Author: patcamerino

Have you ever stopped to think how ridiculous mathematics is? Perhaps with the beginning of a new school year and with all of the kids struggling with math, I shouldn’t ask such a question, but I bet some of you have wondered from time to time about it. Let me give you an example. How much is one plus one? Two, right? And how much is one times one? Of course, the answer is “one.” But why? Are there different kinds of “one?” Are there different “ones” when you add them together than when you multiply them? And for the rest of you, who aren’t bothered by such questions, you’re probably asking yourself: what’s he up to now? What does the number “one” have to do with today’s readings?

Well, the focus for today’s reflection is on “oneness.” We all seem to have an interest in “oneness.” Maybe, it’s part of being human. After all, we began our lives in absolute “oneness.” The study of biology teaches us we each began as one fertilized cell which divided to become two. The two divided to become four, the four, eight, and so on. We know, in the beginning of our life, we were “one” with our mother, our life in the womb was totally dependent upon her.

Developmentalists speak about how at birth, and in the days and weeks afterwards, we believe we are still one with our mother and with the universe we know. As we grow, we learn, much to our sorrow, we are separate. The mother who nourishes me, comforts me, protects me, is someone other than me, myself. Psychologists tell us our task throughout life is to seek what is called “individuation,” becoming my own person, establishing my own uniqueness, my own oneness separate from everyone else. And therein lies part of our problem.

Many of us like to be left “alone,” alone, so I can do my own thing, not be bothered by anyone else, free from the demands of others. Is there a teenager who has not said: “Leave me alone, I can handle it on my own?”

There are times when each of us likes being alone. However, none of us enjoys being “lonely”. And therein, lies the difference. It’s a very confusing difference. I want to be alone, but I don’t want to be lonely. I want to do my own thing, but I want help, too. I want to be in charge, but I want to feel protected.

I want my “oneness”, but I don’t want the kind of “oneness” I have. “And the Lord God said: ‘It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a suitable partner for him.'” So, what did the Lord God do? He took the same ground from which he had formed Adam and made the wild animals of the earth and the birds of the air. And the Lord God transferred his own power over these creatures from himself to this first man.

How did he do this? By allowing Adam, the first man, to name these creatures. For the ancients, naming a thing gave the one who did the naming power over that which was named. Do you remember the opening lines of the Book of Genesis? “Then God said: ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light. God saw how good the light was. God then separated the light from the darkness. God called the light ‘day,’ and the darkness he called ‘night.’” The Book of Genesis then goes on to tell how God called the dome, “the sky”, and the dry land, “the earth”, and the basin of waters, “the sea”. But, in today’s first reading, God allowed Adam to name the wild animals and the birds of the air. By naming them, Adam gained control over these creatures. Adam was no longer alone, yet he was still “lonely”.

What happened next? With the help of God, Adam fell asleep. Adam gave up his control. He was totally at the mercy of the Lord God. And what gift did God bring to him? He brought a part of Adam to new life. He took what was vital to Adam, a rib. A rib that protected his lungs, his very breath, a rib that protected his heart, life itself. And from this “bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh” the Lord God created a true partner for Adam.

And so it was that Jesus, in our gospel reading for today, reminded his listeners, the pharisees who tried to trap him, and his disciples who tried to learn from him, that “in the beginning of creation God made them male and female … and the two shall become as one. They are no longer two but one flesh.” But the Gospel according to Mark doesn’t stop there. For we hear in the next passage, which follows immediately, the story of how: “people were bringing their little children to him to have him touch them, but the disciples were scolding them for his. Jesus became indignant when he noticed it and said to them: ‘Let the children come to me and do not hinder them. It is to just such as these that the Kingdom of God belongs. I assure you that whoever does not accept the Kingdom of God like a little child shall not enter into it.’”

You might think this is a sudden jump in the story line and Mark did a terrible job at editing. But perhaps not. Two weeks ago, we heard a challenging homily from Father Paul about the place of children in the time of Jesus. I certainly cannot improve on what he had to say about children representing the outcasts, the powerless ones. It’s essential to appreciate this about children, in the time of Jesus, in order to understand how the two stories we heard a few minutes ago can be related.

When I hear these stories, I must realize three things. First, I must be willing to give up my own control. Second: I need others for my own survival. And third: I, too, am needed for the survival of others. Let’s look more closely at these three needs.

First of all: to give up my control is difficult. Each of us has what might be called, the “white knight syndrome.” I need to be in charge so I can save the world. I know best what should be done. Everyone has to do it my way. The only way I can establish my “oneness” is for me to control everything and everyone around me. However, I then learn this doesn’t work. I can’t control everything and everyone. The result of my trying does not lead to happiness, to a sense of oneness with others or with the world in which I live. My attempts at individuation have led, instead, to alienation. I am lonely in my aloneness.

But what happens when I slowly recognize I, too, must be child-like? Consider for a moment the good things about truly being a child. Before the world re-trains the child, is there anyone more innocent? A child seems to have an innate sense of trust. A child lives for today and does not worry about tomorrow. A child loves openly and holds no grudges. A child truly is able to forget and forgive. Is it any wonder Jesus said: “Whoever does not accept the Kingdom of God like a little child shall not enter into it.”

When I give up my control, when God helps me to fall asleep in his arms, like a little child, I can be awakened to his gifts. However, a child needs others for survival. Children cannot do everything for themselves. A child needs protection, the protection offered by a family: parents, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles and cousins, the extended family of relatives and friends.

When I, too, am a child, I recognize my need for others, for my community. It is than that my “oneness” joins with the “oneness” of others and community is born. In this process, I must, also, recognize I am part of the community for others. Just as you make up my community, I am part of yours.

Isn’t it strange how each of us comes from a “oneness” with the mother who carried us within her? How we strive to form our own individual “oneness” to separate us from each other? Yet, how we yearn for the “oneness” found in a community of friends and relations? And along the way we suffer. We suffer and ache in our loneliness.

In this suffering, in this lonely journey in which we move from our original “oneness” to a new “oneness,” what are we really seeking? Could it be the touch of God? The Lord God touched Adam and from him took the rib with which he made another part of Adam, himself. Jesus embraced and blessed the children, placing his hands on them. Do you and I seek the touch of Jesus? And if so, how do we feel it?

For some of us, we can feel it within our being, in prayer and reflection. Yet, each of us also wants a God with skin. We need to feel the touch of another human being. To be joined together with someone else.

In our reading from the Letter of Paul we are once more reminded the Christ who consecrates us, who makes us holy, and we, who are consecrated, we who are made holy, have the same Father. We learn Jesus the Christ is not ashamed to call us his brothers and sisters. So, it is that we reach out and touch one another with his sign of peace and together we call him “our Father.”

In our human mathematics, when one and one are different things, “one plus one makes two”. But when one and one are identical, they can be multiplied and still remain as one. Perhaps, we need a touch of the divine mathematics to truly understand what Jesus meant when he prayed: “that all may be one – as you, Father, are in me, and I in you – I pray that they may be one in us.”

^{Twenty-seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 6, 1991
Gen 2:1-24; Heb 2:9-11; Mk 10:2-16}

(The first part of this homily of 2012 is identical to the one given in 1991 as “Oneness.” The ending changes to reflect this is beginning special seasons, “Respect Life Month” and the beginning of the 2012-13 “Year of Faith.” It might be interesting to note how the same scriptures may reflect differing conclusions!)

Today, I have a mathematical question for you. My question is this: How much is one plus one? Two, right? And how much is one times one? Of course, the answer is “one”. But why? Are there different kinds of “one”? Are there different “ones” when you add them together than when you multiply them? This leads me to the focus for today’s reflection: “oneness”.

We all seem to have a desire for “oneness.” Maybe it’s part of being human. After all, we begin our lives in absolute “oneness.” Biology teaches us we each begin as one, fertilized cell which divides to become two. The two cells divide to become four; the four, eight; and so on. We also know, in the beginning of our life, we were “one” with our mother. Our life in the womb was totally dependent upon her.

Developmentalists speak about how at birth, and in the days and weeks afterwards, we believe we are still one with our mother and with the universe around us. As we grow, we learn, much to our sorrow, we are separate. The mother who nourishes me, comforts me, protects me, is someone other than me, myself. Psychologists tell us our task throughout life is to seek what is called “individuation,” becoming my own person, establishing my own uniqueness, my own oneness separate from everyone else. And that’s when our problems begin.

Many of us like to be left “alone,” alone, so I can do my own thing, not be bothered by anyone else, free from the demands of others. Is there a teenager who has not said: “Leave me alone, I can handle it on my own? As adults, there are times when each of us likes being alone. However, none of us enjoys being “lonely.” In this difference, our problems become even more complicated. I want to be alone, but I don’t want to be lonely. I want to do my own thing, but I want help, too. I want to be in charge, but I want to feel protected.

I want my “oneness,” but I don’t want the kind of “oneness” I have. “[And] the Lord God said: ‘It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a suitable partner for him.'” So, what did the Lord God do? “[He] formed out of the ground various wild animals and various birds of the air, and he brought them to the man …. but none proved to be the suitable partner for the man.”

Yes, Adam was now surrounded by other living creatures and was no longer alone, but he was still lonely. He had not found a “suitable partner.” What happened next? With the help of God, Adam fell asleep. Adam gave up his control. He was totally at the mercy of the Lord God. And what gift did God bring to him? He brought a part of Adam to new life. He took what was vital to Adam, a rib. And from this rib, God created a suitable partner.

Adam immediately recognized he was no longer lonely. He saw this partner was “bone of my bone,” was as strong as he, himself was. He saw this partner was “flesh of my flesh” and was as weak as he, himself, was. For indeed, bone represents strength, and flesh represents weakness. Yes, here was his new partner who was identical to him in both strength and weakness. “[And] that is why a man leaves his father and mother and clings to his wife, and the two of them become one ….”

Many years later, the Pharisees tried to trap Jesus by their questions and show he did not support the commandments of God. They asked him if, according to the Law of Moses, [if] it was lawful for this oneness of husband and wife to be broken. Jesus’ response to them was to quote their scriptures: “… from the beginning of creation, God made them male and female. For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, no human being must separate.”

However, this passage in the Gospel of Mark concludes with what might seem to be a sudden leap to another topic. This passage about the oneness of husband and wife and their permanent union is immediately followed by a story about children – about how Jesus responded when he observed how his disciples were trying to keep children away from him. He reminded them: “Amen, I say to you, whoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it.”

Consider for a moment the good things about being a child. A child seems to have an innate sense of trust. A child lives for today, and does not worry about tomorrow. A child loves openly and holds no grudges. A child is able to forget and forgive. A child is not alone in the universe. A beloved child need not feel lonely. Is it any wonder Jesus said: “Whoever does not accept the Kingdom of God like a little child shall not enter into it.”

Each of us desires the oneness we once felt as a child. The oneness with the parents who loved and protected us. But what happens as we grow older? It’s then each of us seeks to be in control of what is going on around us. And having gained independence, we find it’s difficult to give up our control.

Today, many people say that as an individual, I need to be in charge of my life. I, alone, know what is best for me. Everyone has to do it my way, or it’s the highway. The only way I can establish my “oneness” is for me to control everything and everyone around me. But then, I learn this doesn’t work. I can’t control everything and everyone.

The result of my trying to control my life and the lives of others does not lead to happiness, to a sense of oneness with others or with the world in which I live. But what happens when I slowly recognize I, too, must be child-like? When I begin to trust. When I no longer worry about tomorrow. When I love openly and hold no grudges. When I forget and forgive. When I no longer feel alone in the Universe but exist with the protection and providence of God.

This weekend, with the first Sunday in October, the Church initiates “Respect Life Month” – a time to recall “God is Life” and human life begins in concert with the sacrament of matrimony in which a man and a woman unite in a covenant relationship with one another and with their God. It has been said the sacrament of Matrimony provides a husband and wife an opportunity for their mutual salvation, for their oneness with God. With this sacrament, a husband’s redemption becomes more readily possible because of his partnership with his wife. With this sacrament, a wife’s redemption becomes more readily possible because of her partnership with her husband. To obtain this salvation, to overcome our sense of loneliness, we need the faith to seek a mutual oneness with God and with others.

This Thursday, October 11th, the Catholic Church throughout the world will initiate a “Year of Faith,” a year marking the 50th anniversary of the opening of the Second Vatican Council, and the 20th anniversary of the publication of the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Perhaps, for many of us, this special Year of Faith can rekindle our faith and our oneness in God, in his gathered people, the Church, and in our spouse – not only for this single year, but also, for the rest of our lives.

In our human mathematics, when one and one are different things, “one plus one makes two”. But when one and one are identical, they can be multiplied and still remain as one. Perhaps we need a touch of a divine mathematics to truly understand what Jesus meant when he prayed: “that all may be one – as you, Father, are in me, and I in you – I pray that they may be one in us.”

^{Twenty-seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 7, 2012
Gen 2:1-24; Heb 2:9-11; Mk 10:2-16}

An immediate response might pop into your head for today’s question. On the other hand, you may need to ponder your final answer during the coming days, or weeks. My question is this: what is your most valuable possession? What do you possess that you would be most reluctant to give up? Probably, some material object you own comes directly to mind. Many of you may have already considered my question in terms of the classic one: what would you try to save, if your house caught fire or a category 5 hurricane was approaching Houston?

Some of you might have already faced the problem, if you’ve had to down-size your living arrangements. I admit: it’s not an easy task to undertake. Karen and I had to do it last fall, when we moved from our twenty-three-hundred square-foot house to a twelve-hundred square-foot apartment in a retirement community some thirty miles from Christ the Good Shepherd.

Giving up furniture wasn’t too hard, giving up hundreds of books was very difficult for me. Then there were the wedding dishes I wanted to keep, and Karen saw no need to keep, since one meal a day was now included in our monthly fee, and she did not plan on cooking any more dinners. In case you’re interested, we “compromised” by getting rid of the daily dishes and using the good ones for breakfast and lunch.

Yes, we all have a variety of “things” we want to keep. Things that are valuable in and of themselves, or because they have special meaning in our lives. There are other “possessions,” as well, we might need to give up. Non-material possessions like: power, health, or even (for some) their good looks.

We may need to give them up, to be replaced by an even more important possession. The Hebrews knew about such substitutions: the giving away of certain possessions in order to gain one of higher value. We heard about this exchange in our first reading from the “Book of Wisdom” found in the Old Testament. Since the word for “Wisdom” was feminine, the Hebrews often referred to Wisdom as being a woman. And so, we heard: “I pleaded, and the spirit of wisdom came to me. I preferred her to scepter and throne, and deemed riches nothing in comparison with her … All gold, in view of her, is a little sand, and before her, silver is to be accounted as mire. Beyond health and comeliness I loved her …”

In the minds of early Christians, “Wisdom” was also another name for the Holy Spirit. So, in other words, seeking and obtaining the Holy Spirit of God is worth more than any earthly power. Seeking the Holy Spirit is of more value than seeking gold or silver which become mere sand and mud. Obtaining the Holy Spirit of God is beyond the possession of physical health or earthly appearance.

In today’s gospel reading, a very wealthy man raised a similar question when he asked Jesus: “… what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Perhaps, as with many questions, the wealthy man thought he already knew the answer. He was no doubt pleased with the first response Jesus gave him. “Follow the Ten Commandments,” is basically what Jesus told the man. Follow what Moses taught you. Don’t kill, don’t commit adultery, don’t steal, don’t lie, don’t defraud, honor your parents.

The wealthy man was very pleased with Jesus’ answer. After all, he had been doing just that ever since he was a young boy. He had it made. He had been a good, observant Jew and had followed the Laws of Moses and of Torah. He was assured of “eternal life.” He would be part of the kingdom of God which Jesus had been preaching about. He could go away content and justified.

And since the wealthy man had followed the Laws of Moses, Jesus was pleased with him. In fact, Mark tells us Jesus “loved” the young man. And perhaps, because Jesus loved him and was pleased with the man’s prior way of life, the Teacher added another lesson. He said: “You are lacking in one thing. Go, sell what you have, and give to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”

The wealthy man was obviously devastated. He was told he was “lacking” something. With all his wealth, he no doubt wondered how he, of all people, could be lacking anything. And when he heard Jesus’ additional instruction: “Go, sell what you have, and give to the poor,” the wealthy man was unable to undertake Jesus’ second instruction: “… then come, follow me.” Instead, the wealthy man, recognizing he had many possessions, possessions he was unwilling to give up, [he] went away sad. He was not able to come and follow Jesus on his journey.

And Jesus, turning to his companions on his journey, announced: “How hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” These words startled his followers. Jesus’ observation ran completely counter to accepted Jewish tradition. A tradition which held that those who manifested wealth were blessed and favored by the Lord God. The greater one’s wealth, the more one was seen to be favored by the Lord God. The one with wealth would surely be well on the way to the Kingdom of God.

Jesus, seeing their puzzlement, responded with a vivid image of a camel loaded with goods, as most camels were. This loaded camel would have an easier time squeezing through a very tiny opening, than would a person, loaded with possessions of this world, have trying to enter the kingdom of God.

Now, Jesus’ followers were even more troubled. If someone who had such earthly possessions, which supposedly showed the Lord God’s favor, [if such a person] would have difficulty entering the kingdom of God, how could anybody, at all, be saved? Jesus, the one who the wealthy man had addressed as “good teacher,” then reminded them of a basic lesson: “For human beings it is impossible, but not for God.”

His words reminded his followers, and us, that we, ourselves, do not merit salvation by what we possess. By what we have accomplished. By what we do. We do not gain the kingdom of God through our own efforts. Rather, salvation is a gift of God. It is impossible for human beings to save themselves. We are granted salvation by God.

Our salvation does not depend on how many material possessions we have gathered. Our salvation does not depend on the power we have accumulated, nor how we appear to others. Entering the kingdom of God, in which we now exist and towards which we continue to journey, depends upon giving up our self-valued possessions in order to come to the aid of fellow-travelers, the poor among us, the ones who lack material needs and the power to live out their lives with human dignity.

In our modern Christian age, some tend to preach a so-called “Gospel of Abundance.” A gospel focused on gathering all that rightfully belongs to them as Christians. They ask: “Did Jesus really mean it?” Are we really to help the widow, the orphan, and the alien among us in order to be saved? And they answer “No.” In order to be saved, Jesus brought each and every believer an abundant life.

Yet, there are others who live out a “Gospel of Simplicity.” A gospel focused on relinquishing power over others and over one’s own self. They answer “Yes” to the question: “Did Jesus really mean it?” They live a life, not of giving up, but rather a life of giving all. They respond with a whole-hearted commitment to the journey begun by Jesus. They fully understand the words written by Saint Paul to the Hebrews: “Indeed the word of God is living and effective, sharper than any two-edged sword, penetrating even between soul and spirit, joints and marrow, and able to discern reflections and thoughts of the heart. No creature is concealed from him, but everything is naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must render an account.”

Again, the question is raised: what possessions will you give up before you are called to render your account?

^{Twenty-eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 15, 2006
Wis 7:1-11; Heb 4:12-13; Mk 10:17-27 (short form)}

Have you ever been part of a crowd? Yes, today’s question comes without a warning, so in case you missed it, I’ll ask you again: Have you ever been part of a crowd? The answer for each one of us must be “yes.” We are, right now, here in this place, a crowd of people. For one definition of crowd is: an audience or those in attendance. But there are other kinds of crowds. There are crowds when we go to a football game, except maybe an Oilers game, and there are crowds of shoppers, especially in another few days when the stores take down their Halloween decorations and put up the ones for Christmas.

Karen and I were recently on vacation in London, Paris and Rome. We had our share of crowds of tourists there, even if September is not supposed to be the tourist season. And, yes, we spent a great afternoon with Fr. Brendan who is enjoying Rome very much and is trying to separate his new Italian words from his old, Spanish vocabulary. He’s, also, lost a few pounds, but that’s probably because he has no more farewell parties to go to. Anyway, he’s doing fine.

But back to crowds. We found them in the big cities and in the usual tourist places like Pisa, Florence and Venice. And whether we were in Saint Peter’s Square in Vatican City or in Saint Mark’s Square in Venice, we were constantly warned to be aware of pickpockets. Crowds are like that. They include all sorts of people.

The crowd which followed Jesus as he left Jericho were like that. Some people in that crowd thought of him as a great teacher, a rabbi or, in Aramaic, a rabboni, a title which means “my master.” Others believed he was a wonderworker, who could cure lepers and make the lame walk, the deaf hear and the blind see. Still others saw him as a son of King David and a new leader of Israel. The crowd following Jesus included the wealthy and the poor as well as young men who were zealots and strong of limb. Others were crippled by disease. There were tax-collectors, prostitutes, and beggars.

And there was one who did not follow Jesus, but, rather, sat by the roadside: a blind beggar, who was known merely as the son of Timaeus. A man who had no name or identity of his own, but was known only as Bar-Timaeus, son of Timaeus. A blind man who called out another name, “Son of David.” An unknown man who called out his own desire: “have pity on me.”

If you had been part of the crowd there outside of Jericho that day when blind Bartimaeus called out, what would you have done? Would you have been one of those who scolded him, who told him to shut up, don’t make a scene? Would you have shoved him aside so Jesus would not be disturbed by one more dirty, blind man, so Jesus could walk on, unhindered by the problems of the world, oblivious to those around him?

But Jesus was not oblivious. Above the shouts of the crowd, he heard the call of Bartimaeus, just as so long ago his father had heard the cries of his people in Egypt and sent Moses to lead them. Just as God had heard the cries of the Israelites in Babylon and sent the prophet Jeremiah who proclaimed in our first reading: “Shout with joy … exult … and proclaim your praise … the Lord has delivered his people … I will gather them from the ends of the world … with the blind and the lame in their midst. … They departed in tears, but I will console them and guide them.”

Jesus heard and called to the blind man who had cried out. It was then the fickle crowd changed its tune. Now, they encouraged Bartimaeus to go to Jesus. As they said to the blind man, “You have nothing whatever to fear from him.” However, it appears to me Bartimaeus never feared Jesus in the first place. He had asked for pity from the Son of David. And when he stood in front of Jesus, he called him “my master”, “my esteemed teacher,” “rabboni.” It was then he was healed. Healed because of his faith. Faith in a man he had never seen but who was merely passing by.

As in all of the stories about Jesus, each one of us is encouraged to take an active role, to become part of the story which is not only about what Jesus said and did some two thousand years ago, but is also the story of how Jesus comes to us in our present lives.

Today, we have a choice. We can be part of the crowd which blows with the wind and discourages or encourages others depending upon the general climate or what is proclaimed by an authority figure. Or we can be like Bartimaeus, a person who has grown up without an identity of our own, merely the offspring of past events, but one who now recognizes the presence of the Lord and is able to call out “have pity on me.” Help me to change. Help me to see. Help me to get on with my life in new and different ways. Although crowds of nay-sayers may surround us, each one of us, today, is given the opportunity to call out and to hear the promised response: “Be on your way! Your faith has healed you.”

^{Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 23, 1994
Jer 31: 7-9; Heb 5: 1-6; Mk 10: 46-52}

Every time we watch television we are bombarded by commercial slogans. During this next week as we approach the November 4th election day, we will be swamped by political slogans. So, my question for today is about slogans. But not commercial slogans, nor political ones. Rather, it is about religious slogans. My question is this: What religious slogan do you carry with you right now in your pocket or wallet or purse? That’s right – “In God We Trust.” Those words, “In God We Trust,” are found on every US coin or bill in your possession right now, from a penny up through a hundred-dollar bill. If you don’t believe me, go ahead and look.

“In God We Trust” is what today’s readings are about. Actually, the more common word we heard is “faith” rather than “trust.” But they mean the same thing, really. In English, the word “faith” is only a noun, never a verb. We cannot say we are “to faith” in God. Instead we say we are “to trust” in God. But having faith in God, is to have trust in God. When you trust someone, you stand by the person. You are loyal to that friend. You believe your friend has your best interests at heart. You believe your friend will do you no harm. You believe your friend will be there to help you when you need help. You believe your friend will save you when you need saving.

In today’s readings, we heard stories of faith, of trust. In our first reading from the prophet Jeremiah, we heard him encourage the captive Israelites to have faith. They were being held as hostages in Babylon. But Jeremiah was telling them they were “to shout with joy.” They were to “exult” and “proclaim (their) praise.” He goes on to say, “The lord has delivered his people, the remnant of Israel. Behold, I will bring them back from the land of the north; I will gather them from the ends of the world, with the blind and the lame in their midst, the mothers and those with child; they shall return as an immense throng. They departed in tears, but I will console them and guide them; I will lead them to brooks of water, on a level road, so that none shall stumble.” Yes, Jeremiah was telling his people to trust in the Lord God, who is about to deliver them from captivity. A second Exodus is about to begin. Have faith in the Lord God.

In our gospel reading we heard the story of Jesus meeting with the blind beggar, Bartimaeus, outside of Jericho. Of how Jesus said to him, “Your faith has healed you.” How did Jesus know this blind beggar had faith in him and in the Lord God? How did Bartimaeus show he trusted that Jesus would, indeed, cure his blindness? Well, think for a moment about what Bartimaeus probably had to endure every day of his life. He probably sat there at the gateway leading into the walled city of Jericho. He was a beggar. He held out his hand to all those who entered or left the city. Since the gates were closed at night for protection, most people would enter or leave very early in the morning. So, poor Bartimaeus slept there at the city gate every night, waiting for the gates to be opened and for compassionate people to walk by. And as he slept there, all he had to protect himself was the worn cloak he wrapped tightly around him as the night chill came upon him.

But that morning, when Jesus was leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus heard the hubbub around him. He asked the crowd what was happening and was told the miracle worker from Nazareth was leaving the city to go to Jerusalem. So Bartimaeus called out, “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me!” And when the crowds told him to stop, he called out even louder: “Son of David, have pity on me.” Then Jesus stopped and called Bartimaeus to come to him. And what did this blind beggar do? Mark writes: “He threw aside his cloak, jumped up and came to Jesus.”

“He threw aside his cloak.” He threw aside the garment that had protected him, had given him security and held in some of the warmth during the cold night. The man who was blind, who, once he threw away his protecting garment, would never be able to recover it, since he could not see where it had fallen. That blind man gave up his security and went to Jesus, trusting Jesus would cure his blindness and he would have no need for his beggar’s cloak ever again.

Jesus recognized Bartimaeus’ courage and faith as the blind beggar stood before him. And so, Jesus said: “Be on your way! Your faith has healed you.” Bartimaeus was willing to give up the security of his past life in order to gain sight for his future life. Mark writes: “immediately he received his sight and started to follow him up the road.” Up the road from Jericho to Jerusalem, where Jesus would suffer, die, be buried and rise again. Bartimaeus was to follow him from his old life into a new life.

Life. This weekend our bishop has asked us to celebrate “Respect Life Sunday.” Life which begins with conception and continues beyond our known death, a life everlasting. We celebrate not merely a life of our body, but also, a life of our soul, our soul that is a bit of God within us, within each and every human being.

At conception we have a joining of the DNA given by our human parents with the divinity given by our heavenly Father. At conception, we celebrate the joining of the body and the soul that makes up every human being created in the image and likeness of God. It is for this reason abortion is wrong, because it brings to an abrupt end this joining of parental DNA with parental divinity.

It is for this reason that murder is wrong, because it brings about a premature separation of body and soul. Natural death occurs when God chooses the time for this separation, for this return of the soul to the Father who gave it to each person created in his image and likeness.

Abortion, suicide – whether alone or assisted – any violent death – whether by war or by humanly determined capital punishment – are attempts by human creatures to assume the power of the creator in determining when the earthly DNA of the body should be separated from the divinity of the soul.

Next Sunday is November 2nd, a day of celebration for All Souls, for all of the manifestations of divinity imparted to human bodies over thousands of years of life. Next Sunday, we celebrate God’s gift of divine life in us. This Sunday, in preparation, we celebrate the joining of body and soul in the gift of human life in “Respect Life Sunday.” We celebrate our faith, our trust, in the God who gives us life, today, and life everlasting.

However, it is up to each one of us to demonstrate our faith and our trust by putting aside past securities, those garments we have judged we needed to protect us, to warm us, to give us comfort, so that we, too, can see with new eyes and follow Jesus down the road to a resurrected life. It is up to each one of us to determine exactly what garments, what things, what actions, what bits of security we now wear that must be thrown aside in order to see the Christ who stands before us and whom we must follow up the road.

It is not enough for us to carry in our pocket a slogan that says, “In God We Trust.” Rather, we are called to carry these words as a way of life, written on our hearts. Not only today, but every day, is a day to respect life, to trust in God, and to hear his words: “Be on your way! Your faith has healed you.”

^{Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 26, 1997 (Respect Life Sunday)
Jer 31: 7-9; Heb 5: 1-6; Mk 10: 46-52}

Today’s question is to be answered within your own heart, within your own, personal being. It’s a simple question, but with a complex answer. My question is this: When you look into a mirror, whom do you see? Is that person older than you’d expect – with a new wrinkle on the forehead or around the eyes? Does that image smile? Or is there a frown? Is the person staring back at you happy or sad? Perhaps, like Ziggy, that improbable, blob-like cartoon character, the image in the mirror may seem to have a life of its own. It’s not really you but someone else. Whom, or what, do you see when you look into a mirror?

Today’s gospel reading is about seeing. It’s about a man who had no need for a mirror. He’s blind. He is the blind beggar who sits outside the walls of Jericho. He has no name other than that of his father. He is called merely “the son of Timaeus,” Bar-Timaeus. He sits there each day. His cloak is spread out in front of him on the hard ground. He hopes a kindly passer-by will toss a coin or two onto the cloak so he can gather them up and live another day. In the evening, he wraps this threadbare garment around himself and hopes it will keep him warm during the night, so he’ll reach another day, a day just like each of the ones which have gone before.

But today, this day, there’s a difference in the air. The crowds outside the gates of Jericho are talking about the man from Nazareth, the one who has been preaching throughout the land during the last year or so. Today, he’s leaving Jericho for Jerusalem. The blind son of Timaeus has heard about this man, the one who is said to be a healer. He calls out to him. But he does not call the name of Jesus. Instead, he shouts out an ancient phrase: “Son of David.” The blind son of Timaeus calls for help from the son of the ancient hero-leader, David. David who brought salvation to the Israelites. The blind man calls upon the one who might now save him from his own afflictions. Jesus hears the name by which he is being called, Son of David. He wants this man brought to him.

The blind son of Timaeus tosses aside his cloak, the cloak holding the meager coins which would have bought him another day of existence, the cloak he needed for protection against the night. He tossed aside his past life and went towards the voice calling him. The voice spoke a question: “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind son of Timaeus replied, “Master, I want to see.”

And Jesus said, “Go your way; your faith has saved you.” But the now-seeing son of Timaeus did not go his own way. Instead, he followed Jesus on the way, on the way to Jerusalem where this Son of David would be greeted by others shouting this name, others who later shouted for his death. The now-seeing son of Timaeus followed “the Way” and saw the Son of David nailed to a tree. The blind man whose sight was restored by the last healing miracle reported in Mark’s Gospel, he saw the end of the life of Jesus. But, perhaps, he also witnessed the beginning of the life of Christ.

Each of us has the same opportunity. Each of us, at every Eucharist, is given the chance to see. And what do we see? What do you see when Father John elevates the host? What do you see when the Eucharistic minister shows you the body and blood of Christ? Do you see the immense power of the universe, itself, contained within this small object in front of your own eyes? Do you see the new Covenant offered by God to you? Are you able to look and then turn away to pursue your own worldly goals or do you see with new eyes and follow the way. His Way.

When you look into the mirror of your life, whom do you see? Do you see only your own image staring back at you? Or do you see someone called by God? Someone who is to follow Him … “on the Way?”

^{Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 26, 2003
Jer 31: 7-9; Heb 5: 1-6; Mk 10: 46-52}

Today’s question might be considered under the topic of science fiction. My question is: If you could see your future, would you want to? Would you want to know, for sure, what the economy is going to look like in six months, or a year from now? Would you want to know, for sure, what is going to happen in Iraq, Pakistan and Afghanistan? Do you really want to know exactly when and how you are going to die? Yes, if you could see your own future, would you really want to?

I said my question comes under the topic of science fiction. A lot of sci-fi we see on television this season deals with knowing about the future, and, perhaps, about how and when the characters are going to die. Many of you realize I’m a fan of “Lost” and I am looking forward to the final season, when everything will be made clear. (I hope!)

This desire of wanting to see the future usually goes beyond merely knowing with certainty what stocks to invest in, although there are many who would settle for such knowledge. For many people, the question really involves the basic, human concern: when am I going to die? How am I going to die? Can I do anything to prevent it from happening?

Death and dying might be the central question concerning our individual lives, even if it is not a question we’re prone to discuss in our modern society. However, there are several inter-relatable issues prompting me to consider the subject of death and dying for today’s homily.

First of all, there is the final topic which the Archdiocese has asked we try to incorporate within our October homilies regarding the “Dignity of Humanity.” This diocesan handout will be found as an insert in the bulletin for this weekend. The title of this insert is: Assisted Suicide: Death by Choice? This handout presents some thoughts about so-called “assisted suicide,” which is legal in several states, and the Catholic Church’s view that assisted suicide is never a choice. It is an absolute wrong. You can read the brochure on this topic for yourself.

However, when you read this article, I hope you’ll keep in mind the vast difference between assisted suicide and other end-of-life issues, such as family discussions with loved ones about medical treatment and prolonging physical life, or discussions about hospice care during our last days on earth. These are events each one of us must face. It’s appropriate we do not face them alone, but share them with those we love.

In addition, I want to address the general issue of death for a second reason. As Catholics, we may have a unique view on death and dying. That view is demonstrated by the fact we devote an entire month to a liturgical celebration of death. Next Sunday is November 1st. It’s the feast of “All Saints.” And the following day, November 2nd, we celebrate “All Souls Day.” During the entire month of November, we will have the “Book of Life” placed next to our Baptismal font, and we’ll invite all those who have experienced the death of a family member or friend during the past year to inscribe the name of the deceased person in this “Book of Life.” These friends and relatives can be remembered in the prayers of this community in a special way throughout the entire month of November.

It’s our view, as given in the teachings of the Church, that we form a single Community of Saints. In classic theological terms, there is the union of the Church Militant, the Church Suffering, and the Church Triumphant. We, all of us gathered here today, are the living saints on earth, the “Church Militant,” fighting it out (if you will) against evil and for the kingdom of God, here and now. This kingdom consists of the rich and the poor, the well-fed and the hungry, those who live in comfortable homes and those who exist huddled in cardboard boxes under the overpasses of Houston.

We also remember those who have died and are not yet experiencing a complete union with God, but are undergoing a momentary period in eternity for purification in order to unite completely with the Oneness of Father, Son and Holy Spirit. These people compose the “Church Suffering,” for whom we offer our prayers at all times, but especially during the month of November.

And then, there are the recognized and un-recognized saints in heaven – those who are now completely united with the Oneness of the Trinity for all of eternity. Those men, women and children whose intercessions we seek in our own prayers with them are, indeed, the “Church Triumphant.”

As Christians, we believe there is eternal life after physical death. At least once a week, at every mass, we proclaim we believe in the Resurrection of the Dead. As Catholic Christians we believe physical human-life begins with conception and ends with our natural death. We believe the dignity of the human person exists at every moment of this period of living out the gifts of God. Life, itself, is a gift, not a choice. The only choices we have are how we live out the gift of life given by God and returned to God.

There is another reason why today is an opportune time to look at concerns involving death and dying. These concerns, in part, reside in today’s Gospel reading. Here we have a blind man, Bartimaeus, one who is not the same as the man who had been born blind. This blind man is a beggar who tosses aside all his possessions, which really is only a single possession, the cloak which protects him from the elements, the cloak which keeps him warm throughout the night so that he can live another day, another sightless day, begging for his daily bread.

It is Bartimaeus who cannot see Jesus passing by Jericho’s gate, but who can hear the crowds speaking about this Jesus of Nazareth. It is Bartimaeus who calls out to Jesus: “Son of David, have pity on me.” It is Bartimaeus who, in reply to Jesus’ question, “What do you want me to do for you?” says, “Master, I want to see.” It is Bartimaeus who hears the words, “… your faith has saved you.” and then, with restored sight, follows the Master.

The question Jesus asked the blind beggar, Bartimaeus, is the same one he asks each and every one of us: “What do you want me to do for you?” Each one of us has an individual response. We may think we, unlike Bartimaeus, have all we want, as well as all we need. Nevertheless, we may still desire a new, red Lamborghini. Some may want a complete restoration of their retirement funds. And others may want to know what life holds in store for them. A few may want to know when and how they will die.

Yes, there are those of us who want to see material things. There are others who want to see the future. We do not differ from the Israelites held in captivity in Babylon, the ones we heard about in our first reading for today from the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah. They, too, wanted to know what the future held for them, what they could look forward to.

The prophet Jeremiah, who is not the most upbeat of the prophets of Israel, encouraged them to “… shout for joy … [to] exult … [to] proclaim your praise …” Jeremiah told them of the promises of the Lord God who spoke about their ultimate future with the words: “I will bring them back [to Jerusalem.] I will gather them from the ends of the world, with the blind and the lame in their midst, the mothers and those with child, they shall return as an immense throng. They departed in tears, but I will console them and guide them; I will lead them to brooks of water, on a level road, so that none shall stumble.”

Yes, the Lord God promised his people he would lead them to salvation. He promised them that their future is not bleak. And our Lord has promised us the same future with his words: “Go your way, your faith has saved you.” Yes, our Lord has given us hope, even when we approach him in our blindness, in our not being able to see clearly either the present or the future. It is while we are blind that we, too, may call out: “Master, I want to see.” The question is: do you see life and physical death as the end of everything? Or do you see life and death as God’s gifts to us. The gifts of the Kingdom of God, which is now – and forever. [Amen.]

^{30th Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 25, 2009
Jer 31: 7-9; Heb 5:1-6; Mk 10:46-52}

Today I have the easiest question I’ve ever asked during some sixteen years of asking questions to begin a homily. This one you can answer by raising your hand. My question is this: How many of you have heard of the “Ten Commandments,” the ones in the Bible, not the movie!? Any of you who did not raise your hand might consider joining a bible study group as soon as possible. My second question is a little harder: What is the first commandment? “I am the Lord your God: you shall not have strange gods before me.” Very good.

Now then, the Bible has more commandments than just the Ten Commandments. So, my third question is: How many commandments can be found among all of the commandments of the Old Testament? Six-hundred-thirteen is the usual answer. According to Jewish tradition and teaching, there are three-hundred-sixty-five negative commandments prohibiting certain actions and two-hundred-forty-eight positive commandments stating what you should do, rather than what you should not do, for a total of six-hundred-thirteen commandments.

The scribe, or scripture scholar, we heard about in our gospel reading for today no doubt knew all six-hundred-thirteen commandments. But like a lot of students, he was also a “wise guy,” as well as being a “wise man,” and so he asked Jesus a trick question. This scribe, this student of the Hebrew scriptures, wanted to know: of all of the six-hundred-thirteen commandments, which one of them is the most important, which one is the first commandment? Was it, indeed, “I am the Lord your God: you shall not have strange gods before me?”

In response, Jesus went back to Moses, the law-giver, the one who had received the Law, the Torah, itself, directly from God and had transmitted it to the Israelites. Jesus quoted the passage we heard in our first reading from the book of Deuteronomy, the Book of Laws given to the second generation of Israelites, which is what “Deuteronomy” means: the Second Law, the Law given to the Israelites who weren’t alive at the time the laws where first given to Moses at Mount Sinai, but who were now part of the second generation, the one about to enter into the land flowing with milk and honey.

In response to the scribe’s question, Jesus quoted the Shema, the prayer each law-abiding Jew recited at the beginning of each day: “Hear, O Israel! The Lord our God is Lord alone! You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.” But Jesus then went on to say that there is a second “greatest commandment” that must be joined with the first one in order for there to be a complete answer to the scribe’s question. Jesus quoted another commandment taken from the Book of Leviticus, the liturgical book of Torah. Jesus went on to say: “The second is this: ‘you shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.”

However, later on, Jesus gave a summary of these two commandments when he said, according to the Gospel of John (13: 34), “… I give you a new commandment: love one another. As I have loved you, so you also should love one another.”

The words are so easy to say:
… love God with all your heart, your soul, your mind, your strength,
… love your neighbor,
… love your self,
… love one another as Jesus, himself, loves all of us,
… with all of his heart, all of his passion and tenderness,
… with all of his soul, all of his life and being,
… with all of his mind, all of his words of how we are to live and love,
… with all of his strength, with his courage to die for us.

Yes, the words of love are easy to say, but doing them, making them real, putting flesh on these words, incarnating these words, just as God became enfleshed in his Word, became incarnated in his Word – this is the difficult part. Yes, becoming an embodiment of the commandment, living out the commandment, is much more difficult than merely reciting the words of the commandment, the commandment of love. The question really becomes: just how do you show that you, indeed, really love someone?

One way to show our love for another is to spend time with that person. So, if I am to love myself and others in the same manner, and if I am to love God, should I not spend time with myself and with God, as well as with others? Should I not find time for just “being” and not for merely “doing?” Time for being with God. Time for prayer and quietness with him.

I show my love for another by speaking and listening to the one I love. Perhaps, I need to speak and listen more to my own self. Do I try to counsel myself and listen to my own counsel? Or do I under-value myself? Do I tell myself I am beyond my own help? Do I tell myself I am beyond the help of the God who speaks to me, whom I hear when I take the time to listen?

We show our love for others by affirming the goodness we see in them. However, do we affirm ourselves? Do we take the time to tell ourselves we are worthwhile, we are lovable? Do we think God does not need our affirmation? Do we take time to praise God, to tell God how good he is to us and for us.

You show your love for another person by helping that person and allowing that person to help you. However, do you try to help yourself or do you wallow in your misery? Do you allow others to help you or do you try to do everything by yourself? If you show your love for others by helping them, can you, also, show your love to God by helping him? And how do we help God? Perhaps, by helping others, by helping do the work of God. And, perhaps, by allowing God to help us, by not rejecting his aid, by not believing everything depends entirely upon us, alone.

We show our love for others by celebrating with them, playing and having fun with them, enjoying life together. And, so. the question is: do we allow ourselves to celebrate, to have fun, or is everything in life to be taken seriously? Do we love God by allowing God to be humorous? Do we see the fun in the unexpected and amusing happenings God brings into our life. Do we celebrate our pleasure with God? Do we celebrate God?

I show my love for others by giving them my care, by helping them to heal, by protecting them from harm, by forgiving them when they have caused me pain. These are ways I show my love for others. But what about myself and my God? Do I give myself the care I should? Do I take care of my own health with a proper diet, with medical examinations, with moderate drinking, with giving up harmful habits? Do I forgive myself when I bring about my own pain? Do I forgive God when I feel my pain is brought about by him?

Yes, there are many ways to show we love someone. We do it with our time, our communication, our affirmation. We do it with our helping and healing, with our celebrating. We do it with our forgiveness.

Once more, we are reminded: love begins with the need for each of us to love my own self. Unless I truly love myself and am compassionate with my own self, I cannot love others as myself. Unless you truly love yourself and others, you cannot love God as completely as God demands:
… with all your heart, your feelings and passion;
… with all your mind, your intelligence and intellect;
… with all your soul, your life and entire existence;
… with all your strength, with nothing held back, with no reservations.

Yes, each one of us is called to love one another as God loves each and every one of us: unconditionally.

^{Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 30, 1988; November 5, 2000 (revised)
Deut 6: 2-6; Heb 7:23-28; Mk 12:28b-34}

I have several questions for you today. The first ones are very easy. My first question is: What is the opposite of “hot?” Cold. And what is the opposite of “white?” Black. And finally, what is the opposite of “love?” Yes, the first word you probably thought of might be: “hate.” But consider for a moment, what is the relationship of “hot” and “cold?” If we think about it, logically, or if you will, scientifically, “cold” is the absence of heat, the absence of being “hot.” And, again, we know from high school science, or maybe now-a-days, elementary science, the color “white” actually consists of all the colors of the rainbow and “black” is the absence of all colors. So, what is the absence of “love?” And why is this question the most important of all the ones I’ve raised so far?

Of course, the answers go back some two thousand years ago, when a scribe, a scholar of the Jewish Law, an expert on Torah, the compilation of all the Laws given by God to Moses, asked a similar question. He asked Jesus: Of all the laws given by God to Moses, which is the most important? Which is the first of all the commandments?

And Jesus replied with the words spoken each morning by every believing Jew. The words we first heard in today’s reading from the Book of Deuteronomy. The words Moses, himself, spoke to the Israelites. “Hear, O Israel! The Lord is our God, the Lord alone! Therefore, you shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength.” And to these words from the Book of Deuteronomy, Jesus added words from the Book of Leviticus, the liturgical book of Torah. He said, “The second is this: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. There is no other commandment greater than these.”

And. so, I again ask: What is the absence of “love?” What must we understand about “love,” which Jesus said was the most important commandment of God. Part of our problem may be in our mis-use of the word “love.” There are times when we all have said some variation of the statement: “I just love ice cream! It’s my favorite dessert!” Or, speaking entirely for myself: “I love chocolate cookies.” And how many of you can relate to the statement: “I love the color red.” And what teenager has not said to someone else: “I love you.”

What is usually meant by these declarations of love? In each instance, it seems to me, the real meaning is: this food, this color, this person makes me feel good. These things give me pleasure. And if this is the meaning of love, if love is what brings me pleasure, how can I understand the instruction: “you must love your enemy.”

So, again, the question: what is the absence of love? For perhaps, if we can understand the absence of love, we might be able to understand what love really is. I would suggest the absence of love is: “rejection.” The absence of love is “alienation.” The absence of love is being cut off from another person. It is being alone. Entirely by yourself. Because with this definition, we can then conclude “true love” is “acceptance.” It is a desire for union, for oneness with another person. It is understanding the differences between us and, despite these differences, having a desire to go beyond these mis-understandings so that some positive relationship can occur, some degree of unity be achieved.

With this understanding and appreciation of “love,” it can become possible for me to love my enemy. To accept our differences and wish him well. To forgive the hurt he has caused me, even if I do not approve of the actions which led to the hurt. When I meet a stranger, I can either fear the encounter or accept the appearance of the stranger. When I encounter those who are not known to me, I can fear them, I can reject them, I might even hate them. Or I can accept them. I can, perhaps, even desire a unity with them so that they are no longer outside of me, but a part of my world.

I can acknowledge that hate is the total and complete absence of love, the complete rejection and alienation from another. I can acknowledge that love is the unconditional acceptance and desire for unity with another.

Again, in today’s gospel, the scribe, who is usually portrayed as the antagonist in every encounter with Jesus, upon hearing Jesus’ response proclaims: “Well said, teacher. You are right in saying ‘He is the One and there is no other than he.’ And ‘to love him with all your heart, with all your understanding, and with all your strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself ‘ is worth more than all burnt offerings and sacrifices.”

But the dialogue between the scribe of the Law and his newly recognized teacher does not end here. Mark’s account goes on to state: “And when Jesus saw that [the scribe] answered with understanding, he said to him, ‘You are not far from the kingdom of God.’” Can Jesus say the same to each one of us when we understand that love means acceptance and a desire for unity with God, with our neighbor and within our own selves? Can Jesus say to each of us: “You are not far from the kingdom of God.”

^{Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time; November 5, 2006
Deut 6:2-6; Heb 7:23-28; Mk 12:28b-34}

Once upon a time, there was a young man who grew up in a small mid-western town. In high school, he had been relatively popular with the other kids. He was co-captain of the basketball team and class vice-president during his senior year. He made more A’s than B’s in his pre-college classes. When he graduated, he went away to the state university on an athletic scholarship and earned a degree in business administration.

In his class in high school, there was a young woman who liked him very much, but from afar. She wasn’t part of his crowd. She wanted to be a cheerleader, but couldn’t afford either the uniform nor the time. She worked in the evenings at the neighborhood McDonald’s to help make ends meet at home. When she graduated from high school, she entered the local community college but left at the end of the first year, when her father died, and she had to help her mother support two younger sisters.

The young man, Charlie was his name, did much better. After college he went for his C.P.A. and got it on his second try. He joined a newly organized company, and a few years later, became its vice-president for finance. In the meantime, Sarah, the young woman I’ve been talking about, started to work at a local department store. She met a young assistant manager there. They got married, had two children, a boy and a girl. But Sarah’s husband drank a lot and met a woman he said he loved more than he did Sarah. They divorced and Sarah was left with the two kids. She lost her job at the department store and began to wait tables during the day, so she could be at home in the evenings when the kids were out of school.

For Charlie, life went well. He, too, had gotten married. His only regret was he didn’t have enough time to spend with the family, with his wife and two sons. With the new company, Charlie had to work late every evening. On weekends, he had to play a few rounds of golf with his business partners and their clients. But he made it up to his wife and the boys with the new house out in the suburbs where the schools were good.

Sarah didn’t live in the suburbs. She had a small apartment in town. On weekends, she took the kids to the zoo and to the park. Sometimes, she would take them to a movie at the mall, but she preferred renting videos because she didn’t feel safe being out after dark. Besides, most evenings she was busy helping them with their homework.

In matters of religion, Charlie was more or less indifferent when it came to doing anything about it. He went to church at Christmas and Easter and on those Sundays when it rained, and his golf match had to be called off. But he made up for it by the checks he sent along with his wife when she attended every week. He was very proud his wife and the kids went as often as they did, but he never told them that.

Sarah, on the other hand, had to wait on tables every Saturday, and on Sunday mornings. She didn’t get to church on Sunday very much, but there was a church between where she worked and her apartment. Every day or so, she would run in for a few minutes to pray. It made her feel warm inside, although she was sad that she seldom got to see the church all lit up for services and filled with people.

Meanwhile, Charlie’s wife began to take her religion seriously. The suburban church she attended had a mission downtown. Every Sunday afternoon, she and the boys went there to work in the soup kitchen. One cold Sunday in November, she convinced Charlie to join her and the boys at the mission. Charlie grumbled, but since his golf match had been called off at the last minute, he went with her. Now as it turned out, Sarah also helped at that same mission every Sunday afternoon. She joked about it being a busman’s holiday, since she waited on paying customers the other six days of the week.

Charlie was obviously annoyed with being there, but he was trying to put on a good show for the boys. He knew he had to teach his sons about charity and helping others less fortunate than they were. He figured, so long as he didn’t have to get too close to smell any of the dirty folk who held out their empty plates, it might not be too bad an experience. He was a little surprised when he saw Sarah cleaning up the plates. He thought he had recognized her from high school but wasn’t sure.

It, also, happened that on this very Sunday in November, a sociology class from the university had decided to help out at this particular soup kitchen, as part of a class project. After the homeless men, women and children had been fed and had left the soup kitchen, the sociology students, along with the other volunteers, washed up the pots and pans and put away the tables and chairs. It was then time for the sociology students to interview the workers. In addition to actually helping out, the class assignment was to find out: “why do people volunteer to do charity work.” The class divided itself into three groups.

The first group approached Charlie. The second group went to talk with Sarah.
And the third group wants to talk with you. About why you, personally, volunteer to do charity work. Their questions are more important than any I might have for you. For the next minute or so, I’d like each one of you to reflect on what questions you might imagine these young adults are asking Charlie, Sarah and you, and what answers you have for them. For, perhaps, these students come with a teacher who reminds us how vital it is to give from what we have, no matter how insignificant we might judge it to be.

^{Thirty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time; November 10, 1991
1 Kg 17:10-16; Heb 9:24-28; Mk 12:38-44}