Reuben

This Sunday, it's two for the price of one.  You'll see why...

The gospel words we repeat at Mass keep ringing in my mind: "Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof..."

   Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (#2)   C  

Readings

At 4:00pm Mass yesterday

I gave a carefully-crafted and well-researched homily

on the importance of forming community:

about how, in modern society,

communal care and concern for one another

have given way to a consumer culture—

and how this shift has even resulted in “retail religion,”

where we’re focused more on what we have to gain

than on what we have to give. 

As has been lost in many a city

but preserved in many a small town,

we need to get back to a genuine sense of community in the Church. 

It was a pretty good homily;

I only say so because some of the folks who heard it

said so after Mass. 

If you care to read it, I’ll be putting it up online—

as I do all my Sunday homilies.

You’ll be getting a different homily this morning. 

Why?  

Because Jesus came to dinner last night.

Let me explain…

Immediately after 4:00pm Mass,

as we were getting ready to lock up for the night,

a concerned parishioner told me

that a young man had sat down at the piano. 

I went to investigate. 

I found a fellow of about 20-years-old

with an extraordinarily kind face,

but who looked a little rough around the edges. 

I introduced myself, and learned his name is Reuben. 

He’s homeless, and in the midst of a long distance bike ride

from Michigan to Maine. 

He asked if there was a local shelter where he might stay;

I told him we could arrange for a hotel for the night. 

I asked if he had anything to eat,

and—when he said no—

promised to get him some food for supper. 

Reuben then asked if he might play the piano

while we finished cleaning up;

he commenced to flawlessly play—completely by memory—

a couple of sonatas by Domenico Scarlatti.

You can’t make this stuff up.

It would have been very easy for me

to send Reuben off to the hotel with $20 or a voucher

and simply wish him a good night. 

But how could I do that

after so passionately preaching the importance of community? 

Wouldn’t that have been just another example

of consumerism in Christian clothing:

giving someone exactly what they asked for,

but in the way that would least trouble either him or me? 

Another service provided to another satisfied customer…

Just a few days ago,

I was reading a meditation

by a relatively obscure medieval monk. 

He noted how, when a simple word would have sufficed,

Jesus instead chose to heal a leper

by reaching out and touching him. 

From this tender gesture the monk concluded,

“You should show kindness not in the easiest,

but in the most loving way possible.” (Blessed Isaac of Stella) 

And so I invited Reuben to the rectory. 

And so Jesus came to dinner. 

“I was hungry and you gave me food,…

a stranger and you welcomed me…. 

Whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine,

you did for me.” (Matthew 25: 35, 40)

When Jesus said that, it wasn’t merely a figure of speech.

This Sunday,

we find Jesus giving some pretty peculiar advice.

Speaking to seventy-two disciples—

disciples who stand in for all of us

who claim to be his friends and followers—

Jesus rather predictably sends them out

to spread his message far and wide. 

Yet he quite surprisingly instructs them

to bring no money, no luggage, no footwear,

and tells them repeatedly to stay in one house,

eating and drinking whatever is offered,

rather than to shop around for better food or accommodations.

Reuben—while not a professed believer at this point in his life—

is really living after the pattern

which Jesus sets out before us. 

And his visit with us helps me to see

two important lessons here.

One is that, lacking such apparent essentials,

a would-be-missionary isn’t going to get very far. 

And that very well may be Jesus’ initial point. 

When it comes to bringing others to know and to love him,

it’s indispensable that we sit still for a spell

and truly get to know one another. 

We must fully invest ourselves.  

This isn’t about the consumer’s concerns

around cost or convenience—theirs or mine. 

It’s about caring and commitment

and honest-to-goodness conversion. 

It’s about building community.

But the second lesson is that,

when true community is formed

and where true community is found,

such essentials will be provided

and the Gospel can then be carried

to the next place the Lord intends to visit. 

Reuben didn’t get this far on an empty stomach,

and he didn’t set out with an unlimited supply of food. 

In the words of Pope Saint Leo the Great:

            “In acts of giving, do not fear for lack of means. 

            A generous spirit is itself great wealth. 

            There can be no shortage of material for generosity

            where it is Christ who feeds and Christ who is fed. 

            In all this activity there is present the hand of him

            who multiplies the bread by breaking it,

            and increases it by giving it away.”

We did talk religion at the table with Reuben last night—

but only because he asked us to. 

He’s a spiritual seeker,

with lots of questions and not a few doubts.   

I wouldn’t be much of a Catholic—and even less of a priest—

if I didn’t hope Reuben comes to believe in Jesus. 

And while I’m quite sure we didn’t convert him on the spot,

I’m even more certain that if we had any positive effect,

it was through the cake I had baked

and the steaks we threw on the grill

more than any convincing arguments. 

Actions—after all—have always spoken louder than words.

If we want to see our parishes not only survive but thrive,

we must work less on providing programs

and more on connecting people:

building a genuine community centered on Christ. 

We need to really get to know one another—and him. 

For these, there can be no substitute.

The Lord’s harvest of souls is abundant,

and far, far too precious to be lost for lack of laborers. 

Are you ready to get to work? 

Because you’re already standing in the middle of the field! 

You just never know when or how

Jesus might drop by for dinner. 

Yes, the Kingdom of God is that close at hand.

Returning Home

Last Sunday, it finally happened: on her way out from Mass, a woman kindly stopped to say, “Nice sermon, Father!”  Trouble is...I wasn’t the one who preached.  (Good thing she was a visitor, otherwise I’d never be able to trust a thing she says!)

All that to explain why there was no post last week...

   Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (#1)   C  

Readings

Rod Dreher has published a memoir,

reflecting on the recent death of his sister 

at the age of 41.

From childhood, 

he’d been drawn to life in the big city.

But while Rod fled 

the small Louisiana town of his youth

just as fast as he could, 

his kid sister, Ruthie, never left.

He was deeply moved

by the outpouring of support 

from that same small town

which his sister received 

when she was diagnosed with cancer—

and which sustained her until she died.

As an adult, 

Rod began to recognize in his hometown

a greatness he’d been unable to see before.

With his wife and three kids, 

he moved back there.

Interviewed about his book, Rod reflected
on why he’d never had that same experience of community in the city.

            “We were always looking at life as consumers,” he said,

            “as what can we extract from this place.

            In every single place we lived,

            we could have made it our community

            if we had just resolved to stay there, put roots down,

            and get involved in the community.

            That’s one lesson I want people to take away from the book,

            is you don’t have to have a small town to move back to,

            but you do need to commit yourself

            to putting down roots.”  (NPR, On Point, 7/5/13)

How many times I’ve heard some of you lamenting

that Malone just isn’t what it used to be!

I hear nostalgic stories

of window-shopping in a beautiful downtown

and a string of thriving factories—now all gone.

But the change isn’t simply economic.

Even here in a small town,

our greatest loss is an authentic sense of community.

This Sunday, we find Jesus giving some peculiar advice.

And he’s not only giving it to a select few;

the Lord’s harvest of souls, after all, is far too valuable

to let it rot in the field for lack of workers.

Jesus isn’t speaking to the inner circle of his twelve Apostles,

but to seventy-two other disciples—

disciples who stand in for all of us.

And as Jesus—rather predictably—sends these disciples out

to spread his message far and wide,

he quite surprisingly tells them

to bring no money, nor luggage, nor foot wear.

Lacking such apparent essentials,

they’re not going to get very far.

And that would appear to be his point,

as Jesus also tells them repeatedly to stay in one house

and eat and drink whatever is offered,
rather than shop around for better food or accommodations.

Yes, it’s peculiar advice for would-be-missionaries…

…unless we consider the lesson Rod Dreher learned.

Isn’t Jesus telling the seventy-two—telling us—

that when it comes to bringing others to know and love him,

it’s essential that we stay put, that we sink roots,

that we make a commitment, that we fully invest ourselves?

Isn’t Jesus telling us not to wander about,

but to form community?

As the Western world has grown more urban and industrial,

our culture has also grown more consumer-driven.

Good consumers are never satisfied—at least, not for long—

and they expect their needs to be met

with the least hassle and at the lowest price.

This is the approach that created Wal-Mart.

But it has also created “retail religion.”

Eager to both hang onto her members

and bring back those who have strayed,

the Church has sought to provide

an attractive array of programs and services,

and to make them as convenient as possible.

But by attempting to market herself as best she’s able—

giving people what they want, 

how and when they want it—

the Church inadvertently branded herself 

as just one more product

in an increasingly vast and fickle marketplace.

So we now have several generations 

of “consumer Catholics,”

and the Church finds herself competing 

for their leisure time

(and—let’s be honest—for their money)…

…and losing more often than not.

Why?  Because this isn’t our game.

Faith is not a product.  You can’t sell Jesus!

Church isn’t about racking up customers—

no matter how loyal;

it’s about building a true community around Christ—

even if only a small one.

And we can never do that 

by providing convenient services;

we can only do that thorough genuine caring,

deep commitment, and honest-to-goodness conversion.

Retail religion is a dead end.

Need proof?  Just look around 

at all the empty pews!  (cf. M. White and T. Corcoran)

By God’s design, the Church is meant to be

a community within the wider community.

The universal Church is like Jerusalem—

a big city, with room enough for any and all.

But this city isn’t cold and indifferent, like a modern metropolis;

rather, as Isaiah describes her,

she’s a mother who cradles us with tenderness.

That’s because the Church isn’t a multinational conglomerate

focused on output and efficiency,

but the living Bride and Body of Christ.

We don’t encounter the Church in a string of identical franchises,

but in a parish:
a unique and stable gathering of believers tied to a particular place.

The Church is a group of neighborhoods within the City of God:

she’s a community of Christ-centered communities;

she’s people reaching out to people.

Or…that’s what the Church is supposed to be.

Now, I don’t have a cure for what ails Malone

in the twenty-first century.

But I know that Jesus has given us a plan

that will renew his Church in every age.

We need to sink roots.

We need to really get to know one another—and him.

We need to make a commitment, to get involved.

We need—every single one of us—

to focus more on what I have to give than on what I have to gain.

Have I become a consumer Catholic?

Have I unwittingly fostered that mindset in my family?

And—if so—am I willing to buck the system and break that mold?

Let me warn you, though: it’s not easy.

All this close contact with other people

is bound to cause some suffering.

As St. Paul reminds us:

our only boast is the cross.

But in the grander scheme of things—in the face of eternity—

it’s rather a small price to pay.

If we hope to see this parish grow,

if we long to see it 

not only survive but thrive,

then we must leave behind 

the big city of retail religion

and make this a real, small town, 

community Church

to which people would want to return.

That’s where the harvest is abundant.

That’s where your labors 

are so urgently needed.

That’s where the Kingdom of God 

is so close at hand.

  

Who?

At an end-of-the-school-year picnic on Friday, I learned that the pre-K kids at Holy Family School are taught that, whenever they pray, they should close their eyes and imagine that Jesus is holding them. I told their teacher: it's not a matter of their imagination...

   Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time   C 

Readings

According to the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office,

more than 7,500 different products

bear the likeness of Mickey Mouse,

making his the most widely reproduced image

in the entire world.

In second place is Jesus.

Number three?  Elvis, of course.

Most everybody knows the name of Jesus.

And most everybody knows a little bit about him.
And even though he lived
long before the advent of photography,

many people can pretty easily recognize his image.

But how many folks really know Jesus?

And when I say know him,

I mean in a truly personal way:

not in the way you know about other great historical figures

like Julius Caesar or Abraham Lincoln,

but in the way you know your parents or siblings or best friend;

in the way you know someone

who’s let you in beneath the surface—

who’s revealed something of his or her inner self to you.

Safe to say: even many—if not most—of those Catholics

who are regulars here at Sunday Mass

struggle with this personal, one-on-one knowing of Jesus.

Jesus first asks his disciples:

Who do the crowds say that I am?

He’s well aware that the merely curious, the casual bystanders,

all have their own theories and opinions about him—

much as we do about movie stars or our favorite singer.

But then Jesus takes things a whole lot deeper,

asking those disciples—those who have followed him closely—

Who do you say that I am?

These are people who know Jesus differently.

Like the crowds, they’ve heard him teaching openly

and seen his many miracles: healing the sick;

multiplying the loaves; even raising the dead.

But they’ve seen more.

This Sunday’s Gospel begins by telling us

that Jesus was praying in solitude,

and the disciples were with him.

That’s something the general public was not privileged to see.

To see Jesus pray—and thus to see how Jesus prayed—

made it quite clear:

this man is not like the other preachers and teachers

in our synagogues and on our street corners;

this man is not like the other wonderworkers

who wander about from village to village.

Because his disciples have gotten so close to him,

they not only know him differently;

they know him to be different.

Peter—true to his role—speaks for them all:

You are the Christ—the Messiah, the Anointed One—of God.

How important it is for us to remember—

though it can seem so glaringly obvious—

that Jesus is a real person!

He’s not another endearing character

who exists only in the pages of a book or up on the silver screen.

Jesus really lived, really died, and really rose from the dead.

And although he does not walk among us as he once did,

Jesus is still alive very much and just as real today as ever.

Jesus is indeed a real person…

…but Jesus is no ordinary person.

There’s a tendency in the modern mind

to consider Jesus as an exceptionally gifted individual.

English author C. S. Lewis—an adult convert to Christianity—

once famously wrote:

      I am trying here to prevent anyone saying

      the really foolish thing that people often say about Him:

      “I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher,

      but I don’t accept his claim to be God.”

      That is the one thing we must not say.

      A man who is merely a man

      and said the sort of things Jesus said

      would not be a great moral teacher.

      He would either be a lunatic—

      on a level with the man who says he is a poached egg—

      or else he would be the Devil of Hell.

      You must make your choice.
      Either this man was, and is, the Son of God:

      or else a madman or something worse.

      You can shut Him up for a fool,

      you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon;

      or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God.

      But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense

      about His being a great human teacher.

      He has not left that open to us.

      He did not intend to.  (Mere Christianity)

If an ordinary man—a mere mortal—

told you that he’d soon be rejected,

crucified, then raised from the dead;

and if he told you that you, too, ought to take up the cross—

not once, not once and a while, but daily—

and then follow him down the same road:

you’d say he was nuts—and you’d be right!—

and you’d be just as nuts to obey him.

But if that man is truly the Christ, is truly “of God,”

then where he’s gone you can, in trust, follow…

…and you’d be nuts not to obey him.

On Friday night some friends invited me to join them

at the third annual Babbling Brook Bluegrass Festival—

just a few miles north on Route 37.

While no one playing was quite as famous

as Mickey Mouse or Elvis,

the music was good—really good, in fact.

When we first got there, however,

I remarked at just how sedate the crowd was

(kind of like Catholics in church on a steamy summer morning):

quietly sunk deep into their lawn chairs.

But as the evening wore on and the bands continued to play,

heads began bobbing and toes began tapping.

By the time the last group was wrapping up,

many (myself included) were then singing along

and a few people were up on their feet dancing—

including a blond boy (all of five-years-old, I’d say),

who was loudly protesting, “Don’t make me go home!”…

…but nonetheless danced all the way to the car.

If time spent in the presence of a few talented musicians

has such power to draw us in and lift us up,

then how much more so

time spent—one-on-one—

in the presence of Jesus, the Christ of God?

St. Paul reminds us along with the Galatians

that when we were baptized

we clothed [ourselves] with Christ.

Clothing wraps and envelops our entire body,

expressing our identity to others.

Likewise, putting on Christ means allowing him

to work on us in a very personal way,

embracing our total reality—

and, in so doing, eliminating all of our superficial distinctions.

You see, who we say that Jesus is

makes all the difference in who we say that we are.

Spend time getting to personally know this extraordinary man,

and all of your life—even when marked by the cross—

begins to appear pretty extraordinary, too.

Who is Jesus for you?

How did you reach that conclusion?

And are you satisfied with it?

Is Jesus really real for you?

Is Jesus someone you know—

or someone you only know about?

Are you ready to get to know him better?

Because his question is personal—and eventually unavoidable:

Who do you say that I am?