Mark 10:45

Category: Homily

  • Salt and Light

    Salt and Light

    Sunday of the 5th Week in Ordinary Time

    Isaiah 58:7-10; Matthew 5:13-16

    When I was an altar boy, the lady who watered the plants on the altar complained that the flowers were dying no matter what she did. Father asked if maybe she was over-watering them. She said no; in fact, over the last two weeks she had even started pouring holy water into the soil, but the flowers only got worse. Father looked at her and said, “Please don’t do that. When we bless the water, we put salt in it.”

    Of course, she wouldn’t have seen that. That’s kind of the point of salt; it disappears into other things, changes how they taste or act. As our Lord was implying, we don’t focus on the salt but on the things it’s used in. The same with light; we don’t think about the light itself, but on what it allows us to see or do.

    This brought up two questions in my mind. The first one I asked myself. Who in my life has been salt and light? That is, who has shown me what it means to be the person Jesus talked about last time when he spoke of the beatitudes?

    Several people: My father, who worked without complaint as many hours as he could, as many jobs as he needed, to provide his kids with the Catholic education he never had; blessed are the meek. My mother, who brought her own elderly mother and her disabled brother home to live with us; blessed are the merciful. My wife, who took in an abused, injured baby long after her own children were grown, cut her work hours, and poured her life into getting him the services and therapies he needed; blessed are the single-hearted. My best friend, now deceased, who received an early diagnosis of Alzheimer’s yet, when he grieved, did so not for himself but for his wife and children; blessed are those who mourn. And the nun who appeared at our house one day and fed my family with food and good cheer in a time of pain and crisis; blessed are those who hunger.

    If I had said to any of these people, “You know, you really have been the salt of the earth and light of the world for me,” they wouldn’t have known what I was talking about. In fact, I did write a letter to Sister and tell her. She wrote back to me that, if I wanted to see people who had really done something, I should meet the nuns she now lived with; they had built schools, raised money, founded orders. She said, “I have done almost nothing.” The others would’ve said something similar: “What do you think I am, some theologian? I don’t have any great words of wisdom to teach anybody. I’m still working it all out myself!” But God knows what they had forgotten, what we heard from St. Paul: My faith didn’t depend on their wisdom, but on the power of the Holy Spirit working through them. I didn’t need those people to be great theologians, spiritual counselors, or anything else that they weren’t; I needed them to be who God made them to be; to use the talents and abilities he’d already given them. Jesus didn’t say in the gospel that we will be the light of the world or the salt of the earth; he said that we are.

    That brings up the second question: Am I actually being salt and light? Wait; didn’t I just quote Jesus saying that we already are? Yes, but he also said that salt can lose its taste, and light can be hidden. In other words, salt and light don’t have a will or an agenda, they just do what they do. We, on the other hand, can be pretty easily tempted to look for ways to draw attention to ourselves, to show what great and holy people we are. Pretty soon – in fact, on Ash Wednesday, coming up – we’re going to hear Jesus talk about that, and it’s pretty much like dumping salt water into flower pots: He’s going to advise us, in his own way, don’t do that. We have to will to be salt and light for the world, and then do so for the benefit of others.

    OK, how? Well, that depends on our own situation, but in general the outline was given in the first reading. For example, Isaiah urged us to share our bread with the hungry. Is it really that simple – just hand out food to hungry people? Maybe; if you’ve ever been to the food pantry, you know there are a lot of hungry people. But remember too that there are all kinds of hunger: Some for food; others, for someone to listen to them; still others, someone to visit them. The same for shelter, clothing, and all the rest; the list goes on and on. It can be overwhelming, which leads to discouragement, so take the advice of St. Teresa of Calcutta: “If you can’t feed a hundred people, then feed just one.”

    In other words, start somewhere. But start; that’s the point. The salt isn’t getting any fresher, the light any brighter, until we put our will, our humility, and our back into it. Then, there is no limit to what salt and light can do; not for our benefit, but, as our Lord said, that others may may see our good deeds and glorify our heavenly Father.

  • Crowd or Disciple?

    Crowd or Disciple?

    The 4th Sunday in Ordinary Time

    Zephaniah 2:3; 3:12-13; 1 Corinthians 1:26-31; Matthew 5:1-12a

    The day finally arrived. After 21 years in school, I made it; the first day of the last class I’d ever have to take. I was excited, but also nervous. I heard this teacher was tough; my friends advised me to wait another year, hoping he’d retire, but I wanted it over with. What was one more tough teacher?

    It took just one class period to rethink that. The first thing this guy did on the first day was hand out the final exam, a series of questions due back in three months. Looking at them made me even more nervous. They didn’t look hard… they looked impossible.

    As always happens, some people dropped. We who decided to stick it out divided up the questions and worked on them. Although I made progress, it became clear that if I was going to give decent answers, I had to go to class and really engage with this teacher.

    That’s where my world lit up. From our first conversation, I could see that psychology wasn’t just a subject to this man; it was his life, his passion, and he wanted us to share it, to love it like he did. In the end, the real importance of giving us those questions was to draw us into conversations with him, to give the benefit of his experience and insight to us, the next generation of psychologists and teachers, so we could better understand and in turn pass on the most important issues in that field to our own future students.

    That is an example of the same purpose our Lord Jesus Christ had when he began his class, the Sermon on the Mount, with his own idea of a final: The beatitudes. Who could blame anyone for finding those hard to understand? We’re blessed to have nothing, to say nothing, and to mourn loved ones? Rejoice when we’re being persecuted? Those don’t seem hard, they seem impossible.

    Of course, they aren’t, but they do require effort. The worst thing we can do is look at them and rule them out as impossible. That’s what St. Paul meant when he mentioned being wise by human standards. No; real wisdom begins with the attitude spoken of by the prophet Zephaniah, the honesty and humility to say, “I don’t understand these,” and the perseverance to say, “But with help, I will.”

    It is virtues like these that set people apart, make them holy. In the first reading we heard about a remnant, a smaller group that emerges from a larger one; people distinguished by their humility and thirst for justice, and rewarded with peace. And we see a shade of it in the gospel, where Matthew begins: When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain, and… his disciples came to him. So, a large group sees Jesus, a smaller group follows him. The difference? The remnant makes an effort to do it. Each of us has to ask, which am I: Crowd or disciple? Am I satisfied simply hearing about him, or am I committed to following him? We only know that by looking inside ourselves. When and where do I already come to him? Are there circumstances where I will not come to him?

    And what does that mean, to come to him? If I ask God questions, will he answer them? Yes! It is said that when we pray, we talk to God; when we read Scripture, God talks to us. The answers may not be clear, we might have to make an effort to understand, but we have centuries’ worth of resources: Notes on every page of the bible, books by such brilliant thinkers as Benedict XVI. In our own parish, we have priests and deacons who have been trained to help you understand where and how God is moving and speaking in your life.

    This is where your world can light up, too. Studying the beatitudes this way leads us to contemplation, where we learn these aren’t just some nice, pious thoughts to live by; they are a portrait of Christ. Poverty of spirit; who is more humble than he who emptied himself and took the form of a slave? Who has mourned more than he, who wept over Jerusalem? Who is meeker or gentler than the Lamb of God, led to slaughter without a word? Who seeks righteousness more than he who looked upon mankind from the cross and said, “I thirst”? Who was ever more merciful than he who said, “Father, forgive them, they know not what they do,” or more pure of heart than he whose heart was pierced for love of us? These are the kind of meditations that bring us closer to the heart of Jesus, and lead us to see that even on that mount of the beatitudes, our Lord had another mountain in mind; the one he had come to climb for the salvation of the world.

    This is just one example. All of Scripture is open to you; God is there, waiting for you to come to him as the disciples did on that mountain, to be drawn into conversation, gain the insight he has in store, so that you can better understand and in turn pass on all that you have learned, so that others may come to know and love him as you do.

  • Lessons from Sickness

    Lessons from Sickness

    Saturday of the 1st Week in Ordinary Time

    Hebrews 4:12-16; Mark 2:13-17

    Like you, I’ve learned over the years that sickness can be a great teacher.

    The first thing sickness has taught me is that you don’t have to feel sick to be sick. I think Matthew would agree. My guess is that he felt just fine sitting at the customs post. It’s hard to say why; as a tax collector, Matthew was among the most notorious sinners. Maybe he had grown used to it. Sin can be that way; we might feel uncomfortable at first, but if we persist in sin we grow used to it, to the point that we are willing to rationalize it rather than see ourselves the way we really are.

    But no ordinary man was passing by that day; it was, as Hebrews said, the One from whom nothing is concealed, and to whom all must render an account. Of course, Matthew knowingly rendered nothing, and the encounter may not have seemed like much: A passing glance and the words, Follow me. But Jesus didn’t need many words, for from him they are sharper than any two-edged sword, able to discern reflections and thoughts of the heart. And they had an effect; as Scripture says, Matthew got up and followed Jesus. We shouldn’t pass too quickly over that, for the word Mark uses to describe Matthew rising from his post is a variation of the word he will use to describe Jesus rising from the dead. Matthew, spiritually as good as dead, experienced a very real kind of resurrection. He had a new lease on life that only God can give.

    That brings me to another thing sickness has taught me: There’s nothing like the joy of knowing that you are healed. Again, I think Matthew would agree. Look at his reaction; if he was worried that people would hold his past against him, or that he was leaving a really well-paying job for an uncertain future, he didn’t show it. All that seemed to matter to him was that he call his friends together and celebrate; share his joy. I think many of us can identify with him. Think of that moment in Confession when you’ve heard those words, “I absolve you…” It can feel like a sixteen-ton weight has been lifted from your shoulders! No wonder he wanted to celebrate. And consider the impact this healing had on him, the gospel that bears his name; the millions of people he has helped bring to Christ, the countless souls whose faith he has helped strengthen.

    Therein lies the lesson. Christ calls us to follow him not only that we may have life ourselves, but that we may give life to others. How do we do that? By using the gifts we’ve been given. Perhaps you are an exceptionally generous or welcoming person, a good teacher or organizer; maybe you’re good at helping people, consoling them, or encouraging them to stay strong in the faith. There are many gifts; I can provide you with lists if you’re interested. Whatever the gift, the important thing is not having it, but sharing it. When you do that, three things happen. First, you give glory to God who gave those gifts to you; second, you strengthen your own faith; third, you experience the joy of watching the faith of others come to life through you.

    That brings me to another thing sickness has taught me: We have to do what we can to stay well. The first thing, one I resisted for years, is making regular trips to the doctor. I know in Matthew’s case the doctor came to him, but remember that Christ comes to us, too; most perfectly here at holy Mass, but no less in any of the Sacraments, even those devoted to healing. So, meet him there. He’s waiting to heal us, we just have to let him. It can be frightening, but don’t let it; as the author of the Letter to the Hebrews reminds us, remember the sympathy and the mercy of Christ. He understands our weakness perfectly; he too has been tested.

    And that’s the final thing sickness has taught me: No one gets better alone. Matthew was called alone, but he didn’t follow alone; there were many disciples. In fact, of all the evangelists, only in Matthew’s gospel does Jesus use the word, church. Thus, as Christ himself established it, our encounter with God must go through other people. This tells us at least two things. First, we need each other. Most particularly, the Church, this parish, these people, need you; they need the gifts that God has given you. And you need them, for they have gifts that make you stronger, too. Second, it tells us what the scribes in the gospel could never understand; that the mercy of God is so powerful that people can be called holy even though they are sinners, and can remain one body even though they are so often bitterly divided. As the old saying goes, the church isn’t a shrine for saints; it’s a hospital for sinners.

    Thank God.

  • Getting Out More Than We Put In

    Getting Out More Than We Put In

    The 7th Day in the Octave of Christmas

    1 John 2:18-21; John 1:1-18

    You don’t have to know the second law of thermodynamics to know that everything put together tends to fall apart. Anyone who has owned a house or car knows very well the time and effort it takes to keep them in good condition. The same is true for our relationships; we tend to get out of them just about what we put in.

    Thank God that isn’t true on the divine side; as John reminded us in today’s gospel, God has put everything into his relationship with us, to the point of taking flesh and dwelling among us. Not only that, as John also said, He pours grace upon grace on us, infinitely; for we never get a part of God, we always get everything.

    So, why is it, in the presence of this infinite grace, that even by the time John wrote his first letter, we are hearing about antichrists and disunity within the nascent Church?

    John gives us a clue to the answer when he says that to those who did accept him he gave power to become children of God (John 1:12). There it is: acceptance. Even infinite grace does no good unless it is accepted; the light of Christ must be chosen. And that is precisely the problem, as Christ himself says later in this same gospel: … this is the verdict, that the light came into the world, but people preferred darkness (John 3:19).

    But wait, we might think, I don’t prefer darkness. I love Christ; aren’t I in the light? This is exactly the question the Evangelist wants us to ask! Perhaps you’ve noticed that John uses terms that sound a lot like a court room: testimony; testify; witness; verdict. That’s because his gospel is a trial; only, Christ is the judge, we are the defendants, and the question before the court is: Do we love him and are we committed to following him?

    We might answer as before: Yes, I love Christ and am committed to following him. But then, God is the judge, commitment is what he says it is, and, as the gospel shows, he sees commitment as total. By entering our world, taking human flesh, lifting it up on the cross, and drawing all people to himself, he showed love and commitment to the death and beyond. Thankfully, our Lord in his infinite mercy knows this is a standard we can never reach, so he doesn’t ask that; he asks only that we accept the truth about him and remain in unity with him.

    That sounds easy, but as John knew in the early Church, it’s not. We know from our own experience, too: It’s far easier to accept what I understand, agree with, or what fits into my existing beliefs. But this attitude betrays a lack of faith; I don’t believe God, I believe myself. The result? What John saw: Lack of commitment, disunity, and discord.

    Let us use this last day of the calendar year to do two things. First, look back and make an honest assessment; ask yourself, “Have I put in the time and effort it takes to have a good, healthy relationship with Almighty God?” In those places where I’m lacking, let me use the example of Christ, who loved as God loves. How do I do that? First, by developing more empathy for people. What are their struggles? What does life look like through their eyes? Second, by being concerned about them. When I ask how they are, do I really mean it? Third, by caring for them. Their life matters to God, so it matters to me. What can I do to help them? Finally, by self-sacrifice; committing to do whatever it is that needs to be done. All these Jesus did; his actions are our model.

    Second, let us look forward and resolve to make sure that our commitment to Christ is total; to remember, as St. Therese once said, “You cannot be half a saint. You must be a whole saint or no saint at all.” While hearing this might tempt us to think that there are saints and then there are the rest of us, nothing could be further from the truth. Salvation for all humankind rests on the fact that God measures us not by our success but by our faithfulness. Commitment does not require perfection, it requires perseverance; therefore, let us ask the Holy Spirit to strengthen our resolve to answer by the witness of our lives the deepest question Christ asks: “Who did you say that I am?”

  • Expect the Unexpected

    Expect the Unexpected

    Friday of the 4th Week of Advent

    Malachi 3:1-4, 23-24; Luke 1:57-66

    Today’s story from St. Luke is like a parable: On the surface, it tells the story of the birth and naming of John the Baptist. But there is a deeper level, which teaches us about the action of God in the lives of his people, including us.

    Like most parables, it works best if we put ourselves into the story. Since Luke gives such a prominent role to the relatives and neighbors of Zechariah and Elizabeth, let’s look at it from their point of view. When we do that, we see some pretty big surprises.

    The first is that Elizabeth was even pregnant. No one seemed to know! Note how Luke is careful of the order: First she gives birth, then the relatives and neighbors hear about the baby. Of course, they rejoice, and we sympathize; we all know how it feels to hear good news of a prayer being answered in the way we hoped – especially such a big way!

    Then comes the surprise that starts an argument. Without asking, the relatives and neighbors assume the baby will have his father’s name. When Elizabeth objects, they get argumentative, almost dismissive, and appeal to Zechariah. When he confirms the name “John,” they give in but are clearly perplexed about this unexpected break with tradition.

    Finally, the biggest surprise: Zechariah is healed. While Luke describes their reaction as “fear,” the implication in the original language is that it has begun to dawn on the friends and relatives that God is behind all this.

    It is this realization that brings us to the deeper meanings of the story. I see at least three.

    First, God works in unexpected ways. A woman beyond childbearing age, bearing a child; the obvious name for the baby not chosen; his father, after confirming the name, suddenly able to hear and speak again. All unexpected, but at the same time, not surprising. As we see throughout Scripture, God works in ways we don’t expect and through those who appear least likely. The lesson is clear: God has a plan in need of no revision, chooses who he wills to accomplish it, and provides the grace necessary. All he asks is that we do our part. So, the question is: Do I submit my will totally to God and his plan for me, no matter how difficult or humbling, and do I ask for the grace to do it?

    Second, if divine revelation seems sudden, that’s because we haven’t been paying close attention. Scripture tells us time and again that God is always close, always active, and intimately involved in every aspect of our existence. The problem is, as the relatives and neighbors demonstrate, we tend to drift into uninvolvement. They didn’t even know that Elizabeth was pregnant, let alone that she had the baby. Why? Perhaps for the same reason that we lose touch with people: Neglect, either intentional or unintentional. Again, we need to ask ourselves: Have we allowed relationships to drift, carried grudges and allowed them to persist, or wait for others to make the first move?

    Then there is the story’s most important lesson: That everything in life, expected or not, points to Christ. This is summarized most perfectly in John’s own name, chosen for him by the Holy Spirit, for “John” means, “God is gracious.” To John, Christ Jesus, the source of all grace, was everything. He knew, as St. Therese of Lisieux once said, that “everything is a grace, everything is the direct effect of our Father’s love – difficulties, contradictions, humiliations, all the soul’s miseries, her burdens, her needs – everything, because through them, she learns humility, realizes her weakness. Everything is a grace because everything is God’s gift. Whatever be the character of life or its unexpected events – to the heart that loves, all is well.”

  • Read the Label

    Read the Label

    Saturday of the 2nd Week of Advent

    Sirach48:1-4, 9-11; Luke 3:6; Matthew 17:9a, 10-13

    I came across a product I needed at the store and grabbed it. I paid no attention to the label, but when I got home, wondered how I missed it. It was large, bright red, and warned in bold letters: “Failure! This product is only effective if you read the instructions thoroughly. Failure to do so will result in you moaning and groaning that the product doesn’t work and generally being a pain in the bottom. Make a positive change in your life will you, and read the instructions.” The thing is, I didn’t read them. I started using the product, complained to myself that it wasn’t working right, then realized: Oh yeah… the LABEL. Reading the instructions fixed the problem.

    If our Lord was the product, John the Baptist was certainly the big, red label. How could you miss him? Wearing camel hair, baptizing, preaching, eating locusts… not the kind of man you’re going to miss. As we know, they didn’t; to the contrary, people went out in droves. Yet, our Lord refers to John as Elijah who had come but was not recognized (Matthew 17:12). How could a prophet who was so clearly seen and heard go unrecognized, and what does that tell us about ourselves? A couple of things, I think.

    For one thing, it says that appearances matter; maybe too much for our own good. Like I did with the label, people may have focused on John’s appearance rather than his message; were amused, offended, or entertained, where they were supposed to be challenged and enlightened. Or, perhaps John didn’t conform to their expectations of what a prophet should look like. The last anyone had seen him, Elijah was riding a fiery chariot to heaven (Sirach 48:9). John, standing in the river, baptizing, preaching, and snacking on locusts – this was how the awesome prophet Elijah returned?

    It’s not all that different in our own time. We sometimes judge our liturgies – their words or music – by how much they divert or entertain us, rather than how much they challenge us or help us to contemplate the divine mysteries. We also tend to ignore or discount anyone or anything that doesn’t fit our preconceived notions about what divine revelation is “supposed” to look like. We do well to remember that God often reveals himself in ways we least expect. Consider: Was it the earthquake, fire, or strong, driving wind that spoke to Elijah, or the still, small voice? Was it the son of Herod or the Son of Mary who opened the gates of Heaven?

    A second problem happens when we get the message but find it hard to accept. Herod is a good example. Scripture says that John both intrigued and troubled him (Mark 6:20); the truth drew him in, but it also made him look at himself in a way he didn’t want to. In the end, his pride won out; it was easier to silence the voice than to heed it. Again, are we all that different? The truths of Scripture and the teachings of the Church speak to us, but they can also cut right to the heart and make us very uncomfortable. It’s tempting to want to take those truths and, like Herod with John, do to them whatever we please.

    Therein lies the real problem, as Jesus points out in the gospel: What we do to the prophets, we do to him. It is true, as the acclamation said, that all flesh shall see the salvation of God (Luke 3:6), but it is also true that seeing and recognizing are two very different things. Every time we see revelation only where and how we want to see it, we limit the ability of the Holy Spirit to work within us, for it is He who helps us recognize the truth about God and ourselves. That is the ultimate failure. Eternal life is the product, God has written the way to it through his Church, and prophets like John the Baptist are the label, telling us as loudly and as clearly as they can: Make a positive change in your life, will you, and read the instructions.

  • Seeing Joy

    Seeing Joy

    Saturday of the 33rd Week in Ordinary Time

    Revelation 11:4-12; Luke 20:27-40

    While I’m not a fan of most internet videos I come across, some are genuinely moving. One of my favorites is about a young man who is given a pair of glasses by his friends. They look like sunglasses, but are designed to correct colorblindness. His reaction after putting them on is priceless; seeing the depth, variation, and vibrance of the colors that have surrounded him his entire life, the man is overwhelmed and weeps for joy.

    Today’s readings teach us that what that young man’s friends did for him, God does for us. He always has the perfect prescription for our spiritual vision.

    Sometimes we lack the “depth perception.” God speaks and we see only the surface meaning; its depth eludes us. Take the Sadducees in today’s gospel, for example. They believed that what God revealed to Moses was all He had to say; since Moses said nothing about resurrection or eternal life, God said nothing about it. This is why Jesus took them back to that first encounter between God and Moses, to those words, I am the God… of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob (Exodus 3:6). By calling Him the God of the living, Jesus reveals the deeper meaning: To God and His children, there is no past, only present: I am, not I was. All are alive in Him.

    For the Sadducees, and everyone of that time, this would have been a quantum leap in understanding. Not so for us; indeed, the Communion of the Church on Heaven and Earth is a fundamental part of the faith. At every Mass, we take time to remember all three groups; we ask for healing for those on earth, mercy for those being purified, and the intercession of the saints who have entered heavenly glory.

    We may not suffer that particular depth perception problem, but we have enough of our own. For example, we all come across passages of Scripture or teachings of the Church that are hard to understand. (If that has never been true of you, then I challenge you to re-read the passage from Revelation we just heard.) The question is what we do when that happens. Do we stop asking questions, as the Sadducees and others did to Jesus?

    I propose that God wants just the opposite; He wants us to ask questions about things that challenge us, and to persevere in our search for answers. It might take a while and definitely takes patience and effort on our part, but He has guaranteed that answers will come. Christ himself said it: … everyone who asks, receives; and the one who seeks, finds (Luke 11:10).

    Of course, he never guaranteed that we’ll like what we find, but that brings up another spiritual vision problem: shortsightedness. We can get so caught up in the details and problems of daily life that we lose sight of what we’re doing it all for. No wonder people despair or lose heart! But I think that’s why we have the reading from Revelation, to remind us that, although life can be full of bitter struggles and certainly ends in death, that’s not really the end: there is the glory of resurrection and the joy of eternal life. This is a lens through which God restores our ability to see the big picture; what matters to Him isn’t how we begin but how we end, and not who we conquer but who we trust in.

    The joy of the colorblind man, as he first sees the world in living color, is infectious; it’s easy to shed a tear of joy watching him. That’s because joy is infectious. And the good news is that joy is all around us, because the opportunities are all around us to see the living God as if for the first time. Where? In Scripture, for every word is a chance to see God in a new and deeper way. In daily life, for every moment, in joy or sorrow, He is there, strengthening us and reminding us of the peace and glory that awaits. In every person we meet, for each one is created in His image and is waiting to be discovered; and in every encounter with the Blessed Sacrament, for each is a chance to come closer and closer to the deep and abiding presence of God, who is Joy itself.

  • Small Matters Matter

    Small Matters Matter

    Saturday of the 31st Week in Ordinary Time

    Philippians 4:10-19; Luke 16:9-15

    Of all the people St. Paul dealt with over the years, the Christians at Philippi were among the most dear to him. As we look at the letter he wrote to them, we understand why; they took care of him, did things to let him know how much they appreciated him.

    What kind of things? First, they prayed for him. This meant so much to St. Paul that he began his letter by thanking them for it. He knew its power, and was grateful for every prayer he could get. Second, they visited him. He referred to one man by name who came to see him, Epaphroditus. Third, they sent him whatever financial gifts they could, not just once but repeatedly (4:16), in part to try and relieve his suffering in prison. In their great love for him, the Philippians probably looked at all these things as small matters, regardless how difficult. That we cannot know. What we do know is that they were trustworthy, and that made them great matters to St. Paul.

    It makes them great to God as well. We heard Jesus speak of such trustworthiness in the gospel. Twice he said it: If we can’t be trusted with very small matters, then we can’t be trusted with greater. In other words, small matters matter.

    Take prayer, for example. Saying a prayer for someone may seem like a small matter. It isn’t small to God; he is constantly exhorting us to pray. It isn’t small to the one asking for the prayers, either; to them, it’s one of the greatest things we can do. Maybe they’re having surgery, or their child is sick, or they’ve lost their job and can’t find another. Whatever the reason, taking a moment to lift them up in prayer isn’t much to ask, but its effects are life-changing.

    As you are very well aware, it’s no small matter to do what Epaphroditus did – visit someone in prison. If that’s not for you, remember that there are all kinds prisons. Think of the people in nursing homes, hospitals, or confined to their home due to illness. How much it would mean to them to see your face and receive Holy Communion! There are also people who need someone to talk to, someone who will listen, like the Philippians did when they shared in St. Paul’s distress (4:14). These kinds of outreach are a small matter in terms of time, but what greater thing is there than to bring Christ, or be Christ, to those who otherwise would go without?

    As for charity, we may not have much more money to give, but remember the dishonest steward we heard about yesterday. Jesus didn’t commend the steward because he was honest; he commended him because he was bright and used his wits to secure his future. God asks us to do the same. If charity doesn’t mean more money, then we have to use our ingenuity and find other ways to give. Consider, for example, the corporal works of mercy. We already mentioned visiting the sick and those in prison, but there is feeding the hungry; that could be anything from actually making meals to helping at a food pantry. Giving drink to the thirsty could be donating bottled water to family shelters or conserving water in our home; sheltering the homeless, anything from making warm blankets for shelters to actually opening your home to provide shelter; and burying the dead, anything from praying for those who have died to being a compassionate listener in the bereavement ministry.

    Whatever ways you find to give, remember these three things:

    1. God is asking us to put our minds to work, then find ways to put ourselves behind it;
    2. God is not asking for great things, but for little things done with great love; and
    3. Even though we already give, sometimes it seems to the breaking point, we have St. Paul’s words to the Philippians, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me (Philippians 4:13).

  • The Great Reversal

    The Great Reversal

    Saturday of the 30th Week in Ordinary Time

    Philippians 1:18b-26; Luke 14:1, 7-11

    The famous evangelist Billy Graham dreamed that he died and went to Heaven. As he was escorted in, saints and angels cheered, congratulated him, and said to each other, “At last! Here he is! Here he is!” When our Lord greeted him, He said, “Yes, here he is, the man we have all been waiting for: Ruth Graham’s husband!”

    Beyond the humor, Graham was touching on a theme that runs throughout the gospel of Luke. Theologians call it, “the Great Reversal.” We hear it in verses like, He has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty-handed (Luke 1:53); Blessed are you who are poor… woe to you who are rich (Luke 6:20,24); (Lazarus) is comforted here, whereas you are tormented (Luke 16:25); and today’s: everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted (Luke 14:11).

    If this sounds less like reversal and more like divine justice, it’s for good reason. There is an element of justice to it. In his merciful love, God gives abundantly to those who have been denied, and will deny those who, of their own free will, have refused to show that same kind of love and mercy to others.

    But there is more to it. The Great Reversal isn’t a reversal of fortunes, it’s a reversal of expectations. In his dream, Billy Graham ended up in heaven, just not for the reason he expected. Like him, we are tempted to look at “everything we’ve done for God” and, perhaps even unconsciously, expect something in return. Of course, the fact is that God owes us nothing, whereas we owe Him a debt we can never repay. The lesson is that, if we have any real expectation or hope at all, it should be the one St. Paul spoke of: thatChrist will be magnified in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me life is Christ, and death is gain (Philippians 1:20).

    We can’t get to that point without being like Christ, we can’t be like Christ without humility, and we don’t have humility until we take an honest look at the gifts we’ve been given, remember who gave them to us, and ask ourselves what we’re doing with them. What gifts? Well, think about riches. If we’re not rich in money, then what about time, talent, or knowledge? Whatever it is, Jesus wants us to ask ourselves, “Do I thank God for it?” and “What would the world look like if I gave some of it away?” Again, think of St. Paul. Rich in love for Christ, he wanted only to be with him; as we heard, he was ready to die to do it. Nevertheless, he saw the need to serve the Church, to preach the gospel and encourage her members in the faith. In his humility, he let his guiding concern be not how he could satisfy himself, but how he could be of benefit to others.

    Humility is a demanding gift, but a great one for that reason. It’s asking a lot to be given the riches of life but not become attached to them, to take pride in ourselves and our abilities without becoming proud, and to give all we can purely out of love for God, expecting nothing in return. But as we try more and more, we see more and more the reversal taking place in ourselves; that true poverty is having gifts but not sharing them, true torment is refusing the consolation of Truth, and that true pride is expecting God to honor us for whatever we’ve done.

    The irony is that God does honor us; indeed, He is never outdone in generosity. We are invited guests to the greatest wedding banquet ever prepared – the feast of Christ’s Body and Blood. All we need bring with us is the hope and eager expectation of hearing him say to us when we come to his table, ‘My friend, move up to a higher position’ (Luke 14:10).

  • A Matter of Time

    A Matter of Time

    Saturday of the 29th Week in Ordinary Time

    Ephesians 4:7-16; Luke 13:1-9

    Today’s gospel reading is the only time that Jesus comments on current events. There are many things he might have said about Pilate’s murderous rage against worshipers, or the tragic accident that took eighteen lives in Siloam. But look what he did say: if you do not repent, you will all perish as they did (Luke 13:3,5)! Why?

    Let me answer that question with a question: If you knew that today was your last day, what would you do? Well, Mass is a good start. After that, Confession. Then there are people to talk to: differences to iron out, wrongs to forgive, forgiveness to beg, fences to mend. And there are things you will not do: the internet, the usual line-up of TV or radio shows. In other words, you will make every moment count.

    When we compare that to life as normal, it’s easy to see how much we take time for granted. Confession? Next time; the line is too long. Fixing broken relationships? Some other time; I’m not ready. TV? The internet? Oh, there’s a lot of time to spend on those!

    This is why our Lord said what he did. As time passes and our lives go on, we lose the sense of immediacy in his call, and we risk squandering the grace he gives us in the here-and-now. We can feel his frustration in the parable; all that time and energy spent giving the fig tree everything it needed, and what was the result? It was content to take everything and give nothing in return. No wonder the owner called for its death.

    And that’s why Jesus chose the moment he did. Nothing brings home the importance of lost time more than sudden death. We think of the victims: What wouldn’t they give for just one more day with family and friends! From our own experience, we know that when we mourn the death of someone, we reminisce about the time we spent with them. What seemed like ordinary times then become treasured memories now, and there is no sorrow like that of knowing there were things we might have said to them or done with them that we never found the time for. We have to live with that loss the rest of our lives.

    And that brings us where Jesus really wants us to be: Thinking about our own lives. He knows very well that, when our final moment comes, nothing is going to matter except how we spent the time he gave us. Like the fig tree in the garden, we’ve been given everything we need to grow in every way (Ephesians 4:15): time, grace, the Church, and the virtues, to name a few. The question is, what fruit will he find? How are we building up other people? Are we growing in gifts like wisdom, knowledge, understanding, or piety? Do we see in ourselves the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23)?

    These are what our time is best spent on. From that perspective, how precious those moments in the Confession line, how priceless the time spent mending broken relationships, and how inconsequential all those hours in front of the TV or computer screen.

    Of course, by the mercy of God, today is most likely not our final day, and God does not demand that every second be lived as if it is actually our last. However, he does want us to treat every moment as the gift that it is, to remember that only by the grace of God do we draw our next breath, and that what ultimately matters isn’t how much time we have been given, but what we do with that time.