Sunday, September 30, 2007
Giving Makes You Feel Good
Giving Makes You Feel Good
September 30, 2007, 26th Sunday of Ordinary Time
Amos 6:1a, 4-7 I Timothy 6:11-16 Luke 16:19-31
To the church in the diaspora[1]
& to the church of the unchurched[2]
Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke.
Glory to you, Lord.
Jesus said to the Pharisees: Once upon a time there was a rich man who dressed in purple garments and fine linen and ate splendidly each day. And there was a certain beggar named Lazarus who was laid at his gate, full of sores. He would gladly have eaten his fill of the scraps that fell from the rich man's table. Dogs would come and lick his sores. When the poor man died, he was carried away by angels to the bosom of Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried, and from the netherworld, where he was in torment, he raised his eyes and saw Abraham far off and Lazarus at his side. And he cried out, “'Father Abraham, have pity on me. Send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am suffering torment in these flames.'
Abraham replied, “My child, in your lifetime you had it good, and Lazarus had it bad. Now Lazarus is comforted, and you are in torment. Moreover, between us and you a great chasm is established to prevent anyone from crossing who might wish to go from our side to yours or from your side to ours.” But the rich man said, 'Then I beg you, Father, send him to my father's house, for I have five brothers, so that he may warn them, lest they too come to this place of torment.” But Abraham replied, '”They have Moses and the prophets. Let them listen to them.” He responded, “Oh no, Father Abraham, but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.” Then Abraham replied, “If they will not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded if someone should rise from the dead.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ
Introduction
Another A+
St. Luke got an A+ for the parables of the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal Son read on 15th and 24th Sunday of Ordinary Time (Cycle C). This Sunday he gets another A+ for the parable of a rich man whom tradition calls Dives[3] and a poor beggar whom scripture names Lazarus. All three parables are found only in Luke’s gospel, and that’s why he’s a very favorite evangelist.
Hammed- up versions
You can ham up the parable of the Prodigal Son. Or you can read it quite unremarkably. You can have a rebellious son crying out to his dad, “I’ve had it! I’m getting out of here. Give me the money that’s mine.” Or you can have the son calmly saying, “Dad, it’s about time I get out on my own. Could I please have the inheritance that falls to me?” Both versions can do justice to the original Greek. Un-hammed up the parable becomes a Parable of Everyman -- a parable of every son and daughter who must (like the fledgling robins in late spring) leave the nest and fly away on their own.
You can ham up this parable of Dives and Lazarus as well. Or you can read it quite unremarkably. As a boy I remember seeing a hammed-up painting of the parable. It hung in my pastor's office where he was giving me and my sister (children of Italian unchurched immigrants) instructions to become Roman Catholics. There was Dives, very overweight and bedecked in a tent of purple finery. He was sprawled out before a sumptuous table loaded down with platters piled high with drumsticks and legs of lamb, and with fruit bowls heaped with pomegranates and mangos and overflowing with luscious grapes. Dives was cruelly and selfishly indifferent to poor Lazarus lying at the foot of his table begging for crumbs. The painting, as I remember it, was compressed; it had everything squeezed together. Only inches away from the table was a wrought iron gate at which the poor beggar was laid, and dogs were licking away at his sores. As a little boy I was deeply impressed with that gross depiction, and to this day I still see it hanging there in my pastor’s office.
But a hammed-up version of the parable loses its personal message and takes us off the hook. We can easily dismiss it exclaiming, “Thank God that‘s not me. I could never be as gross as that cruel and selfish Dives dressed in purple.”
The words of the parable, in themselves, do not suggest anything gross. The rich man, in fact, might not be overweight but sveltely slim. He might be a rather decent fellow, a good neighbor, a religious person. Daily he goes to the office where he is pleasant enough to his associates. Then after putting in a hard day’s work, he heads for home. He arrives at his wrought iron gate (a distance from his very nice house and his dining table). He quickly passes through it not noticing Lazarus lying there. Tired and hungry he has a drink before dinner and then sits down to eat a splendid meal.
An unremarkable indictment
It's possible that Dives and Lazarus never met, and that therefore nothing terribly gross ever transpired between them. And yet, when both die, Lazarus is carried to the Bosom of Abraham, while Dives is buried in a place of torment. Listen to the indictment against Dives. Hear how remarkably unremarkable it is. "My child in your lifetime you had it good, and Lazarus had it bad. Now Lazarus is comforted, and you are in torment" (Lk 16:25). That's all. Nothing gross is charged. Dives is indicted not because he saw Lazarus starving at the gate and ruthlessly passed him by. He’s indicted because he didn’t see the starving beggar but should have!
He’s indicted for conveniently choosing not to see the very gross gaping need of Lazarus and coming to his aid. He’s indicted not because he did something very bad to Lazarus, but because, at the end of the day, he chose (in a very refined sort of way) not to do something good for him. Dives is indicted for choosing, subliminally at least, not to have the eye and heart which see the need of another lying at his gate. He’s indicted for not being a sensitive human being.
Not being inhuman
The missalette always carries a very brief commentary on the Sunday scriptures. The commentary for this Sunday characterizes the parable of Dives and Lazarus as”blunt” and ends by asking a challenging question: “Who is lying at your gate?” When someone lying at our gate has a gross gaping need (like starving Lazarus full of sores licked by dogs) most of us will stop to respond to it. But to respond to such gross gaping need does not really make us human; it simply precludes us from being inhuman.
There are people out there who will not respond even to a gross gaping need. There are Jewish priests and Levites out there on the road to Jericho who will walk right by a poor man waylaid by robbers and dying on the wayside. So-called human beings can be incredibly inhuman to other human beings. In recent days we’ve seen how so-called human beings can be incredibly inhuman also to dogs (man’s best friend) which lovingly lick the legs of Lazarus.
Some of the people lying at our gate (family members, neighbors, co-workers, relatives, and friends) have needs that are not as gross and gaping as Lazarus’ but are more refined and less gaping. They are needs perceived only by sensitive eyes and hearts. At the end of the day it’s being sensitive to the refined and less gaping needs of others that really makes us wonderfully human.
A refined and invisible need
After living in this wonderful house of mine into which I put much labor and love for twenty-eight years, I am forced by circumstances to move on. That obviously is going to be a traumatic experience. (Someone has said there are three painful experiences in life: divorce, death and moving.) Recently some newly met friends heard of my predicament and were genuinely concerned. By email they wrote, “We are coming to Milwaukee [from Madison] Thursday to watch a grandson's high school football game. We are going to come in early to start getting a sense of the rental market. We have appointments to look at two lower flats [not for themselves but for me!] -- one in Bay View and one in Wauwatosa. We also plan to drive around a bunch and look for `For Rent’ signs that people might post on their properties. We will keep in touch.”
What sensitive eyes and hearts! What truly wonderful human beings! The e-mail message was a bit overwhelming, and it gave me courage for the ordeal ahead.
The rich man from Assisi
Here it is the last day of September. Tomorrow is the first day of one of the nicest months of the year, especially in Wisconsin. October ushers in autumn in earnest with cool evenings which call for an extra blanket, and which lets us catch up on sleep lost on warm summer nights. This is the month of the apple and pumpkin, God’s bounty gathered into bins against the long winter night. This is the month which splashes field and forest with colors of riotous red and glittering gold. This is the month especially of the liturgical feasts which nourished my youth: the feast of the Little Flower (Oct. 1), the feast of my Guardian Angel (Oct. 2), and then the feast of St. Francis of Assisi (Oct. 4) this coming Thursday.
No true biographer of the saint ever neglects to tell the story about the beggar and Francis -- son of a wealthy merchant of Assisi. One day Francis was working in his father’s shop which dealt in costly velvets and fine embroideries. As a prominent merchant of the town entered the shop, there entered also a beggar seeking alms in a rather tactless manner. At that moment Francis did what we’re all inclined to do when confronted simultaneously by a well-dressed gentleman and a shabby person. He attended to the gentleman first.
When the business transaction was finished, Francis suddenly realized the beggar had quietly slipped away -- feeling unworthy of attention. Seized with compunction he dashed out of the shop leaving all the bales of precious velvets and embroideries unattended. He raced through the marketplace “like an arrow straight from the bow," (writes G. K. Chesterton). Through the narrow and winding streets he finally came upon the beggar and heaped a healthy sum of his father’s money upon him. That story is the parable of Dives and Lazarus in reverse.
The rich man from Hope, Arkansas
The commentary for this Sunday asks a challenging question: “Who is lying at your gate?” For former president Bill Clinton it’s the very globe of the world that’s lying at our gate. On Sept. 26, 2007 in a luxury hotel in midtown Manhattan Clinton kicked off the third annual meeting of the Clinton Global Initiative (CGI). It’s an initiative to brainstorm about health, education, poverty and climate problems. Its aim is to generate action and not merely discussion.
In attendance were over one thousand leaders of business, government and non-governmental organizations representing over 70 countries and including 52 current and former heads of state. During the opening session, President Clinton announced five new commitments, including over $1 billion by the Norwegian and Dutch Governments to reduce maternal and child mortality.
Addressing the meeting Clinton said, “I’m gratified today because it’s clear to me that this model of philanthropy and giving, which began as an experiment in 2005, has proven itself in only two short years. Since our first meeting, more than 600 commitments have been made by CGI members, impacting 100 countries and millions of lives.” He continues, “In its third year, CGI is evidence of something that I have always believed— that people are inherently generous, that giving makes you feel good, and that the only thing most of us are looking for is an opportunity to make a difference.”
Because of the Monica Lewinsky affair, Bill Clinton was pursued relentlessly by a culture obsessed with sexual morality instead of compassion morality. Compassion morality sees a globe lying starving at the gate and dogs licking its sores. Rich man Bill Clinton sees a global beggar down at the gate and calls the globe to do something about it. Bill Clinton is another rich man who puts the parable of Dives and Lazarus in reverse.
Conclusion
Giving makes you feel good
Clinton says giving makes you feel good. Dives eating drumsticks and legs of lamb and lobbing luscious grapes down his throat, while Lazarus was languishing away down at the gate, didn’t feel good. He felt stuffed (with selfishness). He didn’t feel good because he didn’t give Lazarus anything. Clinton says giving makes you feel good.
The sexual morality which pursued Bill Clinton (and now Larry Craig) is cheap morality. It pursues others and makes them pay up but it doesn’t cost one’s self one red penny. Compassion morality, on the other hand, is costly. It cost the Samaritan on the road to Jericho much. He had to interrupt his appointed rounds, bandage up the poor man’s wounds, hoist his dead weight upon his beast of burden and hurry him off to the nearest inn. There he had to dig down deep into his pocket to pay for the poor man’s care and cure. That, indeed, is costly. Giving is always costly. But giving, Bill Clinton says, makes you feel good. And so the Good Samaritan (that compassionate giving human being) has been feeling good for centuries.
[1] Diaspora is a Greek word meaning dispersion. Originally it referred to the settling of scattered colonies of Jews outside Palestine after the Babylonian exile. It’s now come to mean the migration or scattering of a people away from an established or ancestral home or parish!
[2] By “the unchurched” is especially meant not those who have left the church but those whom the church has left!
[3] The Latin word for rich is divis.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Children of the Light
Children of the Light
Sept. 23, 2007, 25th Sunday of Ordinary Time
Amos 8:4-7 I Timothy 2:1-8 Luke 16:1-8
To the church in the diaspora[1]
& to the church of the unchurched[2]
Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke.
Glory to you, Lord.
(Lk 16:1-8)
Jesus said to his disciples, “A rich man had a steward who was reported to him for squandering his property. He summoned him and said, ‘What is this I hear about you? Prepare a full account of your stewardship, because you can no longer be my steward.’ The steward said to himself, ‘What shall I do, now that my master is taking the position of steward away from me? I am not strong enough to dig and I am ashamed to beg. I know what I shall do so that, when I am removed from the stewardship, they may welcome me into their homes.’ He called in his master’s debtors one by one. To the first he said, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ He replied, ‘One hundred barrels of olive oil.’ He said to him, ‘Here is your promissory note. Sit down and quickly write fifty.’ Then to another the steward said, ‘And you, how much do you owe?’ He replied, ‘A thousand bushels of wheat.’ The steward said to him, ‘Here is your promissory note. Sit down and eight hundred.’ And the master commended that dishonest steward for acting prudently. “For the children of this world are more prudent in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.
The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ
Introduction
A bishop with profound reservations
For nearly a decade, Bishop Geoffrey Robinson headed the Australian bishops’ committee that developed guidelines and procedures for dealing with clergy sex abuse. He retired in 2004 at the young age of 66 because, he said, he had “profound reservations” about the church he loved, and that was too heavy a burden to bear. He emerged from retirement last month to promote a new book and to demand `a better church.’ The book is entitled Confronting Power and Sex in the Catholic Church: Reclaiming the Spirit of Jesus.
Demanding `a better church’
In the book, the bishop says the church has not confronted the sexual abuse crisis; it is simply managing it. He reveals that he was sexually abused (although not by church personnel or a family member). He says it was not a repressed memory but was “in the attic of my mind.” It was not until he started speaking with other victims of clergy sexual abuse that he “was able to take it down [from the attic] and look at it.” He acknowledges that he cannot talk about sexual abuse dispassionately.
He also criticizes the church’s teaching on sex and sexuality ( which are based on offences against God) as outmoded and inadequate. He says that obligatory celibacy (not celibacy itself) is a problem. He sees the traditional seminaries and novitiates as unhealthy places for growth in maturity, especially if candidates are accepted at a young age.
In describing `a better church’ he calls for a redistribution of authority in the church so that collegiality (the authority of national bodies of bishops) and the sensus fidelium be more respected and heeded. In Catholic theology the sensus fidelium is the idea that the beliefs, consciences and experience of good and honest Catholics (who, let’s say, are practicing birth control) are a valid source of religious truth.
Proclaimers of certainties vs. searchers for truth
Robinson says he sees a fractured church – a church divided by proclaimers of certainties, on the one hand, and searchers for truth on the other. That, he says, has left many people feeling a sense of alienation, of being marginalized, of no longer quite belonging to the church that had given them much of their sense of belonging, meaning and direction throughout their lives. At the beginning of the weekly homily we have characterized those people as The Church of the Diaspora or The Church of the Unchurch.
“In writing the book,” the bishop says, “I became aware that I was writing a book for these people, that I was trying to tell them that there is a church for them, and that it is fully in accord with the mind of Jesus. I was telling them there are [indeed] basic certainties, but there is [also] abundant room for search….
“I became aware that it was important for many people that there should be a bishop saying these things. At moments I felt that the needs of these many people were so great that it is perhaps true that I have never been more of a shepherd, I have never been more justified in carrying around a pastoral staff, than I have in this.”
Conclusion
The dismissal: disclaim and search
Robinson’s bottom line brings us to the bottom line of the gospel today which speaks of “the children of light.” Who are children of the Light? They are disclaimers of certainties and searchers for truth! What is a “church of light”? That’s a church which disclaims its certainties about sexuality, divorce and remarriage, birth control, celibacy, ordination of women, open-Communion, etc., and goes in search for the truth.
Every Mass has a dismissal. Ite, Missa est. Go, the Mass is ended. Go and be disclaimers of your certainties so that you might be searchers of the truth.
1] Diaspora is a Greek word meaning dispersion. Originally it referred to the settling of scattered colonies of Jews outside Palestine after the Babylonian exile. It’s now come to mean the migration or scattering of a people away from an established or ancestral homeland or parish!
[2]] By the “the unchurched” is especially meant not those who have left the church but those whom the church has left!
Sept. 23, 2007, 25th Sunday of Ordinary Time
Amos 8:4-7 I Timothy 2:1-8 Luke 16:1-8
To the church in the diaspora[1]
& to the church of the unchurched[2]
Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke.
Glory to you, Lord.
(Lk 16:1-8)
Jesus said to his disciples, “A rich man had a steward who was reported to him for squandering his property. He summoned him and said, ‘What is this I hear about you? Prepare a full account of your stewardship, because you can no longer be my steward.’ The steward said to himself, ‘What shall I do, now that my master is taking the position of steward away from me? I am not strong enough to dig and I am ashamed to beg. I know what I shall do so that, when I am removed from the stewardship, they may welcome me into their homes.’ He called in his master’s debtors one by one. To the first he said, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ He replied, ‘One hundred barrels of olive oil.’ He said to him, ‘Here is your promissory note. Sit down and quickly write fifty.’ Then to another the steward said, ‘And you, how much do you owe?’ He replied, ‘A thousand bushels of wheat.’ The steward said to him, ‘Here is your promissory note. Sit down and eight hundred.’ And the master commended that dishonest steward for acting prudently. “For the children of this world are more prudent in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.
The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ
Introduction
A bishop with profound reservations
For nearly a decade, Bishop Geoffrey Robinson headed the Australian bishops’ committee that developed guidelines and procedures for dealing with clergy sex abuse. He retired in 2004 at the young age of 66 because, he said, he had “profound reservations” about the church he loved, and that was too heavy a burden to bear. He emerged from retirement last month to promote a new book and to demand `a better church.’ The book is entitled Confronting Power and Sex in the Catholic Church: Reclaiming the Spirit of Jesus.
Demanding `a better church’
In the book, the bishop says the church has not confronted the sexual abuse crisis; it is simply managing it. He reveals that he was sexually abused (although not by church personnel or a family member). He says it was not a repressed memory but was “in the attic of my mind.” It was not until he started speaking with other victims of clergy sexual abuse that he “was able to take it down [from the attic] and look at it.” He acknowledges that he cannot talk about sexual abuse dispassionately.
He also criticizes the church’s teaching on sex and sexuality ( which are based on offences against God) as outmoded and inadequate. He says that obligatory celibacy (not celibacy itself) is a problem. He sees the traditional seminaries and novitiates as unhealthy places for growth in maturity, especially if candidates are accepted at a young age.
In describing `a better church’ he calls for a redistribution of authority in the church so that collegiality (the authority of national bodies of bishops) and the sensus fidelium be more respected and heeded. In Catholic theology the sensus fidelium is the idea that the beliefs, consciences and experience of good and honest Catholics (who, let’s say, are practicing birth control) are a valid source of religious truth.
Proclaimers of certainties vs. searchers for truth
Robinson says he sees a fractured church – a church divided by proclaimers of certainties, on the one hand, and searchers for truth on the other. That, he says, has left many people feeling a sense of alienation, of being marginalized, of no longer quite belonging to the church that had given them much of their sense of belonging, meaning and direction throughout their lives. At the beginning of the weekly homily we have characterized those people as The Church of the Diaspora or The Church of the Unchurch.
“In writing the book,” the bishop says, “I became aware that I was writing a book for these people, that I was trying to tell them that there is a church for them, and that it is fully in accord with the mind of Jesus. I was telling them there are [indeed] basic certainties, but there is [also] abundant room for search….
“I became aware that it was important for many people that there should be a bishop saying these things. At moments I felt that the needs of these many people were so great that it is perhaps true that I have never been more of a shepherd, I have never been more justified in carrying around a pastoral staff, than I have in this.”
Conclusion
The dismissal: disclaim and search
Robinson’s bottom line brings us to the bottom line of the gospel today which speaks of “the children of light.” Who are children of the Light? They are disclaimers of certainties and searchers for truth! What is a “church of light”? That’s a church which disclaims its certainties about sexuality, divorce and remarriage, birth control, celibacy, ordination of women, open-Communion, etc., and goes in search for the truth.
Every Mass has a dismissal. Ite, Missa est. Go, the Mass is ended. Go and be disclaimers of your certainties so that you might be searchers of the truth.
1] Diaspora is a Greek word meaning dispersion. Originally it referred to the settling of scattered colonies of Jews outside Palestine after the Babylonian exile. It’s now come to mean the migration or scattering of a people away from an established or ancestral homeland or parish!
[2]] By the “the unchurched” is especially meant not those who have left the church but those whom the church has left!
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Jesus' Sweeping Exhortation (The Young Man's Face Fell)
September 9, 2007: 23rd Sunday of Ordinary Time
Wisdom 9:13-18 Philemon 9-10, 12-17 Luke 14:25-33
To the church in the diaspora[1]
& to the church of the unchurched[2]
Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke.
Glory to you, Lord.
Great crowds were traveling with Jesus, and he turned and addressed them, saying, “Whoever does not hate his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry his own cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.
Who of you wishing to construct a tower does not first get estimates of what it will cost to get the job done? Otherwise, after laying the foundation and finding yourself unable to finish the work, onlookers will laugh at you and say, ‘There’s a guy who began something but didn’t have the resources to finish it.’ Or what king marching into battle does not first sit down and estimate whether with ten thousand troops he can successfully oppose another king advancing upon him with twenty thousand? If he can’t, then while the enemy king is still far off, he’ll send a delegation to ask for terms of peace. In the same way,” Jesus concluded, “whoever does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple” (Lk 14:25-33).
The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ
Introduction
Jesus’ sweeping exhortation
Once Jesus tells a parable of a foolish rich farmer who builds bigger and better barns and bins but dies before he can enjoy his abundant life. Jesus then points to the wise birds of the air which have neither barns nor bins filled with harvest but are fed by the Father in heaven. He points also to the wise lilies of the field which do not spin cloth nor sew but are more beautifully bedecked than King Solomon himself. “So don’t live in fear, little flock,” he exhorts us. “It has pleased the Father in heaven to give you the kingdom. Go, sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor” (Lk 12: 22-33).
Jesus gave the same sweeping exhortation to a rich young man who came up to him one day and asked, “Master what must I do to gain eternal life?” He replied, “You know the commandments: `Do not commit adultery, do not commit murder, do not steal, do not accuse anyone falsely, respect your father and mother.’” “I have observed all these commandments from my youth,” the man replied. “Then there’s one more thing left for you to do,” Jesus responded. “Go, sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor, and you will have riches in heaven. Then come back and follow me.” Luke adds, “At that, the young man’s face fell because he had many possessions” (Lk 18:18-23).
The same sweeping exhortation is found in today’s gospel. In spelling out the cost of discipleship Jesus say we must be like a man who is going to build a tower, and who first sits down and estimates the cost in labor and materials. Or we must be like a king who plans to go to war, and who first sits down and figures out what he needs to overcome a superior enemy. Then Jesus sets before us the cost of discipleship, saying, “Whoever does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple” (Lk 14:25-33).
Unreal & even undesirable
Jesus’ sweeping exhortation to renounce all one’s possessions presents a problem. Not only does the rich young man’s face fall at it but ours also falls. Renouncing all our possessions is very unreal for most of us, especially in a society fired up by capitalism and consumerism. It’s also very undesirable for most of us who are not ready to give up those wonderful possessions of ours which are the marvelous fruit of technology and our own human sweat. Those possessions make our lives human, rich and pleasant.
I’m not ready to renounce my Toyota Rav. It takes my dog Simeon and me to the lake at early dawn every day and to the grocery store to buy daily bread. I’m not ready to renounce my flat-screen 32 inch TV (a surprise gift from my sister’s son). It helps me escape from the real world as I watch a good football game on a brisk Sunday afternoon in November. My TV also keeps me in touch with the real world of man’s inhumanity to man in Iraq, and also of man’s inhumanity to dogs in southeastern Virginia where Michael Vick lives. TV keeps me abreast of human events and provides me with something meaningful to say in the Sunday homily.
I’m not ready to renounce my house which has sheltered me for a good twenty eight years, and on which I spent much money and labor of love to make it a cozy home. At this moment of my life I am called to renounce it and move away to a safer and more benign neighborhood, but I do so very reluctantly. I’m not ready to renounce my miraculous computer which has freed me from the horrors of the old typewriter, which gives me access to the cyber world of e-mail, and which paves an incredible super-information highway right through my study. By no means am I ready to sell my possessions and give the money to the poor.
Making sense out of it
Because Jesus’ exhortation to renounce all our possessions seemed very unreal and undesirable, the church (not ready to dismiss it out of hand) historically farmed it out to a special class of people called monks and nuns who took a vow of poverty. That, in a sense, salved the conscience of the church which could point to her special class of people and protest that she has heeded Jesus’ exhortation.
Like the church we, too, are not ready to dismiss out of hand Jesus’ exhortation of renunciation. Unlike the church we are not ready to farm it out to others. We want to make some realistic and desirable sense out of it, so that we can intelligently appropriate it to ourselves. Yes, we even want to give Jesus’ sweeping exhortation (and the very Gospel itself) the power to make our faces fall! For as Oscar Romero, Archbishop of San Salvador and champion of the poor (assassinated at Mass by gunshot right after his homily) once said, “A church that doesn't provoke any crisis, a gospel that doesn't unsettle us, a word of God that doesn't get under one's skin [or doesn’t make our faces fall] -- what good are they!”
How do we make sense out of Jesus’ sweeping exhortation, so that we can intelligently appropriate it?
Possessions in our hearts and heads
Perhaps it is because we are so materialistically-minded that we always see possessions only as things we can hold in our hands like ipods, iphones, blackberries, gps and jewelry; or things we can touch like nice autos or homes. Believe it with every fiber of our being that there are possessions which are not things we can hold in our hands or touch. Believe it with every fiber of our being that there are possessions in our hearts and heads which deserve and demand Christian renunciation far more urgently than any thing we could possibly hold in our hands or touch.
Ideological possessions
There are ideological possessions. We remember (because we can never forget) the Nazi ideology of the past century. That was the unspeakable and deadly possession in Nazi hearts and heads that only the tall, the blue-eyed and the blond (the Master-race) had a right to live. That deadly possession in Nazi hearts and heads mapped out the Final Solution which rounded up the Jews, loaded them into box cars and hauled them off to concentration camps. That deadly possession in Nazi hearts and heads built the crematoria and ignited the ovens of the Holocaust which turned six million Jews into a burnt offering to their ideology.
There are, indeed, possessions in our hearts and heads which deserve and demand Christian renunciation far more urgently than any thing we can hold in our hands or touch.
Fundamentalist possessions
In these times, we are beset with Islamic fundamentalism. That’s a possession in the hearts and heads of those who claim either explicitly or implicitly that there is only one way and culture: the Islamic way and culture. All men should wear beards. All women should hide their existence under berkas. All true believers should fall to their knees in prayer five times a day. Everything else is an infidel world! Outside the mosque there is no salvation! (It reminds us Catholics of our own painful past when we, too, insisted that outside the church there is no salvation.)
This coming Tuesday is sixth anniversary of that apocalyptic event which brought down the Twin Towers in Lower Manhattan and three thousand innocent human beings. That unspeakable event was perpetrated, approved and blessed by an extreme Islamic ideology -- a possession in the heads and hearts of those who claim that Islam is the only way, and every other way is infidel and has to go. That ideology is very much afoot these day. It preoccupies us 24/7. It is in restless search of inflicting something even more catastrophic and apocalyptic than 9/11.
There are, indeed, possessions in our hearts and heads which deserve and demand Christian renunciation far more urgently than any thing we hold in our hands or touch.
Theological possessions
And yes, there are also theological possessions. These are the dogmatic possessions in the heads and hearts of church people who claim and proclaim that anything there is to be said about issues like human sexuality, artificial birth control, homosexuality, divorce, celibacy, ordination of women, open communion, etc. has already been said. Yes, even to the church (and especially to the church) which should mirror the poor Christ who “emptied himself” (Phil 2:5-7), Jesus says, “You cannot be my disciple unless you renounce your possessions.” You cannot be my disciple unless you’re ready to renounce your final, unchallengeable answers to these issues, especially when the Holy Spirit breathing in the Sensus Fidelium[3] asks you to renounce them.
Emotional possessions
Not only Nazis, Islamic fundamentalists and the dogmatic ecclesiastics have possessions in their heads and hearts which demand renunciation, so do we. We have emotional possessions which demand renunciation more urgently than anything we can hold in our hands or touch.
You can ask almost anything of us human beings, but, by gum, don’t ask us to renounce our personal prized possession of an anger which has us talking angrily to ourselves through months and even through whole years of our lives. That kills our human spirit. Or, by gum, don’t ask us to renounce our personal prized possession of endless self-pity which has us constantly licking our wounds so that they never heal, and which so immobilizes us that we never get up and get on with life. That, too, kills the spirit. Or, by gum, don’t ask us to renounce our personal prized possession of worry which is afraid to relax and put ourselves into the arms of the Father in heaven who feeds the birds of the air and clothes the lilies of the field. Our anger, self-pity and worry, as a way of life, are personal possessions which demand Christian renunciation far more urgently than any thing we can hold in our hands or touch.
Conclusion
A conviction of fifty years
Years ago I received a letter from a woman who accidentally stumbled into Old St. Mary’s 10 AM Mass and later wrote back a very long letter. She berated me for not giving the prescribed absolution at the penitential rite; and for not reciting the Gloria prescribed for Sunday Mass, and for not reading the gospel in its entirety; and for not using the masculine nouns prescribed by the church but instead changing them to gender-neutral words; and for not taking Communion at the time prescribed for the priest (i.e., before the faithful) and for not reading the concluding prayer and giving the dismissal as prescribed by the Church. (This is a shortened version of her letter.) What a long list of possessions I thought to myself! And none of them are in her hands; they’re all in her head and heart.
That kind of stuff has built up in me through 56 years of priesthood a fierce conviction that our worst possessions are in our heads and hearts and not in our hands. In my book they demand Christian renunciation far more urgently than does my Rav or my TV or my computer or my wonderful home or any other material possession I can hold or touch. The thought that I don’t have to renounce them but may keep them, and use and enjoy them, lifts my spirit. But the thought that I have to give up some of the stuff that’s in my head and heart makes my face fall. And that’s what good Gospel does to us!
[1] Diaspora is a Greek word meaning dispersion. Originally it referred to the settling of scattered colonies of Jews outside Palestine after the Babylonian exile. It’s now come to mean the migration or scattering of a people away from an established or ancestral home or parish!
[2] By “the unchurched” is especially meant not those who have left the church but those whom the church has left!
[3] In Catholic theology the sensus fidelium is the beliefs, consciences and experience of good and honest Catholics, and it is a valid source of religious truth for Catholics.
Wisdom 9:13-18 Philemon 9-10, 12-17 Luke 14:25-33
To the church in the diaspora[1]
& to the church of the unchurched[2]
Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke.
Glory to you, Lord.
Great crowds were traveling with Jesus, and he turned and addressed them, saying, “Whoever does not hate his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry his own cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.
Who of you wishing to construct a tower does not first get estimates of what it will cost to get the job done? Otherwise, after laying the foundation and finding yourself unable to finish the work, onlookers will laugh at you and say, ‘There’s a guy who began something but didn’t have the resources to finish it.’ Or what king marching into battle does not first sit down and estimate whether with ten thousand troops he can successfully oppose another king advancing upon him with twenty thousand? If he can’t, then while the enemy king is still far off, he’ll send a delegation to ask for terms of peace. In the same way,” Jesus concluded, “whoever does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple” (Lk 14:25-33).
The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ
Introduction
Jesus’ sweeping exhortation
Once Jesus tells a parable of a foolish rich farmer who builds bigger and better barns and bins but dies before he can enjoy his abundant life. Jesus then points to the wise birds of the air which have neither barns nor bins filled with harvest but are fed by the Father in heaven. He points also to the wise lilies of the field which do not spin cloth nor sew but are more beautifully bedecked than King Solomon himself. “So don’t live in fear, little flock,” he exhorts us. “It has pleased the Father in heaven to give you the kingdom. Go, sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor” (Lk 12: 22-33).
Jesus gave the same sweeping exhortation to a rich young man who came up to him one day and asked, “Master what must I do to gain eternal life?” He replied, “You know the commandments: `Do not commit adultery, do not commit murder, do not steal, do not accuse anyone falsely, respect your father and mother.’” “I have observed all these commandments from my youth,” the man replied. “Then there’s one more thing left for you to do,” Jesus responded. “Go, sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor, and you will have riches in heaven. Then come back and follow me.” Luke adds, “At that, the young man’s face fell because he had many possessions” (Lk 18:18-23).
The same sweeping exhortation is found in today’s gospel. In spelling out the cost of discipleship Jesus say we must be like a man who is going to build a tower, and who first sits down and estimates the cost in labor and materials. Or we must be like a king who plans to go to war, and who first sits down and figures out what he needs to overcome a superior enemy. Then Jesus sets before us the cost of discipleship, saying, “Whoever does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple” (Lk 14:25-33).
Unreal & even undesirable
Jesus’ sweeping exhortation to renounce all one’s possessions presents a problem. Not only does the rich young man’s face fall at it but ours also falls. Renouncing all our possessions is very unreal for most of us, especially in a society fired up by capitalism and consumerism. It’s also very undesirable for most of us who are not ready to give up those wonderful possessions of ours which are the marvelous fruit of technology and our own human sweat. Those possessions make our lives human, rich and pleasant.
I’m not ready to renounce my Toyota Rav. It takes my dog Simeon and me to the lake at early dawn every day and to the grocery store to buy daily bread. I’m not ready to renounce my flat-screen 32 inch TV (a surprise gift from my sister’s son). It helps me escape from the real world as I watch a good football game on a brisk Sunday afternoon in November. My TV also keeps me in touch with the real world of man’s inhumanity to man in Iraq, and also of man’s inhumanity to dogs in southeastern Virginia where Michael Vick lives. TV keeps me abreast of human events and provides me with something meaningful to say in the Sunday homily.
I’m not ready to renounce my house which has sheltered me for a good twenty eight years, and on which I spent much money and labor of love to make it a cozy home. At this moment of my life I am called to renounce it and move away to a safer and more benign neighborhood, but I do so very reluctantly. I’m not ready to renounce my miraculous computer which has freed me from the horrors of the old typewriter, which gives me access to the cyber world of e-mail, and which paves an incredible super-information highway right through my study. By no means am I ready to sell my possessions and give the money to the poor.
Making sense out of it
Because Jesus’ exhortation to renounce all our possessions seemed very unreal and undesirable, the church (not ready to dismiss it out of hand) historically farmed it out to a special class of people called monks and nuns who took a vow of poverty. That, in a sense, salved the conscience of the church which could point to her special class of people and protest that she has heeded Jesus’ exhortation.
Like the church we, too, are not ready to dismiss out of hand Jesus’ exhortation of renunciation. Unlike the church we are not ready to farm it out to others. We want to make some realistic and desirable sense out of it, so that we can intelligently appropriate it to ourselves. Yes, we even want to give Jesus’ sweeping exhortation (and the very Gospel itself) the power to make our faces fall! For as Oscar Romero, Archbishop of San Salvador and champion of the poor (assassinated at Mass by gunshot right after his homily) once said, “A church that doesn't provoke any crisis, a gospel that doesn't unsettle us, a word of God that doesn't get under one's skin [or doesn’t make our faces fall] -- what good are they!”
How do we make sense out of Jesus’ sweeping exhortation, so that we can intelligently appropriate it?
Possessions in our hearts and heads
Perhaps it is because we are so materialistically-minded that we always see possessions only as things we can hold in our hands like ipods, iphones, blackberries, gps and jewelry; or things we can touch like nice autos or homes. Believe it with every fiber of our being that there are possessions which are not things we can hold in our hands or touch. Believe it with every fiber of our being that there are possessions in our hearts and heads which deserve and demand Christian renunciation far more urgently than any thing we could possibly hold in our hands or touch.
Ideological possessions
There are ideological possessions. We remember (because we can never forget) the Nazi ideology of the past century. That was the unspeakable and deadly possession in Nazi hearts and heads that only the tall, the blue-eyed and the blond (the Master-race) had a right to live. That deadly possession in Nazi hearts and heads mapped out the Final Solution which rounded up the Jews, loaded them into box cars and hauled them off to concentration camps. That deadly possession in Nazi hearts and heads built the crematoria and ignited the ovens of the Holocaust which turned six million Jews into a burnt offering to their ideology.
There are, indeed, possessions in our hearts and heads which deserve and demand Christian renunciation far more urgently than any thing we can hold in our hands or touch.
Fundamentalist possessions
In these times, we are beset with Islamic fundamentalism. That’s a possession in the hearts and heads of those who claim either explicitly or implicitly that there is only one way and culture: the Islamic way and culture. All men should wear beards. All women should hide their existence under berkas. All true believers should fall to their knees in prayer five times a day. Everything else is an infidel world! Outside the mosque there is no salvation! (It reminds us Catholics of our own painful past when we, too, insisted that outside the church there is no salvation.)
This coming Tuesday is sixth anniversary of that apocalyptic event which brought down the Twin Towers in Lower Manhattan and three thousand innocent human beings. That unspeakable event was perpetrated, approved and blessed by an extreme Islamic ideology -- a possession in the heads and hearts of those who claim that Islam is the only way, and every other way is infidel and has to go. That ideology is very much afoot these day. It preoccupies us 24/7. It is in restless search of inflicting something even more catastrophic and apocalyptic than 9/11.
There are, indeed, possessions in our hearts and heads which deserve and demand Christian renunciation far more urgently than any thing we hold in our hands or touch.
Theological possessions
And yes, there are also theological possessions. These are the dogmatic possessions in the heads and hearts of church people who claim and proclaim that anything there is to be said about issues like human sexuality, artificial birth control, homosexuality, divorce, celibacy, ordination of women, open communion, etc. has already been said. Yes, even to the church (and especially to the church) which should mirror the poor Christ who “emptied himself” (Phil 2:5-7), Jesus says, “You cannot be my disciple unless you renounce your possessions.” You cannot be my disciple unless you’re ready to renounce your final, unchallengeable answers to these issues, especially when the Holy Spirit breathing in the Sensus Fidelium[3] asks you to renounce them.
Emotional possessions
Not only Nazis, Islamic fundamentalists and the dogmatic ecclesiastics have possessions in their heads and hearts which demand renunciation, so do we. We have emotional possessions which demand renunciation more urgently than anything we can hold in our hands or touch.
You can ask almost anything of us human beings, but, by gum, don’t ask us to renounce our personal prized possession of an anger which has us talking angrily to ourselves through months and even through whole years of our lives. That kills our human spirit. Or, by gum, don’t ask us to renounce our personal prized possession of endless self-pity which has us constantly licking our wounds so that they never heal, and which so immobilizes us that we never get up and get on with life. That, too, kills the spirit. Or, by gum, don’t ask us to renounce our personal prized possession of worry which is afraid to relax and put ourselves into the arms of the Father in heaven who feeds the birds of the air and clothes the lilies of the field. Our anger, self-pity and worry, as a way of life, are personal possessions which demand Christian renunciation far more urgently than any thing we can hold in our hands or touch.
Conclusion
A conviction of fifty years
Years ago I received a letter from a woman who accidentally stumbled into Old St. Mary’s 10 AM Mass and later wrote back a very long letter. She berated me for not giving the prescribed absolution at the penitential rite; and for not reciting the Gloria prescribed for Sunday Mass, and for not reading the gospel in its entirety; and for not using the masculine nouns prescribed by the church but instead changing them to gender-neutral words; and for not taking Communion at the time prescribed for the priest (i.e., before the faithful) and for not reading the concluding prayer and giving the dismissal as prescribed by the Church. (This is a shortened version of her letter.) What a long list of possessions I thought to myself! And none of them are in her hands; they’re all in her head and heart.
That kind of stuff has built up in me through 56 years of priesthood a fierce conviction that our worst possessions are in our heads and hearts and not in our hands. In my book they demand Christian renunciation far more urgently than does my Rav or my TV or my computer or my wonderful home or any other material possession I can hold or touch. The thought that I don’t have to renounce them but may keep them, and use and enjoy them, lifts my spirit. But the thought that I have to give up some of the stuff that’s in my head and heart makes my face fall. And that’s what good Gospel does to us!
[1] Diaspora is a Greek word meaning dispersion. Originally it referred to the settling of scattered colonies of Jews outside Palestine after the Babylonian exile. It’s now come to mean the migration or scattering of a people away from an established or ancestral home or parish!
[2] By “the unchurched” is especially meant not those who have left the church but those whom the church has left!
[3] In Catholic theology the sensus fidelium is the beliefs, consciences and experience of good and honest Catholics, and it is a valid source of religious truth for Catholics.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Listening to our Dogs
Listening to our Dogs
September 2, 2007: 22nd Sunday of Ordinary Time
Sirach 3:17-18, 20, 28-29 Heb. 12:18-19, 22-24 Luke 14:1, 7-11
To the church in the diaspora[1]
& to the church of the unchurched[2]
Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke.
Glory to you, Lord.
On a Sabbath Jesus went to dine at the home of one of the leading Pharisees, and the people there were observing him carefully. When he noticed how some of the guests were trying to get a place at the head table, he told them a parable. “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not take the place of honor. A more distinguished guest than you might be invited, and the host might have to approach you and say, ‘Give your place to this man.’ Then with embarrassment you will have to take some less important place. Rather, when you are invited, go and seek the less important place so that when the host comes to you he might say, ‘My friend, move up to this nicer place.’ Then you will enjoy the esteem of the other guests at the banquet.” Jesus ends the parable with the expression, “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted” (Lk 14:1, 7-11).
Introduction
A favorite expression
That seems to be a favorite expression of Jesus. He ends another parable with the identically same words. Two men went up to the temple to pray one day. One was a Pharisee (a stickler on religion). The other was a tax collector (always mentioned in the same breath with sinners). The Pharisee thanked God he wasn’t greedy, dishonest and immoral, like the rest of men. The tax collector struck his breast and asked God to be merciful to him, a greedy, dishonest and immoral sinner. When the sun set that day, the tax collector, Jesus said, not the Pharisee went home that night set right with God. “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted” (Lk 18:9-:14).
Matthew records a third time Jesus used the expression. Speaking to the crowds one day he typifies the teachers of the Law and the Pharisees as ostentatious people. “They do everything just to be seen by others. They enlarge their phylacteries and lengthen the tassels on their pray shawls. They love to sit at the head table at banquets and in the reserved pews in the synagogue. They love being shown deference in the marketplace and being greeted as `Rabbi.’” He ends his uncomplimentary description of them saying, “Everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted” (Mt 23:5-7, 12).
I’m not OK
Years ago Thomas Harris, a psychiatrist, wrote a best seller entitled I’m OK; You’re OK. The book was about good self-esteem (I’m OK) and poor self-esteem (I’m not OK). The book was about feeling good about one’s self and about not feeling good about one’s self.
On second reading, today’s parable is really about poor self-esteem. When you don’t feel very good about yourself, you have a need to sit in a place of honor at a banquet. When, however, you have good self-esteem then any seat at all at the banquet will be just fine!
Jesus’ other parables are also about poor self-esteem. When you don’t feel good about yourself, you have a need to look down on the rest of men as greedy, dishonest and immoral. When, however, you have good self-esteem, you don’t have to build yourself up by tearing another down. On July 10, 2007, Pope Benedict revisited a document he wrote in 2000 (Dominus Iesus) when he was Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger. He again declared that Orthodox churches were “defective,” and that other Christian denominations were not true churches but merely “ecclesial communities.” When, however, a church feels good about itself, it doesn’t need to build itself up by tearing others down.
Again, when you don’t feel good about yourself, you have a need to dress yourself up in ostentatious prayer shawls with lengthy tassels, and you have a need to wear baggy pants dropping down to your ankles to attract attention to yourself. When, however, you have good self-esteem, you know what’s attractive about you lies within you. You can afford to wear unpretentious clothes and to wear your pants up at your waist where they won’t attract attention.
Primary and secondary recordings
Good self-esteem is partly a gift bestowed by birth. Some are born into abundant means and with great natural gifts. Those are great pluses. Others are wounded by birth with poor self-esteem because they are born into needs of one kind or the other. Good self-esteem is also partly a gift bestowed by others—especially by parents and by friends who in all different ways tell us that we are OK, and not only just OK but also worth more than a whole flock of sparrows.
The gift of good self-esteem or the wound of poor self-esteem is inflicted already at a very early age. Psychiatrists tell us that by the age of three or four the matter is basically signed, sealed and delivered for us. By that time a primary recording has been set into play within us. It basically says over and over (in varying degrees of volume) "I'm OK” or “I’m not OK.” If the recording is basically saying “I’m OK,” then we’ve been blessed, and there’s not much more we have to do but simply live life with a grateful heart.
But if, because of the circumstances of birth and early life, the recording basically says, “I’m not OK,” then we’ve been wounded, and we are confronted with a choice. We can either let the primary recording take over our lives, or we can choose to turn down its volume and turn up the secondary recording in our lives. That’s the recording which plays the voices of our own internal gifts and goodness which tell us we’re OK. That’s the recording which plays the voices of people who in various ways tells us we’re OK, and not only just OK but also worth more than a whole flock of sparrows (Lk 12:4-6). In a word, we can either let the recording that says we’re not OK take over our lives, or we can choose to bloom wherever we are.
We’ll never be able to completely turn off the primary recording which says we’re not OK. The lifelong task is to turn it down whenever its volume gets too loud, and we’re tempted to act inappropriately with self-pity, timidity, hostility or withdrawal. We turn it down by turning up the secondary recording with its blessed voices, as we choose to bloom wherever we are.
My primary recording
The older you get, the easier it is to reveal yourself because you don’t have anything to lose. I’m at that stage in my life. I was born of poor Italian immigrants who came to this country at the start of the last century. My immigrant parents didn’t fare very well in a foreign land. Our mother, who couldn’t speak English, was taken from us at an early age, leaving my sister and me without someone to tell us we were OK (as only a mother can do it). It left our father without a helpmate and our house without a soul. That, of course, was bound to wound my sister and me and set a primary recording going in our lives, which said, “I’m not OK.”
The voices of enemies
Periodically the volume on that recording gets turned up for me, and I have to work at turning it down. It gets turned up when some lady writes a scathing letter which reads, “We just couldn’t take the homily anymore. So we left. I really wanted to get up and shout, `That’s enough. Shut up!’ I actually felt for the first time in my life that a very malevolent person was actually celebrating Mass.”
The volume on my primary recording gets turned up again when some gentleman writes a letter which reads, “I witnessed a young lady stand up and walk out of Mass during your homily. Another young lady told the pastor she was livid at the words of your homily. She told Father that she was not at all offended because she can’t be ordained.” It was a five page letter which never deviated once from its pervading tone. It ended on this savagely deflating note: “Perhaps you would better serve everyone if you just enjoyed retirement. May God richly bless you. Sincerely yours in Christ.”
The voices of friends
But then there are the voices of friends who turn up the volume on my secondary recording. One friend writes, “You have a tremendous mind and a warm heart, and you use your unique blessings to serve God. You are an inspiration to me, and I want to tell you I appreciate you very much.” Another friend writes, “I truly feel it was God’s will that we celebrated Mass with you at Old Saint Mary’s. I so enjoyed the service. You were absolutely fabulous, your sermon was out of this world, the choir was phenomenal, the lector was dynamic and the beauty of your church was just so stunning.” Oh those blessed voices of friends which turn down my primary recording and turn up the volume which assures assure I’m OK, and not only just OK but also worth more than a whole flock of sparrows ((Lk 12:4-6).
The voice of Jesus and our dog
To the voices of friends who tell us we’re OK, we add the voice of Jesus. The voices of friends (whom we see) come before the voice of Jesus (whom we don’t see). They enable us to believe the words of Jesus who tells us that not a single sparrow (so cheap you can get two of them for a penny) falls to the ground without our Father knowing it, and that we are worth more than a whole flock of them (Lk 12:4-6).
To the voices of friends and Jesus on my secondary recording there is also the voice of my dog, Simeon. Like Jesus, Simeon knows that I, his master, am worth more than a whole flock of sparrows, squirrels and sticks. A friend gave me a little pillow on which was embroidered the words, “My goal in life is to be the kind of person my dog thinks I am.” If you have a problem with self-esteem, get yourself a dog!
Conclusion
Listening to our dogs
Most of us are afflicted at times with poor self-esteem. (Sometimes it’s miniscule, and sometimes it’s sizeable.) It’s poor self-esteem that makes us need to seek the place of honor at a banquet. It poor self-esteem that makes us need to tear others down as greedy, dishonest and immoral in order to build ourselves up. It’s poor self-esteem that makes us need to bedeck ourselves in showy prayer shawls with lengthy tassels.
When the voice of such disfunctionality is raging within us, we turn it down by listening to other voices. We listen to our own gifts and goodness. We listen to our friends and our Lord. And some of us listen to our dogs who were created by the Lord precisely to let us know what He wants us to powerfully know -- that we are worth more than a whole flock of sparrows.
[1] Diaspora is a Greek word meaning dispersion. Originally it referred to the settling of scattered colonies of Jews outside Palestine after the Babylonian exile. It’s now come to mean the migration or scattering of a people away from an established or ancestral homeland or parish!
[2] By “the unchurched” is especially meant not those who have left the church but those whom the church has left!
September 2, 2007: 22nd Sunday of Ordinary Time
Sirach 3:17-18, 20, 28-29 Heb. 12:18-19, 22-24 Luke 14:1, 7-11
To the church in the diaspora[1]
& to the church of the unchurched[2]
Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke.
Glory to you, Lord.
On a Sabbath Jesus went to dine at the home of one of the leading Pharisees, and the people there were observing him carefully. When he noticed how some of the guests were trying to get a place at the head table, he told them a parable. “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not take the place of honor. A more distinguished guest than you might be invited, and the host might have to approach you and say, ‘Give your place to this man.’ Then with embarrassment you will have to take some less important place. Rather, when you are invited, go and seek the less important place so that when the host comes to you he might say, ‘My friend, move up to this nicer place.’ Then you will enjoy the esteem of the other guests at the banquet.” Jesus ends the parable with the expression, “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted” (Lk 14:1, 7-11).
Introduction
A favorite expression
That seems to be a favorite expression of Jesus. He ends another parable with the identically same words. Two men went up to the temple to pray one day. One was a Pharisee (a stickler on religion). The other was a tax collector (always mentioned in the same breath with sinners). The Pharisee thanked God he wasn’t greedy, dishonest and immoral, like the rest of men. The tax collector struck his breast and asked God to be merciful to him, a greedy, dishonest and immoral sinner. When the sun set that day, the tax collector, Jesus said, not the Pharisee went home that night set right with God. “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted” (Lk 18:9-:14).
Matthew records a third time Jesus used the expression. Speaking to the crowds one day he typifies the teachers of the Law and the Pharisees as ostentatious people. “They do everything just to be seen by others. They enlarge their phylacteries and lengthen the tassels on their pray shawls. They love to sit at the head table at banquets and in the reserved pews in the synagogue. They love being shown deference in the marketplace and being greeted as `Rabbi.’” He ends his uncomplimentary description of them saying, “Everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted” (Mt 23:5-7, 12).
I’m not OK
Years ago Thomas Harris, a psychiatrist, wrote a best seller entitled I’m OK; You’re OK. The book was about good self-esteem (I’m OK) and poor self-esteem (I’m not OK). The book was about feeling good about one’s self and about not feeling good about one’s self.
On second reading, today’s parable is really about poor self-esteem. When you don’t feel very good about yourself, you have a need to sit in a place of honor at a banquet. When, however, you have good self-esteem then any seat at all at the banquet will be just fine!
Jesus’ other parables are also about poor self-esteem. When you don’t feel good about yourself, you have a need to look down on the rest of men as greedy, dishonest and immoral. When, however, you have good self-esteem, you don’t have to build yourself up by tearing another down. On July 10, 2007, Pope Benedict revisited a document he wrote in 2000 (Dominus Iesus) when he was Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger. He again declared that Orthodox churches were “defective,” and that other Christian denominations were not true churches but merely “ecclesial communities.” When, however, a church feels good about itself, it doesn’t need to build itself up by tearing others down.
Again, when you don’t feel good about yourself, you have a need to dress yourself up in ostentatious prayer shawls with lengthy tassels, and you have a need to wear baggy pants dropping down to your ankles to attract attention to yourself. When, however, you have good self-esteem, you know what’s attractive about you lies within you. You can afford to wear unpretentious clothes and to wear your pants up at your waist where they won’t attract attention.
Primary and secondary recordings
Good self-esteem is partly a gift bestowed by birth. Some are born into abundant means and with great natural gifts. Those are great pluses. Others are wounded by birth with poor self-esteem because they are born into needs of one kind or the other. Good self-esteem is also partly a gift bestowed by others—especially by parents and by friends who in all different ways tell us that we are OK, and not only just OK but also worth more than a whole flock of sparrows.
The gift of good self-esteem or the wound of poor self-esteem is inflicted already at a very early age. Psychiatrists tell us that by the age of three or four the matter is basically signed, sealed and delivered for us. By that time a primary recording has been set into play within us. It basically says over and over (in varying degrees of volume) "I'm OK” or “I’m not OK.” If the recording is basically saying “I’m OK,” then we’ve been blessed, and there’s not much more we have to do but simply live life with a grateful heart.
But if, because of the circumstances of birth and early life, the recording basically says, “I’m not OK,” then we’ve been wounded, and we are confronted with a choice. We can either let the primary recording take over our lives, or we can choose to turn down its volume and turn up the secondary recording in our lives. That’s the recording which plays the voices of our own internal gifts and goodness which tell us we’re OK. That’s the recording which plays the voices of people who in various ways tells us we’re OK, and not only just OK but also worth more than a whole flock of sparrows (Lk 12:4-6). In a word, we can either let the recording that says we’re not OK take over our lives, or we can choose to bloom wherever we are.
We’ll never be able to completely turn off the primary recording which says we’re not OK. The lifelong task is to turn it down whenever its volume gets too loud, and we’re tempted to act inappropriately with self-pity, timidity, hostility or withdrawal. We turn it down by turning up the secondary recording with its blessed voices, as we choose to bloom wherever we are.
My primary recording
The older you get, the easier it is to reveal yourself because you don’t have anything to lose. I’m at that stage in my life. I was born of poor Italian immigrants who came to this country at the start of the last century. My immigrant parents didn’t fare very well in a foreign land. Our mother, who couldn’t speak English, was taken from us at an early age, leaving my sister and me without someone to tell us we were OK (as only a mother can do it). It left our father without a helpmate and our house without a soul. That, of course, was bound to wound my sister and me and set a primary recording going in our lives, which said, “I’m not OK.”
The voices of enemies
Periodically the volume on that recording gets turned up for me, and I have to work at turning it down. It gets turned up when some lady writes a scathing letter which reads, “We just couldn’t take the homily anymore. So we left. I really wanted to get up and shout, `That’s enough. Shut up!’ I actually felt for the first time in my life that a very malevolent person was actually celebrating Mass.”
The volume on my primary recording gets turned up again when some gentleman writes a letter which reads, “I witnessed a young lady stand up and walk out of Mass during your homily. Another young lady told the pastor she was livid at the words of your homily. She told Father that she was not at all offended because she can’t be ordained.” It was a five page letter which never deviated once from its pervading tone. It ended on this savagely deflating note: “Perhaps you would better serve everyone if you just enjoyed retirement. May God richly bless you. Sincerely yours in Christ.”
The voices of friends
But then there are the voices of friends who turn up the volume on my secondary recording. One friend writes, “You have a tremendous mind and a warm heart, and you use your unique blessings to serve God. You are an inspiration to me, and I want to tell you I appreciate you very much.” Another friend writes, “I truly feel it was God’s will that we celebrated Mass with you at Old Saint Mary’s. I so enjoyed the service. You were absolutely fabulous, your sermon was out of this world, the choir was phenomenal, the lector was dynamic and the beauty of your church was just so stunning.” Oh those blessed voices of friends which turn down my primary recording and turn up the volume which assures assure I’m OK, and not only just OK but also worth more than a whole flock of sparrows ((Lk 12:4-6).
The voice of Jesus and our dog
To the voices of friends who tell us we’re OK, we add the voice of Jesus. The voices of friends (whom we see) come before the voice of Jesus (whom we don’t see). They enable us to believe the words of Jesus who tells us that not a single sparrow (so cheap you can get two of them for a penny) falls to the ground without our Father knowing it, and that we are worth more than a whole flock of them (Lk 12:4-6).
To the voices of friends and Jesus on my secondary recording there is also the voice of my dog, Simeon. Like Jesus, Simeon knows that I, his master, am worth more than a whole flock of sparrows, squirrels and sticks. A friend gave me a little pillow on which was embroidered the words, “My goal in life is to be the kind of person my dog thinks I am.” If you have a problem with self-esteem, get yourself a dog!
Conclusion
Listening to our dogs
Most of us are afflicted at times with poor self-esteem. (Sometimes it’s miniscule, and sometimes it’s sizeable.) It’s poor self-esteem that makes us need to seek the place of honor at a banquet. It poor self-esteem that makes us need to tear others down as greedy, dishonest and immoral in order to build ourselves up. It’s poor self-esteem that makes us need to bedeck ourselves in showy prayer shawls with lengthy tassels.
When the voice of such disfunctionality is raging within us, we turn it down by listening to other voices. We listen to our own gifts and goodness. We listen to our friends and our Lord. And some of us listen to our dogs who were created by the Lord precisely to let us know what He wants us to powerfully know -- that we are worth more than a whole flock of sparrows.
[1] Diaspora is a Greek word meaning dispersion. Originally it referred to the settling of scattered colonies of Jews outside Palestine after the Babylonian exile. It’s now come to mean the migration or scattering of a people away from an established or ancestral homeland or parish!
[2] By “the unchurched” is especially meant not those who have left the church but those whom the church has left!
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