Category: Homilies

Today’s question involves something that should be of interest to each one of us. It comes from today’s gospel reading. It may be a question you’ve already guessed I might ask. My question is this: When you think of a “treasure,” what do you think of; what do you see; what do you envision?

For many people, the word “treasure” is linked immediately to an image of a “treasure chest” — one in which we find jewels and gold. Treasure is something you find buried by someone else. It’s hidden until you find it, uncover it.

However, what would your response be if I had asked: What is your treasure? The chances are you would not have thought of buried gold and jewels, but rather of living things, of relationships, possibly your children or your spouse or your own parents. Most of us take seriously, the line spoken by Jesus at the beginning of today’s gospel: “For where your treasure is, there also will your heart be.” Our treasure, rightfully, is the center of our lives. It is life, itself, just as the heart is the center of our life, and represents life, itself.

All of us want our treasure to be safe, to be protected. We desire the security of our treasure for its own sake, as well as for our own. Most of the time we want our treasure to increase, to grow in size and in importance in our lives. We become upset if the size of our physical treasure decreases, if our savings or retirement funds decline. We also become disturbed if our relationships with others are disrupted. In either case we worry about the future.

It is then that we might recall the words Jesus spoke at the very beginning of today’s gospel reading. Before talking about any “treasure,” Jesus addressed his disciples with instructions such as: “Do not be afraid any longer, little flock, for your Father is pleased to give you the kingdom. Sell your belongings and give alms. [Give part of your wealth to others.] Provide moneybags for yourselves that do not wear out. [Do not be concerned about where to store the surplus wealth you want to carry with you in this world.] An inexhaustible treasure in heaven [awaits you. A treasure] that no thief can reach, nor moth destroy. [A treasure that cannot be taken from you by another person. A treasure that cannot be destroyed by natural disintegration.]

The real question which Jesus poses for us, might be: When you think of treasure, when you think of where your heart is to reside, do you realize that your treasure is the kingdom of God which the Father has already given you? Given to you as a gift, not as something buried in the earth. And along with this gift of the Kingdom, the Father has given us another gift, the gift of Faith.

In the opening line from the Letter to the Hebrews, we heard moments ago, Saint Paul gave us a definition of faith. He said: “Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen.” Faith is the becoming “more real” of what is already real, but not yet seen.
● The Kingdom of God, the Reign of God, exists right now; but it is not seen in its totality.
● The Kingdom of God is our treasure, but we do not see it completely at this moment.
Again, in the words of St Paul: “Faith is the realization of what is hoped for, and evidence of things not seen.”

“What is hoped for …” Just what is hope? For many, hope is the expectation of future, positive outcomes. Its opposite is dread. Dread is the expectation of future, negative outcomes.
● Every time we look at today’s stock market, we wait with either hope or dread about its outcomes for tomorrow.
● Every time we go to a physician and await our diagnosis, we wait with either hope or dread.

In our human lives we do a lot of waiting, including our waiting for the Return of Christ – for the fulfilment of the Kingdom, the fulfilment of the promise he made to us. And in this period of “waiting,” we are reminded that we have been given the gift of Faith and we are to use this gift of Faith as we’re to use all of the other gifts God has given us.

And how are we to make use of our gift of Faith? Paul in his Letter to the Hebrews reminds us of the faith of Abraham – our guide to what it means to be faithful. In our second reading for today, Paul recounts the history of Abraham. Saint Paul says: “By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; he went out, not knowing where he was to go.”

We too, are to obey, to listen intently to God’s call, to His desire for us to go forward and seek the inheritance He has given each one of us. We are called to be part of the journey to the Kingdom of God. Secondly, Paul writes: “By faith [Abraham] sojourned in the promised land as in a foreign country …” We, too, are to travel in unfriendly and unknown terrain in our daily journey in and toward the Reign of God. Paul then states: “By faith [Abraham] received power to generate, even though he was past the normal age … for he thought that the one who had made the promise was trustworthy.”

Yes, although Abraham was very old, he had been promised that he and his elderly wife, Sarah, would have a son and that his “descendants would be as numerous as the stars in the sky or the sands on the seashore.” And Abraham maintained this faith because, as Paul writes, “… [Abraham] thought that the one who had made the promise was trustworthy.”

“Trustworthy.” Trust … the belief – the unmeasurable surety – by which we know
● that another person will do no harm to us,
● that the one we trust, has our best interests at heart at all times,
● that the one we trust, loves us completely and without any conditions.

In our first reading from the Book of Wisdom, we heard about the night of the Passover and how the Israelites had “sure knowledge of the oaths in which they put their faith [and had courage as they] awaited the salvation of the just and the destruction of their foes.” Like Abraham, they, too, had faith and believed that their God is trustworthy. They recalled how Abraham
● heard the call of God,
● responded to the call,
● continued on the path set by God and
● initiated whatever is needed to complete the call.
Perhaps in our faithful waiting for our salvation, we are to be like Abraham: to hear, to respond, to continue, to initiate.

Jesus promised his disciples – and he promises us: “the Father gives you the kingdom.” However, he also told his friends: do not wait passively. Be active while you await the return of the groom. Continue to work at the tasks assigned to you. Do your jobs faithfully. Don’t wait until the last minute to do what the Lord and Master wants of you. And if you do all of this, when the Lord and Master returns to you, he will serve you as you have served him.

Yes, our treasure, is to be fully revealed to us when Christ returns. At each Eucharist we pray for his Return, his Second Coming. We sometimes fail to realize that his Return to us is also the Treasure we seek – a Treasure in Heaven which has been promised to us – a Treasure that provides, ultimately, our peace and our security. The treasure we know as our Trinitarian God: Our Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 8, 2010
Wis 18: 6-9; Heb (Short Form: 11:1-2, 8-12); Lk (Short Form: 12: 35 -40, but include 32-34 opening verses!)

How many of you are addicted to shopping malls? I know one person who claims to be a first-rate “mallee.” You might not know about every mall in Harris County; but I expect almost all of you have been to Greenspoint. Do you remember the first several trips you made? Were you as disoriented as I was? For the first several times, things looked familiar, but I couldn’t tell which way was Foley’s and which way was Montgomery Ward. Why am I starting today’s reflection with Greenspoint? It’s because today’s gospel leaves me as disoriented and confused as when I first began exploring Greenspoint.

Each Sunday the gospel usually focuses on God’s love for us. But in today’s reading we have what seems to be the exact opposite: Jesus says: “I have come to light a fire on the earth. …. Do you think I’ve come to establish peace on the earth? … I have come for division.” and then he talks about how everyone in the household will be against one another. This hardly seems like the Jesus we usually hear about. That’s why I felt disoriented when I started to pray this passage in preparation for today’s reflection. However, I finally arrived at something that seems to make sense for me. That’s what I want to share with you today

In today’s reflection I want to address two issues: First, what does the gospel passage mean within its own historical context and Second: what might these words mean for us today? In looking at the past and present we should also look at three concepts: loving confrontation, courage, and endurance.

Looking at the history: what impact do you think this gospel message had on the first Christians, the ones for whom the Good News was written? We need to remember that these early Christians were all converts – converts who had been either Jews or pagan gentiles. In those early days in order to follow Christ it might have been very necessary to break away from your family. Just as in our Civil War, brother fought against brother, the early Christians had to forsake their fathers or their sons; their mothers or their daughters in order to follow Christ.

The gospel writers, especially Luke who wrote primarily for Greek Gentiles, recognized this division. Luke wanted to encourage his listeners by recalling sayings of Jesus which re-assured those early Christians that it was acceptable, even necessary, for there to be conflict within the family; and especially between generations, for those who would follow the teachings of Jesus.

The words reported by Luke should not be taken to justify family strife. Instead, we need to understand them as words of encouragement for those who needed such encouragement, for those breaking away from their loved ones in order to become Christians.

I think we also need to understand that Luke was probably also talking about more than just the interactions between father – son and mother – daughter. In those days, the family represented what might be called both “peer-pressure” and “authority-figure pressure.” Luke was not writing just about family conflicts but also, about potential conflicts between friends; between people at the same level; or between people of lower and higher status.

There is another encouragement I believe Luke was offering through the words of Jesus. I think he was saying that avoiding confrontation when confrontation is needed, is not Christ-like. Sometimes we get the impression that early Christians, and maybe modern Christians, were being taught how to be “wimps.” After all, they were told: you should turn the other cheek; love your enemy; do good to those who hate you. Some people would say that this is how a “wimp” might act: to let everyone walk over him.

But that’s far from being the case. The early Christians were risk-takers. The early martyrs prove that. The lives of the saints show that being a Christian is not being a “wimp.” It takes immense courage to turn the other cheek; to love those who persecute you; to do good for those who hate you. It’s that kind of courage that Luke is writing about when he says that households will be divided.

Early Christians would need to stand up to immense peer-pressure and pressure from higher authorities in order to be Christians. They would need the courage to endure the hate and misunderstanding of relatives and former friends. With this background in mind, what can we say about the relevance of this Gospel reading in our own lives today?

First of all, this reading seems to call us to recognize a need for what might be called “loving confrontation.” Many of us try to function using the slogan: “peace at any price.” We tend to avoid any and all confrontations: with our spouse, or our kids, or with our friends. Sometimes we put off hard decisions in order to preserve a fragile peace.

To counter the slogan of “peace at any price,” perhaps today·s gospel is calling us to engage in loving confrontation. Maybe there is a need to challenge someone in order to initiate a change. This is certainly true in major areas involving moral questions. Is it ever appropriate to remain silent on questions of abortion or of child abuse? What about pornography? Can one be a Christian and not take a stand on social issues such as apartheid, the sanctuary movement, poverty, or arms control?

But now comes the real question in all of this: how do I know the Christian position in any of these questions? How do I know wtlen it is necessary to engage in loving confrontation? What should I challenge in order to bring about change?

It’s one thing to say it’s acceptable for there to be confrontation. It is another thing to determine under what circumstances this confrontation should take. In order to engage in loving confrontation, I need to engage, first, in an effort of discernment. I need to distinguish what is God’s will from what is my will. I need to tell the difference between what God wants and what I expect.

And it’s not enough for me to take the position that whatever I say might be God’s will is really God’s will. I need to allow God’s will to shape me and not the other way ’round. That’s what discernment is all about: listening through prayer to learn what God’s will is. There are many approaches to discernment and how to understand the difference between God’s will and my own desires. For now, I want to mention only one aspect of discernment: the internal Peace of Christ.

In today’s gospel we heard Jesus say: “I did not come to establish peace on the earth.” Yet, we know that Jesus did give his disciples his peace. And at each mass we wish one another the peace of Christ. So, did Jesus give peace or not?

I believe we need to distinguish between the peace of this world and the peace of Christ. The peace of Christ is not worldly tranquility. It is not complacency. The peace of Christ is not external. It is internal. The peace of Christ is a gift from God. It is the internal feeling that comes when I have, indeed, discerned the will of God and made his will my will. That is the outcome of true discernment: the internal peace of Christ,

A few minutes ago, I spoke about the need for loving confrontation, for challenging in order to initiate change. Rather than focusing on the loving confrontation of others, how about loving self-confrontation? instead of talking about “peer-pressure” or “authority-pressure” maybe I should challenge myself in order to initiate a change. Perhaps my own moral attitudes need to be sharpened. Maybe I need the courage to act on my moral convictions; to have the courage to speak out about injustice; to do something meaningful about the hunger and poverty of others.

For some it might be the need to break off a damaging relationship or to conquer an addiction. In order to change ourselves or to help others change, each of us needs the courage to endure – to endure during the undertaking of our challenge and to endure the consequences of that challenge.

In our First Reading, the prophet Jeremiah exhibited both kinds of endurance: the hardship of speaking out and the hardship of being cast into the well, because of what he said. Yet both this First Reading and the Letter of Paul offer us hope in our endurance, because of the pleading of another person. Because of the one called Ebed-Melech, the Cushite, Jeremiah was released from the well, and Paul tells us that we are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses. We each have our own Ebed-Melech to help us; our own cloud of witnesses to help us “persevere in running the race which lies ahead.”

Yet, at times, perhaps I am called to be an Ebed-Melech for another Jeremiah. I, too, am part of the cloud of witnesses for another person, Is today your day to be part of the cheering crowd or to be the runner? Today, are you the prophet Jeremiah engaged in loving confrontation? Or are you Ebed-Melech who comes to the aid of one who is suffering for his beliefs? But whoever you are: may the Peace of Christ be with you.

Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 17, 1986
Jer 38:4-6, 8-10; Heb 12:1-4; Lk 12:49-53

Many of you know that two of my favorite comic strip characters are Calvin and Hobbs. There’s also another little kid I like almost as much. You may even prefer him to Calvin. And that’s Charlie Brown. If I asked you to describe Calvin, I’d probably get a lot of different answers. But with Charlie Brown, there seems to be one adjective that almost everyone would agree on. What one word do you think best describes Charlie Brown? Wishy-washy! Just about everyone knows about “good ol’ wishy-washy Charlie Brown.”

Some of you may also be familiar with the Gospel according to “Peanuts“. Well, today, I’m not going to give you the gospel according to Peanuts; but I do want to focus on that idea of being “wishy-washy”. Our first reading for today certainly has someone who appears to be very “wishy-washy:” King Zedekiah.

King Zedekiah seems, to me, to be someone who follows the advice of whoever happens to have spoken to him last. At first he listened to the princes of Judah when they advised him to toss the prophet Jeremiah into a deep, muddy well. A short time latter, when another nobleman pleaded on Jeremiah’s behalf, King Zedekiah ordered that Jeremiah be taken from the well. It would appear that King Zedekiah was not able to make up his own mind and stick to it for very long.

On the other hand, there is Jeremiah, who – like all prophets – spoke out no matter what the consequences might be. After all, prophets are those who speak out on behalf of God and tell us what must be heard, despite the cost both to them and to us. They tell us things which must be heard; even when we don’t want to hear them.

This brings us to the Gospel Reading we heard today. Here we have a passage that often surprises us. Each weekend, we usually hear a gospel in which Jesus tries to teach his disciples, and us, about how we are to love our neighbor. Today’s reading seems to be a major exception to this message of healing the sick, of comforting those who are imprisoned, of feeding the hungry, of loving our neighbor as our self. Today we hear Jesus tell his disciples: “I have come to light a fire on the earth. … Do you think I have come to establish peace on the earth? I assure you; the contrary is true; I have come for division.” Then he goes on to tell about strife between the generations: between father and son; mother and daughter; and between members of the extended family such as mother-in-law and daughter-in-law.

When the early Christians heard this reading, they knew at first hand what it meant. They were often directly effected by these conflicts of division for the sake of Jesus the Christ. In those years of the separation of the Christian community from the main body of Judaism, there were many families in which the children and parents would go separate ways; with one joining the followers of the Nazarene and others holding steadfast in the covenant Moses made with the Lord God in the desert of Sinai.

Jesus was telling his disciples that it would not be easy to follow him; to follow his teaching. There would be division between members of the family; between friends and loved ones. At the same time, he did not favor such division. He, himself, cried out: “What anguish I feel till it is over!” But he tried to tell his disciples not to be taken by surprise when it does occur.

What about us? What do these words mean to us, today? Although there are families in which division may occur when there is a conversion to Christianity or to a particular denomination of Christian belief, are they the only ones to be touched by this harsh prophecy made by Jesus to his disciples? As you might expect, I believe his words apply to all of us and not only to any converts who are estranged from their families.

I believe his words apply to all who must make hard choices in order to follow his teaching. They apply especially to those who speak out for justice and for change. They apply to all of us who are called to be prophets in the modern world. What we fail to realize is that everyone of us is called to be a prophet. Not just someone like Father Ed or Father Norbert. Not just someone ordained to the diaconate who happens to give homilies. Rather, each one of us, through the power of our baptism, is called to be a prophet.

It’s hard to be a prophet. It’s difficult to speak out about those relationships and events which effect our future. For this, too, is what a prophet does: speak out on what is needed in order to influence the future. So often the future is tied so tightly to the present and to the past. No wonder it’s so difficult to speak out. Yet there are times when we must speak out and bear the anger of former friends. As with Jeremiah, there will be some who will want to toss us into a deep, muddy well; to separate us from themselves and from others.

Some might believe I should now talk about such modern-day prophets as Mickey Leland or Lech Walesa who have spoken so eloquently about freedom from hunger or from oppression. Or perhaps, about a woman like Mother Theresa. Each of these people is, indeed, a prophet in one way or another, for many who suffer injustices or abuse. But, instead, I want to reflect upon how each one of us may be called to be a prophet. How each one of us must speak out for those who are abused. I would offer for your own reflection, the entire area of abuse – of abuse which effects our future. Of abuse that is grounded on the past as well as the present.

First of all, there is the abuse of people. Call it child abuse or wife abuse. Even husband abuse or abuse of elderly parents. There are times when the victims of such abuse must speak out. But when these victims do this, they are shunned by society. They, too, are placed in dark wells so that they can be silenced. They, too, need others to aid in their release from their various forms of imprisonment. Just as Jeremiah had the active assistance of Ebed-Melech, these victims of all ages must have the help of friends who come to their aid.

Besides the abuse of individuals, we also have the abuse of our planet, the abuse of our environment; an abuse which effects our future and is based upon the actions of the present and our past. Here, too, we have prophets who speak out for change. They, too, are scorned by others. How many times are they dismissed as being merely “environmental kooks?” Those who speak out for the protection of our air, our water, our earth, which are gifts of the father, are told that “profit”, spelled with an “f”, is more important than being “prophetic”.

Yet, how do we know what is truly “prophetic”? If we are all called to be prophets, then what you say should be just as important as what I say. How, among all of the conflicting claims, do we hear the words of the true prophets and dismiss those of the false? How do we strike a balance without either being led away by an extremist or being accused of being “wishy-washy”?

Even in what seems to be a well-defined area such as child abuse, where does discipline and training end and physical abuse begin? Where does a hug, love and affection end and sexual abuse begin? In the protection or abuse of our environment, what is the distinction between preservation and conservation. What is meant by the scriptural injunction from the book of genesis: “Be fertile and multiply: fill the earth and subdue it. Have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and all the living things that move on the earth.” This passage alone deserves its own homily. One which dwells on the true meaning of “dominion” and its relationship to the Latin words, domus, or home, and domine, our Lord, our family protector.

But for now, as a signpost towards an answer of how do we distinguish between a true prophet and a false one, I would call your attention to the Second Reading we heard today. In his letter to the Hebrews, Paul writes: “Since we for our part are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses; let us lay aside every encumbrance of sin which clings to us and persevere in running the race which lies ahead; let us keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, who inspires and perfects our faith.”

We are not confronted by only one prophet; instead we are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses, a cloud of prophets. It is taught that a prophet who speaks for God does not really depart from ancient truths but, rather, recalls our attention to those truths which we have forgotten. A prophet reminds us of what God has taught, of the truth written on our living hearts and not stony hearts. When you hear the words of a true prophet calling you to a change, your heart will know that you have heard these words before and that they are true. Listen to the cloud of witnesses who have been part of your own life, who have spoken on your behalf before, and who speak to you now.

Finally, in order to follow the true prophets in our world today, we must “persevere in running the race which lies ahead”. We must keep trying to hear the words of those around us and to speak words of encouragement to others. But most importantly, “let us keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, who inspires and perfects our faith.”

I sometimes think that Saint Paul would be right at home in our American culture, which puts so much emphasis on jogging and running for health. He seems to know that a runner cannot look back, but must always focus on the goal ahead. The perfect race might also be run if there is a coach constantly at the runner’s side, running along right there, to shout instructions every moment of the race, to give encouragement each step of the way. To tell the runner what is right and what is wrong with each stride, with each breath.

Yet this is the kind of race each of us is running. With our coach running at our side each one of us is able to tell the false step from the true one; each one of us can tell the difference between the true prophet and the false one. Moreover, each one of us can become a prophet for others.

Finally, there is no need for us to be a wishy-washy Charlie Brown. There is no need for us to have the “gospel according to Peanuts.” Instead, we have the Gospel of our Lord. And what we have, we must also share: the Gospel, the Good News of our Lord, Jesus the Christ.

Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 20, 1989
Jer 38:4-6, 8-10; Heb 12:1-4; Lk 12:49-53

If you don’t want to, you don’t need to respond directly to today’s question, since it may be rather personal. Today’s question is about deadlines. What I’d like to know is: How many of you wait until the very last minute to do something? To complete a project for work or around the house or for school?

Here we are, at the beginning of the school year, and in some of your classes, you’ve already been told when the final report is due or what books you need to read or what you must study before that first exam. Yet there are many of you who will probably blow off the whole thing until the last minute. And many of your parents may do the same. They know when the boss wants them to complete a project but some how they’re too busy doing other things and so don’t get started until the last minute. Some folks say they work best under pressure and they purposely delay getting started. Like athletes, they don’t want to “peak” too early!

With others, they may get their projects done before the deadline but they’re still late for other things. It’s impossible for them to get to a party on time. They arrive late at the movies and can’t find a place to park or a vacant seat when they get into the theater. Occasionally, there are even a few people who arrive late at mass, for all sorts of good reasons. In some cases, people simply lose track of the time.

Time. Time is what we are to consider this weekend as we begin our annual series on stewardship. Time, talent and treasure: the three “t’s” are the subjects for today and the following Sundays.

Today’s gospel reading is about time, about deadlines, if you will. About arriving late at a party, the major party to which all of us have been invited, the wedding feast of the Kingdom of Heaven.

Even in our First Reading from Isaiah we heard about the gathering of all peoples during the time of the Messiah. We heard God proclaim: “I come to gather nations of every language, they shall come and see my glory.”

In today’s Gospel Reading, a descendent of those to whom Isaiah prophesied, asked a follow-up question: “Lord, are they few in number who are to be saved?” Jesus did not directly respond. He did not give a count of those who would join the banquet in heaven. Instead, he told a story. He spoke about a party which had begun and how the master of the house had locked the doors. Those who had been invited to the party but arrived too late, stood outside and pleaded to be admitted. But the master of the house refused; even when the people claimed that they knew him; that they had eaten and drunk with him; that they had heard what he had to say to them in their streets. But the master of the house did not relent. He replied that he did not know them.

The question now becomes: why did the master of the house not know them? Perhaps, just perhaps, it was because they, themselves, did not really know him. Yes, they had been in his presence. They ate and drank at the same parties. They even heard him speak. But had they listened? Had they acted on what they heard. Did they feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit those who needed their assistance to survive? Or did they merely attend the parties and then went home to do their own things? Had they merely spent time with Jesus rather than being actively engaged with what Jesus taught them? Had they been merely “acquaintances” of Jesus rather than being his followers, his disciples?

In our Second Reading from his Letter to the Hebrews, we heard Saint Paul speak about “discipline.” For most of us, discipline has a very hard connotation. We want to avoid discipline – discipline that we view as punishment for what we have done wrong. Paul, himself, says: “At the time it is administered, all discipline seems a cause for grief and not for joy, but later it brings forth the fruit of peace and justice to those who are trained in its school.”

“Trained in its school….” yes, we seem to forget that “discipline” and “disciple” are related words. A true disciple follows the master in order to learn directly what the master does and then does likewise. A true disciple, a true follower, undertakes the “discipline” of the master, not as a punishment, but rather in order to follow the master more exactly. Discipline leads to a habitual action, to our routinely doing something that we know is the correct way to do it. It takes discipline to learn a new skill, whether it is riding a bike, playing a musical instrument, or becoming an outstanding athlete.

To become disciplined, requires that we take the time to do it. To become disciplined as a Christian, requires that we take the time to follow Christ and not to be merely an acquaintance of Jesus. We need to have
● the discipline, the habit, of prayer time,
● the discipline, the habit, of helping others: Members of our family; Members of our neighborhoods; Members of our community.

But where, we ask, do we find the time to form these disciplines, these habits? Where do we find time to pray and to do those works of charity demanded by Christ in order to be a true follower? After all, we have all the other essential events of our lives to take care of.
● We have jobs.
● We need to go to school and to study.
● We need to work around the house.
● We need to shop, to eat, to sleep.
● We need to watch TV every night to relax.
● We need to read newspaper and magazines to keep up to date.
● We need to surf the Internet, to play the newest Nintendo games.
● We need to visit with our friends on the telephone or in person.
Yes, we need time to do all of these essentials of life, of living. And then the time that’s left over we can give to God.

The time left over. Each year when Father Bill talks about stewardship, he lines up a row of apples. In case he wants to do it again this year, I won’t steal his thunder. But I, too, have a visual aid for you this year. I have rice and walnuts.

(Pick up cup of rice contained in separate jar.) This cup of rice represents all of the things we think we must do in life, all of the so-called essentials of life. All the activities necessary for success. All that is required to be accomplished. All of the things we not only must do but all the things we also enjoy doing, like watching TV or going skiing in Colorado.

(Put down rice to the left; put empty jar out to the right of the rice; and pick up bowl of walnuts.) And these 10 walnuts. Well, they are all the many things, all the events and activities that bring us closer to God. They represent: (Drop walnuts into empty jar one at a time with each item.)
● The time for private prayer;
● the time for public prayer and liturgies;
● the time for reading and studying scripture;
● the time for participating in bible study groups;
● the time for teaching or assisting in catechetical classes;
● the time for working with or helping: Our young people, our elderly, our immigrants, our homeless, our unemployed;
● the time for working for social justice;
● the time for the works of charity; of love for our neighbor;
● the time for improving our relationships: with our spouse, our parents, our children,
● the time for “being” … rather than merely “doing”

(Put empty bowl back on ambo shelf. Show rice left and walnuts with right hand) The rice represents our secular life: the time spent on the many things needed for this world. The walnuts represent our spiritual life: the time needed to be part of the Kingdom of God. The question is: how do we mix the two within the limited hours of our time on earth?

Well, if we focus on the rice and try to add the walnuts to the rice, we can see that it won’t work. We don’t have the space for all of the walnuts. But if we begin with the walnuts, if we establish the priorities of our spiritual life. If we concentrate on the time for God, then we can add the rice of the world and fill our life to the brim.

(Pour rice with left hand; shake walnut jar with right hand. Put them down. Pick up lid and cloth and begin to cover the jar with walnuts and rice.) If we begin by establishing our priorities for God, we can mix our spiritual and secular times. And as a reminder of this, you can mix up your own cup of rice and 10 walnuts at home, add a pretty top and put it someplace where you are reminded daily of our need to make our time with God first, rather than as a left-over in our life.

I began by asking you about deadlines. Well, in our lives there is that ultimate deadline; that final time when everything is due. I urge you not to be late. Don’t be caught outside the pearly gates looking in on the banquet of heaven. Begin now, today, to establish your spiritual priorities. Focus on what you want to do for God, for others, and for yourself, to prepare you for your final deadline. Discipline yourself so that you can be a true disciple, a true follower, of Jesus the Christ, who offers more than a deadline for heaven. He gives each of us a lifeline to God.

(Separate rice into pouring jar and walnuts into dish before next mass! Fancy jar left empty with lid and cloth separate. Place on ambo shelf.)

Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 23, 1998
Is 66:18-21; Heb 12:5-7, 11-13; Lk 13:22-30

Here’s a simple, personal question for you today. Are you always in the wrong checkout line at your local Kroger store or supermarket? I am. Yes, I think I’ve beaten the odds by getting in the line with only two customers in front of me. But it turns out, the first one has a huge envelope of coupons to be redeemed. And when it comes time to pay, they can’t find their checkbook and so they try to find a usable credit card.

And the second customer, right in front of me, decides they have the wrong brand of frozen corn and need to have the bagger exchange it for them. Of course the bagger also has to go back a second time, to find out the price of a package of hamburg, since the one being purchased doesn’t have a sticker on it. Fortunately they’re paying in cash; but the young cashier is confused by the amount of change to be given back to the customer.

Meanwhile the lines at three other checkouts have moved on, leaving me to debate whether it’s worthwhile to get into another line or tough it out in the current one. All of this gives new meaning to the final statement in today’s gospel: “For behold, some are last who will be first, and some are first who will be last.” But Jesus did not have checkout lines in mind when he said this. No. He was responding to a more important question: “Lord, will only a few people be saved?”

The questioner probably had something else in mind but was afraid to ask. The real question is: “Lord, am I going to be saved?” But that is a fearful question. The one about numbers is a much safer one to ask. No doubt, the questioner expected an answer such as: “Everyone who follows me will be saved.”

But instead of answering straight-away, Jesus, as usual, presented several strange statements. He said: “Strive to enter through the narrow gate, for many, I tell you, will attempt to enter but will not be strong enough.” And he goes on to say that when another knocks on the master’s door, demanding: “Lord, open the door for us,” the master replies: “I do not know where you are from.”

“I do not know where you are from.” Jesus says it twice. Even when the one knocking at the door reminds Jesus: “We ate and drank in your company and you taught in our streets.” The Master replies: “I do not know where you are from.” Is he saying that it is not enough for his followers only to partake of the good things offered to them: the eating and drinking with his companions, the listening to him as he wanders through their villages? Are these so called “good time” events not enough to be saved? Is there more to being in the kingdom of heaven, the reign of God, than merely being present?

Saint Paul seems to think so. In his letter to the Hebrews we heard a few minutes ago, Saint Paul speaks of “discipline.” He speaks of enduring one’s trials as “discipline.” At the time, discipline, may not be a “cause for joy,” he says; but rather a cause of “pain.” He goes on to say: “Yet later it brings the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who are trained by it.”

“Trained by it.” What could he mean by that? For one thing, Paul, it seems, was deeply into athletics. He often spoke of racing, of running and winning a crown of laurel leaves. And he knew that such efforts demand training, demand following a regimen, a routine. It requires daily practice. And that is what “discipline” is all about. Discipline and discipleship are one and the same. Discipleship is following the Master, doing what the Master does. It is learning by observation and by daily practice. Discipline, truly understood, is not punishment. Rather, it is following the actions of a dedicated coach, an accomplished master.

Jesus was such a coach, a dedicated master. Jesus invited his own disciples to “come and see,” “come follow me.” He urged them to observe his actions and to do what he did. He wanted them to listen and to teach others what he had taught them.

Great athletes follow a strict discipline. Great musicians and great artists follow strict disciplines. It would seem that those who aspire to be “great Christians” also need to follow a strict discipline. A discipline, a discipleship, a following of our Master, Jesus the Christ.

This weekend we are once again, presented with an opportunity to join in the discipline, the discipleship of Christ. Following this Eucharist Celebration, each of us is urged to go to the Large Hall and learn more about the many ministries available at Christ the Good Shepherd. We are urged to give of our time, talent and treasure. We are encouraged to continue to be good stewards of the gifts God has given to each one of us.

In our first reading from the book of the Prophet Isaiah we heard the words: “Thus says the Lord: I know their works and their thoughts, and I come to gather nations of every language; they shall come and see my glory.” And we heard how the Lord God sent them out to foreign lands, where “they shall proclaim my glory among the nations.” As a result, “brothers and sisters from all the nations” will journey to Jerusalem.

No doubt Jesus was recalling to the mind of his own followers this image from Isaiah when he said in today’s gospel reading: “And people will come from the east and the west and from the north and the south and will recline at table in the kingdom of God.”

Yes, it is true that none of us know how many will be saved. We do not know who will be included or excluded at the table of the final banquet. Relying on God’s mercy we hope that there will be multitudes and that each of us will be among them. In the meantime, we are encouraged to go beyond being merely a passive “hanger on” who merely enjoys eating and drinking and listening to Jesus the Christ. We are to know where we are from. We are to know what we must do in order to be a true disciple of Christ.

In a few minutes we will again eat of his flesh and drink of his blood. In doing so, we become active members of his body. Once more we are sent forth to proclaim his good news so that others may join with us in our journey. Once more we are urged to stand in line, not at a checkout in a grocery store, but rather to stand with our fellow Christians around those tables in the Large Hall where we can decide how we can join in the discipline, the discipleship, he demands of us. Someday, may he say to each one of us: “Indeed, I DO know where you are from. Join with me at the heavenly banquet of my Father.”

21st Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 26, 2007
Is 66:18-21; Heb 12:5-7, 11-13; Lk 13:22-30

Today’s question comes in two parts. The first one doesn’t require much reflection. My question is: Have you ever bought a Texas state lottery ticket? Now the second one, which is really for those of us who have bought at least one ticket, may require a little more thought. If you have bought a ticket, what was your expectation when you bought it? Did you buy it, hoping you would win, or did you give up your dollar, believing you were really only making a contribution to the welfare of the state treasury? In other words, did you expect something in return, or did you contribute your money without an expectation of striking it big?

Most of us, I believe, buy a ticket and expect to get something back in return; and the bigger the return, the more likely we are to contribute. Looking at it another way – have you ever bought a subscription from Ed McMahon just because you had a need for the magazine, or did you hope that, just maybe, you might win ten million dollars if you paid out more than the cost of a twenty-nine cent stamp?

So what does a lottery or a sweepstakes have do to with today’s gospel reading? Am I doing even more of a stretch than usual to ask a question? I hope not! But I do admit that the focus for today’s reflection is not on lotteries or sweepstakes. Rather the focus I would offer for your reflection today is on the theme of “expectation.” What do we expect in return for what we do? In other words: why do we do, what we do?

Two thousand years ago, when a group of wealthy pharisees, leaders of the Jewish community, were invited to a Sabbath meal, they had their own set of expectations. They also did not expect certain events to occur. One of those unexpected events is recorded in Luke’s gospel, even though it was not included as part of today’s reading. Today’s reading is taken from the beginning of Chapter 14 of Luke. But the first verse is followed by verses 7 through 14. So what happened in between? What is “the rest of the story?”

“When Jesus came on a Sabbath to eat a meal in the house of one of the leading pharisees, they observed him closely. Directly in front of him was a man with dropsy. Jesus asked the lawyers and the pharisees, ‘is it lawful to cure on the Sabbath or not?’ At this they kept silent. He took the man, healed him, and sent him on his way. Then he addressed himself to them: (saying) ‘if one of you has a son or an ox and he falls into a pit, will he not immediately rescue him on the Sabbath day?” This they could not answer him.”

The gospel then says: “he went on to address a parable to the guests … “, which is the one we heard today about seeking first-place at a banquet as well as the second parable about whom to invite to a banquet.

You might very well ask several questions about this reading. First of all, where did this man with “dropsy” come from? Well, the gospel doesn’t say but the chances are that he was one of the servants. The one who was wheezing with a shortness of breath and seemed about to fall over from what, today, might be diagnosed as congestive heart failure. But no matter where he came from or what disease he might have had, the important event is that Jesus cured him on the Sabbath, that Jesus performed work on the Sabbath, an action which was outlawed by a strict interpretation of Torah. Yet Jesus asked the lawyers present whether they, themselves, would perform an act of mercy on the Sabbath? Would they rescue a son or even a valuable animal on the Sabbath? In other words, should you always avoid doing what the law forbids or should you act compassionately and save the life of a son or even a valuable animal?

What motivates you? Why do you do what you do? These are the basic questions raised in today’s gospel. When the learned lawyers and pharisees refused to give their views on such questions, Jesus, as he often did, told them a story.

That story also asked a question: where do you sit when you attend a major banquet, an affair such as a wedding party, which is not merely a simple dinner but a gathering of important people? Just like the seating at the head table of a business dinner in 1992, it was important to the pharisees, who tired at times to imitate Roman and Greek manners, just where they sat. After all, they had several choices.

The typical dinner arrangement was for there to be three couches arranged around three sides of a table: sort of like on TV where they always leave room for the camera and audience to see what’s going on. Only in the case of the Romans, Greeks and Jews, the fourth side was open to allow the servants to put the food on the table. It’s probably there, on the fourth side, where Jesus saw the waiter with dropsy.

Each of the three couches allowed for three or four people to recline on them, resting on their left arm so they could reach the low table in front of them with their right hand. Because of such an arrangement, one position on each couch was the preferred place because it gave you the best view of the other diners and allowed easy access to the food. Not only was there a best position on each couch, at the same time, one of the three couches was the best one for a good view of all of the others. It was for these favored places the men headed when they arrived at a banquet. When Jesus saw the pharisees acting like Romans, he told his story: with its conclusion that you should choose not the best place but one of the lesser ones, perhaps even the lowest, the worst position on the worst couch.

On hearing the story, you might at first think that Jesus is saying that you should act humble because if you do that, then in the end you will be exalted. But as usual, the story doesn’t end there. Jesus immediately tells a second story about banquets: a story in which he urges the pharisees to invite not those who would, in return, and in repayment, invite them to other fancy dinners, but rather to invite those, who by their position in life, could in no way, repay them.

You see, if Jesus told only the first story, the pharisees could be led to believe in false humility, of merely acting humble in expectation of being rewarded, because they appeared to be humble. But I don’t think that this is what Jesus was trying to teach them; but rather it is essential to do what you do out of love and not out of any expectation that you will be rewarded for what you do. Is he, perhaps, saying that I should choose the “lower place,” not because I expect to be bumped to a first-class seat, but rather because I choose that seat for itself?

In other words, should I not do the right thing because it is the right action to undertake rather than expecting that I will be rewarded because I have done it. Is not true humility a recognition not only of my weaknesses but also my giftedness? To say I should be on the bottom of the list, yet desiring to be on the top, can be merely false humility. But to be where I am, seeing both the good and the bad in me, is seeing my true self; and that is, “being human.” The opposite of being human, is to attempt to be divine, to be god-like. To be human, to be humble, is to recognize that I am not God, that I am not king of the hill. But that is only half the story, half of the parable.

After I know where I truly am, then is the time for me to act. To act, not in terms of expecting a reward for my action, but rather to act out of my love for others.

Why do you give flowers to your wife? Do you do it to please her, because you love her or do you do it to please yourself, to make you feel less guilty or, perhaps, in expectation that now, she will do something in return that you would like.

Why do kids clean up their rooms? Because they know they should live in clean rooms or is it because they expect something from mom and dad in return? Why do we contribute time and money to the poor, the homeless, the unwanted? Because we want to help them for themselves, in all of their poverty and being unwashed, or in expectation that this will reduce crime in the streets or earn us points in heaven?

Why do we pray? Do we hope for a reward, for some new possession or position? Do I pray with an expectation that God will respond with warm fuzzies, in answer to my prayer. Do I pray so that God is nearer to me or do I pray so that I am nearer to God?

Do we leave the fallen son or the trapped animal in the pit because we believe that we should not help them under the given constraints, or do we lift them out because of our compassion for them and not for what it may or may not do for us?

Do I buy a lottery ticket because I want to win or because this is a way to contribute to the financial needs of the state?

There is a tiny woman, a woman small in physical stature, but enormous in what she understands in the ways of the Lord; a woman who lives out the stories, the messages, the commandments we heard today; a woman who has written these words: “Whatever form we are … able or disabled … rich or poor … it is not how much we do … but how much love we put in the doing.” In our journey towards the banquet of the lord, may each one of us strive for the humanness and humility of Mother Teresa.

Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 30,1992
Sir 3:17-18, 10, 28029; Heb 12:18-19, 21-24a: Lk 14:1, 7-14

Today I have a series of questions for you. First of all: how many of you know what a “power saw” is? Yes, raise your hand. Yes, a power saw is a saw that is powered by gasoline or by electricity. How about a “power breakfast?” Do you know what that is? Again, you can raise your hand, if you know the answer. No, it’s not a complete breakfast with all of the nutritious foods that give you power. And it’s not run by gasoline or electricity. It’s an early morning business meeting where important events are discussed. And here’s your final question: what is a “power table?” How many of you think you know the answer?

I admit I did not know what a “power table” was until a couple weeks ago. If I had to guess, I would have said that it’s a math table that shows the values for the squares and cubes of numbers, since you talk about numbers being raised to higher “powers” – like 2-squared is 2 to the second power or 2-cubed is 2 to the third power. But as I learned, power tables have nothing to do with mathematics.

I came across the term in an article about a contest in which you could win a dinner with Larry King of CNN. Larry King said he would take the winner to one of the major restaurants in Washington, D.C. and they would sit at a “power table.” A power table, according to that article, is the table in a restaurant where everyone can see you. It’s located so that all the important people have to go by your table and you can be seen speaking with them. A “power table,” evidently, is the place to sit, if you want others to see just how powerful you are.

Well, “power tables” aren’t new. They go all the way back to Biblical times. In our Gospel Reading for today, the pharisees knew all about “power tables.” Jesus knew about them too; and wasn’t very impressed by them. He urged that people choose lesser positions so that they can be asked to join the power table, rather than be asked to sit by the door to the kitchen.

So if you go to a fancy restaurant for dinner and are a “good Christian,” are you suppose to choose the table next to the kitchen or the one hidden by palm trees? Does the Gospel Reading urge us to appear to be humble, so we can be rewarded because of our humbleness? At first glance, some might interpret today’s gospel that way. But Jesus did not end his parable there.

If he had stopped telling his story to the pharisees at that point, we might be encouraged to participate in what might be called the “Cinderella syndrome.¹” We might spend our lives sitting around in the ashes, toiling away, just waiting for a Prince Charming to drop by with a glass slipper that would turn us into our true selves, a royal person who would live happily-ever-after.

But Jesus does not encourage a sense of false humility, of trying to be noticed by not being noticed. Rather he focuses on a sense of true humility. And what is true humility? It is the ability to know one’s own true self-worth and the self-worth of other human beings and, in the process, to recognize that each one of us has equal worth as a child of God. It is recognizing my own talents and gifts and the talents and gifts God has given to every other person I meet.

The beggars who are well-clothed; but need the comfort and warmth of my love. The lame who run from every fear; but need the encouragement of my faith. The blind who see only despair and anger; but need the light of my hope. Jesus urges us to invite these beggars, these lame, these blind to share our love, our faith and our hope.

And why are we to do this? Is it to gain a reward either here on earth or in the hereafter of heaven? Or do we do what we do, because it is the right thing to do, because in our true humility, we acknowledge that we are all the same – brothers and sisters of one father – and we are called to share what we have with our brothers and sisters.

Why do you give a present to your spouse? Do you do it out of love or because you expect something nice in return? Why do kids clean up their room without being asked? Do you do it out of love for your parents or because you expect an increase in your allowance? Why do you contribute time and money to the poor and homeless? Do you do it out of love for those in need or because you hope it will reduce crime in the streets?

Today’s Gospel Reading does not urge us to don an attitude of humility in order to gain some pay-back, some power over others. Rather, this gospel, this Good News, encourages us to recognize our equality and our mutual needs. Jesus wants us to help others without asking: what’s in it for ourselves. By not asking: what’s the pay-back? How much do I gain from what I give?

This weekend we celebrate a national holiday in honor of labor, in honor of honest work. This day comes from an earlier time when labor unions were important in the life of workers. A time when it was seen that people had to work together in order to obtain what we considered to be the good things of life. It was also a time of cooperation, of knowing that, together, we could solve the problems of the world and have a better life for us and our children. It is a time that many believe is now gone forever.

Yet, is it possible that we can return to such a time? What if we put into practice what Jesus has taught? What might occur if we help others without expecting a return on our investment? Are we not asked to give as freely to others as God has given his gifts to each one of us?

A few minutes ago, I asked you about a “power table.” For Christians, for Catholic Christians, there is only one “power table” and that is the table around which we now gather. For it is this Eucharistic table that empowers each one of us to love our neighbor as our self, to give without a demand for a return. The power we seek is, indeed, the power of God’s love.

Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time; September 3, 1995 (Labor Day)
Sir 3:17-18, 10, 28029; Heb 12:18-19, 21-24a: Lk 14:1, 7-14

1. Nine years later, this “Cinderella Syndrome” became the topic for its own homily. Although the central focus of both homilies is the same: “false humility” and true humility of service, the beginnings and endings are sufficiently different to “warrant” keeping both versions as separate homilies. The one for 1995 was given for a Labor Day weekend, the modification of 2004 for Ministry Fair weekend of the Stewardship series of homilies

Today’s question is related to a fairy tale – a fairy tale that may be the best known of all the ones we learned as children. You don’t need to answer this question out loud but only to yourself. My question is this: Do you suffer from the “Cinderella Syndrome?”

You do remember the story of Cinderella, don’t you? About the young girl, her wicked step-sisters, her fairy god-mother, her glass slipper, and her Prince Charming who rescued her from her life among the ashes. On the other hand, you may not be as familiar with the condition called: the “Cinderella Syndrome.” This condition, this syndrome, arises if you take to heart only the first part of today’s gospel reading.

In today’s gospel, Jesus told two parables – two stories he wanted his listeners to reflect upon. His listeners were scribes and pharisees gathered together for a large banquet. Jesus had observed how each one, upon arriving at the party, tried to get the major place of honor at the table. And so, he told them the story about a man who had shoved himself into the best place at the table. The host, however, ordered him to move to the lowest place so that a better man, who had also been invited, could sit there. In the process, the pushy guy would look like a fool. The one who was really entitled to it, would now have his rightful place at the table. And everyone would know he really deserved it. Jesus concluded his story with a variation of an old proverb when he said: “ … everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.”

And this is what leads to the “Cinderella Syndrome” – the condition where a person sits among the ashes and does all of the lowly tasks in the expectation that someone, like a Prince Charming, will come with a reward. It’s the condition in which one exhibits “false humility” – calling attention to one’s own lack of worth with the expectation that others will say that this is not true; that you really deserve better than what you are getting.

But Jesus did not promote the idea of a “false humility,” of seeking the lowest position at the table in order to be rewarded and, in the long run, to humiliate someone else. Instead he told a second parable. In his second story, Jesus encourages a host to invite to a party not those who can offer repayment with a return invitation, but rather to invite those who cannot repay: the poor, the crippled, the lame and the blind.

If Jesus had stopped telling his story to the pharisees after the first parable, we might be encouraged to fall victim to that “Cinderella Syndrome.” We might believe we should spend our lives sitting around in the ashes, toiling away, just waiting for a Prince Charming to drop by with a glass slipper which would turn us into our true selves: royalty who would live happily-ever-after. But Jesus does not encourage a sense of false humility, of trying to be noticed by not being noticed. Rather he focuses on a sense of true humility.

And what is true humility? It is the ability to know one’s own true self-worth and the self-worth of other human beings and, in the process, to recognize that each one of us has equal worth as a child of God. It is recognizing my own talents and gifts; and the talents and gifts God has given to every other person I meet.
● the beggars who are well-clothed; but need the comfort and warmth of my love.
● the lame who run from every fear; and need the encouragement of my faith.
● the blind who see only despair and anger; yet need the light of my hope.
Jesus urges us to invite these beggars, the lame, the blind to share our love, our faith and our hope.

And why are we to do this? Is it to gain a reward either here on earth or in the hereafter of heaven? Or do we do what we do, because it is the right thing to do, because in our true humility, we acknowledge we are all the same – brothers and sisters of one father – and we are called to share what we have with our brothers and sisters.
● Why do you give a present to your spouse? Do you do it out of love or because you expect something nice in return?
● Why do kids clean up their room without being asked? Do you do it out of love for your parents or because you expect an increase in your allowance?
● Why do you contribute time and money to the poor and homeless? Do you do it out of love for those in need or because you hope it will reduce crime in the streets?

Today’s Gospel Reading does not urge us to put on an attitude of humility in order to gain some pay-back, some power over others. Rather, this gospel, this Good News, encourages us to recognize our equality and our mutual needs. Jesus wants us to help others without asking: what’s in it for ourselves. By not asking: what’s the pay-back? How much do I gain from what I give?

This weekend, and in the days afterwards, we are invited to give of our selves for the sake of others; not because of any expected, personal pay-back, but rather because we are a community of believers. We believe we’re a family – one family with many voices. A family of unity and diversity. Each one of us has God-given talents, gifts given to us by God our Father. We are encouraged to share these talents, these gifts, with others. We are asked not to limit ourselves only to our immediate friends and neighborhood. Rather we are to share these gifts and talents with all those we would invite to be part of the banquet of the Lord.

This weekend we have our Ministry Fair, an opportunity to investigate and to participate in the stewardship of Christ the Good Shepherd. After this Eucharistic celebration at the table of our Lord, you are invited to visit other tables in the Large Hall to see how you might join with others in ministry to all who are, directly and indirectly, part of Christ the Good Shepherd. The informational trifold included with last Sunday’s bulletin, and available at today’s Ministry Fair, identifies some 103 English-language and 30 Spanish-language groups for your consideration.

Last Sunday, Father John encouraged us in our communication with God, with our time devoted to God. Today, all of us are encouraged in our communication with one another with using our talents for the benefit of others. Today, you are encouraged not to sit among the ashes and cinders waiting for your reward because of what you have done; hoping that someone has noticed and will reward you; but rather each one of us is encouraged to seek out how we can invite others to the banquet our Lord has in store for all of us. Come and be part of our Ministry fair and the stewardship of Christ – the Good Shepherd.

Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 29, 2004
Sir 3:17-18, 10, 28-29; Heb 12:18-19, 21-24a: Lk 14:1, 7-14

Once again, I have a movie trivia question for you. This time it’s about “Gone with the Wind.” My question is: what are perhaps the three most quoted lines from the movie version of “Gone with the Wind?”

I don’t know if a formal survey has ever been taken, but I’d guess they would include:
● Rhett Butler’s “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,“
● Or how about: “I don’t know nothin’ ’bout birthin’ no babies,”
● As for the third one, I’d offer Scarlett’s usual response to problems: “Fiddle-de-dee, I’ll think about that tomorrow.” It’s this last one I want to take as the quote for today’s gospel message. In a time of crisis, there may be a little of Scarlett O’Hara in each of us; the tendency to say, “I’ll think about that tomorrow.”

But the message Jesus gives us in the two brief parables in today’s reading urges another course of action. It seems to me that Jesus is urging his disciples to plan ahead; to take stock of where they are, where they want to go; and plan how they want to get there. At the same time, Jesus seems to be saying that it’s not enough for me to plan my own future without taking into account what God has planned for me. What I hear in the three readings for today is “What God intends for me is greater than what I could ever imagine.” But in order for it to come about, I need to work with him and to plan my actions with him in mind.

It’s this relationship between God’s plans and my plans I’d like for us to think about. Although God is always with us, and helps us when we really need his help, I believe there are times when he wants us to do our own planning. Maybe some examples from daily life might help explain what I mean.

The first one is for parents with little kids – kids who like play-dough. How many times have you had to pick it up and put the lid back on the can so it wouldn’t dry out? Little Suzie or Johnny always expect it’ll be ready for use the next time they want to play with it. Is it always mommy’s or daddy’s job to put it away? Or someday, do little Suzie or Johnny have to learn that they need to plan to put away the play-dough the right way, if they want it to work the next time?

Or what about teenagers and the family car? How many, teeage drivers believe gasoline magically appears in the tank? When they get their own car, they quickly learn they’ll run out of gas unless they, themselves, fill it up. What single person doesn’t wish that the refrigerator gets stocked by magic; but know that unless you do it yourself, you’ll go hungry – or make-do with another dinner of peanut-butter on stale crackers.

We’re all use to needing to plan in our day-to-day lives. We all need to think about our goals: whether it’s usable play-dough, gasoline in the car, or food for dinner. But what about my life as a Christian? Should I plan for that or should I leave it all up to God? For an answer to that one, let’s take a closer look at today’s gospel.

In the first story, we heard Jesus tell his disciples about the need for a person who wants to build a tower, to plan first, before even starting the job. Wouldn’t you agree he was telling them that if they wanted to follow him they had to plan first? Jesus did not tell his listeners not to build the tower; what he urged them to do was to plan before they got too involved.

How many of us say “yes” to something, and then almost immediately regret we said “yes?”
How many of us would do well to plan how we want to follow Christ before we start to build our tower for him? What about those who have already begun to follow him into battle? Before each engagement, before each new struggle, am I called to consider how l should act, what I should do?

The first story about the tower seems to be for those about to become followers of Christ. The second story seems, to me, to be for those who have started on the way and who need to maintain their Christian journey. Both kinds of disciples need to plan.

Jesus does not say it will be easy to follow him. In fact, he assures us of the very opposite. It will be hard. It will be like carrying a cross. We will need to give up former relationships and material possessions. But before we do any of this, before we immediately agree to give up what we have, we must consider what we are giving up; and what we require for the journey. We need to plan. The question then becomes: how do I go about planning?

First of all, we should make God part of that planning. Our first reading today from the Book of Wisdom tells us why we have to start with God. The translation from the New Jerusalem Bible for today’s First Reading says: “Who’ can know the intentions of God? Who can divine the will of the Lord? … It is hard enough for us to work out what is on earth, laborious to know what lies within our reach; … as for your intention, who could have learned it, had you not granted Wisdom and sent your holy spirit from above?“

It would seem that each of us should listen to the Holy Spirit sent by God to learn what God has in mind for us and where he wants us to go. I need to look at where I’ve been in order to see where the Lord is leading me.

With the beginning of September, this might be a good time for each of us to reflect on where the Lord is calling us and to plan for the future. For me, September, not January, is the begining of the year. Now is the time for fresh starts. It’s probably a result of school starting; and the fact that for my entire life I’ve been tuned-in with the academic year.

In preparing this homily, it occurred to me that most of you know very little about my life outside of Sunday homilies. I got to thinking that if I’m going to urge you to reflect on how the Lord has entered your life and to plan for the future with him, maybe I should let you know something about how he’s entered my life. Looking back on that life, I would never have dared plan-out the career and the spiritual life I’ve been given.

My first intention was to be a high school science teacher. So I went to Kent State University and earned a B.S. in Education and a B.S. in Chemistry. During my student teaching, I quickly discovered I enjoyed teaching and helping others to learn; but I wasn’t interested in spending 90% of my effort motivating kids who didn’t want to be there in the first place. So instead of teaching in high school, I went to Cornell University for a Ph.D. in Biochemistry, so I could become a college professor. And then I discovered it wasn’t enough to have a doctorate to teach in a college; you need to do post-doctoral research, first.

In the meantime, Karen and I had married and begun our family. We moved with our daughter from Upstate New York to Hanover, New Hampshire, where I spent two years in basic research at the Dartmouth Medical School. It was there I learned you weren’t supposed to stay where you did your post-doctoral training and so: Karen, our daughter, our new son and I moved from New Hampshire to Corvallis, Oregon where Oregon State University is located. That turned out to be a disaster and so, two years later, along with a second son, we five moved from Oregon to Maryland, where I became an administrator with the National Institutes of Health.

Five years later we moved to Amherst, Massachusetts, where I was Dean for Research at the University of Massachusetts, until nine years ago when we moved to Houston. I’m now an administrator with Baylor College of Medicine.

What does this all have to do with God’s plan and my plans? Well, my plans said I was suppose to be a high school science teacher or a professor in some small college. That hasn’t happened. Instead, the Lord took my desire for teaching and urged me, much against my plans, to be a CCD teacher at the high school level. That’s how he kept me involved in the church.

And later, when I was a university administrator who wanted to help college students, he convinced me I should get involved with the Newman Center. When we moved to Houston, it was the Lord who reminded me that, if we couldn’t have hills, we could afford the trees in the FM 1960 area, if not the ones near the Texas Medical Center. That brought us to Good Shepherd. The Lord next introduced me to Marriage Encounter and showed me that if I could no longer be with young people in a Newman Center, Karen and I could be with them by giving ME Weekends.

The Marriage Encounter experiences opened up the Lord to me in entirely new ways and gave me a new understanding of what “feelings” were all about. The Lord finally moved from my head to my heart. The call to the Permanent Diaconate was the next step. And here I am today: talking about planning!

Thirty years ago when I planned to be a high school teacher in Ohio, I would never have imagined I’d be preaching to a congregation in Houston, Texas. Yet each step along the way was a “logical” next step. I could have said “yes” or “no.” I could stay where I was, or I could move on. Each time I chose to move on,

For me, and for Karen, that usually meant a physical move from one part of the country to another. But sometimes moving-on can be going from one situation to another, from one relationship to another, from one activity to another. For each of us, it means that I need to reflect on where I am now, on where the Lord has brought me, and on where the Lord wants me to go. It also means I need to pray. And often it also means I must plan when I’m going to pray. Finding time to be with God, to listen to his plans, does not just happen. Prayer is like building that tower – a tower to God. It, too, demands my planning and my attention,

When given the opportunity to plan with God about our life with him, a few of us may respond like Rhett Butler and say: “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn” and so give up without starting. Others may become apprehensive and say: “I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout birthin’ no babies” and begin to reflect but fail to learn anything new about where the Lord is leading us. But I hope that none of us will be like Scarlett, who takes the easy way out by saying: “I’ll think about that tomorrow.” Unless we’re willing to listen to the Lord, to plan with him, and to act on those plans, our dreams – and his for us – can be “Gone with the Wind.”

Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time; September 7, 1986
Wis 9:13-18; Phil 9-10, 12-17; Lk 14:25-33

{Not everyone agrees with the approach I took. The following note, dated 9-12-86, was placed in my box at CGS: “Pat – PLEASE refrain from any profanity in your homilies. Surely in the pew of the church our ears should and could be spared this. Can we not bring our-selves and our children to our house of worship secure in the knowledge that we will not be offended in any unnecessary way. (It is not cool as you think) (over) On the plus side it is good to hear personal stories from the homilist to help us relate to one another. Thanks for sharing. ….. Just a view from the pew.”}

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