Uncertain

The second most frequently heard comment?  "Look!  His beard is back!"

   Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time   C  

Readings

“Would you do it again?”

That’s the question I’m getting asked most often

about my 120 mile hike 

on the Northville-Placid Trail.

“Would you do it again?”

And I keep giving the very same answer: 

“Not right now!”

I don’t regret for a moment going on the trek.

It was a truly incredible—

dare I say life-changing?—experience.

But there were more than a few moments 

on our ten-day journey

when I wasn’t sure if I’d make it 

all the way through this first time.

Now, I really wanted to complete the trip,

but the growing number of blisters on my feet,

my knees aching from the terrain 

and shoulders from the pack,

often had me wondering—

especially after the first couple of days—

if I actually could finish…or even should.

The Apostles this Sunday seem to be experiencing

a little discouragement themselves.

“Increase our faith!” they beg the Lord.

Turn back a few pages in the gospel,

and you begin to see why they’re having doubts.

Jesus has been presenting them

with some rather challenging teachings:

how they ought to use their money—

not for selfish gain, but in the service of the poor;

the binding nature of marriage,

excluding both adultery and divorce;

the call to continual forgiveness—

no matter how often a brother or sister should wrong them;

and the need to put absolutely nothing—

not worldly success, not family relationships,

not even their own lives—

ahead of the call to follow him.

A full twenty centuries later,

and these are many of the very same teachings

that still test and confound us.

We can understand all-too-well

why the Apostles’ faith doesn’t seem up to the task.

You no doubt have heard by now

that Pope Francis has been giving a lot of interviews lately.

In the longest and most famous of the bunch,

the Pope had this to say about those times

when our faith seems inadequate:

Yes, in this quest to seek and find God…

there is still an area of uncertainty.

There must be.

If a person says that he met God 

with total certainty

and is not touched by a margin of uncertainty,

then this is not good.

For me, this is an important key.

If one has the answers to all the questions—

that is the proof that God is not with him.

It means that he is a false prophet

using religion for himself.

The great leaders of the people of God, 

like Moses,

have always left room for doubt.

You must leave room for the Lord,

not for our certainties;

we must be humble.…

The risk…is the willingness to explain too much,

to say with human certainty and arrogance: ‘God is here.’

We will find only a god that fits our measure.…

Our life is not given to us like an opera libretto,

in which all is written down;

but it means going, walking, doing, searching, seeing....

We must enter into the adventure

of the quest for meeting God;

we must let God search and encounter us.…

God is encountered walking, along the path.…

God is always a surprise,

so you never know where and how you will find him.

You are not setting the time and place

of the encounter with him.…

If the Christian…wants everything clear and safe,

then he will find nothing.…
In this way, faith becomes an ideology among other ideologies.

I have a dogmatic certainty:

God is in every person’s life.

God is in everyone’s life.

Even if the life of a person has been a disaster,

even if it is destroyed by vices, drugs or anything else—

God is in this person’s life.

You can, you must try to seek God in every human life.
Although the life of a person is a land full of thorns and weeds,

there is always a space in which the good seed can grow.

You have to trust God.

(America, 9/30/13)

According to the Pope—and that’s on pretty good authority—

if we’re still wrestling with questions,

if we haven’t given up looking for the answers,

then we’re OK.

Living with uncertainly,

being open to the God of surprises,

means being humble enough to accept

that mustard seed faith is actually all we need.

The sin-driven human desire to be in control—even of God—
spills over into how we relate to others, and to life itself.

On this Respect Life Sunday,

we do well to heed these words

of contemporary French philosopher Fabrice Hadjadj:

Think, for example, of the fear of life.

Life is no longer accepted as it is given;

people try to transform it starting from an idea.

Then, instead of welcoming a child, we make a product.

Starting from a design of perfection,

we reduce the being to its functions.

Instead of perfection, we get a degradation…

How we believe—if we believe—

has real life consequences.

Grasp too tightly our notions of God—

limit God to our narrow conceptions of him—

and we soon do the same to one another.

People become not mysteries to be welcomed and loved,

but objects to be used—or eliminated:

whether it’s a human embryo destroyed for purposes of research,

a sweatshop worker making my clothes for cheap,

or a pornographic performance playing on my computer screen.

We ought to share Pope Francis’ “dogmatic certainty”:

God is in every person’s life.

We can, we must try to seek God in every human life—

from its earliest moments of conception until its last natural breath.

If we need a model of how to live with a mustard seed faith,

we have only to look to the Virgin Mary.

Mary didn’t have a degree in theology,

but she knew—from the experience of her parents,

from the experience of her people,

from the experience of her own young life—

that God could be trusted.

Mary believed that the safest course of action—

even if marked by great uncertainty,

even if she couldn’t see where it might be headed—

is always to cooperate with God’s plan,

always to say yes to his will.

It means following a way of humility:

of recognizing the servant’s place before the Master;

of dutifully obeying the divine command;

of simply doing what any of us are obliged to do.

Mary knew that it would stretch and challenge her.

And it would downright hurt sometimes to walk that path.

By faith, she continued on.

And so must we.

Ten days and 120 miles in the woods

stretched and challenged me in ways

I am still only beginning to understand.

Now that I’m off the trail I realize
that, in those moments when I was gripped
by discouragement and uncertainty,

it wasn’t that my faith was too small;

it’s that my sights were set too far ahead.

Rather than fretting about the next 50 miles,

I needed to give my full attention to just the next few steps

because God was already providing me in that moment

with everything I could need—and more.

This little anonymous poem I came across on Friday

sums it up so well:

The road of life was bright

and stretched before my sight.

The Lord was at my side

to be my friend and guide.

And so I started out.

But then the sky grew dark,

the road grew stark and steep.

Rocks and ruts cut my feet,

my legs grew sore and weak.

I turned and cried, “My Lord!

Why this pain, why this plight?

Why this darkness, where’s the light?

I cannot carry on.”

And then the Lord replied, “My child!

Why this fear, why this fright?

I’m your companion still.

Just trust in Me and travel on,

For Heaven lies beyond the hill.”

I'm Back!

Sorry to be so long in posting something here.  We got off the trail last Thursday evening (9/26), and back in Malone the next day (9/27)...but since then I've been cleaning up, catching up, and otherwise recuperating.  The blisters are healing well, my knees are fully functional, the swelling is down in my left ankle, and I can (mostly) feel the bottoms of my feet again.

And every ache and pain is well worth it!

I'm still mentally and spiritually processing our 10-day "walk in the park" (and think I will be for some time), so while the words may yet escape me, below is a brief slideshow of our trek along the Northville-Placid Trail.  The photos are a mix of my own and those taken by my hiking buddy, Lawrence.  They only just scratch the surface of all that we saw and experienced.  To get the full effect, be sure to click on Full Screen (bottom right corner), then hit Play, then click on Settings (the little cog in the lower right) and select 720p (HD).

I hope you enjoy this little taste of the NPT!

  

Connection

On my way...

Findings

Needless to say, I won't be posting anything here for a few weeks...

Pray for us!

   Twenty-Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time   C  

Readings

I suspect most of you have seen the “Life is Good” shirts

which are so popular these days:
comfortable cotton T’s, each with a catchy, positive message.

In the past several years, three different people on three separate occasions 

have given me the same “Life is Good” shirt.

Oh, they’re different colors, some long sleeved, one short—

but the graphic is same:

a pair of hiking boots pictured over the phrase,

Not all those who wander are lost.

When three people give you the same shirt…

…maybe somebody’s trying to tell you something!

“Lost and found” is on my mind these days.

On Tuesday—as many of you know—

I begin my 10 day, 120 mile hike through the Adirondacks.

Map, compass, GPS, and an emergency transmitter

are all packed among the rest of our essential gear…

…but I still can’t help but be just a little bit nervous.

What if we lose our way?

What if we wander off the trail and get lost?

“Lost and found” is obviously on the Lord’s mind this Sunday, too,

as we hear the parables of a lost sheep,

of a lost coin, and of two lost sons. 

(Yes, two lost sons:

one lost because he wandered off into sin,

the other lost because he stayed

and wallowed in his self-righteousness.)

A couple points for our reflection…

First,

Jesus makes it clear that salvation is all about finding.

Most of the time, we go on as if it’s all about us finding God.

As a matter of fact, exactly the opposite is the case.

Like the shepherd who leaves the 99,

like the woman who tears apart the entire house,

God is willing to drop everything

in a way that seems downright foolish—

even to give his own Son up to death—

in order to seek out and save us.

Can we honestly recognize and admit the ways

we’ve gotten off the trail?

Are we willing to let God find us

and—rejoicing—to lead us home?

Second,

while the terrifying experience of being lost—

whether in the woods or in this world of sin—

is an essentially personal one,

it is not at all unique.

If I can first acknowledge that I sometimes go astray,

and if I can also realize that I’m not the only one,

then I’m much more likely to be concerned

about others who’ve wandered from the fold.

Who’s missing when we get together here

to celebrate with a feast at our merciful Father’s table?

Who are the ones who have wandered 

away from the Church,

away from Mass and the sacraments,

away from the commands of God’s law?

If we never stop and take notice

of who else is here and who else is not,

we’ll never miss them—

and if we never miss them,

we’ll never go off in search of them.

As we celebrate our fifth annual 

Holy Harvest Festival this Sunday,

we need to consider the ways 

we can gather in a harvest far more precious 

than sweet, golden corn or juicy, ripe tomatoes.

There are so many souls just sitting there,

out in the fields of the Lord!

Knowing how living-changing and life-giving it is

for God to find us,

we must go out in his name and bring the wayward in.

I sure hope and pray we won’t wander off

and require the rangers to come to our rescue

while hiking in the Adirondacks 

these next couple of weeks.

But I’m so glad and forever grateful

that I have a patient and loving Father in heaven

who never tires of pursuing me, 

no matter how lost I’ve gotten—

happy to embrace me and welcome me back home!

Prepared

Interesting to note that an old-fashioned bottle opener is known as a "church key"...

   Twenty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time   C  

Readings

Two guys go camping,

bringing along a cooler 

with sandwiches and beer.

After hiking all day, 

they arrive at the perfect campsite…

…only to realize 

they’ve forgotten a bottle opener.

The first guy says to the second,

“You’ve gotta go back for the opener 

or else we have no beer.”

“No way!” says the second. 

“By the time I get back, 

you’ll have eaten all the food.”

“I promise I won’t,” says the first guy.  

“Just hurry!”

48 hours pass 

and there’s still no sign of the second guy.

Desperate and starving, 

the first guy digs into the sandwiches.

Which is when the second guy 

jumps out from behind a nearby rock

and yells, “I knew you’d eat the food!

I’m not going for the opener!”

If you’ve read your bulletin, 

then you already know:

I’m getting ready to go camping.

In just over a week, a friend and I will begin hiking

the 120 mile Northville-Placid Trail

through the heart of the Adirondack wilderness.

The trip will last 10 or 11 days…

…but the planning has been going on for months.

I was never a Boy Scout,

but I’ve been living by their motto: Be prepared.

I’ve been studying maps, 

taking hikes to get better conditioned,

and assembling my gear—all kinds of gear.

(The last few days, Fr. Stitt’s been saying

that it looks like somebody’s camping 

right there in our living room.)

Everything we’ll need needs to be carried on our backs,

so we’re trying to keep things simple

and get right down to the essentials.

I never before realized

how expensive and complicated it is

to try and live simply!

But the stakes are too high to take too many chances.

Planning well is—literally—a matter of life and death.

Is that not the message of Jesus in the gospel this Sunday?

Yes, this gospel passage is one most of us

would rather just gloss over—

whether you’re sitting in the pew or standing in the pulpit.

These are demanding words,

and they pose a serious challenge to all that we hold dear.

If you do not hate parents, spouse, children, siblings, your own life—

if you do not renounce all of your possessions—

you cannot be my disciple.

Ouch!

I look out and know that you have families.

How can Jesus ask that you turn your backs

on the ones you love the most?

I know the heavy responsibilities you bear

to feed, clothe, educate, and otherwise care for them.

How could the Lord expect you

to renounce your necessary belongings?

We believe, of course, that this it the Word of God,

and we want to take it seriously,

but…how?

How is this “being prepared?”

How is this wisely planning ahead?  (cf. F. Martin)

God well understands our many needs and obligations.

In fact, he sees them more clearly than we do.

What the Lord is asking is that we put him first—

ahead of all we possess and—yes—even ahead of family.

That’s because God wants to show us a more fruitful way

to make use of our money and other goods,

to teach us that all of our relationships will be more fulfilling

if only we live them within our primary relationship with him.

It’s not enough for us to come together here an hour each week,

and then manage these other aspects of life

by a different set of rules.

While it might seem that God is only jealous

of our attention and affections,

the truth is that God has a plan:

a plan God put into place when he made the world and all that’s in it.

God knows things will go better for us—much better!—
if we make his plan our plan, too.

That means putting God and his way first—no exceptions.

Can we trust God enough to do that?

We are now beginning the 2013 Bishop’s Fund Appeal.

In this Year of Faith, Bishop LaValley has chosen as its theme,

Faith Opens the Door.

The Bishop’s Fund opens doors in so many ways:

supporting religious education, Catholic schools,

and summer camp opportunities for our youth;

providing training for our seminarians and lay ministers,

for our priests and deacons;

offering guidance for couples preparing for marriage

and families trying to keep the faith;

supplying needed financial assistance to our neighbors

when facing illness, job loss, or other tragedies.

To keep doing such important work 
requires a strong commitment from us—and not from just a few!

We all benefit from the work of the Bishop’s Fund…

…therefore we all have a stake in its success.

So, make your plan!

If you haven’t given before, plan to give this year.

No gift is too small.
And if you’ve given one-time gifts in the past,

then consider making a pledge this year.

Pledging $25 four times a year

adds up to less than $2 a week in your household budget...

…but also adds up to something very big and powerful

when united with the sacrifices of thousands of others

who support the ministry and mission

of the Church in the North Country.

This week, registered parishioners will receive

a letter from Bishop LaValley in the mail.

Offering envelopes are also available now in your pew.

Take some time this week

to prayerfully consider your level of commitment,

and then bring your gift or pledge 

to drop in the collection next Sunday.

The Church possesses a treasure of faith
far more precious than a cooler full of beer;

let’s be sure not to leave her without a way to open it.

Many, many thanks for your generosity!

In a message on Twitter this past week,

Pope Francis said it well:

“There is no such thing as low-cost Christianity.”  (9/5/13)

I guess that’s why our symbol is the Cross.

In Jesus, God has suffered with us and for us,

paying the ultimate price.

Follow Christ, and we can expect hardships and struggle—

but with perseverance comes the ultimate pay-off:

a love which cannot die and life both new and everlasting.

It takes a lot of careful planning

for a long camping trip through the woods.

It’s costly and complex,

but the stakes are too high to take too many chances.

Likewise, we must—

individually and as a wider Church community—

lay aside our own plans and give ourselves completely to God’s.

No question about it:

the cost of being a disciple of Jesus is high…

…but the cost of not being one is even higher.

Make your battle plan.

Be prepared.

Put God first.

   

Really Great

The chalice I used for Mass today belonged to my grandmother's cousin, Fr. Raymond Bedard, who died in 2007.  While he was a student at Montréal's Grand Séminaire, that chalice was consecrated by Cardinal Léger.

   Twenty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time   C  

Readings

Paul-Émile Léger became the Archbishop of Montréal in 1950,

and was made a Cardinal of the Catholic Church in 1953.

He was one of the most powerful men in Canada

and a distinguished figure at the Second Vatican Council.

Rather suddenly, on April 20, 1968, he resigned his office,

leaving behind his red robes as a Cardinal,

the miter he wore and the crosier he carried as an Archbishop—

basically disappearing from public life.

A few years later, a Canadian journalist tracked him down

and went to interview him:

in Africa, living in a trailer, 
among lepers and the disabled

on the outskirts of a small village in Cameroon.

The journalist’s main question: “Why?”

Cardinal Léger answered:

            It will be the great scandal of the history of our century

            that 600 million people are eating well and living luxuriously

            and three billion people starve,

            and every year millions of children are dying of hunger.

            I am too old to change all that.

            The only thing I can do which makes sense is to be present.

            I must simply be in the midst of them.

            So, just tell people in Canada that you met an old priest.

            I am a priest who is happy to be old and still a priest

            and among those who suffer.

            I am happy to be here and to take them into my heart

The Cardinal died in 1991 at the age of 87.

Genuine humility is about knowing who you are and who you aren’t:

acknowledging, yes, your faults and weaknesses,

but also recognizing your true gifts and strengths.

(We don’t do anybody any favors

when we attempt to hide our abilities…

and certainly fail to show proper gratitude to the One who gave them.)

But while humility is a matter of recognizing who I really am,

it is also a matter of recognizing who God really is.

On the most basic level,

it means accepting the fact that I am not God—

that I am not the real center of things,

not the one who gets to call all the shots.

But it also means being able to distinguish

just how God operates:

the Creator of all coming down from the heights of heaven

to share our life here on earth;

the mighty Lord who is undying,

willingly descending to the cold, dark depths of the grave.

The humble Christian believes that his God—

who took human flesh in Jesus—

was not afraid to get his hands dirty;

not afraid to hang around with sinners, the sick, and the poor;

not afraid to take the last place.

This is not a god who dwells in fire and stormcloud

to keep his people at a fearful distance;

instead, our God has made himself as approachable

as a baby lying in a manger; 

as a scrap of bread and a sip of wine

set out on the table for guests.

We Christians believe that God humbles himself, time and again—

bending low to draw us close and lift us higher.

And we who call ourselves Christians are to do likewise.

In the days of Jesus, poor, backwater Galilee

was clearly full of very important people—

or, at least, folks who thought themselves to be pretty special.

Things aren’t so different here in twenty-first century Malone.

Whatever our social standing might be;

regardless of our résumé, our bank account, or political connections—

we all have those moments when we crave to be noticed,

when we long to show others how it’s done,

or when we expect an exception be made to the rule just for us.

How very different all that is from the way of Christ!

Invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind—Jesus tells us;

blessed indeed will you be because of their inability to repay you.

As we see in the life of Cardinal Léger,

the secret to real greatness

is not in proving that you’re somebody;

rather, it’s in acknowledging that all of those around you—

rich or poor, weak or strong, friend or foe—

are in fact somebody:

they’re somebody who matters to you

because they’re somebody who matters even more to God.

The humble way of Jesus

is being present to our least brothers and sisters

and taking them into our hearts;

about bending low to draw them close

and so lift them higher.

We do not heed Christ’s command and take the last place

because we’re quietly hoping he’ll move us up later on.

Actually, being in the lowest place is already to be exalted,

because it’s precisely there 
that we find ourselves in the place of honor, 
right next to Jesus:

it’s among the humble and the lowly

that God has chosen to dwell.

  

Pontifical Selfie

So...despite all that I've posted recently about cellphones...I really, really love this photo...