27th Sunday in Ordinary Time C

Let me begin with something controversial.  The Yankees have no hope!  Now that might sound a little ridiculous given that they won 105 games in the regular season, clinched like in July and swept the Twins (a team that shrinks to the size of a mustard seed every time they see an interlocking NY.  Gospel allusion!)

But the Yankees have no hope.  They have something most would prefer.  They have got great baseball players.  The reason people like the Yankees’ chances is not something inherent in our souls; they believe because of Judge, Tanaka and Torres.  There is a reasonable expectation that they will succeed.  They have talent and tradition.  I, on the other hand, root for the New York Mets.  We have to have hope for we have so little else.

And that tells a tale.  Yankee fans are optimistic.  Optimism is the reasonable expectation of success.  Sometimes the reasons are clear and convincing.  Even if you like a longshot, you lay out the path of success.  If it takes a hundred strings tied together, you can plot your way to a win.  Now most people prefer optimism to hope for good reason.  Let me put it this way:  when you lead a football game by 35 with two minutes remaining, you are optimistic about winning.  If you are down 35, you only have hope.  Now which team would you rather root for?

But, there is a danger in aligning optimism with hope, for cut just one string, and optimism can no longer be sustained.  Optimism is a tender calculus; everything has to go right.  Hope strikes us a different angle.  As a Mets fan, I know there are saner ways to live.  And I have been told countless times to root for another team.  But I could never imagine doing that.  Something beyond reason, something inherent tells me this is who I am.  Hope is like that.

This is the story the prophet Habakkuk tells in the first reading.  Israel is enduring one of its darkest times.  Most have been exiled away from the Promised Land and the remnant that remains are suffering terrible deprivations.  All Habakkuk can see are violence, ruin, misery and discord.  He is crying out to God like an abandoned child. Yet, the Lord promises, “the vision still has its time,  presses on to fulfillment, and will not disappoint;  if it delays, wait for it,  it will surely come, it will not be late.”  There is no justification for optimism at this time.  No reasonable expectation of things improving.  There is only God’s word.  This is hope.

Hope ultimately is a trust that God is good.  That the one who created in goodness will find a way to sustain it.  We who have been chosen and blessed by God are never abandoned; never forgotten.  God whose eye is on the sparrow will always have his gaze upon us.  This was instilled in us at our baptism and renewed in us when we receive the body and blood of the Lord.  We were made for hope, one of the three things that last.  Hope is the doorway to faith and love.  It is who we are.  It cannot be taken away from us by a bad break or an unforeseen circumstance for what belongs to God is forever.

Hope is not something out there to grab. It is already ours for it has already been won.  At Jesus’ darkest time, inundated by violence and ruin and misery he climbed Calvary to his crucifixion, he held onto something outrageous.  He believed that God could even overcome death.  No cheerful optimist could predict that.  Only one who deeply breathed in the faithfulness and goodness of God would risk his life when he did not have to.  And God kept the promise for that is what God does.

Perhaps these are dark times in your life.  Certainly, it is a dark time in the life of the Church and maybe for our world.  We cannot rely on optimism.  We need a light of hope to dispel the shadows.  And it will not disappoint.  It will not fail.  For our hope has a birthday- Easter Sunday; our hope has a name – Jesus Christ and our hope has a destiny –eternal life.  This is what we are made for. This is who we are.  We are Christians- we hope.


P.S. I know that the Yankees have had an injury plagued season, and it was remarkable and hopeful.  Please don’t feel the need to write back.


25th Sunday in Ordinary Time C

“You cannot serve both God and mammon.”  Mammon is a funny word.  You tell it is difficult because they did not try to translate it.  It is a Greek word adopted from a similar Hebrew and Aramaic word and then dropped into English as is.  We don’t have a word to express what it means.  It is that which you place your trust in or give allegiance to.  In other words, mammon wants to be treated like God.  That is why Jesus speaks of mammon as a false God.  You have to choose God or mammon.

Sometimes money is depicted as mammon, but that is not quite right.  It is rather a symptom of mammon.  Money demands our attention and its pursuit takes up much of our time.  It is very important, yet when it becomes our main priority, it becomes mammon.  As a matter of fact, the motto on our money, “In God we trust” is telling us to look somewhere else for your security.

We might all have different mammons:  money, loneliness, hurt, failure, but they all coalesce around one word – fear.  We are afraid that we will not have enough.  We are afraid that we cannot provide, protect or defend those we love.  We are afraid that no one will love us back.  We are afraid that we do not hold a place in the world or our lives have no meaning.  So our identity we choose is not as a child of the light, but as a son or daughter of fear.  But “perfect love drives out fear.”  (1John 4:18) The perfect love of God and fear cannot occupy the same space.

You are here because you have chosen God over mammon.  You might be glad to know that I have too.  I pay my bill to Jesus.  But I must admit that I too often leave my tip to mammon.

I think it is important that we name our mammon because it tends to sneak up on us until it predominates in our lives.  You can tell it is your mammon because it is the thing that stops you from sleeping at night, or which wakes you up with a start at let’s say exactly 2:48 in the morning.  My mammon is our parish right now.  It is the consistently lower collections, the empty seats, the faces I used to see all the time and now miss so much.  I can’t stand the idea that perhaps this place might not look the same as it does now.

But when my mind is clear and my prayer is right, I know better.  I know that no fear, no boogey man of my own creation, can match the words that come from the mouth of the Lord.  I know there is nothing so powerful as receiving the body and blood of Jesus.  I know of nothing more beautiful than seeing the reflection of God in every face whenever I have the grace to seek it.  I have been awed by the love shared in support of those who mourn, in the promise of two young people saying yes to a life together, in the baptism of a child given the startling promise to be one with Christ.  I have been saved by the love of the God who become human and gave his life for us and invested it with meaning.  Oh in those moment fear does not dare raise its head and mammon is defeated by the goodness, the holiness and love of God and God’s people.

We have a choice between God and fear, between Christ and mammon.  For the sake of beauty, truth and peace; for the sake of our humanity and our sanity, choose God.


22nd Sunday of Ordinary Time C

Today I want to talk about two seats.  One is the one you are sitting in.  Jesus suggests that you could be called up to the more prominent place, and perhaps it is out of humility that the front row is always open.  But I have a sneaking suspicion that if I did invite you up here, I would not have that many takers.

Then again, you may already know that you are in a place of honor for you have taken a seat at the table of the Lord.  Right now, you are like an apostle at the Last Supper.  Jesus has desired to share with you his greatest gift.  As the Letter to the Hebrews reminds us, “You have not approached that which could be touched and a blazing fire and gloomy darkness.”  No, we are invited to, “Mount Zion and the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and countless angels in festal gathering.”  Isn’t that amazing?  Despite our failings and our sins, despite not being all we could or should be, we receive God.  We are given the body and blood of Christ from which we derive divine forgiveness, the peace of Christ and we are made one with one another and with God.  Indeed, your seat is hallowed; it is the epicenter of salvation.

Now, let me talk about another seat.  It is the empty one closest to you.  It is the person that would experience all these tremendous blessings if only they were here.  For I am convinced, filling that seat would mean clarity to the lost, light for those in darkness and comfort for those in turmoil.  And we need them in that seat for we are not a club for the worthy, but a place where our shared brokenness finds healing.  We welcome all and believe all need what Christ offers here.

So why is that seat empty?   Are they angry about the scandal?  You can assure them they would not be alone in this church, that attending mass is not an endorsement of the Church’s response to the scandals.  I can promise that Bishop Scharfenberger is determined to ensure that our diocese becomes a model of healing and justice.  If they fill that seat, they can be part of the healing.

The second reason the seat might be empty is that people do not feel welcomed.  I hope and think this does not happen too much here.  I always think of what Jesus was like when he spotted a new disciple. Couldn’t you see him push the apostles aside to get to know the new guy?  We should be that welcoming and interested in every new face.  Even if they are sitting in your holy seat and you have to move to the front uncomfortably close to me.

And that seat is empty because some feel they don’t belong or are unwanted.  They feel they do not fit in.  Well, if they do not fit, then we have to get larger.  Perhaps they feel they do not fit into our community economically, or due to race or a lifestyle they lead.  Those seem just the people that Jesus was always attracting or seeking out. This Gospel and so many others reminds us that the seats of honor are set aside for those who feel they do not belong.

And maybe the seat is empty because what happens here is not as important as it once was.  It is not as critical to come not that the kids have grown or priorities have changed.  I can’t tell you what to say to them.  All you can do is share the reason you keep coming back; the sense of peace and community you receive; the blessings of the word of God, the body of Christ and the blood which speaks eloquently of the love that saves us.

We will have some opportunities to share our story.  Our great parish picnic next Sunday will double as an open house where people can learn about we serve Christ and each other in addition to great food and fun. Soon, we will have another bring a friend to mass invitation, not for a specific day but as a reminder to share the good news all the time.  Let us fill that empty seat with a gracious and eager invitation.  Then the sign of peace will not just be something we do at mass. It will be who are and how we worship our God.


24th Sunday in Ordinary Time C

The Pharisees really ticked off Jesus.  They made one simple statement.  “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”  It is a true statement as we have just heard from Luke, “Tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to listen to Jesus.” It is a loaded statement, but a true one.  But it clearly strikes a nerve in Jesus.  He responds with three parables, a cascading response that does not defend himself from the charge, but explains why he has chosen this path.

First in the parable of the lost sheep, Jesus shows us a divine response.  “What man among you having a hundred sheep and losing one of them would not leave the ninety-nine in the desert and go after the lost one until he finds it?”  God is not happy with a 99% retention rate.  God rescues the lost, not reluctantly, but with great joy, throwing the lamb over his shoulders in glee.  Such is the heavenly reaction to repentance and forgiveness.

The story of the one lost coin of ten reminds us that we can never mourn what we did not have, but we feel particularly the loss of what we once possessed.  When the woman lights her lamp and sweeps the floor and discovers the coin, she exults.  She knows the joy of restoration.  This is the human response to what God has done for us.  She is made whole as are made whole through divine forgiveness.

Then follows the most famous parable.  A younger son demands his inheritance rudely from his father despite his father inconveniently being still alive.  He inevitably squanders his money and comes back mostly because he is starving.  Yet, the Father sees him with compassion, hugs and kisses him and slaughters the fattened calf for great feast.  This exuberant welcome of a truly guilty party is the surest sign of the joy of redemption.

Why does Jesus react so virulently to the simple statement that he welcomes and eats with sinners?  Why this avalanche of a response?  Because for Jesus, welcoming sinners and even having table fellowship with them is at the heart of his mission.  If you don’t get this, you don’t get him.  As the perfect explainer of his Father, he needs people to know that God does not hate or exclude.  God is the forgiver.  God is the welcomer.  The world where one mistake forever severs your connection to God and community is a dark alternative.  It is a cold, bleak world the Pharisees are portraying.

Which brings us to the older brother.  In twenty years of preaching this Gospel, everyone loves the older brother.  And yes, it seems like an appendage to the story of the Prodigal Son, but it might be the point because the older brother is the Pharisee who will not eat with sinners.  He depicts a sad, lonely person whose only purpose is to obey orders, the very symbol of one who thinks the point of life is simply not to sin rather than to love.  He cannot be happy that his brother who once “was dead and has come to life again,” is now safe.  He does not even claim his relationship with his brother, referring to him only as his father’ son.  His desire to separate from his own brother removes him from the redemptive joy of the Father.

The life of the older brother is not the life I want. I want to live in the assurance that I am not one mistake away from banishment from God’s grace.  I want to believe in a God who pursues me, desires me.  I want to be invited to this table of the Lord as I am, a sinner. We have all strayed and come home.  We have known the great embrace of a forgiving father. Sinners, let us gather around the table of the Lord for he eats with and welcomes us.

23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time C
“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.” This is no one’s favorite Gospel passage. No one has this quote on an inspirational poster in their bedroom. No one has ever chosen this for the Gospel at their wedding. (That would be awkward.) And we should be clear that Jesus does not want us to hate our family. If I am sure of anything, I am sure that Jesus loved his mother.
Yet, when we hear such jarring and harsh language, it is so that everyone gets the point. Jesus wants to be first in our lives. He wants to be the very center of our lives. It is not that he is jealous of others we love, but he knows for us to reach our true and astounding capabilities, we will only be our best when he comes first. Indeed, rather than trying to love God as much as we love our mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, wives, husbands and children. We should love all those God has given us how God has loved us.
This has been brought to mind by the college admissions scandal where wealthy parents spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to get their kids into the right school. It made me think of something I have heard often from parents, and I know it comes from a good place, but they say, “I would do anything for my children.” Don’t do anything for your children. Only do what is right and good loving. That is what you owe your children.
Putting Christ first in our lives is the only way to guarantee we love in the best and most effective way possible. There are a few reasons why this is the best way to love. Actually, I am sure there are infinite reasons, but long blogs are boring blogs so we will stick with three.
First, by putting Jesus first you ensure that you will not be lost in love. Lost in love is a fine romantic term, but it is full of danger. We should not be lost in love, but we find who we are in love. When we lose ourselves to someone else and the relationship fails, we have no sense of dignity left. We heap shame and guilt upon ourselves until we feel unvalued and unlovable. Yet, when we begin with the love of Jesus, we bask in a light that never fades. We will still make mistakes and hurt and be hurt, but we will not give up on ourselves for we know that our God never gives up on us. God’s love indeed allows us to attempt repair whatever is broken.
Secondly, putting Jesus first means to cross will always be part of our love. At a time when suffering is discounted and when hurt does not seem compatible with love, we need the cross to remind us that love means suffering from the moment we say yes to love, we say yes to vulnerability and risk a broken heart. Real love, Christ love, understands and accepts this because Jesus understood and accepted it. Jesus did not go to the cross because he failed to love. He suffered because he loved perfectly and fully. It is the promise of our salvation, the witness of love perfect love. And so will our relationships be transformed by the cross when we accept of our suffering and sacrifices as the heart of love for every cross is the pathway of redemption.
And finally, well at least for this blog, putting the love of Jesus Christ first means our love is always good and genuine. Simply giving everyone what they want is not loving. It is indulgent; it is bribery. Real love is concerned about true growth and not taking advantage. Real Christ centered love touches not just the people in relationship, it is a gift to the community. To love as Christ loved is to us the word “No” or share a hard word in true friendship. True love point is not a broad path but a narrow way. It points to God.
We know what real love looks like because we have seen it perfected in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, The way I see it, I could love people in my life with Bob love, and that is not bad. Or I could love them with Christ’s love. Why not give the best?

20th Sunday in Ordinary Time C

Every year when we go on vacation, my friend Fr. Tim and I hear the Gospel and think if we were glad or sad that we did not have to preach.  This Gospel makes me feel like I wish I had left yesterday and not today.  (Actually, this week left me feeling I wish I had become vicar general next week and not this one.)

It is jarring to hear Jesus say, “I have come to set the earth on fire, and how I wish it were already blazing!”  Or “Do you think that I have come to establish peace on the earth?  No, I tell you, but rather division.”  And yes, and although the other fifteen times he speaks of peace in the Gospels, he claims to bring peace, it makes it all the more significant when he does not.  It reminds us of the remarkable capacity of Jesus to capture all our feelings for there are times when we righteously do not concede the peace or give in for the sake of unity.  There are times to stand for something or over and against something.

For Jesus, this is that time.  In Lukes’s Gospel, we are on the road to Jerusalem, and already the cross not yet erected on Calvary is casting its shadow.  He knows this will be a turning point in human history.  After the cross, the baptism in which he must be baptized, people will have to decide if that was just the ugly death of a nobody or the redemptive death of the savior.  It simply cannot be both.  It is a decision point for every person, a “for or against” moment; the fire that will shape the world.

Our Church is on fire.  Tis week we are reminded again of the terrible price of abuse, when the culture of preserving power and status appeared to be more important than justice and compassion.  And while many of these claims date back from forty to seventy years ago, and we must remember that everyone under civil and canon law is presumed innocent until proven guilty, it is a testament of how deep the hurt lingers and how tragic are the consequences.  It is call for us to be compassionate healers to all those wounded by abuse both inside and outside our Church.

Jesus speaks of fire as a purification.  Our Church must undergo a purification.  A purifying fire strips away everything until all that is left is the pure element.  The dross disappears for the pure gold to emerge.  What if the Church lost everything but the Eucharist, the word of God, the community and service to our brothers and sisters?  Would that be all bad?  Isn’t that what we started with?

Jesus speaks of a time when households are divided.  For how many of us is that true?  Mine is.  People ask us why we stay and increasingly our answers are more difficult to articulate.  Our answer comes from a deep sense of belonging and love.  It is tied up in what we feel about what we receive from the table and from this sacred word.  It is how we feel about each other and what binds us together.  Jesus refers to fire one other way besides purification – as the Holy Spirit.  It the Spirit of reconciliation, peace, healing and hope.  As each person must entrust themselves to the Holy Spirit, so must our Church travel by the lights of the Hoy Spirit and nothing else.

About a year ago, I started to thank people who are having their children baptized and couples getting married in the church for choosing us, for sticking with this bruised and beautiful Church that still has so much to give and can still bring peace to our struggling world.  But I have yet to thank you.  Thank you for your faithfulness.  Thank you for the hope you represent.  Thank you holding these values and your commitment to this truth.   Thank you for sustaining me with your love and support.  You are the reason this gets better.  You are the sign of the new Church that must emerge.  Thank you for being the face of Christ.

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time C

“Do not be afraid any longer, little flock.”  Isn’t that a beautiful sentiment Jesus shares with us?   Sometimes I just love these sweet, tender and intimate words – like a mother speaking to her children.  And sometimes, when fear increases and darkness approaches, I need these words.  I need them when in Dayton and El Paso there is the tragic confluence of hate and violence – at once mindless and frighteningly purposeful.   I need it when we are reminded of the sins of our Church and our failure to respond adequately, as well as the price we must now pay.  I need it, and we all need it, when the darkness in the world reminds us of our own hurt, of the times we were used and abused, of our loss.  I then NEED to hear from the Lord, “Do not be afraid any longer, little flock.”

It seems to me that this fear grows as we drift away from Jesus personally and as a society.   It grows when his word is not at the center of our life.  Why does Jesus say we should not be afraid?  Because he desires to give us the kingdom.   Because we can put all our trust in him, “For where your treasure is, there also will your heart be.”  We should be like servants who await their master’s return from a wedding and never give up on him, especially as times grow more challenging.  We do not take advantage when he appears to be absent. We still live kingdom values confident that justice and peace will prevail.  In the midst of the darkness, we place our hope in Christ, the dawn of salvation.

This a moment which calls for great faith, defined famously in the second reading’s Letter to the Hebrews as “the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen.”  Like love, it cannot be pointed to, but its effects change the world.  If faith truly is “the realization of what is hoped for,” we are being told to live fiercely the kingdom of God in the way Jesus preached it.  If faith is the “evidence of things not seen,” then the only way to make it known is to live as Jesus lived, to make him come alive right now in our words and actions.

For faith promises an even greater gift – grace, the action of God in the world.  Faith always precedes miracles and we have all witnessed the miracle of grace and its power.  I see it when survivors of abuse by clergy, with every right to hold the church in utter disdain, dedicate their lives to healing it and making it more responsive to those whom we have hurt.  I saw pure grace on Saturday when a son eulogized his 50 year old mother with dignity and humor and love.  Grace in action can dispel the deepest darkness.

So let us show this faith.  Let us realize what is hoped for; let us be the evidence of things not seen.  Let us announce to the world, “Do not be afraid any longer, little flock,” for in the cross of Christ, good has triumphed over evil.  “Do not be afraid any longer, little flock,” for we will never allow the beautiful face of Christ to be distorted into something so ugly as white supremacy.  “Do not be afraid any longer, little flock,” for if gun violence would not be tolerated in your neighborhood, how can it be tolerated three miles away in a neighborhood that might look different from yours; but not so much for parents still love their children and kids should have the right to play.  “Do not be afraid any longer, little flock,” for only when we cling to Jesus’ truth will our Church be the merciful and just vessel God has called it to be.  “Do not be afraid any longer, little flock,” for we are the body of Christ, inseparable and bound by the Holy Spirit where the division of them and us dissolves into being brothers and sisters.

“Do not be afraid any longer, little flock,” for fear and hate will only know its demise when met by faith and grace.  Let us be the dawn God has sent upon the world.  This dark night must end.