Author: patcamerino

Today’s question is scriptural. What is probably the most quoted scriptural verse in the United States? And if it’s not quoted, it certainly is the most widely seen reference in the country. At certain times of the year, it’s made obvious to millions of Americans. Of course, I’m referring to John 3:16. (Hold up large sign.) It’s a verse you heard read just moments ago in today’s gospel from John. “Yes, God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him may not die but may have eternal life.” This sign and its meaning are especially important for the feast day, the special day, we celebrate on September 14th. This weekend, we celebrate “the Triumph of the Cross” or simply “the Holy Cross.”

Each year on September 14th the church repeats a celebration that goes back to the earliest centuries of the church. The story goes: back in 326 AD, the empress Helena, the eighty-year-old mother of emperor Constantine, and a devout convert to the Catholic faith, made a pilgrimage from her son’s new city, Constantinople, to Jerusalem. While she was there she had a vision of where the remains of the cross on which Christ had been crucified could be found.

And sure enough, when she sent her agents to a certain site, they dug up the remains of three wooden crosses. A major part of her find was enshrined in a silver case in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, which her son built over the place where the crosses were found. These relics remained there until they were taken by the Persians in a siege of Jerusalem. The pieces of the true cross were finally regained in the early Seventh Century.

It’s from this period of the early 600’s that we have the beginnings of the feast day we celebrate today. It was also during these early years that pieces, splinters, if you will, of the true cross were distributed to pilgrims to the Holy Land and carried back to all parts of Europe. These splinters of wood were considered to be among the greatest relics of the ages. Although the Holy Grail, the cup of the Last Supper, was never found, at least until Indiana Jones came along, the bits and pieces of the true cross could be seen by anyone who went to the local cathedral or shrine.

Signs and symbols have always been important to us humans. In our first reading we heard about a very powerful sign – the sign of the bronze serpent. It, too, was later preserved in the Temple of Solomon, until King Hezekiah smashed it, since he considered it to be idolatrous even if it had been made by Moses.

And why did Moses make it? Because the Israelites, like a lot of us, got tired and bored by a good thing. When they were hungry, the Lord God had given them manna to eat. But they became weary of eating this heavenly bread every day and began to complain against the Lord God. So the Lord God sent poisonous serpents. Evidently the Israelites quickly realized that daily bread was better than serpents and so they repented. The Lord God then instructed Moses to make a bronze serpent and put it on a tall pole so that anyone who had been bitten by a serpent could look on it and live.

Such signs of serpents and life were not uncommon in the ancient world. The Greeks had two such signs of life. There was the caduceus of Hermes the god of messengers, and now the god of florists. His winged staff had two snakes curled around it when he made his trips back and forth between Mount Olympus and the underworld.

However, the real staff of healing belonged to the god Aesculapius. It had only one snake around it. And those who looked upon that snake were also healed. And so, the Hebrews had their own bronze snake of life. It was to this bronze snake of life that Jesus referred in today’s gospel reading. Jesus had been speaking to Nicodemus, the member of the Sanhedrin who had come to him at night to ask how he might become part of the reign of God. It was then that Jesus told Nicodemus that “ … no one can enter into God’s kingdom without being begotten of water and spirit.” Jesus, in response to further questioning from Nicodemus, then went on to say, as we heard in today’s reading: “… just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that all who believe may have eternal life in him.”

At God’s request and in response to the cries of God’s people, Moses lifted up the bronze serpent so that those who looked upon it and believed would live. Now, at God’s request and in response to the cries of God’s people, Jesus would be lifted up on the cross for all to see and be saved. But not only would he be lifted up on the cross, he would also be lifted up from the tomb of his resurrection.

He would be lifted up not only on the cross and from the tomb, but also he would be lifted up from the earth to be with the Father so that they might send forth the Holy Spirit. And so it is that what begins with the lifting up of the holy cross comes to its grand conclusion with the descending down of the Holy Spirit. The outstretched arms of the cross become the outstretched wings of the dove of peace. The sign of death becomes the sign of life – a life we are to share with others.

This weekend in our diocese, we are called by our bishop to renew our commitment to stewardship: a caring for our world and for all who inhabit it. Once more, we are asked to give of our time, our talent, and our treasure so that others, as well as ourselves, might be healed. Once more, we are asked to give freely to others what has so freely been given to us. What we have received as gifts from God must now be “gifted” to others.

This past week, we have lovingly remembered the stewardship gifts of two remarkable women, whose lives we have honored as they return home to the Father. This “queen of hearts” and this “mother of souls” have shared, as we all do here, today, in the triumph of the cross.¹

A triumph is a victory. It is also the trophy for the victory: the sign that the conflict has ended, and the enemy has been overcome. The cross that in the ancient world was the symbol for the death of a criminal becomes the trophy of the one who overcame the enemy called death.

The cross becomes the sign of the leader who points the way for others so that they, too, can have “life everlasting.” The sign to remind us: “Yes, God so loved the world that he gave his only son, that whoever believes in him may not die but may have eternal life.” It is not a cardboard sign with the designation “Jn 3:16″ that gives us life, but rather the sign each of us carries within us and makes visible to others when we pray and act (†) “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

Twenty-third Sun Ord: Triumph of the Cross; September 14, 1997
Num 21:4-9; Phil 2:6-11; Jn 3:13-17

1. Princess Diana of Wales, known for her philanthropy, died August 31, 1997. Mother Teresa of Calcutta, India, died on September 5, 1997

Today’s question calls for your personal opinion. Among all of the religious figures you’ve heard about during your lifetime, who – in your opinion — is worthy of sainthood, worthy of being in the immediate presence of God for all of eternity? There are many to choose from. Even if you are very young, you have probably heard about a lot of people you might consider to be worthy of sainthood.

For many Catholics that list would probably include several popes. John XXIII or John Paul II would no doubt head such a list. For the traditional-minded, Pope Pius IX would be among them. For some so-called “progressive” or “liberal” Catholics, they might think of Dorothy Day. And if you wanted to include non-Catholic religious figures, many might have Martin Luther King, Jr. or even Mahatma Gandhi on their list.

However, I dare say that a vast majority of people would want Mother Teresa of Calcutta at the top of the list. She and John XXIII, as well as pope Pius IX have, in the last few years, made the official list of those who are “beatified:” those, who – in the Vatican’s view – are formally eligible to be canonized, to be on the official list of saints of the Catholic Church. However, in order to go beyond being declared “beatified” or “blessed,” more information needs to be gathered about the life of the saintly person. In the case of Mother Teresa of Calcutta, the man charged with the responsibility of presenting additional information about her is Rev. Brian Kolodiejchuk. Perhaps some of you have heard about him.

As part of his background work in collecting information in support of Mother Teresa’s canonization, Fr. Brian had access to letters she wrote to her confessors and close associates over some 66 of the 87 years of her life. As many of you know – especially from a recent issue of Time magazine – these letters have been published in a book, entitled: “Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light.” And, as many of you have probably guessed, the theme of this book can be associated with the words found in today’s gospel reading, in which Jesus states: “Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. … [Anyone] of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple.” Who, more than Mother Teresa of Calcutta, exemplifies someone who has renounced all of her possessions in order to follow Jesus the Christ?

For years we have heard how she gave up everything in order to found the Missionaries of Charity who minister to the poorest of the poor in India. Her work and that of her religious sisters have become legendary in the pursuit of the true discipleship Jesus calls for. Even the secular world recognized her vast contributions by awarding her the Noble Peace Prize in 1979. And now, ten years after her death on September 5, 1997, multitudes of people think of her when they think of saintliness.

Yes, we have seen how she was willing to give up all earthly possessions and carry an earthly cross of physical suffering to follow Christ and be his disciple. What we did not realize, until her letters came to light, is how she may have endured another apparent demand we heard in today’s gospel. “If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters … and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.”

These are, indeed, harsh words, ones we tune out; one’s we dare not hear. And yet Mother Teresa seems to have heard them, and to have lived them out. Consider for a moment, the impact these words must have had on those who heard them some two thousand years ago. Back in a time when the family was the center of one’s life. Back in a time when the first commandment following those which dealt with our relationship to God was: “Honor your father and your mother, that you may have a long life in the land which the LORD, your God, is giving you.” Back in a time when a father and mother gave protection to their children and expected them to carry on their own lives and continue their family traditions in the generations to come.

And here was Jesus, the new Moses, saying that those who follow him must relinquish all ties to the past, must forgo all those who protected and nourished them, all those to whom they owed allegiance, love and loyalty. Now you must give up everything. Indeed, you must even hate or despise or reject all former relationships, everything than binds you to your past, if you are to follow me. You must relinquish the center of your former lives in order to come follow me. Few people seem able to do this. Few are willing to acknowledge the admonition: “If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.”

And before you really consider doing this, he says, consider the cost. Do not attempt to build your future unless you are truly willing to consider what the price will be. Do not enter into a battle unless you have first concluded that you can win the battle you are undertaking, that you have all of the resources to do so – to fight and win.

Most of us thought Mother Teresa must have considered all of this when she left a comfortable home and surroundings and joined the Loreto Sisters as a teaching nun. She certainly heard the voice of her Lord calling her to give up everything to follow him to India. We now learn that she, too, had doubts. She, too, except for a few brief weeks in her life, did not feel the presence of Christ. And yet, we also hear in her written words, in her letters to those to whom she confided, an even more important virtue she possessed.

She continued to have faith. She continued to make use of the gift of faith which God gave her – and gives to each one of us – the gift of faith in order to live out the life she had chosen, a life to follow Jesus the Christ; to do what he urged her to do; to help the poorest of the poor and not stop, even when she did not perceive God’s presence.

Unlike Mother Teresa, once we have started to follow Jesus, we are tempted, so many times, to give it all up. We attempt to pray, we attempt to listen for his guidance and in our conversation, God is silent. We seek his presence and find only his absence. We think we are the only ones whom God apparently has abandoned. We judge
● that we must be doing something wrong,
● that we have not given enough of ourselves,
● that we are not ready to relinquish all of our worldly goods in order to follow him and because of our apparent failing, he – in return – is punishing us by his absence.

And now we have Mother Teresa to remind us: doubt is not the defining characteristic of our Christianity, of our following Christ and accomplishing the mission on which he sends us. Rather our defining characteristics are – as they have always been – our faith, hope and charity.
● Our faith that God is with us even when we do not feel his presence, even when the hugs and warm fuzzies we crave, are not there.
● Our hope – our expectation of the unexpected – is still present and God still loves us, each one of us.
● And the gift of Charity, the gift of love, itself. The gift of knowing that even when our beloved seems to be far from us; our beloved who seems to be hidden; our beloved is, in fact, still with us.

For when all else is gone, God’s gifts of faith, hope and charity abide with us, live within us. When we are covered by darkness and despair in our worldly life, or in our spiritual life, we can still discern the words Mother Teresa heard when she began her own journey, the words he speaks to each one of us in our own darkness: “Come Be My Light.”

Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time; September 9, 2007
Wis 9:13-18b; Phil 9b-10,12-17; Lk 14:26-33

For each generation there is a defining question.
● For my parent’s generation it might have been: Where were you when Pearl Harbor was bombed?
● For mine, there is the question: Where were you when Kennedy was assassinated?
● For the next generation: Where were you when the Federal Building was bombed?
● And for the youth of today, the question will be: Where were you when the World Trade Center was destroyed?

Yes, there are, of course, many other questions which define the outlines of our lives; but these four are the ones that focus our anxiety, our outrage, our sense of loss.
● Anxiety: concerning what will happen now? What will be the next tragedy? Is this only the beginning?
● Outrage: how could this have happened? How can we punish those who did this terrible act?
● Loss: whether of a single person who, at the time, embodied much of the new spirit of this country – Or loss of peace when we were forced to enter a world-wide conflict – Or the loss of many lives, of innocent people, young and old – in Oklahoma City, in New York City, in Washington, D.C., in the hills of Pennsylvania.

We continue to ask: Why does this happen – again and again? We ask ourselves, and one another: How can a loving God allow all of this to happen? And at the same time we ask: How can we prevent this from happening again? What drastic measures must we take to protect ourselves, those we love?

There are, of course, no easy answers if, in fact, there are any real answers, at all. Yet, in our search for answers – answers that will bring back our stability – many want to blame someone: individuals or groups of people. There are those who demand an enemy or, at the very least, a conspiracy of others bent upon our destruction. They demand an enemy through whom we can reduce our anxiety, vent our outrage and revenge our loss.

Our loss. Yes, in today’s gospel reading we heard about loss. And our first reaction might be: what in the world do these Bible stories have to do with the kinds of loss we have witnessed over these last days? How can the loss of a single sheep when there are still ninety-nine left, have any meaning for us here, today? How can the loss of a mere coin, even if it is ten percent of a woman’s wealth, be compared with the tragedy of the loss of thousands of people? And how can the story of the Prodigal Son tell us what we should do today – and tomorrow, in all of the tomorrows of our lives and of our children’s lives?

No, I do not equate the senseless death of people with the loss of a sheep or of a mere golden coin; nor even of the return of a son who was lost. But I do suggest that we give some thought, some prayerful reflection, to the conclusion of each of the stories we heard spoken by the one we call our loving Lord and Master.

In each story we heard that following each loss, each personal tragedy, there was a finding. And with each finding, there was a calling together of friends, of community, to celebrate the return. But our third story, Jesus’ tale of the return of the prodigal son, does not end on the happy note of such a celebration.

Instead we hear the cries of the elder son for what he considers to be justice. He demands what he believes is rightfully his; what he has earned for his on-going work and, perhaps, even his own suffering, while his younger brother was off squandering the family fortune.

And to this outcry the father responds: “My son, you are here with me always … everything I have is yours. But now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again, he was lost and has been found.”

Are we, once more, being reminded in this parable that there are, indeed, losses in life, great tragedies of a personal nature; but somehow there is also an end to the loss, a return to stability, a recovery. And are we being reminded that an essential part of this recovery is the coming together of our friends, our community to share in the good that may come out of tragedy; to rejoice rather than to condemn; to celebrate that God remains with us even when searching for the lost sheep – or waiting for the return of the child who is lost.

Today in this diocese, and throughout the nation, we were scheduled to celebrate what is called “Catechetical Sunday” – a day to honor those who teach us about religion, about God, about Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Today was to have been a day for teachers. Instead, today really is a day for all of us. For all of us to live out our own lives as teachers. Teachers for our own children, for other children. Teachers also for adults, for all adults, for all peoples: Christian and non-Christian.

Today, we are teachers not for the formal things we say about God but, more importantly, for all the ways in which we live out our beliefs about God. Today – and really, every day – but especially during these days of trial and tribulation, each of us must live out our lives as examples of what we really and truly believe about our God.

We can fall victim, as did, perhaps, the elder son, victim to anxiety, outrage and loss. Or we can remember and live out the words of a loving father who whispers: “My child, you are here with me always, everything I have is yours.” Perhaps the true question is not: “Where were you when …? but rather, where are you now? Are you lost? Or have you returned to the arms of a loving shepherd, a loving father?“

Twenty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary: September 16, 2001
Ex 32:7-11, 13-14; 1 Tim 1:12-17; Lk 15: 1-32

Although, as you know, I usually begin my homilies with a question, today I’d like to start with a bit of history, personal history. If you’re an “old timer” here at CGS, you probably know I’ve been preaching in this church for twenty years. I gave my first homily here on April 8, 1984. This weekend will be the 203rd time some of you have listened to me preach. And yes, I do have a copy of all 203 homilies!

Every three years, I check to see what I said on the corresponding weekend of the earlier cycle of readings. Sometimes I re-work a theme I’ve used before. Often, I go off on a different tangent, since both the world and I have changed in the meantime. But today, I’m going to do something different. Today I’m going to begin this homily with the words I spoke on the Twenty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary time in the year 2001. That was the weekend of September 15th and 16th … 2001. I began with the words: “For each generation there is a defining question“. {I continued reading the homily I’d given on that date, until I reached the section addressing the originally proposed “Catechetical Sunday. I then continued:}

These are the words I used three years ago. I believe they are equally relevant, perhaps even more so, today. Three years ago, in 2001, I pointed out that on this Twenty-fourth Sunday of ordinary time, the dioceses of the United States had been scheduled to celebrate “Catechetical Sunday” – a day to honor those who teach us about religion, about God, about Father, Son and Holy Spirit. It was to have been a day for teachers. Instead, it became a day for all of us. For all of us to live out our own lives as teachers.
● Teachers for our own children … for other children.
● Teachers also for adults … for all adults … for all peoples … Christian and non-Christian.

This weekend, on the Twenty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary time in 2004, in this part of our diocese, we are celebrating “Ministry Formation.” Here at Good Shepherd we’ve been the host for the Northern Diocesan Workshops for Eucharistic ministers, lectors, musicians, ushers, greeters, altar servers and those involved in our liturgical art environment. The focus has been on our community of worship, our community for the celebration of Emmanuel, the God who is with us.

We are once again reminded that we are a community called to live out our lives in the belief that nothing is every lost to the sight of God, our Father – our Father who keeps searching for us until he finds us. We are called to live in a time of acceptance … not of vengeance. We are reminded that in times of loss, or in times of restoration, we can become a victim, as did the elder son; victim to anxiety and outrage, or we can remember and live out the words of a loving father who whispers: “My child, you are here with me always, everything I have is yours.”

Three years ago, I concluded my homily with another set of questions. They continue to be relevant. Perhaps the true question is not: “where were you when …? but rather …. where are you now? Are you lost? Or have you returned to the arms of a loving shepherd … a loving father who awaits your return with his own open arms?

Twenty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time; September 12, 2004
Ex 32:7-11, 13-14; 1 Tim 1:12-17; Lk 15: 1-32

Do you always know where everything is? Yes, that’s my question for today. Do you always know where everything is? Are you able to keep track of all of your possessions? Looking at it another way: are you always in control of every aspect of your life? Or occasionally do you misplace something that’s important to you?

How about the car keys as you’re rushing out of the house in the morning? You’re already running late. You know you left them where you usually leave them. But they’re not there. Someone must have taken them. Your spouse, your teenage kid. Your brother-in-law! Or what about that receipt you need to take with you to exchange an item at the store. You thought you might be needing it in case of a return. So you put it in a place where you would be sure to find it. But it’s not there when you go looking for it. Could you have thrown it out when you were discarding all of that other junk you did not need anymore?

If you’re like me, you go into a frenzied search-mode. For the keys, you try to retrace your steps when you got home yesterday. You search on the floor and on every table – starting in the kitchen and working systematically towards your bedroom. For the missing receipt, you begin by going through each and every piece of paper in all of the piles around the house. And if you are like me, you get angrier by the minute. At myself … and at that stupid object which the gremlins have once again stolen.

And then you find it. Right where you now remember you left it. And no, unlike the shepherd or the widow we heard about a few minutes ago … we do not invite the neighbors in for a celebration. But I do celebrate inside my head. I celebrate that the Alzheimer’s hasn’t kicked in as I thought, for a moment, it might have.

And so, I’m thankful for finding the small things in my life that I thought I had lost. I’m not unlike the shepherd or the woman who had suffered big-time losses they were able to recover. They were thankful for big things. I’m thankful for little things.

I’m also thankful that I haven’t lost big things. Some of us have. A lost spouse. A lost child. A lost job. A lost opportunity. A lost self-respect. Jesus knew about all of these losses. And he told parables about them. But his focus was not on the loss, itself. Rather, he emphasized the joy of recovering it.

He also spoke about a loss that might not be recovered. He spoke about a son who deserted the family. A child who willfully left the home where a loving parent remained behind. A parent waiting for a return. Yes, sometimes we cannot go in search of what is lost. Sometimes, we must wait – wait for the healing which accompanies the loss.

This weekend we recall the loss of some 3000 people almost a decade ago. Some still hope for a physical return. Others have become reconciled to their personal loss. Some continue to hate and despise those on whom they blame their loss. Others have begun the process of healing these wounds of the heart.

Jesus also recognized that we, his brothers and sisters, deal with loss and recovery in various ways. We heard a story about his recognition. A story we’ve heard many times before. A story that is also about us. He told his story to the Pharisees and scribes who were complaining to him. They said: “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.” Sinners … those who are lost from God. Sinners … those who willfully left the presence of God. Sinners who have repented, who have changed their ways. Sinners who wish to return to the family of God. Sinners who request forgiveness, even when they recognize that their actions do not merit forgiveness. For you see, this is the real point of the three stories Jesus addressed to the complaining Pharisees and scribes.

Although he seems to speak of the joy of finding something that is lost … whether it is a single sheep or a single coin … he is really telling the Pharisees, the scribes and those who complain … he is telling them about the acceptance and forgiveness of God.

Jesus remembers the time of Moses and the Israelites who made a golden calf to worship when they turned away from the Lord God who had led them out of the bondage of Egypt. They had left Him just as the prodigal son had left his father to seek his own fortune. Yet, that same Lord God continues to forgive his people. That same Lord God sends his only Son to us to bring us the forgiveness of God. Yes, it is for this reason that God became man … to bring his forgiveness to each of us who had been lost.

Whether we acknowledge it or not … we are, indeed, sinners. Saint Paul certainly recognized this fact about himself in his letter to Timothy that we heard today, when he wrote: “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. Of these I am the foremost. But for that reason, I was mercifully treated, so that in me, as the foremost, Christ Jesus might display all his patience as an example for those who would come to believe in him for everlasting life.”

When we hear the story of the Prodigal Son – the story of the son who returns to the waiting father – we usually imagine ourselves in the role of the returning son and God as the expectant, overjoyed Father. And, indeed, this is the case. Jesus has repeatedly spoken of the joy of God and of the angels when a sinner repents and returns to the family of God. But for a moment, perhaps we might consider ourselves in the role of either the father who is joyful – or the angry brother who resents the joy of the father when the former sinner, who was lost, now returns home.

How willing am I to forgive the reason for a loss, when the one who was lost has now returned? Do I continue to bear a grudge? Am I resentful and believe I have been treated unfairly? Or can I be like the welcoming Father and rejoice in the return. When I find the car keys, do I gripe about the time I had to spend looking for them? When I locate the misplaced piece of paper, am I thankful that my patient search has been rewarded … or do I blame myself for not having found it sooner?

And for those who have caused me a hurt … a loss of a relationship in my life … do I blame them for the loss and the pain it caused me? Or do I rejoice that the relationship has been restored … or that I have begun to accept the healing … even when the loss continues?

Indeed, I may not … I cannot … control all of the events of my life. But I can control my responses to them. I can rage against the darkness of the loss … or I can light a candle and bring a bit of illumination into the world as, together, we celebrate the forgiveness and reconciliation given to us thorough Christ, the Light of the World.

24th Sunday in Ordinary Time; September 12, 2010
Ex 32:7-11; 1 Tim 1:12-17; Lk 15:1-32

Have you ever had to deal with a person who has the style of a “used car salesman?” Our American culture has many stereotypes. They’re useful as shortcuts in movies and TV stories. The image of a used car salesman is one of those short-cut stereotypes. For the benefit of any of you who might happen to sell used cars, I want to say I’m sure this stereotype doesn’t exist in Houston. I’m really talking about Californian used car salesmen.

You have every reason to wonder what used car salesmen have to do with today’s readings. I think an appreciation for this stereotype can make today’s gospel a little easier to understand. The focus for today’s reflection is a difficult one: the focus for today’s homily is the relationship of compromise and trust. Basically the question is: do you really trust that salesman who says he’s giving you the best deal in town?

In order to see the used car salesman in today’s Gospel Reading you need to understand something about the economics of life in the time of Christ. Without this understanding, today’s gospel doesn’t make much sense. Why would a master praise his manager for what seems to be a lot of cheating?

First of all, you need to realize that the manager was probably a free man, not a slave. The manager was hired to take care of the master’s accounts. However, he didn’t receive a salary. Remember what you’ve heard about tax-collectors. How they gathered the taxes for the authorities but were entitled to keep a percentage for themselves. Well, estate managers worked on the same principle. We’d call it a commission.

The manger in today’s story was accused by others, probably some of the real servants, that he was holding out on the master, taking a bigger cut of the profits than he should have. If the manager had been a slave, he would have probably been imprisoned on the strength of the accusations. But as a freeman, he had some rights and was to be called on the carpet.

Furthermore, the manager may have been guilty of holding back more than he should have. He certainly acted guilty by fearing he was going to be dismissed by the master. So what did he do? He went to the master’s debtors and had them pay what was owed to the master; but without paying the commission that was due to him as the manger.

Now you have to admit that a 100% markup on oil is a pretty good commission! After all, when the client said he owed 100 jars of oil, and the manager was able to settle for 50 jars, that’s not a bad commission! Oil was a much better deal than wheat, where you got only 20 measures of wheat as your commission for the 80 due to the master. I hope our Houston people who deal in crude rather than in olives do as well!

Anyway, as a result of the manager’s actions, his boss got everything that was due to him and the clients were happy because they didn’t have to pay as much as they expected. It’s no wonder the master was able to praise the manager. It’s not often you are able to make both the company and the clients happy at the same time. You would have to agree, I think, that the manager displayed a good-ol’ Hebrew trait called “chutzpah“. It was for that he was praised.

I said that the focus of this reflection would be on “compromise” and upon “trust”. For some, you might believe that what the manager did was to work out a beautiful compromise. After all, both the master and the clients got the best of the deal and the manager did not lose his job. What more could you want? But what about the long run?

Would the manager be able to survive very long if he had to continuously forgo his commission? Without any money coming in, I don’t think so. Would his master trust him in the future? If the profits went down, would the master think the manager was again holding out on him? What about the clients? In the future, would they be as willing to pay the full-price that was demanded? Or would they want the manager to continue to reduce his commission? And, finally, if the master did dismiss the manager, would the clients really be all that willing to hire him on as their accountant? The question might be raised: not only “would you buy a used car from this man?” but also: “would you want this man working for you?”

Last week, deacon Les spoke about justice and mercy. This week, I’d like to reflect on compromise and trust – as well as upon forgiveness and amnesty. We are told that the Christian attitude is to forgive those who wronged you. To grant amnesty to those who were your enemies. To forget and forgive. But these virtues do not exist by themselves.

Do you recall the story when Jesus was asked to judge the woman who was accused of adultery. When no one was able to cast the first stone, Jesus forgave the woman. He granted her amnesty. But what did he say next? He said: “You may go. But from now on, avoid this sin.” Forgiveness requires repentance, a change of heart, a determination that the wrongful act will not be repeated.

Back in the old days when everyone went to weekly confession, Catholics were accused of being able to sin repeatedly and all we had to do was go to confession in order to get rid of the sin. But the truth of the matter was, that to obtain absolution, you had to promise to try to change, to try not to commit that same sin again. There was a recognition that, being human, we could fail once more, but the attempt to change had to be made. With forgiveness, there was a need to be trusted.

That need still exists today. There is a need for trust in small things, as Jesus says. Otherwise, how can you really trust a person when it comes to something important, the big things in life?

Parents need to be able to trust that the kids will be home when they say they will, otherwise, how can you trust them with the car? Parents need to be able to trust that their kids can stand up to the peer pressure of not joining in on the latest fad when the kids are told “it’s ok, everyone is doing it”. Otherwise, how can parents trust that their kids can also say “no” to crack?

With kids, it’s being able to trust that their parents will be there for them when problems and troubles do come up. How can a kid trust that this will be the case, when mom and dad don’t listen to the other things the kids have to say?

Life seems to be full of the potential for compromises. For slight adjustments in our principles and in our trustworthiness. Does it really matter that I add a little to my expense account? Do I try to justify it by saying I’m not really stealing from the company; and besides, nobody will miss it; nobody will be hurt by my small action; it’s all part of the system, anyway.

Would there be a need for a “war on drugs” if people didn’t start with small compromises? Like saying: “marijuana isn’t really addictive; it’s ok to use it for ‘recreational’ purposes.” Or how about: “everyone at work uses a little coke now and then. It’s ok to get a lift that way. After-all, I’m strong enough to avoid mis-using it. I can stop whenever I want to.” All of these are forms of compromises.

Nations have problems with compromises, too. Can superpower One compromise with superpower Two and really reach a peaceful settlement? “Yes,” if there is trust; “No,” if there is no trust. Can a minority accept the conditions of the majority and not be afraid of the consequences? Yes, if there is trust; no if there is no trust.

Compromise. Seeing the other person’s needs and your own needs and working out a joint solution. That is an appropriate Christian approach. Yet, compromise with evil is never allowed. Giving in to evil is not an appropriate Christian approach. How do you tell the difference? How do you judge when evil is present? When are the principles so important that compromise is not possible? There are no easy answers to that question.

Jesus did give us some guidelines. He said to forgive those who do wrong. But there must first be a repentance, a willingness to change. How do we know that there is a willingness to change? By observing a person’s behavior in small things and trusting that these actions will suggest how a person will behave in more important things.

He also said you can not serve two masters. In the old translations, it was: “you can’t serve God and mammon.” Now it’s called “money”. But mammon is still a useful concept. Mammon is any worldly possession that leads us away from God and from positive relationships with others.

The prophet Amos in the First Reading spoke about merchants who cheated in their measurements and about those who thought a poor man was worth less than the price of a pair of worn-out sandals. Such people followed mammon, not the Lord God. In our own day, perhaps crack and other drugs are our form of mammon. They offer high profits for some and death for many more.

But change is possible. It is possible to turn from mammon, no matter what that mammon might be, and to turn towards God. That, after all, is what being a Christian is all about. The willingness to change: first in small ways. Then: in larger ones, which turn out not to be all that large after the small steps have been taken. We show how we can be trusted in small actions. We suddenly discover we can handle the greater trusts given to us.

I began this reflection with a used car salesman. Jesus never had to deal with a used car salesman. But I doubt if he ever bought a donkey from someone he couldn’t trust. Would he have bought a donkey from you?

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time; September 24, 1989
Amos 8:4-7; 1 Tim 2:1-8; Lk 16:1-13

Today’s question involves geography; but it’s not a hard one. It requires either a “yes” or “no” answer. The question is this: How many of you have ever visited Santa Fe, New Mexico? And how many of you have “enjoyed” visiting Santa Fe? Santa Fe is one of my favorite towns, even if I do get tired after a while of seeing howling coyotes on everything. And I think there are more colors in life than pink, turquoise and tan. Yet despite all of that commercialization, there is a certain ambience, call it a certain calmness united with joy, that I find refreshes my spirit in Santa Fe. So, if you haven’t been to Santa Fe, I’d encourage you to visit, even if I don’t get a cut from the Santa Fe Chamber of Commerce.

However, if you never have the chance to visit the town of Santa Fe, I would encourage you even more to spend a lot of time, in fact, a lot of your life, within the boundaries of the real Santa Fe. And what is the “real” Santa Fe?

Have you ever stopped to recognize that Santa Fe means “Holy Faith?” Yes, whether or not you ever get into the mountains of New Mexico, the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, the Blood of Christ Mountains of the southwest; whether or not you visit Santa Fe, New Mexico, I would encourage you to seek “Holy Faith,” itself.

And what is holy faith? There are many ways to define it, I suppose. One way is to acknowledge that “faith” is a “gift of God.” Our God has revealed to us that divinity exists as Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Our response to that revelation is our faith. How we live out our response is our faith.

For some, faith is a list of the things we believe. Each Sunday at mass we recite the Creed that summarizes this list of beliefs of our faith. But at the heart of this Creed is the internal knowledge each one of us has; the knowledge that God exists; that God is. And coupled with this knowing that God exists is the knowing that I, myself, exist and that I exist not on my own, but I exist in God.

I am like a bright cloud floating in God who is the blue sky surrounding me and sustaining my flight. At any moment I can dissolve into apparent nothingness, yet I am still with God. Faith is knowing that everyone else also exists in God; that there are many clouds in that blue sky but we are all moved in one direction by the same wind, the wind of the Holy Spirit.

This capacity for each person to know that God exists and to respond to God’s existence, is our gift of faith. Yet like all gifts, the gift of faith must be opened; it is a gift that we must be taught to use. We need help to realize that God is the Creator and we are the creations of our God.

In our First Reading from the book of the prophet Amos we heard about people who had forgotten this lesson. They were people who could hardly wait for the Sabbath, the day of rest, to be over so they could get back to cheating others. They wanted to diminish the Ephah, the measure used for volumes of food. They wanted their customers to think they were getting a full bushel basket of wheat by making the basket smaller. They wanted to add to the weight of the shekel used in their balance scales so that when they bought the wheat from others, their clients would need to put more grain on the balance pan before the sale could be made.

But in our Second Reading from Paul’s Letter to Timothy, we are reminded once more, of the basic lesson of faith. We are urged to offer “… petitions, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings … ” for all peoples, especially for those in authority. Yes, Paul encourages us to pray even for our boss. Can you image Dagwood praying for Mr. Dithers – or how about Dilbert praying for the welfare of that pointy-headed character who employs him?

In our gospel reading we heard about a relationship between another boss and a different kind of employee. In the story Jesus told to his disciples, the boss seems to be more understanding that either Mr. Dithers or the pointy-head who supervises Dilbert. Just before he’s to be fired for incompetency, our employee cuts a few deals for himself. If you want to look kindly upon this guy, some scholars would say he was merely reducing the master’s debts by the amount of interest that he, himself, had coming to him and, in the process, he ingratiated himself to his clients so they might hire him perhaps as a high-payed consultant – after he was fired.

But no matter what motivated this particular employee and whether or not his boss approved of the results, Jesus does give us the tag line for his story. He concludes by saying: “You cannot give yourself to God and money.” It seems that each person needs to make a choice: either to be faithful to God or to live out your life according to the guidelines of the secular world.

Which brings us back to where we started, our need for faith, for living out the way of God, for opening God’s gift of eternal life, God’s gift of grace wrapped in the gift of faith. But how do we learn how to open this gift of faith?

We accomplish this task through the process of catechesis. Yes, catechesis is a fancy word for opening the gift of faith. Catechesis means an education in our faith. Catechesis is more than merely teaching about God, about Father, Son and Holy Spirit. It is rather teaching by both word and example. In our modern jargon: catechesis is … “to walk the talk.”

Today, throughout the United States, Catholic parishes are celebrating “Catechetical Sunday,” a special day to acknowledge and honor all of the catechists in our lives. There are many such people around us: those who have helped us to unwrap our gift of faith, who have taught us, and shown us, what it is to live a Christian life.

The first catechists are our parents. They are the first ones who helped us open that sacred gift. They brought us to the waters of Baptism. They taught us what is right and wrong. They taught us about sharing. They taught us about God. They taught us how to speak with God in prayer.

Our second set of catechists are our peers. Rightly or wrongly, our friends taught us about life. Sometimes they tried to lead us astray. Sometimes, like those we heard about from Amos, we were told to cheat and to lie in order to get ahead. Sometimes, like the employee in today’s parable, we thought we could get away with shady dealings; that we could take care of ourselves; that we could plan for the future independent of higher authority, independent even of God.

What our parents had begun so well, was sometimes set aside by our peers. Yet, hopefully, we also had peers who did not lead us astray but, instead, also helped us open and use our gift of faith. Yet, if parents and peers were less than helpful, perhaps there were also “professionals” – those who truly professed their beliefs, who spoke out and taught us through their words and actions.

The first of those “professionals” – those who profess our faith – are our bishops. We sometimes forget that they are the primary teachers assigned to us by God to help us in our response to God’s revelations. Bishops, priests, deacons and religious sisters and brothers have principal roles to openly profess our faith.

But perhaps the most important ones who profess their faith to others, who help others in their quest for God, are our ordinary teachers, our ordinary catechists: those ordinary women and men of all ages and backgrounds who do such extra-ordinary things in their lives – and with their lives. These are the people we acknowledge and honor today. These are the ones who have given of themselves so that each one of us can experience today our own “Santa Fe” – our own Holy Faith.

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time; September 20, 1998 (Catechetical Sunday)
Amos 8:4 -7; 1 Tim 2:1-8; Lk 16:1-13

Today’s question is a philosophical or theological one. My question is this: What is faith? What do we mean when we pledge faithfulness to one another? Perhaps, another word for faith is trust. Trust within a relationship means: I will never harm you. Yet, trust goes beyond doing no harm. Faith and trust mean: I will always have your best interest as my own, major interest. Faith is knowing that something will happen, because the one you trust says it will happen.

Today’s readings are about faith. In our first reading, the Israelites said they saw only violence and misery in life. But the Lord God responded through the words of Habakkuk, the prophet, that they must focus on the vision, on what they have been promised to see in the future, on the vision that will be fulfilled. Have faith. Trust in the word of the Lord God and have life. That is the message.

In the second reading, Paul in his letter to Timothy reminds him that Timothy’s faith, his trust, would be strengthened by the action of the Holy Spirit who dwells within him.

The apostles, too, were concerned about faith, about their trust in their relationship with their master. In today’s Gospel Reading, they asked, like many of us, they asked their master to increase their faith. It seems that they wanted a greater ability or, perhaps, greater reasons to trust him.

Jesus gave them a strange answer. He said: you don’t need more faith. You have enough faith no matter how little you may think you have. If you used what you perceive is your “limited” faith, you could, in fact, up-root trees merely by speaking to them. All you need to do, he said, is to do what is expected of you, what your duty calls you to do. He seems to be saying: trust in the relationship you already have with the master who has your welfare in mind. You already have sufficient faith to accomplish all that is required of you.

And what is required? We know the basic requirement, the fundamental law: love God and love your neighbor as yourself. We also know the core of our faith, of our trust in our own relationship with Christ, the core, the heart, which proclaims: he died for us. He is risen. He will come again. We re-affirm this faith, this trust in his words, at each and every celebration of the Eucharist. As Catholic Christians, we’ve been doing this for two-thousand years.

Over the centuries, the fundamental way in which we have done this, has not changed. We have gathered to hear the word of God in holy scripture. We have gathered in a fellowship meal where the elder, the presbyter, the priest prays to God the Father to send down the Holy Spirit to consecrate, to make holy, the bread and the wine to become the body and blood of Christ.

Over the centuries, the words and actions have changed with time, place and culture; but the fundamentals of this faithful relationship have remained constant, unchanged. Forty years ago, a generation ago, the bishops of the world, the direct successors of the apostles, met in Vatican City to revise some of the externals which had changed dramatically since the time of the apostles, themselves.

Many Catholic Christians throughout the world, and particularly in the United States, were disturbed by the changes. Many others equally embraced the changes. Most seemed happy to be able to understand the words now spoken in English, rather than in Latin. Some were uncomfortable with the idea that we are to be a worshiping community and not a collection of individuals praying to God at the same time.

Yes, there were many changes. Sometimes, it seemed that the changes were made merely for the sake of making changes rather than returning the liturgy, our public gathering, to the simplicity of those first, Christian liturgical celebrations. In some instances, there seemed to be a loss in the perception of a basic truth: namely, that in our communion with God, we consume not bread and wine but the actual body & blood of Christ.

In order to prevent the loss of this basic truth, the Vatican has recently issued a new set of changes to re-enforce our perception that we consume the body and blood of Christ, himself. These changes are not just for the diocese of Galveston-Houston, but are for the world-wide Catholic church.

Some may wonder why we need to change here at Christ the Good Shepherd. They function under the view: if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. However, the rules are for everyone in the universal church. They have been structured to focus on the Eucharist, itself. These changes began with a recent papal encyclical on the Eucharist. They’re being implemented by a new Vatican document with the long title: “On Certain Matters to be Observed or to be Avoided Regarding the Most Holy Eucharist.” The final implementation of this document is to be done throughout the entire Roman Catholic church by the First Sunday of Advent, the last weekend in November.

Here at Good Shepherd we will be making these changes over the next several weeks in order to have them in place by the beginning of Advent; and yet take into consideration the physical limitations of our own environment. So what we do here at Good Shepherd, may not be exactly what you see done at other parishes.

So what will you see here, at Christ the Good Shepherd? First of all, trays with individual cups will be brought to the altar when the gifts of bread and wine are brought forward. The wine will be poured at this time. The new document expresses a concern that in the pouring of any liquid, some might be spilled. It is one thing to spill wine; it is entirely another matter to spill the Precious Blood.

And this is what we believe. Once the wine has been consecrated, it is no longer wine, but it is now the body and blood of Christ. And so, the wine is to be poured before it is consecrated, before it becomes the Precious Blood.

There is also a concern that the cups containing the Precious Blood might be broken, not necessarily at CGS, but remember, these changes are for every Catholic parish in the world. So to preclude the possibility of breakage, the cups can no longer be glass, crystal or pottery. They must be of silver, gold or pewter: metals that cannot rust nor corrode, that do not break. We will also change from glass to metal bowls for the distribution of the consecrated hosts.

To focus on the Eucharist, itself, you will also see other changes at the time when the gifts of bread and wine are brought to the altar. For instance, these gifts of bread and wine will be brought forward before the collection of funds has been completed. The large basket with the combined collection will no longer be brought forward and placed by the altar.

Many of you bring gifts of food and other products for the poor. We want to encourage you, and others, to continue this generous practice. However, the location for your gifts will be changed. They should not be placed directly in the sanctuary around the altar, but they should be placed in and around the baskets which will be at the front of the main aisle. So if your children bring up these gifts, please instruct them about the new location for these gifts.

There are also certain aspects of receiving the body and blood of Christ that you should be aware of. It has always been the case that the consecrated host and the precious blood are both the body and blood of Christ, even though the priest, deacon or extraordinary minister of holy communion, when offering the consecrated host would say: “the body of Christ” and with the consecrated wine, “the blood of Christ.”

The reason for reminding you of this, is because of another factor. The new rules encourage that only enough hosts be consecrated for use at a particular mass, with a few held for distribution to the sick. This practice emphasizes the relationship of the consecration, itself, to the body of Christ you receive during communion. So if for some wild reason, we have an insufficient number of consecrated hosts, we want you to realize that the consecrated wine is both the Precious Blood and the Body of Christ and can be received by itself, without previously consuming the consecrated host.

Finally, a couple of other reminders about receiving communion. If you follow the instruction: “take and eat,” you’re encouraged not to reach out and grab the host. But rather, you should hold out your hands, with one below the other, depending on whether you’re right- or left-handed, so that the priest, deacon or extraordinary minister of holy communion can place the body of Christ in one hand and you, yourself, can transfer it to your mouth with your other hand.

You should consume the host immediately; and not walk away with it in your hand. To show your reverence for the body of Christ, or for the Precious Blood, you should bow your head immediately before receiving the host or the cup and say “Amen” in response to the words “the body of Christ” and “the blood of Christ” … remembering that the Hebrew word “Amen” means “I believe.”

Finally, some may want to use the old method of intinction, that is, inserting the host into the cup and consuming the consecrated host and Precious Blood at the same time. If you wish to receive in this manner, the new rules say you must give the host to the priest, deacon or extraordinary minister of holy communion, who will intinct the host and place it directly on your tongue. You are not to intinct the host yourself.

If I may, there is also a comment for those who wish to receive the body of Christ directly on the tongue, the way it was done when I was a child. Back then, the good sisters and the priests gave us the firm instruction that this is the time, the only time, when we should stick out our tongue! It was not enough just to open our mouths, no matter how wide we opened them. The priest had to place the host on my tongue easily, without searching for it!

Over the coming weeks, there may be other changes as well. For example, when to stand or knell. (Use hand motions to demonstrate.) So yes, be prepared to experience several changes in how we celebrate the mass, beginning now, in October, the month John Paul II has dedicated for the opening of a special “Year of the Eucharist.”

But with time, these new actions will become part of our lives and this is still what our actions and our faith are really all about: becoming an intimate part of our Christian lives. I began by speaking about faith and trust. This is still my focus: faith and trust that in my communion, I receive the true body and blood of Christ, who is with me always, so that I may continue in a faithful, trusting relationship with him, forever. Amen!

Twenty-seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 3, 2004
Habakkuk 1:2-3;2:2-4; 2 Timothy 1:6-8,13-14; Luke 17:5-10

Today I’m back to strange questions. However, this one may be easy for Latin scholars, or if there aren’t too many of you around, then perhaps for those of you who like movies such as “The Gladiators” or “Spartacus.” Actually, my question has two parts: first of all: What is meant by the letters “S…P…Q…R?” And secondly, where would you find them? SPQR?

Well if you took Latin or if you’ve watched a lot of so-called “spaghetti westerns,” you might recall that “SPQR” stands for “Senátus Populusque Romanus.” It means: “the Senate and People of Rome.” These letters were seen on the standards that lead the Roman legions into battle as they conquered the ancient world. Battle standards, and later battle flags, were a very important part of warfare in ancient times. Perhaps they still are, unfortunately.

I raise the question about the Roman “SPQR,” since we heard about another battle standard in our first reading for today. We heard, a few minutes ago, about a battle between the Israelites and their enemies. We heard how the Israelite general, Joshua, led them into battle. And how, the Israelites needed their own battle standard. But since they could not make an image of the Lord God to show that he was with them in battle, they relied on the appearance of his prophet Moses.

Moses stood there on the hill where everyone could see him. In his outstretched hand, he held the staff that had led them out of Egypt:
● the staff that had once turned into serpents which devoured the other snakes brought forth by pharaoh’s magicians,
● the staff Moses had used to part the Red Sea at the beginning of their long Exodus to the promised land,
● the staff he used to strike the rock which then poured forth water in the desert.

But Moses became tired holding his arms outstretched. Yet he could not let them drop. For when he did, the Israelites began to lose. It was only when he kept his arms up, that his people could see that God was, indeed, with them and that they could defeat their enemy. So Moses enlisted the help of his brother, Aaron, and Hur, another leader. They stood beside Moses and helped to support his arms throughout the battle, which the Israelites finally won.

For the Israelites, Moses, with his outstretched arms, was a sign of the persistent presence of the Lord God. Moses, too, was persistent, although he had help in his persistence, as perhaps, many of us need the help of others in our own persistence.

Our gospel story, of course, also speaks of persistence. A few minutes ago, we heard Jesus tell a story to his disciples about a persistent widow, whose petitions are granted because she is so persistent. How her case is refused to be heard by a dishonest judge
● a judge who does not fear God, himself,
● a judge who does not respect any other human being,
● a judge who has no sense of shame, no sense of what is right or wrong.

Now our widow had several options. First of all, she could have forgotten about her rights and merely walked away. She could have ceased looking for justice. Or since the judge was dishonest, perhaps she could have tried to bribe him, to pay him for granting to her what she rightfully deserved. But, instead, what did she do? She persisted.

Now she may have done things that, if she tried to do them today, she would be charged with public harassment. But regardless of what she may have done, her persistence paid off and the judge rendered a just decision for her.

A “just” decision, it says. So he did not rule in her favor only because she kept after him. No, she obtained the decision that she truly deserved but in a case that the dishonest judge had been reluctant to hear and act upon.

And why did Jesus tell his disciples such a story? We heard the reason at the beginning of Luke’s account of it, when Luke wrote: “Jesus told his disciples a parable about the necessity for them to pray always without becoming weary.”

At the conclusion of his parable, Jesus, himself, pointed out: if a dishonest judge will grant a widow’s petition “… will not God … [who unconditionally loves the petitioner, grant] … the rights … [of those who pray to him?]”

Yes, today’s readings focus on persistence – persistence in prayer, persistence in seeking God’s help. But of equal importance, today’s readings call us to be people of faith. Prayer and faith are joined together in our calling as followers of Christ.

One of the major questions we often ask when we pray is: why does it appear that my prayers are not answered? Why do bad things continue to persist, even when I, myself, persist in my prayers? The question is not new. It goes back to the days of Job. You remember that story, too, don’t you?
● how Job, a righteous man who committed no sins against God, nevertheless, suffered the loss of his family, his possessions, his health.
● how his friends said he must have done something wrong to deserve God’s punishment.
● how in response to Job’s suffering, God, himself, appeared to Job: not to defend the actions of God, not to answer why the calamities befell Job but rather:
… to allow Job to experience the mystery of God’s very presence,
… to allow Job to experience his own faith and trust in God, and
… to remind Job that faith dissolves doubts; it does not necessarily diminish desolation.

Prayer allows us to experience God – not necessarily to be rewarded by God. Prayer leads to an understanding that God is with us: even in adversity, even as God was with the Israelites in their battles, even as God was with Job in his calamities.

In the letter Saint Paul wrote to Timothy, that we heard today, Paul said: “Be persistent whether it is convenient or inconvenient.” He also said: “remain faithful to what you have learned and believed.”

This particular Sunday we are urged by pope John Paul II to not only remain faithful but also to go out in faith, to go out to others throughout the world. Long before September 11, this weekend was dedicated as “Mission Sunday:” a time to offer particular support for the “Society for the Propagation of Faith.” A time to recall that “propagation” means to plant the seeds, to cultivate and nurture what has been sown, and to reap the harvest.

We are, once more, asked to help others through our missionary work ¹
● in the direct missionary work of our CGS youth who go to Arteaga.
● by those in our parish who minister at the Bridges Apartments.
● or those who give their time and efforts to the Interfaith Hospitality Network or to Northwest Assistance Ministries.

This weekend we are also encouraged to support worldwide missionary work through our contributions for today’s collection for the Society for the Propagation of Faith. Propagation of faith means working for justice, for the rights of others, rights that we take for granted for ourselves.

The widow in today’s gospel persisted in her cries for justice for herself. Moses persisted, with the help of Aaron and Hur, to be a sign of God’s presence with his chosen people. We too are called to be persistent in our prayers:
● we are called to acknowledge that God remains with us in times of adversity;
● we are called to be a sign of God’s presence in the world

The ancient Romans were led into battle by a sign bearing the letters SPQR. The Israelites were led into battle by Moses with arms outstretched. We, too, are to continue in our own personal and community struggles led by a man who also stretched out his arms, stretched them out on a wooden cross. A man who persisted beyond all others. A man who gave himself so that others might have eternal life with God. A man who becomes Eucharist – Eucharist to be shared with us as we share his love and our service with all peoples of the world.

Twenty-ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 21, 2001 (Mission Sunday)
Ex 17:8-13; 2 Tim 3:14-4:2; Lk 18:1-8

1. Arteaga is a town in Mexico to which our high school students are sent for a week of providing assistance. The Bridges Apartments is a place for local housing of low-income residents. The Interfaith Hospitality Network consists of local churches and synagogues who take in, on a weekly rotating basis, the homeless. Northwest Assistance Ministries (NAM) affords low-cost items and financial help to the marginalized in the FM 1960 community

Today’s question calls for a bit of imagination. The question is this: What image comes into your mind when you think of “justice”? For most of us, I would guess that it’s a woman in long robes, wearing a blind-fold and holding up a set of scales. Some of us, when we think of a scale, picture the one at the deli counter in the supermarket, the one that gives us a digital read-out of the weight and cost of our luncheon meat. The scales of justice aren’t like that. They are the balance kind, where you put weights on one side to even-out the pans.

This image of blind-folded justice, with her balance scales, leads me to the focus for today’s homily which has these four elements: justice, mercy, being a sinner, and balancing. But, as usual, let’s begin with a closer look at today’s Gospel Reading.

Today’s reading is about three individuals: a pharisee, a tax-collector and their God. We need to look at all three. First of all: the pharisee. I’ve described a pharisee before. But to remind you, in case you’ve forgotten, a pharisee was a member of the upper middle-class who wanted to worship God in the right way. And the “right way” consisted of following, as exactly as possible, all 613 rules derived from the Torah, the Law. To be a pharisee, you had to be as pure as possible.

You did what the law required, or better yet, what the law demanded. And if you did even more, you would be rewarded even more. If you fasted twice a week, you were better than someone who fasted only once a week, or who didn’t fast at all. And if you paid to the temple one-tenth of everything you really owned, instead of what you might say you owned, you were certainly better than the man who cheated God by underestimating his share. Many of us probably know several modern-day pharisees. We may even know one of them very well.

And what about the tax-collector? What sort of person was he? For one thing, he was a social outcast. Why? Because he was a Jew who worked for the Romans. His apparent loyalty was to Caesar and not to his God. He collected money from his countrymen and kept part of it as his salary and turned the rest over to the authorities. Most people thought he probably kept more of it than he should have. Otherwise, why did the Romans always seem to be saying they needed more taxes? Probably because the tax collector was skimming more off the top than he should have.

So here we have today’s story, where the pharisee and the tax collector went to the temple to pray. Now the Jews who heard Jesus’ story weren’t at all surprised at what he said when he began his parable. They expected that a pharisee might go each morning and each afternoon to pray in the temple. This is what was expected of a religious man. And the pharisee was recognized by his fellow Jews to be a very religious man, one who had every right to stand with his head unbowed in a prominent place and shout out his thanksgiving to God: “Hey, I’m not like anyone else. I’m a lot better than anyone else. And that little guy, back there. The one who demands my hard-earned money and gives it to the Romans. He really is a sinner. I’m not like him. Not at all.”

Maybe this seems like a strange prayer. But it’s one we may have heard first-hand from people we know. Maybe from someone we know very well and agree with. After all, those fellow Jews who heard Jesus tell his story, agreed with what both the pharisee and the tax collector said. And what did they hear the tax collector say? “I am a sinner.” Everyone who heard Jesus’ story would agree with that statement. In their eyes, the tax collector is a sinner.

A sinner. What’s a sin? The Jewish concept of sin is a very interesting one. The word they used has been translated by scholars to mean something like: “to miss the mark. to fall short of a goal.” And from that meaning, comes the concept that to sin, is to fail. To fail big time. It’s in this way that each one of us is a sinner. Each one of us has failed, “big time”, in our goals, in the promises we have made to our self, to others and to our God.

And what happens when we fail, when we have missed our goal, broken our promise? When we are out of balance? When we recognize that we have sinned, we try to bring things back into balance. Which is why I began with justice and the scales of justice.

For you see, in order to deal out justice, a judge balances the facts of the case. Justice is not “punishment” so much as it is “correction.” Correction that must be done to bring the person and society back into a “right balance.” Justice is seeing and doing the right thing to correct a situation which is out of balance, which is wrong. If this were a homily on social justice, I would remind us of the words of Paul VI: “Those who seek peace must work for justice.”

But today’s Gospel Reading includes the words of the tax collector: “O God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” Mercy. Justice and mercy. As justice is seeing and doing the right thing in order to bring about a balance, mercy is seeing and doing the right thing; but at the same time, being gracious and forgiving, without having an obligation to be gracious and forgiving.

Last week we heard the parable which immediately precedes today’s Gospel Reading from Luke. Last week we heard about a prayer and justice being given by a judge, not out of a sense of mercy but because it was expedient for him to render a decision. This week we hear the other part of Luke’s story about prayer, about a prayer for God’s mercy for us sinners.

For some, justice is “merited.” For some, God’s love is “merited.” They say: “I’ve done everything God asked of me, and for this reason I merit my reward in heaven.” But others are able to say: “I have tried, but I know I’ve failed. I pray that God who knows when I try and fail, looks into my heart and sees what is inside of me and not just my external actions when balancing the scales of my life on earth and in his kingdom.”

For the Christian, the image of justice is not someone who is blind-folded, but rather, one who can look deeply into each heart and soul. And this means that Christians seek this quality not only in our God, but also in ourselves, in each one of us.

I need to be able to look at myself without wearing a blindfold. I need to recall that Luke says today’s parable was “addressed to those who believed in their own self-righteousness.” Nowhere in today’s reading is the pharisee condemned for doing the right thing. He was not told that he should stop praying or being faithful, stop fasting or contributing to the temple. He was taken to task for exalting himself, for being smug about his accomplishments, for not seeing that there was still room for improvement.

On the other hand, the tax collector admitted that he had his failings. He was probably a good tax collector and had retained only the money he was supposed to; but he had fallen short of his spiritual goals. His life needed to be balanced.

Each of us is called to examine our life and, in this examination, not to become self-righteous. For some, this examination is difficult. In our modern culture with its emphasis on psychology, we are repeatedly told that our problems come from a negative self-image, one in which we see only the bad things about us. Unfortunately, we then believe that the opposite of a “negative” self-image is a “positive” in which we should see only the good and wonderful about us. It’s from this attitude of looking at only the good and wonderful parts of us that we become smug and self-righteous.

Instead, what is really called for is an image of true justice, of looking into our selves and seeking an internal balance. Of recognizing our failings, our shortcomings – our sinfulness – and trying to balance them with needed changes.

A sinner is not an evil person. An evil person justifies any harm he does in terms of that harm being good and being worthy of continuation. Evil people have no desire to balance the actions of their lives. They are content in being out of balance. A sinner, however, recognizes that there are failings which need to be addressed and changed. A sinner seeks reconciliation: a balance with self, others and God.

Many of us recall that ancient formula: “Bless me father, for I have sinned.” In this request, we do not ask for a blessing because we have sinned and want to be excused for what we have done. Nor do we say it in order to have our actions condoned so we can go on sinning. Rather we ask for a blessing, for God’s help to recognize our failures and to help bring our lives back into balance. It is with great trust in God’s love, that each of us can pray and know that our prayer will be answered: “O God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 25, 1992
Sir 35: 12-14, 16-18; 2 Tim 4:6-8, 16-18; Lk 18:9-14