turns us to God and gives us a reason for living. Hope takes many forms. Sometimes it surprises us when we least expect it with a glance of heaven. Sometimes it is found in the structure of everyday life, full of gentle reminders that this world is not enough. Without hope we will spend our live trying to build up a pile of money or just wandering from pleasure to pleasure. Happiness can be found in this world in limited doses, but chasing these ephemeral highs is enough to make us forget what really matters. If a person has hope, they remember.
Hope is not merely thinking about heaven. Any time we think about God rather than the mundane, that is hope at work. Every time we look at a homeless person with the eyes of love, that is hope at work. Hope does not take us out of this world, but it does transform what we experience. Temptation is defeated by hope. So many of our sins are simply because we forget that this world is not the only world. Job is a great example of hope: in the midst of his great suffering, he was thinking of God.
Hope is given by God, but, like every virtue, it is strengthened by practice. The more often we think of what really matters, the more often we will think of what really matters. If we spend some time each day focused on God, then, when we need him, we will find our mind naturally going that way.
September 21, 2012 - Feast of Saint Matthew, Apostle and evangelist
Ephesians 4:1-7, 11-13
Psalm 19:2-5
Matthew 9:9-13
We celebrate the conversion of St. Paul each year as a special feast day, but his conversion was from hypocritical Pharisaism to Christianity. Both before and after his conversion, he could be called a “religious person”. For St. Paul, we could say that the only real change was his knowledge of who Jesus Christ was and what he had done. Of course, this knowledge changed everything, but his conversion was from being a good Pharisee to being a good Christian.
St. Matthew, in contrast, whose feast we celebrate today, was a sinner. All the Apostles were sinners of course, but St. Matthew was a sinner as the world sees these things. He was a tax collector. Since the taxes were going to the Roman government that was persecuting Israel, this means that Matthew was a man willing to live on the margins of society in exchange for money. Matthew was the kind of person whom people spit on as he walked down the street. He was the kind of person whom parents warned their children about. He was a traitor and a thief. In exchange for this status, he was one of the wealthier men in his society.
But Matthew wanted more than the life he was leading. Jesus merely said to him, “Follow me.” We know that Jesus does not control the free will of the people he speaks to. Matthew was not forced to get up and follow Jesus, yet he did so without deliberation. Clearly, Matthew had been waiting for Jesus to come, even if he did not know who or what he was waiting for. Those words were the impetus he needed to do what he had obviously wanted to do all along: leave behind his life of sin and start over.
Jesus represented that opportunity to Matthew, and he represents that opportunity to us. He is always calling us. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is preventing us from letting go of sin and following Jesus. It may be hard, or rather, it will be hard. Matthew walked away from a job, from a pile of money, from friends, probably from a girlfriend too, and followed Jesus. Sometimes there is no time to just take care of a few things, no time to wait for a convenient exit; sometimes we just have to follow Jesus and trust that he can make us as happy as we have always wished we could be.
Psalm 19:2-5
Matthew 9:9-13
We celebrate the conversion of St. Paul each year as a special feast day, but his conversion was from hypocritical Pharisaism to Christianity. Both before and after his conversion, he could be called a “religious person”. For St. Paul, we could say that the only real change was his knowledge of who Jesus Christ was and what he had done. Of course, this knowledge changed everything, but his conversion was from being a good Pharisee to being a good Christian.
St. Matthew, in contrast, whose feast we celebrate today, was a sinner. All the Apostles were sinners of course, but St. Matthew was a sinner as the world sees these things. He was a tax collector. Since the taxes were going to the Roman government that was persecuting Israel, this means that Matthew was a man willing to live on the margins of society in exchange for money. Matthew was the kind of person whom people spit on as he walked down the street. He was the kind of person whom parents warned their children about. He was a traitor and a thief. In exchange for this status, he was one of the wealthier men in his society.
But Matthew wanted more than the life he was leading. Jesus merely said to him, “Follow me.” We know that Jesus does not control the free will of the people he speaks to. Matthew was not forced to get up and follow Jesus, yet he did so without deliberation. Clearly, Matthew had been waiting for Jesus to come, even if he did not know who or what he was waiting for. Those words were the impetus he needed to do what he had obviously wanted to do all along: leave behind his life of sin and start over.
Jesus represented that opportunity to Matthew, and he represents that opportunity to us. He is always calling us. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is preventing us from letting go of sin and following Jesus. It may be hard, or rather, it will be hard. Matthew walked away from a job, from a pile of money, from friends, probably from a girlfriend too, and followed Jesus. Sometimes there is no time to just take care of a few things, no time to wait for a convenient exit; sometimes we just have to follow Jesus and trust that he can make us as happy as we have always wished we could be.
September 05, 2012 - Wednesday of the Twenty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time
1 Corinthians 3:1-9
Psalm 33:12-15, 20-21
Luke 4:38-44
We are told that “at sunset, all who had people sick with various diseases brought them to him.” They had seen him at the synagogue the night before. They had watched him cast a demon out of a man with nothing more than the authority of his words. Then they went home, and Jesus healed another woman on the Sabbath, and perhaps everyone heard about this too. The people waited until the next evening, but, as soon as they could, they brought all the sick people to him.
Imagine the struggle and the joy of going home to a sick son or daughter, mother or father, sister or brother, knowing that the man at the synagogue could cure them, but still waiting a whole day until the Sabbath was over. During that time of waiting, they clung to hope. They hoped that the man would not leave town. They hoped that he would heal their relative. They went to bed that night full of hope, and it did not disappoint. There is a hope waiting for us in heaven. We cling to this hope while we wait here on earth for our own personal healing.
Surely most of the people had doubts while they waited. Had they really seen what they thought they saw or was it some kind of trick? Would the man be willing to heal their loved one? Their hope lived on the promise of the two who had already been healed. So it is for us. If we begin to doubt the power of God to heal our souls, we should look and see some of the people who have already been healed.
The existence of these people, the Saints, strengthens our hope. Another soul has been healed; perhaps my soul too can be healed. We need to see Saints, to see the healing God has effected in their lives, so that we can continue to believe in the healing that we hope to receive. We need to see Saints in books and stories and in our elders, who may not be perfect in the way of St. Francis or St. Therese but many of them have experienced a remarkable healing of their soul. While we are waiting here anxiously, wondering, doubting, hoping, these glimpses confirm the possibility of being healed.
Psalm 33:12-15, 20-21
Luke 4:38-44
We are told that “at sunset, all who had people sick with various diseases brought them to him.” They had seen him at the synagogue the night before. They had watched him cast a demon out of a man with nothing more than the authority of his words. Then they went home, and Jesus healed another woman on the Sabbath, and perhaps everyone heard about this too. The people waited until the next evening, but, as soon as they could, they brought all the sick people to him.
Imagine the struggle and the joy of going home to a sick son or daughter, mother or father, sister or brother, knowing that the man at the synagogue could cure them, but still waiting a whole day until the Sabbath was over. During that time of waiting, they clung to hope. They hoped that the man would not leave town. They hoped that he would heal their relative. They went to bed that night full of hope, and it did not disappoint. There is a hope waiting for us in heaven. We cling to this hope while we wait here on earth for our own personal healing.
Surely most of the people had doubts while they waited. Had they really seen what they thought they saw or was it some kind of trick? Would the man be willing to heal their loved one? Their hope lived on the promise of the two who had already been healed. So it is for us. If we begin to doubt the power of God to heal our souls, we should look and see some of the people who have already been healed.
The existence of these people, the Saints, strengthens our hope. Another soul has been healed; perhaps my soul too can be healed. We need to see Saints, to see the healing God has effected in their lives, so that we can continue to believe in the healing that we hope to receive. We need to see Saints in books and stories and in our elders, who may not be perfect in the way of St. Francis or St. Therese but many of them have experienced a remarkable healing of their soul. While we are waiting here anxiously, wondering, doubting, hoping, these glimpses confirm the possibility of being healed.
April 12, 2012 - Thursday in the Octave of Easter
Today's Readings
In the Gospel today, Jesus appeared to his disciples and testified to himself, showing the wounds on his hands and his feet, but the disciples were "incredulous for joy.” “Incredulous for joy.” This was a thing too good to be true! The Lord Jesus is risen from the dead. Why do the disciples disbelieve him? Obviously he is not lying. They see him with their own eyes and hear him with their own ears, but some things just seem too good to be true. Our eyes must be lying; our ears must deceive us.
There is a natural pessimism behind this attitude. We see the world full of suffering, but we cannot see the world full of joy. We live in a world with water falling from the sky, with food growing up from the ground. We live in a fairy tale. Then the first tragedy comes along. We see imperfection in the world, and we are forever cynical. This pessimism tells us that we do not belong in this world. If we belonged to this world, we would see the events happening around us as natural. We would enjoy life when it is good and not be surprised when it is bad. Yet we are surprised, we are astonished by suffering. We expect the world to be perfect even though it manifestly is not. So when the world is only mostly perfect, we consider that it is very, very bad.
The disciples had just suffered such a blow in the suffering and death of Jesus Christ. They had started to become optimistic when they saw the work of Jesus Christ, so they fell all the more when he was killed. If something is good, someone will ruin it. Some things are too good to be true. In the Resurrection of Jesus Christ is the perfection that we have been expecting our whole lives. We are afraid to believe, because our hopes have been disappointed before. Whenever things seemed to be good, something had to come along to ruin everything. Instead, in Jesus Christ, we find a good that nothing can take away. It is so very good and absolutely true.
The Resurrection is what we have been waiting for since we lost Eden. It is time to leave pessimism behind. This world is disappointing, and every time we begin to put our hope in it, it will disappoint us again, but we have a new hope: Jesus Christ, risen from the dead.
In the Gospel today, Jesus appeared to his disciples and testified to himself, showing the wounds on his hands and his feet, but the disciples were "incredulous for joy.” “Incredulous for joy.” This was a thing too good to be true! The Lord Jesus is risen from the dead. Why do the disciples disbelieve him? Obviously he is not lying. They see him with their own eyes and hear him with their own ears, but some things just seem too good to be true. Our eyes must be lying; our ears must deceive us.
There is a natural pessimism behind this attitude. We see the world full of suffering, but we cannot see the world full of joy. We live in a world with water falling from the sky, with food growing up from the ground. We live in a fairy tale. Then the first tragedy comes along. We see imperfection in the world, and we are forever cynical. This pessimism tells us that we do not belong in this world. If we belonged to this world, we would see the events happening around us as natural. We would enjoy life when it is good and not be surprised when it is bad. Yet we are surprised, we are astonished by suffering. We expect the world to be perfect even though it manifestly is not. So when the world is only mostly perfect, we consider that it is very, very bad.
The disciples had just suffered such a blow in the suffering and death of Jesus Christ. They had started to become optimistic when they saw the work of Jesus Christ, so they fell all the more when he was killed. If something is good, someone will ruin it. Some things are too good to be true. In the Resurrection of Jesus Christ is the perfection that we have been expecting our whole lives. We are afraid to believe, because our hopes have been disappointed before. Whenever things seemed to be good, something had to come along to ruin everything. Instead, in Jesus Christ, we find a good that nothing can take away. It is so very good and absolutely true.
The Resurrection is what we have been waiting for since we lost Eden. It is time to leave pessimism behind. This world is disappointing, and every time we begin to put our hope in it, it will disappoint us again, but we have a new hope: Jesus Christ, risen from the dead.
March 29, 2012 - Thursday of the Fifth Week of Lent
Today's Readings
Quantum physics teaches that certain events are uncertain until observed. This is most easily described with the case of Schrödinger’s cat, an experiment to bring the uncertainty of quantum physics into our everyday experience. He designed a box, inside of which there is a cat and a poison that may or may not be released, depending upon an atomic event. Quantum physics says that, until someone looks inside the box, the cat is in some sense both dead and alive, it is not definite until you see it. Schrödinger’s cat leads to all sorts of scientific and philosophical questions, among which is whether we could pray for the cat before opening the box, since we cannot pray for a dead cat.
Jesus tells us today: “before Abraham came to be, I AM.” At first, this sounds like bad grammar, but it is actually just very careful grammar. “Before Abraham came to be” refers to an actual period of time. Jesus is saying, about this period of time, not “I was” but “I AM.” He is not saying that he existed back then. He is saying that he is existing back then. As Jesus stands talking with the Jews, he is also back before Abraham existed, he is also right here, right now in this church. For God, the creation of the world and the end of the world are all at once. This phrase, “all at once”, is a very good phrase for understanding God’s perspective. He sees all at once. He lives all at once. He exists all at once.
So we can pray for the cat. When we pray, our prayers go outside of time to God, who can put them back into time whenever they are needed. Take the Titanic as an example. We cannot pray that the ship will not sink, since we know that it did, but we can pray for the people on the ship, since we do not know what happened to each of them, and our prayers will be effective. Consider the case of suicide. When a person commits suicide, there is a critical moment, after they have killed themselves, before they die, when they need to repent and be reconciled to God. St. John Vianney once told a woman who came to him in confession about her husband, who had committed suicide, “Between the bridge and the water, he prayed a Hail Mary. He is in Purgatory now. Pray for him.” Where there is uncertainty, there is the possibility of prayer. Our prayers right now can affect a critical moment at any time in the past, because they travel from us through God, who is outside of time. If there is something you want to pray for, find the uncertainty and do not be afraid to pray.
Quantum physics teaches that certain events are uncertain until observed. This is most easily described with the case of Schrödinger’s cat, an experiment to bring the uncertainty of quantum physics into our everyday experience. He designed a box, inside of which there is a cat and a poison that may or may not be released, depending upon an atomic event. Quantum physics says that, until someone looks inside the box, the cat is in some sense both dead and alive, it is not definite until you see it. Schrödinger’s cat leads to all sorts of scientific and philosophical questions, among which is whether we could pray for the cat before opening the box, since we cannot pray for a dead cat.
Jesus tells us today: “before Abraham came to be, I AM.” At first, this sounds like bad grammar, but it is actually just very careful grammar. “Before Abraham came to be” refers to an actual period of time. Jesus is saying, about this period of time, not “I was” but “I AM.” He is not saying that he existed back then. He is saying that he is existing back then. As Jesus stands talking with the Jews, he is also back before Abraham existed, he is also right here, right now in this church. For God, the creation of the world and the end of the world are all at once. This phrase, “all at once”, is a very good phrase for understanding God’s perspective. He sees all at once. He lives all at once. He exists all at once.
So we can pray for the cat. When we pray, our prayers go outside of time to God, who can put them back into time whenever they are needed. Take the Titanic as an example. We cannot pray that the ship will not sink, since we know that it did, but we can pray for the people on the ship, since we do not know what happened to each of them, and our prayers will be effective. Consider the case of suicide. When a person commits suicide, there is a critical moment, after they have killed themselves, before they die, when they need to repent and be reconciled to God. St. John Vianney once told a woman who came to him in confession about her husband, who had committed suicide, “Between the bridge and the water, he prayed a Hail Mary. He is in Purgatory now. Pray for him.” Where there is uncertainty, there is the possibility of prayer. Our prayers right now can affect a critical moment at any time in the past, because they travel from us through God, who is outside of time. If there is something you want to pray for, find the uncertainty and do not be afraid to pray.
October 25, 2011 - Tuesday of the Thirtieth Week in Ordinary Time
Today's Readings
“Brothers and sisters: I consider that the sufferings of this present time are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed for us.” I have no trouble believing that the little ways I have suffered in my life will be forgotten in the face of the glory of heaven. My sufferings are largely forgotten in the face of a bowl of ice cream. Honestly, like all people, I live on the razor’s edge: everything could go wrong tomorrow, but for now, in this moment, I live a very pleasant life.
But then I consider these words being read in the lives of other people in this world and other times. I consider how these words sound to a child growing up in Somalia right now. I consider how these words sounded when read in Auschwitz. I consider how these words sounded in a medieval town where nearly everyone had died of the Black Plague. How can those sufferings be nothing compared to the glory that is to come?
For the sufferings of the present life to be nothing, the successes also must be nothing, this whole life must be nothing when compared to the life to come. It is like a video game where the character suffers and dies, and that is nothing, because winning is also nothing, because a video game is nothing compared to real life. It is like a 6th grader who breaks up with her boyfriend and cries and screams and experiences real suffering, and that is nothing, because the relationship really was nothing compared to what was coming in her life.
Truly, the girl experiences real suffering. It is not something to be laughed off. Truly, the person who lost the video game might be really upset. The authenticity of the emotions and the experience is not the question. It is a question of perspective: video games do not matter; dating in middle school does not matter. For St. Paul’s statement to be true, the glory to come has to be such that the life we are living now does not matter, in perspective.
I cannot see this glory now. I can only grasp it with hope. Hope tells me that this life, with its sufferings and successes, is really nothing, an illusion, like a video game or middle school. This life only matters because how I live determines whether I ever see that glory.
There is an ad campaign now about bullying, by adults, telling middle school and high school students that “it gets better”, which is true and false. Can you imagine if the Saints in heaven ran an ad campaign telling us, “it gets better”? It is, kind of, what Jesus did.
“Brothers and sisters: I consider that the sufferings of this present time are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed for us.” I have no trouble believing that the little ways I have suffered in my life will be forgotten in the face of the glory of heaven. My sufferings are largely forgotten in the face of a bowl of ice cream. Honestly, like all people, I live on the razor’s edge: everything could go wrong tomorrow, but for now, in this moment, I live a very pleasant life.
But then I consider these words being read in the lives of other people in this world and other times. I consider how these words sound to a child growing up in Somalia right now. I consider how these words sounded when read in Auschwitz. I consider how these words sounded in a medieval town where nearly everyone had died of the Black Plague. How can those sufferings be nothing compared to the glory that is to come?
For the sufferings of the present life to be nothing, the successes also must be nothing, this whole life must be nothing when compared to the life to come. It is like a video game where the character suffers and dies, and that is nothing, because winning is also nothing, because a video game is nothing compared to real life. It is like a 6th grader who breaks up with her boyfriend and cries and screams and experiences real suffering, and that is nothing, because the relationship really was nothing compared to what was coming in her life.
Truly, the girl experiences real suffering. It is not something to be laughed off. Truly, the person who lost the video game might be really upset. The authenticity of the emotions and the experience is not the question. It is a question of perspective: video games do not matter; dating in middle school does not matter. For St. Paul’s statement to be true, the glory to come has to be such that the life we are living now does not matter, in perspective.
I cannot see this glory now. I can only grasp it with hope. Hope tells me that this life, with its sufferings and successes, is really nothing, an illusion, like a video game or middle school. This life only matters because how I live determines whether I ever see that glory.
There is an ad campaign now about bullying, by adults, telling middle school and high school students that “it gets better”, which is true and false. Can you imagine if the Saints in heaven ran an ad campaign telling us, “it gets better”? It is, kind of, what Jesus did.
August 30, 2011 - Tuesday of the Twenty-Second Week in Ordinary Time
Today's Readings
St. Paul, in this reading from his First Letter to the Thessalonians, encourages us not to sleep like the rest of the world. Sleeping means not trying. He also says that we are not of in darkness, for we are children of light. Darkness makes a person want to sleep. Darkness is hopelessness. Hopelessness makes us want to stop trying. Light is hope. We are children of hope.
What kind of hope? Not a false hope. St. Paul has just warned us that “when people are saying, ‘Peace and security,’ then sudden disaster comes upon them.” This is the false hope on which the world hangs its dreams. False hope is more assumption than hope. It starts innocently enough, we wake up in the morning and assume that the floor is still there. We breathe air and just assume that there is oxygen in it. We go to work, and we assume that we will get paid. We get in an elevator and assume that we will not plummet to our deaths. We must do all this assuming, because the alternative is being paranoid to the point of insanity.
But then we extend these assumptions to other matters. We put money away in a retirement account and assume that it will still be there in thirty years. We live in America, so we assume that no army will ever invade our home. We go to the grocery store and assume that there will be food available for a price we can pay. We make these assumptions, yet how many counter-examples throughout the world should give us pause! Our safety and security seems so rock-solid, but it is really a fragile soap bubble in time destined to eventually pop.
When someone puts their hope in this world, they are in darkness. They think that they are awake; they are working so hard; they are exhausted every day, but they are really just dreaming; they are asleep. If you put in an eight hour shift in your dreams one night, no one will actually pay you no matter how tired you are. If you work hard for a worldly hope, even if you do not live through war or famine, the world will fail to actually pay you.
We are children of the light. Our hope is founded in reality, and it will not disappoint. Now if only we could work as hard for our real salvation as the world does for it ephemeral rewards.
St. Paul, in this reading from his First Letter to the Thessalonians, encourages us not to sleep like the rest of the world. Sleeping means not trying. He also says that we are not of in darkness, for we are children of light. Darkness makes a person want to sleep. Darkness is hopelessness. Hopelessness makes us want to stop trying. Light is hope. We are children of hope.
What kind of hope? Not a false hope. St. Paul has just warned us that “when people are saying, ‘Peace and security,’ then sudden disaster comes upon them.” This is the false hope on which the world hangs its dreams. False hope is more assumption than hope. It starts innocently enough, we wake up in the morning and assume that the floor is still there. We breathe air and just assume that there is oxygen in it. We go to work, and we assume that we will get paid. We get in an elevator and assume that we will not plummet to our deaths. We must do all this assuming, because the alternative is being paranoid to the point of insanity.
But then we extend these assumptions to other matters. We put money away in a retirement account and assume that it will still be there in thirty years. We live in America, so we assume that no army will ever invade our home. We go to the grocery store and assume that there will be food available for a price we can pay. We make these assumptions, yet how many counter-examples throughout the world should give us pause! Our safety and security seems so rock-solid, but it is really a fragile soap bubble in time destined to eventually pop.
When someone puts their hope in this world, they are in darkness. They think that they are awake; they are working so hard; they are exhausted every day, but they are really just dreaming; they are asleep. If you put in an eight hour shift in your dreams one night, no one will actually pay you no matter how tired you are. If you work hard for a worldly hope, even if you do not live through war or famine, the world will fail to actually pay you.
We are children of the light. Our hope is founded in reality, and it will not disappoint. Now if only we could work as hard for our real salvation as the world does for it ephemeral rewards.
May 6, 2011 - Friday of the Second Week of Easter
Today's Readings
Osama Bin Laden is not like St. Peter. We see in the Acts of the Apostles today the difference between St. Peter and Osama Bin Laden. St. Peter is a martyr; Bin Laden is not. People often say that a martyr is someone who dies for what they believe in, but a martyr is so much more. All kinds of people die for what they believe in: some are good; some are bad; some are just crazy. If Peter and the apostles had merely suffered and died for what they believed in, they would be unimportant additions to a numerous group, but we see in the apostles something different: joy.
The apostles were flogged. Their response is not weeping or anger. They do not respond with self-righteous pride. Their response is joy: “rejoicing that they had been found worthy to suffer dishonor for the sake of the name.” A martyr is not a merely stubborn person. A martyr is not someone who can put up with a lot of pain. There are such people in the world, but we do not believe whatever stubborn people happen to believe. We might be impressed by such a person. We might admire such a person. We might even name a day after such a person or make a movie about them, but we will not believe. We want to believe in the truth. Martyrdom is meaningless if it does not reveal the truth. The miracle of martyrdom is not found in a person who willingly dies but in how such a person dies. It was not that the apostles suffered but how they suffered that revealed the truth. They suffered rejoicing.
Only one fact could explain their joy: a power beyond human capacity. It was clear to all who saw the suffering of the apostles that their joy was supernatural. The martyrs suffered and died with forgiveness on their lips rather than revenge. They could suffer in this way, suffering even the cruelest punishments, because they could see heaven clearly. We all would like to go to heaven. As we repeated in the psalm today: “One thing I seek: to dwell in the house of the Lord.” When we see how a martyr dies we know only one thing for certain. I want to die like them. I am going to die someday, and I would like to die with the certain hope in the Resurrection that the martyrs were witnesses of.
March 27, 2011 - Third Sunday of Lent
Today's Readings
We were just singing, “If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.” Whose voice? The voice of the Lord, full of power and splendor. The voice of the Lord that created the earth and can destroy it. The voice of the Lord, which is sometimes heard in a burning bush and sometimes heard in thunder and sometimes heard in a soft whisper. The psalmist warns us, “If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.”
We would not need this warning if we were not in danger of doing exactly that, of hardening our hearts. I often think that I would love to hear the voice of the Lord more often. If I went outside today and a voice came, whether as thunder from the sky or as a small whisper, telling me what God wanted, step by step, I would gladly follow it. So I think, but the psalmist warns me that if today I heard his voice, I would be in danger of hardening my heart.
We hear the voice of the Lord speaking today to the Samaritan woman. She has many opportunities to harden her heart. She goes out to the well with a bucket to get water for herself. The voice of the Lord speaks: “Give me a drink.” She could have refused him the water. She could have been intent on her own needs. We too will hear the voice of the Lord asking for our help. We will hear voice of the poor asking us for help. We might resent this, thinking only of our needs. We cannot put off helping the poor until we have first taken care of ourselves. We have to be open to the voice of the Lord speaking from an unexpected source.
The Lord speaks to the woman again, offering living water that would free her from thirst. She opens her heart to this offer and asks for this living water. Jesus says, “Go call your husband and come back.” He shows her that he knows about her sins. She could have hardened her heart and asked Jesus what business of his it is whether she has had 100 husbands. When we hear the voice of the Lord, we might not like what he has to say. It may draw attention to our failures. It may make demands on us, that we abandon a way of life which is not acceptable to the Lord. Throughout this dialogue, the Lord contradicts the woman, calls her ignorant, points out her sin, and offers what he seems incapable of giving. The woman could have responded by hardening her heart and rejecting what he said, or she could have opened her heart to the truth, as she did.
“If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.” The psalmist is basing his warning on the events of the first reading today. The Israelites in the first reading are not unlike us. They seem like a very frustrating set of people to work with, and so God found them, hard-headed and hard-hearted, just like us. They ask Moses today, “Why did you ever make us leave Egypt?” They seem to have a very short memory. Moses did not make them leave Egypt. They were slaves in Egypt. They asked God to release them from their slavery. God sent Moses to fulfill their prayer, to lead them out of Egypt and into the Promised Land, flowing with milk and honey. Nobody made them leave, they gladly marched out of Egypt.
The Israelites heard the voice of the Lord speak, but their hearts were hardened by thirst. If God gave us everything we wanted, at the instant we wanted it, for 99 days, on the hundredth day, if there were a delay in getting what we wanted, we would complain loudly. The Israelites are not wrong in their desire for water. Two million people, wandering in the desert, are in desperate need of water, but, instead of turning to the Lord in their need, instead of waiting for him, instead of trusting that he would provide what they needed, they grumble and blame Moses for making them leave Egypt.
And these Israelites should not be confused about whether God was really behind the mission. The locusts, the frogs, and the flies, the hail and fire, the darkness that covered the land, and the other plagues should have clarified this. If not, then the way that the Red Sea split in two and allowed them to cross on a dry sea floor with walls of water on either side ought to have been final confirmation. After all that, did God really intend for them to die of thirst in the desert?
We too struggle when God does not seem to be answering our prayers immediately, but if he did answer our prayers as soon as we asked, we would quickly forget where the answers were coming from. When all is going well, we forget about God. It is too easy to go through our daily routine without remembering how completely we depend on God. We begin to think that we are getting along fine and that God is a minor character in our life. Suddenly a roadblock appears in our way, and we cannot get around it or over it. After trying everything else, we turn to prayer. If God answered our prayers immediately, we would soon begin to depend entirely on ourselves again.
During such times, when we are in desperate need, when we pray as if for the very first time, we can learn hope. Specifically, we can learn to place our hope in God. Such hope does not disappoint because it is based in God’s promise to us. The Israelites should have hoped in God who promised to take them to the Promised Land. He was not going to let them die of thirst on the way there. The promise of God to us is the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. Jesus Christ died for us, not because we were good, but because he loved us even though we were not. After his death and resurrection, an act of utmost love, he gave us the Holy Spirit, who is love, to dwell within our hearts. After all that, will he not keep his promises to us?
The Holy Spirit is God’s promise to us. If we were to try and express this promise in words it would be: “God loves us and will always love us.” When we come up against any struggle, when we find ourselves in the middle of the desert without water, this hope, this promise, should be enough to get us through anything. God has not promised that we will be rich in this world. He has not promised that we will be free of sickness or suffering. He has not promised that this life will be free from trouble. On the contrary, he has said, “In this world you will have trouble.” He has promised us persecutions. We will have sorrows in this life, but God loves us and he will always love us. He will not abandon us, and he will bring us to heaven if we want to go there. This is our hope, and this hope cannot disappoint.
We were just singing, “If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.” Whose voice? The voice of the Lord, full of power and splendor. The voice of the Lord that created the earth and can destroy it. The voice of the Lord, which is sometimes heard in a burning bush and sometimes heard in thunder and sometimes heard in a soft whisper. The psalmist warns us, “If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.”
We would not need this warning if we were not in danger of doing exactly that, of hardening our hearts. I often think that I would love to hear the voice of the Lord more often. If I went outside today and a voice came, whether as thunder from the sky or as a small whisper, telling me what God wanted, step by step, I would gladly follow it. So I think, but the psalmist warns me that if today I heard his voice, I would be in danger of hardening my heart.
We hear the voice of the Lord speaking today to the Samaritan woman. She has many opportunities to harden her heart. She goes out to the well with a bucket to get water for herself. The voice of the Lord speaks: “Give me a drink.” She could have refused him the water. She could have been intent on her own needs. We too will hear the voice of the Lord asking for our help. We will hear voice of the poor asking us for help. We might resent this, thinking only of our needs. We cannot put off helping the poor until we have first taken care of ourselves. We have to be open to the voice of the Lord speaking from an unexpected source.
The Lord speaks to the woman again, offering living water that would free her from thirst. She opens her heart to this offer and asks for this living water. Jesus says, “Go call your husband and come back.” He shows her that he knows about her sins. She could have hardened her heart and asked Jesus what business of his it is whether she has had 100 husbands. When we hear the voice of the Lord, we might not like what he has to say. It may draw attention to our failures. It may make demands on us, that we abandon a way of life which is not acceptable to the Lord. Throughout this dialogue, the Lord contradicts the woman, calls her ignorant, points out her sin, and offers what he seems incapable of giving. The woman could have responded by hardening her heart and rejecting what he said, or she could have opened her heart to the truth, as she did.
“If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.” The psalmist is basing his warning on the events of the first reading today. The Israelites in the first reading are not unlike us. They seem like a very frustrating set of people to work with, and so God found them, hard-headed and hard-hearted, just like us. They ask Moses today, “Why did you ever make us leave Egypt?” They seem to have a very short memory. Moses did not make them leave Egypt. They were slaves in Egypt. They asked God to release them from their slavery. God sent Moses to fulfill their prayer, to lead them out of Egypt and into the Promised Land, flowing with milk and honey. Nobody made them leave, they gladly marched out of Egypt.
The Israelites heard the voice of the Lord speak, but their hearts were hardened by thirst. If God gave us everything we wanted, at the instant we wanted it, for 99 days, on the hundredth day, if there were a delay in getting what we wanted, we would complain loudly. The Israelites are not wrong in their desire for water. Two million people, wandering in the desert, are in desperate need of water, but, instead of turning to the Lord in their need, instead of waiting for him, instead of trusting that he would provide what they needed, they grumble and blame Moses for making them leave Egypt.
And these Israelites should not be confused about whether God was really behind the mission. The locusts, the frogs, and the flies, the hail and fire, the darkness that covered the land, and the other plagues should have clarified this. If not, then the way that the Red Sea split in two and allowed them to cross on a dry sea floor with walls of water on either side ought to have been final confirmation. After all that, did God really intend for them to die of thirst in the desert?
We too struggle when God does not seem to be answering our prayers immediately, but if he did answer our prayers as soon as we asked, we would quickly forget where the answers were coming from. When all is going well, we forget about God. It is too easy to go through our daily routine without remembering how completely we depend on God. We begin to think that we are getting along fine and that God is a minor character in our life. Suddenly a roadblock appears in our way, and we cannot get around it or over it. After trying everything else, we turn to prayer. If God answered our prayers immediately, we would soon begin to depend entirely on ourselves again.
During such times, when we are in desperate need, when we pray as if for the very first time, we can learn hope. Specifically, we can learn to place our hope in God. Such hope does not disappoint because it is based in God’s promise to us. The Israelites should have hoped in God who promised to take them to the Promised Land. He was not going to let them die of thirst on the way there. The promise of God to us is the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. Jesus Christ died for us, not because we were good, but because he loved us even though we were not. After his death and resurrection, an act of utmost love, he gave us the Holy Spirit, who is love, to dwell within our hearts. After all that, will he not keep his promises to us?
The Holy Spirit is God’s promise to us. If we were to try and express this promise in words it would be: “God loves us and will always love us.” When we come up against any struggle, when we find ourselves in the middle of the desert without water, this hope, this promise, should be enough to get us through anything. God has not promised that we will be rich in this world. He has not promised that we will be free of sickness or suffering. He has not promised that this life will be free from trouble. On the contrary, he has said, “In this world you will have trouble.” He has promised us persecutions. We will have sorrows in this life, but God loves us and he will always love us. He will not abandon us, and he will bring us to heaven if we want to go there. This is our hope, and this hope cannot disappoint.
February 19, 2011 - Saturday of the Sixth Week in Ordinary Time
The first verse of our first reading today is one of those which is often engraved on a plaque and given as a religious gift. It is easily quotable and very inspiring. One reason this verse is so quotable is that it sounds like a definition. We hear, “Faith is…”, and we are interested. We would like to know what faith is. The literal translation is “But faith is the substance of what is hoped for, the evidence of what is being done unseen.” Substance is that which stands underneath. So faith is the basis of hope.
To understand this verse better, we need to consider the context. The author of Hebrews is saying to the people, “When you first began to believe, you did well. You threw yourself into following God entirely. No one was able to extiguish your hope and commitment to God; neither threats nor violence nor losing your property stopped you from following Jesus Christ. Now you are undergoing another trial: time. Years have passed. Are you going to give up now that which, at the beginning, no one could have taken from you by force?”
We can sympathize. The enthusiasm of youth, the excitement of something new, has died away. Why? Because we expected to see results, either external results, like the Kingdom of God coming again in power, or internal results, like real holiness in our lives. It is difficult to stand after years of struggle and look around and see that the world is basically the same as it ever was, or perhaps somewhat worse. It is difficult to look within and see that I have not even made much progress with myself: I find the same faults I have always had.
Now, “Faith is the substance of what is hoped for, the evidence of what is being done unseen.” Hope without faith underlying it, supporting it, would just be optimism. We believe that Jesus Christ has saved the world and that he is at work in the world right now and that he is at work within each of us. We may not see the results, but our hope is based on something solid. When that feeling of enthusiasm has died away, as it will, when we can no longer see any reason to hope, then all we have left is faith. In other words, if we believe that God is God, then we do not need to be afraid.
February 1, 2011 - Tuesday of the Fourth Week in Ordinary Time
The theme of the readings today is “struggle”. To struggle is to fight, specifically to fight against a force preventing you from moving toward your goal. Without a goal there cannot be a struggle. We see a woman trying to touch Jesus’ cloak, and there is a crowd in her way. We see a man trying to help his daughter, and in his way are several people who are telling him that what his effort is useless. We hear in the reading from Hebrews an exhortation to all Christians to run the race despite the sin clinging to us.
What an interesting point: “In your struggle against sin you have not yet resisted to the point of shedding blood.” There is such a difference between the way that a person struggles and the way that a desperate person struggles. Of course, desperate is exactly the wrong word but conveys the right image. Desperate means “without hope”, but a person without hope does not struggle at all. What I mean by a desperate person is someone who has nothing except hope. The woman who needed healing did not stand on the sidelines and vaguely wish that she could touch Jesus’ cloak; some pushing and shoving went on. When the people came up to Jairus and tried to tell him to give up on his daughter, we are told that Jesus disregarded them, but if one of them stood in front of Jairus and grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to get him to see reason (“Your child is dead! Give up!”) I think they may have gotten a broken nose.
Now consider your struggle against sin. Are you struggling recklessly or, when you first feel the slightest resistance, do you twist a little bit before shrugging your shoulders and giving up, like a bad actor? Our attitude toward temptation should be like a three-year-old’s attitude toward naps: there should be some kicking and screaming involved. “In your struggle against sin you have not yet resisted to the point of shedding blood.” When you have ropes and chains holding you to sin and you want to run to Jesus, you going to have to struggle. You might lose your shirt or some skin. It’s going to hurt, but that’s okay: it’s just the feeling of what is holding you down finally tearing away.
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