Sweet to the Finish

Today I said, "So long, sweet summer," by spending Labor Day in the Adirondacks with some of my brother priests.  We took a short hike into beautiful Copperas Pond (between Wilmington and Lake Placid)...

...before enjoying a nice meal out and one last ice cream cone from Donnelly's.  (Sigh.)  Hints of red here and there among the green made it clear that summer's beginning to give up her fight.
 

Washed Up

   Twenty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time   B 

Readings

A teacher saw one of her pupils

entering the classroom with very, very dirty hands.

She stopped him and said,

“My goodness, Johnny! 

Please go and wash your hands! 

What would you say if I came into the room

with my hands looking like that?”

Smiling the boy replied,

“Well, I think I’d be too polite to mention it…”

Have you ever noticed that Jesus

has a real knack for doing all the wrong things?

He certainly knows the law 

is to do no work on the Sabbath…

…but he keeps curing the lame on Saturdays

and telling them to carry their beds home (Jn 5).

Jesus knows that hanging around

with tax collectors and public sinners

makes a person unclean 

for community worship…

…but he just keeps on having supper in their homes (Mt 9).

And Jesus knows the practice of never eating

without first ceremonially cleansing one’s hands…

…but his disciples dine without washing up anyway (Mk 7).

It seems like Jesus is always intentionally shocking his neighbors,

always going against the grain.

Did he have no regard

for the revered customs of his human ancestors?

Why would the Son of God be born a Jew

if he only intended to challenge and overthrow

the traditions of the religion?  (cf. R. Knox)

What Jesus observed in the Jewish people of his day

was not a failing unique to that time or culture,

but one which is common to the entire human race:

the tendency to be too concerned about appearances.

Today, we may not have the quite same hang-up

about ritual purification as back then.

(Although—I’d suggest—our constant use of hand sanitizers

might come pretty close.)

But in our consumer culture,

we do worry quite a lot about how things look.

As parents, no doubt, know from back-to-school shopping,

we want to make sure our clothes have the right label.

We want to make sure 

that our hair is done like that movie star,

that we’re following the right sports heroes,

listening to the right kinds of music,

using the right cell phone, driving the right car.

Otherwise: What will people think?  

What will people say?

We can fall into the same pitfall 

in our religious practices.

It may not be that we want to

flaunt our religiosity for others to see—

although spiritual pride is a real possibility—

but that practicing our faith 

becomes a well-worn routine:

little more than a habit, 

even though a good one.

(I think, for example, 

of the Catholics I’ve met over the years

who almost never get to Mass,

but always, always, always 

give up sweets for Lent.)

We can observe the tradition

without stopping to give much thought to its meaning—

without letting it penetrate to the heart—

and end up just going through the motions

Jesus didn’t have a problem with observing religious traditions.

We know that from a young age

he went up to the temple to worship with Mary and Joseph.

We know that ee participated in synagogue services on the Sabbath.

We know that, even just hours before he died,

he made provision to eat

a sacred meal—the Passover supper—with his disciples.

Jesus understood the vital place of ritual and custom

in shaping one’s faith, in nurturing one’s faith,

and in passing on one’s faith to the next generation.

(I dare say he’d recommend that our age

become more traditional, not less.)

But while what can be observed on the outside has its place,

it’s not nearly as important as what’s going on within.

That stinging word—hypocrite—

comes from the Greek for an actor:

one who wears a mask; one who isn’t what he seems.

Jesus—I believe—keeps bucking convention

to wake us up to the crux of true religion:

that our words and our actions match up

with what’s really happening in our hearts.

It’s quite right for us to be concerned

about someone else’s opinion of us…

…just as long as that someone else is God.

So keep on washing your hands—

before sitting down for dinner,

before heading back to school,

before coming here to Mass—

just as your elders taught you.

But make an even greater effort—with God’s grace—

to purify your soul of all that would defile it.

Cleanliness is, indeed, next to godliness

if what it clean is your heart.

Controversial

As predictably happens every three years with this Sunday's second reading, one of our readers at Mass today asked with great trepidation whether we'd be using the long form or the short.  When I told him we'd be using the long one, he pointed out that today just happened to be Women's Equality Day, and he found this all a bit ironic.  I pointed out that, when we actually take the time to understand it on its own terms, Saint Paul's message to the Ephesians is a far more radical call for real equality than this world has heard in a very long time...

   Twenty-First Sunday in Ordinary Time   B 

Readings

It’s great having a newly ordained priest around, isn’t it?
Not only am I impressed and inspired
by Fr. Tom’s great eagerness and energy,
but I keep learning new things from him.
In fact, Fr. Tom just shared with me that this Sunday
has been given a new name of which I had previously not been aware:
“Bruised Rib Sunday.”
It arises from today’s second reading…
…and all the elbow jabs that start flying
between husbands and wives in their pews!

Such a strong reaction to a difficult teaching is nothing new.

Just look at the gospel.

After Jesus’ declared that his flesh is true food

and his blood true drink,

some of his disciples—

not newcomers or casual listeners,

but those who’d followed him for some time—

are heard to ask, This saying is hard; who can accept it?

And as a result, many no longer walked with him.

In general, when you’re wrestling with a difficult question,

it’s best to consult with the experts,

and so I have two experts for our consideration this Sunday.

The first has been around a little while:

Saint Thomas Aquinas,

who was a professor of theology at the University of Paris

all the way back in the thirteenth century.

Commenting on this Sunday’s gospel passage,

he once lectured to his students:

          A saying is hard either because it resists the intellect

          or because it resists the will,

          that is, when we cannot understand it with our mind,

          or when it does not please our will.  

Commentary on John 6, lecture 8

To put it another way:

If a teaching doesn’t sit right in your gut,

the real problem isn’t in your stomach:

either it’s in your head because it disagrees with what you know,

or it’s in your heart because it disagrees with what you want.

The Church has a long list of doctrines and disciplines

which people find controversial.

I find that most of people’s strong, negative reactions to them

are based on two things: misinformation and raw emotion.

We wouldn’t want anyone to make an important decision

based on either of these in other circumstances,

so why should we in matters of faith?

If you’re struggling with a teaching of the Church,

the first thing to do is get your head around it.

If you’re getting all your information

from news briefs on TV, in the newspaper, or on the Internet,

then that just might be the root of your problem!

Controversy is (literally!) their business,

and they have a vested interest in stirring the pot.

Don’t settle for sound bites or someone else’s take on things.

Educate yourself.  Go to the source. 

(For that, I highly suggest the Catechism of the Catholic Church.)

Getting accurate information

is oftentimes enough to clear things up.

The teachings of the Church 

haven’t developed rashly or haphazardly,

but are the result of centuries of thought and prayer.

They’re not rooted in human opinion, but in divine revelation.

We shouldn’t jump to quick conclusions

that they’re wrong and we know better.

We should take some time to make sure that we really understand.

And if you’re still struggling with a teaching of the Church,
then you need to try and get your heart around it.

This calls for soul searching and honesty.

I know for myself 

that when there’s something which I find challenging,

it’s usually because it touches a part of my life

where I actually need to be challenged.

Do I find a teaching hard

because it gets in the way of other things I want

or tests my cherished assumptions?

What are the true priorities and principles

around which I've ordered my life?

When calling for the Church to change,

is it simply because I am unwilling to change?

If we dare to pray that the Father’s will be done,

then we must allow God—when necessary—

to bend and shape our own.

Let’s apply this lesson from Aquinas to the second reading.

What’s the only line anybody ever remembers?

Wives should be subordinate to their husbands.

There go those bruised ribs again!

Which makes it pretty clear

that this is a kneejerk (elbowjerk?) reaction, an emotional response.

If we want to bring our hearts—our wills—along,

then let’s get our heads—our minds—around it.

That one line—Wives should be subordinate to their husbands—

would have been the least controversial of all in Saint Paul’s day.

Why?  Because that’s just what everybody expected him to say…

...and expected him to stop right there.

You know what line would have caught their attention—

and which snuck right by us?

Be subordinate to one another out of reverence for Christ.

That was a radical—I’d even say, subversive—idea!

In a society based on inequality between men and women,

adults and children, citizens and foreigners, masters and slaves,

such mutual deference was completely unheard of…

…but it is at the very heart of the Christian life.

Paul doesn’t linger on what’s expected of a wife.

But he goes all out on what’s expected of a husband,

who’s called to much more than subordination:

a husband is called to total self-sacrifice—

like Christ, he must be willing to give up his very life,

loving and caring for his wife as if she were his own body.

If we know full well that somebody’s willing

to do or give up absolutely anything and everything for our benefit,

then it’s a joy—not a drawback—to surrender ourselves.

That’s precisely what the Church must do as the bride of Christ;

this great and awesome mystery

is also precisely what ought to distinguish Christian marriage.

Hopefully even that brief study of this text and its background

helps you think and feel a bit differently…

…or at least put those elbows down.

So much for the insights of our first expert.

Our second is more contemporary.

Dan Gilbert is a professor of psychology 

at Harvard University

and is widely known for his studies of human happiness.

Using his own students as guinea pigs,

Gilbert has organized experiments

which reach striking conclusions 

about what makes us happiest.

It seems that people are happier

when they make a decision that can’t be changed,

rather than when they make one which they can later reverse.

When people have the opportunity to change their minds,

they spend a lot of time worrying if they made the right choice

or if they should go back and decide again differently.

Our culture tells us that we should keep our options open,

that we shouldn’t limit our choices or restrict our freedom…

…but science seems to indicate that commitment

is a surer recipe for happiness.

That’s certainly the case when it comes to faith.

Joshua lays it out before all of Israel.

They must make a choice and stick with it.

They can’t go on proudly saying they’re the Lord’s chosen people…

…yet still clinging to their former ways

and still serving the false gods of their neighbors.

Which will it be?

They can’t have it both ways.

And Jesus does much the same for his apostles.

Watching many disciples turn away, he asks that haunting question,

Do you also want to leave?

Simon Peter sees where true happiness lies.

Where else would we go?

We have come to believe

that you are so much more than a mighty prophet.

You are the Holy One—God himself!

Yes, your words may be hard…

…but through them you alone have the power to give us life.

So when a teaching of the Church, whatever it might be,

just sticks in your craw—or even causes minor bruising—

remember to take some time to consult the experts.

Don’t settle for easy or hasty conclusions,

but make full use of your mind and your heart.

And above all, be sure to see things in the light

of your committed decision to follow Christ.

Subordinate yourself in reverence to him

who is head of the Church—his bride and his body.

It’s the only sure way to taste and see the Lord’s goodness—

to find real happiness in his company,

both now and forever.

Chew on This

   Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time   B 

Readings

Have you ever watched 

a dog chewing on a bone?
It’s a slow, 

drawn out process,

as if there’s nothing else 

going on in the world.

Have you ever watched

 a teenage boy eat supper?

(I mean no offense—

I used to be one!)

The food goes down so fast 

you’d think he’d inhaled it.

It’s simply a matter 

of refueling the machine.

Jesus has talked a lot about eating lately.

Following the multiplication of loaves and fishes,

this is the third Sunday in a row

that we hear from his sermon on the bread of life.

In the original Greek of this Sunday’s passage

from Saint John’s Gospel,

we find two different words for eating.

Four times, Jesus uses the verb phagein,

which indicates the way humans eat:

chewing with your mouth closed.

Whoever “eats” this bread will live forever.

But four other times, Jesus uses the verb trogein,

which indicates the way animals eat:

gnawing on something…taking us back to that dog with a bone.

Whoever “gnaws on” my flesh and drinks my blood

remains in me and I in him.

No wonder Jesus provoked

such a strong reaction among his Jewish listeners!

On the surface, his language is—quite frankly—pretty disturbing.

This little lesson in New Testament Greek

prompts an important reflection:

How do we approach the Eucharist—

as fast food…or slow?

The best way for me

to guarantee a compliment on my homily

is to keep it short.

And that also goes for the whole Mass.

A few times this summer,

when the temperature rose above 90 degrees,

I was right there with you!

No one comes more overdressed to this dinner party than me.

But—in general—what’s the big hurry?

Why this rush to eat and run?

I think some of it has to do

with our Catholic sense of obligation.

We Catholics are obligated to attend Mass

on all Sundays and certain holy days.

That’s how we interpret the third commandment.

It’s the Church’s longstanding teaching

that for us to intentionally skip Sunday Mass

without a serious reason is gravely sinful. (cf. Catechism 2177, 2180-2183)

For centuries, this precept has helped to fill the pews.

But—if not properly understood—

it can mess up our thinking quite a bit.

We’re not obliged to come to church

in the same way we’re obliged to show up for work

if we expect to receive our paycheck.

If we’ve come to think of the Mass as something

we need to check off our religious to do list,

a way to punch our spiritual timecards and so avoid the fires of hell,

then it’s little wonder we’d just want to get it over with

as quickly as possible.

There…I’ve fulfilled my obligation!

It’s getting pretty rare these days,

but occasionally I’ve run into families

who’ve maintained a custom of eating a big Sunday dinner.

Mom—maybe Dad—goes all out in cooking the weekly feast,

and everybody comes together

to share a long, leisurely meal.

The good food is a big part of it.

But even more:

it’s chance for the whole family to come together

to talk about the week; to talk about old times;

to talk about the future and their dreams for it.

It isn’t written as a law,

but there is clearly an obligation to come and eat Sunday dinner.

One has a duty to the family…

…but it isn’t fulfilled merely to stay out of trouble.

It’s about love.

It’s about belonging.

It’s about—pardon the expression—eating like that dog:

slowly, intentionally,

as if there’s nothing else going on in the world.

That—my friends—is our obligation to the Mass!

The Lord has built his house for company

and set his table for feasting.

He sends out messengers with the invitation:

Come, eat of my food and drink of my wine!

Leave behind foolishness; progress in wisdom;

here learn the secret to life!

If you want to fill yourselves,

let it not be on the worldly bread

which generations have eaten and still died.

Fill up on me.

Draw your sustenance from me.

The food I give has the power to make you live forever.

And if you want to drink up,

don’t get drunk on wine.

Instead, become intoxicated with my Spirit,

for I have the ability to not merely lift your feelings,

but to raise you up on the last day.

In the Eucharist,

God is giving you something to chew on.

Even during the dog days of summer,

be sure to take your time.

The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary

I fondly recall my father singing this song (well, the refrain, anyway) when I was a child, with both great affection and great gusto.  Little did I know that I was in such good company: it seems that St. Thérèse of Lisieux used to sing it along with her friends, having learned it from her mother.  The story behind this beautiful French hymn to Our Lady is a rather touching one, and its text seems most appropriate to me on this great solemnity.

The Mother of God's high destiny is ours, as well: to be raised in the full integrity of our humanity--body and soul--to heaven.  Where Mary has gone--now dwelling in complete, eternal union with her divine Son--we long one day to follow.

We sang this (although not nearly as well as Patty Griffin does, who first heard it as a lullaby sung by her French Canadian grandmother) at the end of the holy day Mass here at Notre Dame...

J'irai la voir un jour Au ciel, dans la patrie! Oui, j'irai voir Marie, Ma joie et mon amour.                Au ciel, au ciel, au ciel,                J'irai la voir un jour! J'irai la voir un jour! C'est le cri d'espérance Qui calme ma souffrance Au terrestre séjour. J'irai la voir un jour! J'irai m’unir aux anges, Pour chanter ses louanges Et pour former sa cour. J'irai la voir un jour, Cette Vierge si belle! Bientôt j'irai près d'elle Lui dire mon amour. J'irai la voir un jour! J'irai près de sa trône Recevoir ma couronne Dans l'éternel séjour. J'irai la voir un jour! J'irai, loin de la terre, Sur le coeur de ma Mère Reposer sans retour.

I will go to see her one day, In heaven, in my homeland! Yes, I will go to see Mary, My joy and my love.                To heaven, to heaven, to heaven,                I will go to see her one day! I will go to see her one day! It is the cry of hope That calms my suffering During my earthly stay. I will go to see her one day! I will join myself to the angels In order to sing her praises And to form her court. I will go to see her one day, This Virgin so beautiful! Soon I will go to be near her And tell her of my love. I will go to see her one day! I will go near her throne To receive my crown In eternal rest. I will go to see her one day! I’ll go, far from the earth, To rest without return On my Mother's heart.

Fr. Pierre Janin (1853)