Today's Readings
This parable is confusing for some people, but a little clarification goes a long way. The virgins are girls, bridesmaids. Virgin is just the standard word for an adolescent girl. Their job was to be a part of the procession, carrying lamps.
I used to think that the wise girls were really the selfish girls. I learned about sharing in kindergarten, but it seems that these girls did not. Why not share the oil? Then I finally heard, as if for the first time, the reasoning of the wise girls and realized that they were right. There might not be enough for both. The oil each girl had in her flask might keep her lamp lit for 8 hours but would only keep two lamps lit for 4 hours. If they had shared the oil, they might have ended up with no light at all. It would be foolish to share the oil and burn through the limited supply twice as quickly.
What about the strange words of the bridegroom, “I do not know you”? The foolish girls went to town to buy some oil, and when they came back, presumably with well-lit lamps, they knock on the door respectfully. “Lord, Lord”, they say, “open up for us.” He does not refuse to open, but simply admits that he does not know them.
There is a parallel here between this parable and the end of the Sermon on the Mount, 18 chapters earlier. There Jesus says, “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father in heaven. On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?’ And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you.’” The girls say “Lord, Lord.” The bridegroom says, “I do not know you.”
So what do all these symbols mean? Oil is a symbol of the Holy Spirit: it is used in Baptism and Confirmation and Anointing of the Sick to signify the Holy Spirit. If that is the case, there are two kinds of Holy Spirit in this parable, for there are two kinds of oil container. Some of the Holy Spirit is in a lamp, burning. Some of the Holy Spirit, at least for the five wise girls, is in a flask, not burning. So also, in every Christian, there are two kinds of Holy Spirit: there is the Holy Spirit that burns – a jumping up and down, casting out demons, speaking in tongues, healing the sick with a touch, floating in the air kind of Holy Spirit, and then there is the Holy Spirit that does not burn – a quiet, prayerful, loving your neighbor, biting your tongue, suffering patiently kind of Holy Spirit.
Of course there is really only one Holy Spirit, just as the oil in the lamps and the oil in the flasks was the same oil. It is not the Holy Spirit who is different; the difference is in the containers: our souls. Now all the girls had lamps, but only some had flasks. Every Christian is glad to have the power of the lamp, but not everyone wants to do the work required to fill up the flask. Some Christians go so far as to consider the lamps to be the real Holy Spirit. They gather on Sunday and speak in tongues and play music that sets their hearts on fire; they like to see miracles and healings and spectacular conversions. These are gifts from God; I do not denigrate any of this, but if this is all Christianity is for them, they are like the foolish girls: lamps but no flasks.
It is in quiet prayer that we fill our flasks. Here at Mass we fill our flasks. It was a mistake that in the past 50 years we have filled the silence of Mass with piles of hymns. It is in the silence that we fill our flasks. We will never make Mass as fun as MTV. Trying to make Mass as fun as MTV is like trying to make a hammer as musical as a guitar: the effort is destined to fail and, with each attempt, we have a less powerful hammer. The Church is calling us to return to silence, uncomfortable silence. Not merely the absence of noise, but the space to pray.
It is in patient suffering that we fill our flasks. Suffering is either accepted or chosen. We can accept suffering in sickness or cruel treatment. We can also choose to suffer by fasting or vigils or discomfort. Our culture cannot understand why someone would choose to be uncomfortable or accept suffering gladly. All suffering, whether avoiding meat every Friday or sleeping without a pillow, whether being shunned for refusing to gossip or being unjustly imprisoned, whether a papercut or terminal cancer, can be an opportunity to fill our flasks. Accepting suffering does not mean that we do not seek a cure, but that every pain-filled moment, every dangerous surgery, and nauseous medicine, becomes something we share with Christ dying on the Cross, a commonality between two suffering people.
It is in loving that we fill our flasks, loving our neighbor and loving our enemies: forgetting ourselves; thinking of what others need, how we could make life better for them by putting in the extra effort; refusing to rest when we do not need rest; refusing to rot in front of a screen; considering it no waste of time when we miss a show to help a brother. To love means to live for. If we love ourselves, we live for ourselves. If we love others, we live for them.
It is in study that we fill our flasks. So many people are ready to declare themselves experts on the faith. This is an epidemic in our whole culture, when every Joe has an opinion about global climate change. It is possible to live a simple faith, looking to others for guidance, but it is better to study. When this study is done humbly, realizing that however much is learned, there is more to understand, then a Christian fills their flask.
It is the will of God that we fill our flasks, so if anyone says to us, “Oh you with your boring Christianity”, while juggling snakes and drinking poisons and dancing in the aisles, if anyone tells us that we are missing something because we do not shout often enough, let us go on nonetheless, filling our flasks, waiting for the Bridegroom.
Daily Homilies
Showing posts with label Silence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Silence. Show all posts
August 7, 2011 - Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Today's Readings
St. Paul makes an amazing claim in this part of his letter to the Romans, and it is not said in a careless way. He says that if his people, the Israelites, could all be converted, he would be willing to go to Hell himself. Of course, his being cut off from Christ would not help them in any way, but the sentiment is clear. He is sincerely saddened that, although tens of thousands of Israelites became Christians, the majority did not.
He makes the point that Israel, more than any other nation, ought to come to believe in Jesus: they were the people he spent 2000 years preparing for the coming of Jesus Christ, they are the ones who wrote the Old Testament; they lived through all the events contained therein; they were the ones who received the Law; all the great prophets were Israelites; and, above all, Jesus himself was a Jew. The Jews preserved the promises of God for 100 generations, but most failed to believe when the promises were fulfilled in their midst.
But it is not that the word of God has failed. God was speaking, but they were not listening. We know this because so many people did hear the word of God and come to believe in Jesus Christ. There was a word to hear, and it was a powerful word, strong enough to change the world. If some people did not hear the word, they were not listening.
In our first reading today, Elijah was listening. He was at the end of his rope, so he climbed a mountain and went in a cave and waited to hear the word of God. Along comes a strong wind blowing rocks around, picking up boulders and throwing them down. Then there was an earthquake. Then there was a fire, a forest fire perhaps, or maybe a meteor crashing to earth. But Elijah was not fooled by the strong wind or the earthquake or the fire. Many people would be fooled. Many people try to figure out what a tornado or an earthquake mean. Elijah knows to wait in silence. Then he hears the still, small voice, the tiny whispering sound, and he recognizes the voice of God.
If we are going to hear the word of God, we need silence. How else do we expect to hear the voice of God? We certainly cannot hear him if we are talking. We cannot hear him over the sound of the television. We modern people are always talking or watching television or going to the movies or getting in our cars and turning on the radio. When exactly does God have a chance to tell us what we need to hear? We will not shove it down our throats. He will not shout over the radio or TV. He will not interrupt us. He will continue speaking his word forever, but we will not hear it until we stop and listen.
We need to spend time in silence, listening to the word of God. We need more than a minute or two, while our mind is still full of the day’s thoughts; we need significant time in silence, until we can hear the voice of God. At first, silence is difficult, but then it becomes addictive. Eventually we learn to recognize God’s whispers, which we hear not with our ears but deep in our souls.
Listening patiently for God’s word is not wasted time. It is the opposite of wasting time. As we enter into the silence, waiting patiently to hear God’s voice, we can begin by knowing that he exists. Jesus says in the gospel today “It is I. Do not be afraid.” This is a logical translation of the text, but it is not the most literal translation. This translation implies that Jesus is saying, “Don’t worry. It’s not a ghost; it’s just me.” What Jesus actually says is more profound, “I am. Do not be afraid.” When Jesus sees the apostles, they are afraid, so he reminds them of this most important fact: “I am. I exist.” Jesus exists, therefore we do not need to be afraid. We ought to walk through this world with an unshakable confidence. There is no reason to be afraid, not really afraid. I am not saying that bad things will never happen. Bad things do happen, but Jesus continues existing. He continues loving us. No matter what, Jesus Christ loves us.
The apostles were afraid because they thought that they were alone. They thought that they were alone and a ghost was coming toward them on the water. Jesus reminds them that they are never alone. We are never alone. When we have problems, God knows all about them. When we sit in silence waiting for God, God is sitting there with us. God is never far off. It might seem like he is miles away, but he is closer to us than we are to ourselves. He knows our needs, our burdens, and our fears better than we could ever know them. It is not as if God is busy, as if we are waiting in silence for God to be ready for us. We are waiting in silence with God for us to be ready for God.
This is Christian prayer. Many Christians do not seem to know what prayer really is. It is waiting in silence to hear God speak, waiting with God in silence, knowing that God is next to us, that God is in us. Prayer is not about getting God to do what we want, but finding out what God wants. God has a word for each of us, a word that could change us, that could make us who we wish we were. This word of God is not without power, but it will only have effect if we can quiet ourself down long enough to hear it.
St. Paul makes an amazing claim in this part of his letter to the Romans, and it is not said in a careless way. He says that if his people, the Israelites, could all be converted, he would be willing to go to Hell himself. Of course, his being cut off from Christ would not help them in any way, but the sentiment is clear. He is sincerely saddened that, although tens of thousands of Israelites became Christians, the majority did not.
He makes the point that Israel, more than any other nation, ought to come to believe in Jesus: they were the people he spent 2000 years preparing for the coming of Jesus Christ, they are the ones who wrote the Old Testament; they lived through all the events contained therein; they were the ones who received the Law; all the great prophets were Israelites; and, above all, Jesus himself was a Jew. The Jews preserved the promises of God for 100 generations, but most failed to believe when the promises were fulfilled in their midst.
But it is not that the word of God has failed. God was speaking, but they were not listening. We know this because so many people did hear the word of God and come to believe in Jesus Christ. There was a word to hear, and it was a powerful word, strong enough to change the world. If some people did not hear the word, they were not listening.
In our first reading today, Elijah was listening. He was at the end of his rope, so he climbed a mountain and went in a cave and waited to hear the word of God. Along comes a strong wind blowing rocks around, picking up boulders and throwing them down. Then there was an earthquake. Then there was a fire, a forest fire perhaps, or maybe a meteor crashing to earth. But Elijah was not fooled by the strong wind or the earthquake or the fire. Many people would be fooled. Many people try to figure out what a tornado or an earthquake mean. Elijah knows to wait in silence. Then he hears the still, small voice, the tiny whispering sound, and he recognizes the voice of God.
If we are going to hear the word of God, we need silence. How else do we expect to hear the voice of God? We certainly cannot hear him if we are talking. We cannot hear him over the sound of the television. We modern people are always talking or watching television or going to the movies or getting in our cars and turning on the radio. When exactly does God have a chance to tell us what we need to hear? We will not shove it down our throats. He will not shout over the radio or TV. He will not interrupt us. He will continue speaking his word forever, but we will not hear it until we stop and listen.
We need to spend time in silence, listening to the word of God. We need more than a minute or two, while our mind is still full of the day’s thoughts; we need significant time in silence, until we can hear the voice of God. At first, silence is difficult, but then it becomes addictive. Eventually we learn to recognize God’s whispers, which we hear not with our ears but deep in our souls.
Listening patiently for God’s word is not wasted time. It is the opposite of wasting time. As we enter into the silence, waiting patiently to hear God’s voice, we can begin by knowing that he exists. Jesus says in the gospel today “It is I. Do not be afraid.” This is a logical translation of the text, but it is not the most literal translation. This translation implies that Jesus is saying, “Don’t worry. It’s not a ghost; it’s just me.” What Jesus actually says is more profound, “I am. Do not be afraid.” When Jesus sees the apostles, they are afraid, so he reminds them of this most important fact: “I am. I exist.” Jesus exists, therefore we do not need to be afraid. We ought to walk through this world with an unshakable confidence. There is no reason to be afraid, not really afraid. I am not saying that bad things will never happen. Bad things do happen, but Jesus continues existing. He continues loving us. No matter what, Jesus Christ loves us.
The apostles were afraid because they thought that they were alone. They thought that they were alone and a ghost was coming toward them on the water. Jesus reminds them that they are never alone. We are never alone. When we have problems, God knows all about them. When we sit in silence waiting for God, God is sitting there with us. God is never far off. It might seem like he is miles away, but he is closer to us than we are to ourselves. He knows our needs, our burdens, and our fears better than we could ever know them. It is not as if God is busy, as if we are waiting in silence for God to be ready for us. We are waiting in silence with God for us to be ready for God.
This is Christian prayer. Many Christians do not seem to know what prayer really is. It is waiting in silence to hear God speak, waiting with God in silence, knowing that God is next to us, that God is in us. Prayer is not about getting God to do what we want, but finding out what God wants. God has a word for each of us, a word that could change us, that could make us who we wish we were. This word of God is not without power, but it will only have effect if we can quiet ourself down long enough to hear it.
June 21, 2011 - Memorial of Saint Aloysius Gonzaga, religious
Today's Readings
Jesus says “Do not throw your pearls before swine.” We can guess the pearls because of the other analogy Jesus uses: “Do not give what is holy to dogs.” The pearls represent what is holy.
As for the swine and the dogs, they are people. Jesus is not talking about animals. However, to say that such and such a person is a dog and a pig seems to imply that they are less than human, certainly less than the one speaking, but Jesus is only talking about one particular aspect of a person, not their whole dignity. Every single human person is created in the image and likeness of God. There are no people on this Earth who are not loved by God, and that is what gives us dignity.
So who are these people, fully human, but like a dog or a pig in one aspect? They are those who cannot tell the holy from the normal. A pig cannot tell the difference between a church and a basketball court. A dog does not know when people are talking and when they are praying. There are people like this too. They have no respect for what is holy because they cannot tell what is holy.
I remember, a few years ago, a few hundred Catholic high school students were gathered in a church. They were arriving in batches, and prayer was going to begin as soon as everyone arrived. Some students were carrying cappuccinos, some were chewing gum, all were talking very loudly. The church sounded like a gymnasium.
And this is the problem. It is not as if some other people are dogs or swine. We are the dogs. We are the swine. Every time we treat holy things and holy places as if they were normal things and normal places, we are being swine. Human beings do not talk or eat or drink in church. Piety is the feeling, like fear, which makes us human. Piety is one of the gifts of the Holy Spirit. We must teach our children piety. We must constantly pray for the gift of piety for ourselves.
“I should like church infinitely more,” think the dogs and swine, “if we carried on in a different manner. It would surely be much more fun if conversation instead of praying made the order of Mass.” More fun, I dare say, but it would not be near so much like a church.
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