Sunday Readings

Lenten Series 2009
Glory Speak - Doxology
HERE

Darkness in the Light

In that classic movie The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy and her friends go to see the wizard. Along the way, they encounter difficulties as well as the joy of discovering new things and new people. But at the heart of the story is the discovery of one thing necessary. It is a search and finding of the truth. The anticipation and the appearance of the wizard began in curiosity and mystery but ended in the reality of the truth.

The Greek visitors to Jerusalem today made that same journey. They were looking to meet and see the wonders of this miracle-maker from Galilee. But their journey ended in a very different place. They wanted a visible demonstration of religion but what they found was a faith that could seem as dark and obscure as a lone seed planted in the cool darkness of the earth.

I wonder if they were disappointed. I think most of us would be. After all, we are human. We rely on our senses and try to understand the world through them. We all start with an idea of God and how He interacts with us. We can think of God as “up there” or “right here.” How we think of God is based on a number of things including our upbringing, our personal experience and the like. This is the starting point of faith. Like the Greek visitors, human beings have a supernatural curiosity. And it is this curiosity, this starting point that God works with by grace and leads us to faith.

Maybe a better way of putting it is to say that faith is not something we can ‘have’ but is the road God allows us to walk to His loving arms. It is a movement from spectacle to reality, from being spectators to saints. At the core of this pilgrimage is a difficult truth that we all struggle to accept. It is, as Dorothy said, the inescapable truth that we are not where we once were. We were once told what to believe but now we believe. We grew up and were taught about God. Now, in whatever way we do, we are trying to know God.

And this can be very difficult. We can look back fondly on the past (and there’s really no problem with that) but it can go too far. We can have such longing for what once was that we no longer see what is right in front of us. All that God has done in the past and all that we have known of His mysterious ways have one singular and absolute purpose: that we may know the truth of God today. That truth is written, as Jeremiah prophesied, on our hearts. The living God is not confined to tablets of stone or massive temples. He is living with the living. Every sacred object and moment of the past is a holy testament to what God is doing now. And by “now,” I mean right now.

This is where faith gets interesting. All right, faith is a journey – we get that one. But given the way many of our lives can be, that journey may seem to have taken a few wrong turns. The Heavenly Father does not boom from the realms of glory on any regular basis for most of us. In fact, it seems like the opposite. I doubt there is anyone here who can say that their lives are completely free of any and all obstacles, difficulties, and heartbreak. Even people of faith have trouble reconciling their lives and our world with the God of eternal life and mercy. This economic crisis is a perfect example. We see dark days and difficult times. We can be scared ourselves and feel the distress of others. On top of everything else add something like this in the word “bleak” takes on new meaning. Throughout our nation, priests and pastors are starting to report a slight up-click on Sunday mornings. Are people merely desperate or looking for some sort of divine magic trick? I don’t believe so. I believe that once again people are looking to see Jesus. The difficulties of the moment are yet another occasion. And what are they – what are we – finding?

The answer is – as it always has been – the Cross. In Jesus, we discover that the journey of faith is the journey to Calvary. The only path to glory is through the cross. Like a farmer to know the bounty of the harvest, the seed must die. In Jesus, who is the light of the world, we find a place for our darkness. And that darkness redeemed brings us into the splendor of mercy.

But fallen human nature resists. We don’t want that darkness. We want the product without the process. No wonder so many struggle with faith. The tension can be awesome. We’re going to see that starting next week. We will hear the Gospel account of how profoundly dramatic the seed died. Many will see it in Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ. We will find ourselves saying to Jesus, “couldn’t You have done this in an easier way? Why not just snap Your fingers and bring redemption to the world?” The mercy of the mystery we celebrate in Holy Week is that all of our darkness, all of our pain, and even all of our dying is taken up by the only One who can give it any meaning. That is why we try and see in our Lenten penances the darkness and sinfulness within us. In a very real way, we bury these with Christ so that a harvest of grace will grow abundantly.

Did that sound poetic and flowery? I hope so because faith leads each one of us beyond we have known before. What began in questions and curiosity has brought us to where we are right now. And while we all resist and none of us like the cold reality of sin, we see a hope beyond expectation. There is no darkness in your life, there is no obstacle in your way, that cannot be redeemed in the mercy of God. But equally, there is no wizard here, no magic solution.

We may want to see Jesus as the miracle worker but the great surprise of faith is to find the Jesus who desires to see us looking for one.

Sunday Readings

Lenten Series 2009
Glory Speak - Doxology
HERE

Lead, Kindly Light

One of the great things about growing up in New York City (and even just living here) is that the C theity really never does sleep. For us, darkness is relative. We scatter it with streetlights for fear that we may experience real darkness. But even with our artificial illumination, we know darkness. You can see it in the lonely faces stumbling out of a bar. You recognize it on a late-night bus or subway ride home. You can feel it in the broad daylight as you look at people who believe hope is a luxury they cannot afford. There just are no lights bright enough.

Nicodemus comes to Jesus in the middle of the night. And Jesus speaks to him of the light. It’s a good religious theme isn’t it? When we think of religion, we think of light – stained-glass windows, candles and the like. We speak of the darkness of sin and the grace of divine illumination. And in the darkness of Nicodemus’s night, Jesus speaks what will become his most popular and best-known quote: God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son.

With all the talk of “values” and the social importance of faith in the public sector, nothing has the power or the impact of the discovery of this love of God. Pundits and politicians make a living at creating and even putting themselves into the middle of the latest crisis. They spew easy solutions of social revolution that only serve to keep them employed. It seems in many areas that religion has taken on a law enforcement role. Religion, in our popular American thinking, has the ability to keep the good people good and the bad people far away. And isn’t strange, age upon age, year after year, it does not seem to work?

To be honest, our expectations may be a little unrealistic. Conversion can only occur in the human heart. But the world we live in is not really interested in the conversion of the human heart. In fact, experience shows us that the world actually opposes such conversions. But why? Why do even good people get comfortable with the darkness of sin and hopelessness in our own lives?

Plain and simple, the darkness is easier. Nothing is too detailed; imperfections get lost. And we begin to get used to it. The last thing we want is the glare of light. I remember going out to Nebraska for an ordination and the night before we went to a real honky-tonk. Well 12 midnight came and all of a sudden every fluorescent light was turned on and we were turned out. It was jarring and not welcomed. It was a perfect image for what happens when the light of faith disrupts our lives. This light goes way beyond pointing out what we are doing wrong. That’s easy enough and Lord knows we can rationalize and handle anything that comes up.

So maybe we can understand how difficult it is when the light of God’s grace radically disturbs everything in our life. We know when we fall in love how everything changes. And for us, that can be a scary place. Now if that is the effect of the love of another human being, no wonder the love of God can be something we fear. And we can sometimes go beyond fear to downright opposition. We are offended and bothered when the challenge of faith threatens to lighten the darkness. We convince ourselves we’ve grown used to the darkness and that it is the best that we can do. We resent further demands on what is already a difficult life. After all, we are balanced people not fanatics. Life may not be great but it is good enough.

Really? is it? Are we really satisfied with the temporary affections of our hearts? Are we so fulfilled by her own efforts that God’s love is nothing more than a decoration? The Lenten journey, now at its midpoint, is a journey into the darkness of our hearts. Like Nicodemus, we don’t want to be too obvious about it or subjective selves to public scrutiny, but in our honest moments, we know the darkness is there. The secular world laughs at us and says there we are just lacking in confidence. I happen to think that it takes a lot more confidence to come before God knowing I am incomplete than to convince myself there is nothing wrong. And I find it strange, our world - striving to make life as convenient as possible, even at the cost of human dignity and life itself -is so militantly inconvenienced by a message of love.

But we don’t have to look outside of ourselves to discover this opposition. The light of our God’s love – which is a love stronger than death, even death on a cross – is not only for pagans and heathens. Conversion begins with us. Nicodemus began his conversion in the darkness of his night. He could sing mean what the song says, “I have heard you calling in the night.” And while that can be a frightening thing, that is the light of grace leading us. It led Nicodemus step-by-step to know the love Jesus was speaking about.

So take heart. We all know the shadows of our hearts. We are not alone nor are we unique. And it is there in that darkness that the grace of God whispers those famous and familiar words. We’ve seen people holding signs at sports events with this quote – John 3:16. By God’s favor, we hear those words proclaimed by the silent and loving witness of the cross. And in every step of every day in this Lenten season, we ask that same Lord of Calvary to speak them to our hearts as if for the first time.

When Attila the Hun was threatening Rome in the last years of its empire, Pope Leo the great asked Christians in that city to pray every night. Today, we make that prayer our own:

Lighten our darkness, we humbly beseech Thee, O Lord, and in Thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of the night; for the love of Thy only Son, our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Sunday Readings

Lenten Series 2009
Glory Speak - Doxology
HERE

Directed Passion

This is certainly not our standard image of Jesus Christ. We usually think of Him, from what artists interpret of Him, as gentle, mild, and very placid. And while not a bad image of Christ, to say that it is the only image of Christ is not quite accurate. Jesus, especially in today’s Gospel, is not a cream puff.

We would be correct to say that this is “Angry Jesus.” What we see is someone who is very angry and who acts out violently. If somebody did that in church today, we’d say they are emotionally disturbed and have ‘anger issues’ requiring professional help. In fact whenever anybody gets demonstrably upset, we say they are angry as if being angry is worse than the plague. We don’t like to see it; it’s not pretty. And worst of all, it really doesn’t inspire. I once knew a priest who was very upset that a lot of people did not attend an event in the parish. The following week, he yelled and screamed at the congregation, banging loudly on the pulpit. A parishioner who did go to the event came up to him afterwards and said, “Father, I know you are mad but please understand that your anger does not inspire anyone.” He was not pleased with this evaluation and spat back, “but I MUST say it.”

When I heard the story, I began to understand this gospel a little better. There is a very big difference between anger and directed passion. The reason we don’t like to see anger is because in its raw form, it is violent. Regardless of the reason, anger is a fire that destroys. Blazing or simmering, human anger wreaks havoc. Its fuel is in that priest’s comment – I must. When anger meets ego – run for cover. It is a very bad combination and one we can handle very carelessly.

Clearly this was not the anger of Jesus. The disciples saw this as they recalled later the zeal of Christ. His anger was justified and it was holy. When anger and holiness combine it forms a directed passion. It is not about the ego but about the other. It is about truth and how strongly it contrasts with sin. Zeal comes from within the person but is not about the individual. It refuses to behave while good manners destroy the beauty God has created. And as justified as this zeal can be, we are uncomfortable with it.

Look at our world today. People are justifiably angry at brokers who steal their money. They call for the eternal damnation of crooks who run Ponzi schemes. We have a right to expect our government to protect us from these thieves. But so-called Catholic politicians smile pensively at the complexities of life as time and again they vote for the legal destruction of it. So many average Catholics are irritated at corporate greed and are equally irritated when they hear criticisms of the people they elected. It’s not that people want it both ways; they just want it MY way.

That’s what anger is – it’s our reaction to God’s refusal to do what we want. Zeal is the sacrifice of what I desire for what God wants. Both are passionate and can change the world. The difference is a matter of faith because it is a matter of choice. It is the choice the Israelites in the desert were presented when Moses gave them and us the 10 Commandments. Are we deciding to live as Christians or pagans? Do we try and justify ourselves alone or do we rise to the defense of others? Do we throw a fit when our stake is overcooked or are we enraged that families in our own nation cannot afford a healthy meal? Do we gripe about how terribly we have been treated by the Catholic Church yet say nothing when laws are proposed in state legislatures to destroy our faith?

You know there’s a lot to be angry about and many good reasons for it. We all have ‘anger issues’ for the simple reason that we are alive. But like anything else, we have a choice. And we have been given the grace and the ability to decide what we do with our anger. We are not slaves or robots who have no choice and no will. It is our commitment to the dignity of the human person that refuses to accept that people can only react. Christian maturity is about making the decision to be passionate about what his close to the heart of God. All that we do in the Lenten season is a continuous prayer to know precisely what this is for each one of us.

May this sacrament give us the grace to passionately and firmly choose as best we can what God offers us to be.

Sunday Readings

Archbishop Timothy Michael Dolan named 13th Archbishop of New York
Blessed Jeanne Jugan to be canonized in Rome 11 October 2009

Lenten Series 2009: Glory Speak - Doxology
HERE

Lent By Lent

Most people in our church today have heard, sung or prayed the signature and song from Godspell - Day by Day. It has become the anthem of those in recovery and a prayer for those trying to get through life. To daily see, love, and follow God more clearly, dearly, and nearly is a simple yet incredibly difficult prayer to live. We can complicate our religion with many things and many discussions. But this is the one thing necessary. This is the one absolute from the mouth of God Himself.

On the mountain, the Father showed the glory of His Son Jesus and told those disciples simply, “listen to Him.” It was this same Voice that told Abraham to climb another mountain and do something incomprehensibly difficult. And it was this same Voice that stayed his hand, preventing indescribable sadness. When God said let there be light and everything came into existence, the universe listened. Each one of us was created in the image and likeness of the One who spoke our name and we were made.

But what is abundantly clear is that we are not very good at listening to that voice. We listen to so many others and even to our own so much so that we try and drown out or ignore the voice of our God. Imagine if Abraham had not heard the voice of God telling him not to hurt his own son. Imagine if the disciples never listened to the message of Jesus Christ. I would be out of a job and you would be out of luck!

Listening to the voice of the Savior is not always easy for two reasons. The first is often that we hear our own voice more clearly. The second may be that we do not like what Jesus has to say. Add to that, we are assaulted with the difficulties and obligations of every day. All of these are good reasons and bad excuses.

As Christians, we walk in the footsteps of the Master. We climb with Him to the mountaintop whether it is the glory of the Transfiguration or the pain of Calvary. Jesus is our guide; He is our way. He whispers to us to keep going, to keep following. We stay close because if we are too far away, we don’t hear it. When someone we love speaks softly to us they have our attention. We may have to struggle to hear them but it is a struggle we believe worth it.

What God says is worth it. He speaks to us not just in the silence of a retreat or peaceful moment by ourselves. He speaks in the difficulty and the disastrous. He may give us the plan for our lives but He also gives us direction when we are lost. He encourages us to go forward from where we are to where He promises us to be. His words are in real time in the real world. If the situation is bad – He is there speaking to us of what is good. If something or someone is driving us crazy, He is opening a different road. If we are quietly fearful, He speaks and gives us words of hope.

The Father said, “this is my beloved son; listen to Him.” It was a command, not a question. It wasn’t an invitation to further discussion or merely a suggestion. Human beings too often and too easily chart a course straight into the iceberg. There’s just too much at stake to play around. Life can get difficult and without direction, we can make it worse – for ourselves and for one another. The Christian knows this and understands that faith is not meant to weigh us down with heavy burdens but to give us wings to soar. So, in the words of a song by Lonestar:

There are times in life when you gotta crawl,
Lose your grip, trip and fall
When you can't lean on no one else,
That's when you find yourself
I've been around and I've noticed that
Walk-in's easy when the road is flat
Them danged 'ole hills will get you every time.
Yeah, the good Lord gave us mountains
so we could learn how to climb.

Our goal in Lent is to climb, to live this one command of our heavenly Father. It is really the aim of the Christian life everyday. To hear and to listen to the voice of Jesus may not be an easy thing, but it should be the only thing. With all the mistakes and distractions that we are surrounded with, we still climb the difficult mountain and tried to hear the heart of the message. To listen more closely means to follow Him more nearly. And day by day, Lent by Lent, we pray to do just that.

Sunday Readings

Archbishop Timothy Michael Dolan named 13th Archbishop of New York
and
Blessed Jeanne Jugan to be canonized in Rome 11 October 2009

Lenten Series 2009
Glory Speak - Doxology
HERE

Good God

Last week a number of people wished me a “good Lent.” I returned the greeting with appreciation. I’m sure this was said by many people as we began the penitential season before Easter. But it is a strange thing to say. There are no “Good Lent” greeting cards or Lenten sales at the local mall. It’s not that type of a holiday season. A cynic would even laugh and say how silly it was to wish people a good time giving up good times. How could you enjoy this by choosing not to enjoy the things we like? But what we are doing is so much more. We are freely choosing things that actually point to goodness itself. We are avoiding the temptation to doubt the goodness of God and the goodness of what he has made and done in the world.

This is not very fashionable. The opinion makers make a living out of calling everything in this life as less-than-perfect. For them, there is no news but bad news. The Christian message makes no sense to them since what is bad in life is redeemed by God. It says that things may be terrible but God is not.

Our first reading recounts the disaster of the Flood and God’s covenant with all creation – a creation he called ‘good.’ In that covenant with Noah, God made a commitment especially to human beings who are created in His own image. Despite everything having been washed away, God once again looks upon all He has created and, once again, calls it “good.” As time passes on, humanity distorts that goodness by sin and we find our God among us in the wilderness.

In St. Mark’s Gospel, Jesus is tested like any of God’s great messengers. But unlike Matthew and Luke, we do not hear what those temptations are. But we are not too far off the path, from St. Mark’s context, when we surmise that the greatest temptation was a doubt. It could have been that nagging and annoying idea that, when all is said and done, God is really not that good. Maybe God started things out well enough, but they certainly didn’t stay that way. The doubt of goodness – especially God’s goodness – is an open invitation to hopelessness. And it is one invitation that has never been rescinded.

It is not easy to believe in the goodness of God when life is difficult. Every night on the evening news we hear horrific stories of innocent people suffering and dying at the hands of people who just do not care. We study history that shows how bad human beings can be when given the chance. And even here in church, we are reminded in the season of Lent that we too can act against goodness. When we look to our own experiences it is a very simple thing to quickly accept a certain hopelessness.

So we look to Jesus in the silence of a desert retreat. We imagine the demons urging Him to abandon hope. We see the raw brutality of nature refusing a higher way and a better way. And in this struggle, this icon of the deepest human situation, St. Mark speaks of Angels ministering to Jesus throughout the whole ordeal. And from this conflict of the soul, Jesus emerges to preach the Good News. He did not leave the desert to empower people to rise above their weakness because they found an inner strength to do so. He did not offer the promise of omnipotence that (falsely) guarantees that we can accomplish anything we put our mind to. No, He came from the desert with the Good News.

The Good News believed is what makes a good Lent. We identify with the struggle in the desert in the sacrifices we make during this holy season. We choose the goodness of God by imitating him. We go back to the original covenant of God’s goodness as we celebrate the difficult inauguration of the new and everlasting covenant on Calvary. We stand before our holy God acknowledging our sins as a witness to the hope He has for each one of us.

Today, we may not know the questions and temptations the Devil brought to Jesus. But we do know our own. We ask where is this good God when so many things around us are not going too well. We can be tempted to look within us and see how awful we can be – and leave it at that. It’s all right to question; it’s perfectly natural to think there is no way out. Fallen human nature has a tendency to do that.

That’s why we look to God. And every time we do, we file a protest against despair. We make a statement of hope that out of everything bad, God alone can bring good. Every examination of conscience can point out the mistakes. (You certainly do not need to be a Christian for that.) But against our own version of reason and natural instincts, we believe in the good news of mercy. Sure, we give in to despair at times but God does not. We act in ways that seem to deny our eternal destiny but God refuses to give up on us. We may fail the tests of our fidelity but God still keeps on teaching us the language of His faithfulness.

So keep having a good Lent because God in His goodness has made you good even when you forget that. That’s just what a good God is like.