Up a Tree: Homily for the 31st Sunday in Ordinary Time

Wis 11:22-12:2

Ps 145 1-2, 8-9, 10-11, 13,14

2 Thes 1:11-2:2

Lk 19:1-10

 

Zacchaeus’ story is fascinating.  As narrative it is rich with details:  the unruly crowd, a short man running ahead and climbing a sycamore tree, the grumbling and consternation of the onlookers when Jesus invited himself to Zacchaeus’ house. We hear the dinner conversation. And then we hear Jesus’ promise: “Salvation has come to this house.”  It would be easy to film this scene. The atmosphere, cast, stage directions, and dialogue are already there.  Just grab a cell phone and hit the record video button.

 

Zacchaeus’ story is fascinating because Zacchaeus is us.   He is us because he is a man of contradictions and confusion.  He is a man who doesn’t always do the right thing but who, when he becomes aware of his sin, tries to atone for it though we don't know if he managed to do so.  

 

This narrative appears late in Jesus’ public ministry.   Some wanted this inconvenient man killed.  In another two chapters of Luke we hear the narrative of the Last Supper.  The tension is increasing as Jesus nears Jerusalem, his reputation preceding Him.  

 

Zacchaeus had obviously heard about Jesus and knew his reputation.  There is no other explanation for why he would go to such lengths and be willing to look ridiculous when he climbed a tree so as to get a better look at this man. 

 

The questions about Zacchaeus are:  What did Zacchaeus expect to see?  Who did he expect to see?  We must ask ourselves the same two questions:  Who and what do we expect to see in Jesus?  Do we expect a miracle worker who heals the sick and the lame upon request? Do we demand a political leader and social justice warrior who shares and endorses our agendas if we insist He does? Are we looking for a hotheaded virtue-signaling radical?  Or do we want a run of the mill wisdom teacher spouting maxims worthy of being printed in large font in colored boxes? 

 

Do we want a Jesus who is nothing more than a basically nice guy who will never cause us to question ourselves or our actions or do we want a man who will permit anything at all if the word love is inserted somewhere?  Who is Jesus for each of us? What do we expect of Him? More importantly, what should we expect of ourselves?  

 

There is an interesting bit of wordplay in this gospel that brings up an important point.  First we read, “Zacchaeus was seeking to see who Jesus was.”    And then:  “For the Son of Man has come to seek and to save what was lost.”  Jesus is looking for the one who is looking for him.  Jesus wanted to meet the one who wanted to meet him.  And so it is for us.  Jesus is seeking us even before we seek Him.  And he continues to seek us even if we quit seeking Him, become indifferent or even hostile towards Him.

Zacchaeus' story is a conversion story of a man who, upon his encounter with Jesus, vowed to reform his life. He promised to give half of his possessions to the poor and to reimburse those he had extorted quadruple the overcharge.  

As is true of Jesus’ parables we don’t know what happened afterwards. We don’t know if Zacchaeus made these promises in the heat of the moment only to renege when he realized what he had promised.  We don’t know if he questioned why he had a commitment to this man.  We will never know if he discarded his vow to reform when something more attractive presented itself. 

Zacchaeus is us.  He is us who seek to find, to know, and to see Jesus. 

He is us who are being sought by Jesus more than we can imagine.  

 

We need only come down from the tree to be welcome at the table of the altar. We need only descend from our perch to partake of the supper where we are assured, just as Zacchaeus was assured,  “Today salvation has come to this house.” 

 

What is the rest of Zacchaeus’ story?  

 

What will the rest of our story be?  

 

We don't know the end of Zacchaeus' story.  We won't know the end of our story until it has ended.  

 

As a bit of an experiment, after Mass grab some paper, and write:

"After Jesus and his followers left his house Zacchaeus tidied up, poured himself a beer, sat by the fire, and thought . . .  . . . "  Then continue the story in your own words.  You can keep it short at 300 words or write a fifteen-chapter novel.  Its up to you. The result will tell you a great deal about yourself and much about who and what you are looking for. 

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Fog can be a photographer's best friend, adding atmosphere, mystery, softness, and many other elements to a photo.  Photos taken in foggy conditions allow for a greater degree of processing than do color shots in part because of function in the sensor.  As sensitive as a camera's sensor is it is no match for the subtle abilities of the human retina to discern the subtleties of color.  Not even close.  

All of the ones below were shot in June a few years ago.  The grass and trees were lushly green.  Any increase in contrast effected the green in an unattractive way.  Black and white solved all the problems and adds much to the shot.  All were taken in the same afternoon up in Vermont.

+ Fr. Jack SJ, MD

Pray Always: Homily for the 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Sir 35:12-14, 16-18

Ps 34:2-3,17-18-19, 23

2 Tm 4:6-8, 16-18

Lk 18:9-14

 

Each of the readings and the psalm for today's Mass could be the basis for a homily.  There is an overabundance of riches upon which to meditate.

 

As was true of last Sunday's parable about the woman and the unjust judge, the parable of the Pharisee and the publican in the Temple, is found only in Luke's Gospel.  Both parables are about prayer.  Last week was about the need to pray without ceasing.  Today are told how to pray and how not to pray.  This example is confirmed in the first reading from Sirach. 

 

Sirach is a unique book.  Though written in Hebrew before Jesus' birth it was translated into Greek by the author's grandson. It was known only in Greek  until the early twentieth century.

 

Also known as Ecclesiasticus, Sirach is not part of the Hebrew Scripture. Protestants do not recognize it as authoritative.  However, Roman Catholics and Orthodox do hold Sirach as canonical. The non-acceptance of Sirach by the Protestant Church is a pity. Sirach, like the rest of the wisdom literature, is relevant to our lives in the present.  It is very much worth reading in its entirety.

 

Like the Gospel, the reading from Sirach is a commentary on prayer.  Both readings depend on stereotypes to make their points.  That brings up the question, what is a stereotype? 

 

A stereotype is a general statement applied to a group whose members share a particular characteristic or set of characteristics.  Stereotypes may be used to judge and classify others negatively or to set some groups apart as unique.  Today, it seems that stereotypes are condemned without thinking as biased, discriminatory, unfair . . . pick the negative word and fill in the  blank. 

 

The problem with condemning stereotypes is that all stereotypes contain an element of truth.  One writer defined stereotypes as statistics in narrative form.  All statistics have a degree of truth and a degree of untruth or exceptions when applied to individuals. 

 

Unfortunately, all statistics, from those used in medical research to those describing global warming, to those applied to people, can be easily manipulated or distorted in order to push an agenda or prove a point that is not necessarily true.  For example, a common stereotype holds that Asian men have straight black hair and are shorter than the average American man.  Statistically this is true.  If I had a projector I would show a slide from my ordination.  Statistically, at 5’10” (it was 5’ 11” 15 years ago!) I am an average height American man.  In the photo I am standing next to Ignatius Hung Wan-liu, a Taiwanese Jesuit priest and long time friend. He does, in fact, have straight black hair,--he has great hair--but, at 6' 3" he was four inches taller than I was then. In Ignatius' case, the stereotypes applied to Asian men are only partially true. 

 

Caution is necessary when dealing with both  stereotypes or statistics  but even in today’s culture of being offended by anything, stereotypes are always at least partially true. 

 

Through repeated hearing and reading we stereotype figures in scripture as well. Were all Pharisees egotists?  

 

No.  

 

Were all publicans humble and self-aware?

 

No.  

 

No stereotype holds true when applied to every individual.   Thus the challenge in both readings.  

 

Poverty, marginalization, and oppression do not automatically confer special virtue on any individual or group.  Conversely, wealth, intelligence, and power are not the invariable marks of a sinner.  I will leave it to you to consider the vicious stereotypes being hurled about as the elections approach.  

 

The poor can be, and are, sinners on the same plane as the wealthiest.  And the wealthy can be as virtuous and humble as the publican of the parable.  How would we understand this parable if it was the tax-collector who had a case of inflated self-esteem while the Pharisee was humble?  

 

In his commentary on this passage Luke Timothy Johnson warns that,  'The parable . . . invites internalization by all readers because it speaks to something deep within every human heart.  The love of God can easily become a kind of idolatrous self-love. God's gifts can quickly be seized as possessions; . . . what was given by another can be turned into one's own accomplishment.”  Prayer can also become a form of bragging.  He concludes with:  "Piety is not an unambiguous posture.'”   That prayer can become bragging and that piety is not an unambiguous posture should be emblazoned above the main entrances of all theology schools.

 

The monastic literature contains frequent warnings about taking pride in one’s humility or boasting about one's prayer.  It is a temptation we all face.  Humility and arrogant pride are separated by a very thin line. 

 

God's mercy does not depend on one's bank account or lack of bank account.  God's mercy does not depend on being oppressed nor necessarily on being perceived as an oppressor, a term that has become very subjective as expressed in all the ‘isms’ and ‘ists’ thrown around like confetti today.   

 

God's mercy is available to all those who seek it in prayer. In Luke’s gospel  prayer is not simply an exercise of piety, it is faith in action. Prayer reveals who we are. Prayer reveals the nature our relationship with God. Prayer reveals our relationship with others.  When we pray, we are to come before the Lord in sincerity and truth. In the Lord's light we are called to admit that we are sinners in desperate need of his mercy.

 

The psalm is consoling: 

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted;
and those who are crushed in spirit he saves.
The Lord redeems the lives of his servants;
no one incurs guilt who takes refuge in him."

It is worth meditating on that for a bit today.

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Spent Monday through Friday at Cohasset as one of two directors for a retreat of diocesan priests.  All went very well.  One of the features of the priest retreats is Cinema Divina.  We show a movie Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday evening.  This year we showed "Father Stu" on Tuesday, "Chariots of Fire" on Wednesday" and "The Most Reluctant Convert" about C.S. Lewis (came out last year.  I highly recommend).  WAs able to tie the conferences into the movies.  Weather was fantastic as is obvious from the photos.  

______________________________

The view from the room in which I usually stay

Saw this ship on the horizon, grabbed camera from under the chair.  When on retreat the camera is always handy.

Fascinating chain that seem to lead nowhere, it simply disappears into the sand

Looking toward the yacht club at the bottom of our property.

Extraordinary weather

The yacht club jetty

House directly across from ours.  When it is lit up at night for a party (not often) I swear the Great Gatsby is hovering. 

The beach is only accessible at low tide.  

Just because I love silhouettes. 

The yard.  I'm beyond sitting in Adirondack chairs.  I can get in but getting out is not easy.  

+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

Jim Morrison Was Wrong: Homily 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Ex 17:8-13

Ps 121

2 Tm 3:14-4:2

Lk 18:1-8

 

The Doors released their album “The Soft Parade” in July of 1969.  A few weeks later it became the soundtrack for my sophomore year at Penn State when my roommate arrived with a copy of it.  The title track begins with Jim Morrison proclaiming in an amplified voice, “When I was back there in seminary school there was a person there who put forth the proposition that you can petition the Lord with prayer.”  He repeats, “petition the Lord with prayer” twice with sarcasm dripping from each word.  And then he screams: 

 

“YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LORD . . .  WITH PRAYER.”   

 

Unfortunately, by the time the album was released drugs had set him on the course that ended with his death two years later from a heroin overdose..  He was 27 years old.  Morrison was wrong.   

 

You can petition the Lord with prayer.  

You should petition the Lord with prayer.  

You must petition the Lord with prayer.  

 

The first reading and the gospel tell us how in one word: importune. Importune means to demand with urgency or persistence; to annoy, to beset with solicitations; to be troublesomely persistent, or to be annoying in one’s requests.  A two year-old’s full-time job is to importune.  Many a parent has given in to importuning requests for a box of triple sugared chocolate bomb cereal just to make it stop.

 

Unlike most of us subject to importuning be it that of a 2 year-old or a friend, it  is impossible to annoy or trouble God with prayer.  What some would think is too much is just barely enough.   The entire psalter, from Psalm 1 to Psalm 150, is one long importuning prayer with scattered bursts of thanksgiving.  

 

The image in the first reading is fascinating.  As long as Moses’ arms were raised in prayer the Israelites were winning the battle.  When his hands dropped with fatigue the tide would shift.  But Moses had help.  Aaron and Hur supported his arms as long as necessary.  So it is for us.  We can’t always do it alone in prayer. That is why we are surrounded by a community of believers.  That is why we pray for others.  That is why others pray for us.  Arron and Hur represent the community of believers supporting us when we are too fatigued, too anxiety-ridden, or too overwrought to pray.  And we support the arms of others when we pray for and with them. 

 

The community of believers is first, foremost and always must be a community of prayer.  All other agendas, programs, social activism must take a backseat to prayer, particularly the Eucharist. Persistent prayer is crucial to the ongoing salvation of the world.  Prayer may be the only thing  keeping the world rotating on its axis.  

 

The Gospel is fascinating.  The widow was relentless.  No matter what the unjust judge did she returned importuning until he gave her a just judgment.  The judge’s motivations for that judgment were less than honorable. He was not motivated by a thirst for justice but by the fear of being struck. 

 

Too many today give wrong judgments for fear of being cancelled or accused of one of the myriad faux-isms,  pseudo-ists, or hilarious phobias  with which we are bullied daily.  The judge's actions recall T.S. Eliot’s observation,  “The final temptation is the greatest treason, to do the right thing for the wrong reason.”  

 

Jesus asks the rhetorical question: “Will not God then secure the rights of his chosen ones who call out to him” in prayer?  We know the answer is a resounding yes.    

 

Psalm 121, is among the most beautiful and poignant prayers 

in the entire psalter.  It is also one of the most difficult to apprehend and interpret.

 

About twenty years ago Jesuit Father Paul Harmon was addressing a group of Jesuit scholastics about Psalm 121. He suggested that one interpretation of the first verse is that when the psalmist looked up to the mountains he saw that he was surrounded by sacrificial fires being offered to the pagan gods.  That realization compelled him to ask “Whence shall help come to me?”

 

The psalmist had been abandoned by his people who chose not to follow the God of the covenant, the one and only true God. but the gods du jour, because it was politically correct or socially expedient to worship them.  Things haven't changed much over the millennia.

 

And then, from the depths of his despair, the psalmist recalled, “My help is from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”  

 

Upon realizing that he had been abandoned by his people, the psalmist had to look interiorly, he had to pray, to realize that help did not come from the heathen gods and goddesses of fire or anything else.  Help did not come from power, money,  or social status.  It did not come from any of the “ists” and “isms” that are today’s false gods and pagan religions. Help only came from the Lord, who created both heaven and earth. 

 

"I lift up my eyes toward the mountains;
whence shall help come to me?
My help is from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth."

 

Think about that for the rest of the day. 

_________________________________________

Up in Vermont until this morning.  Despite the eternal pessimists who crowed 'there has been too much/too little/ too hot/too cold and the leaves aren't going to be good, they were spectacular.  They were mostly past peak beyond 2500 feet elevation but spectacular from there and down.  Enjoy. 

+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

A Cure Need Not Always Be Exotic: Homily for the 28th Sunday in Ordinary Time

2 Kgs 5:14-17

Ps 98 1-4

2 Tm 2:8-13

Lk 17:11-19

 

The first reading and the Gospel both turn on the disease of leprosy as it was understood in the Ancient Near East.  It is crucial to remember that when leprosy is mentioned in any biblical readings it does not mean the chronic disfiguring infectious disease known today as Hansen’s disease.  While Hansen’s disease may have been in the population during Jesus’ time, it did not exist during more ancient times, such as that in which the first reading is set, some six centuries before Jesus' birth.  Leprosy as understood in the Ancient Near East  “infected” walls, clothing, and other inanimate objects as well as humans. Leprosy comes from the Greek root LEPI that means scales of a fish. Thus, something such as psoriasis, with its characteristic scaling lesion, could have been called leprosy, along with many other diseases that are not related and are not infectious. Infectious is the key word.  Theories of contagion and infection were millennia in the future.

 

Fear of leprosy was fear of contagion. It was the fear of disease transmission.  Several millennia before antibiotics were discovered leprosy and other contagious diseases were a threat to the ongoing life of the community.  Much of the fear was related to a different understanding of illness when compared with our understanding today.

 

We understand living and disease as part of an unbroken continuum. That line is interrupted only by death.  One may be ill but one is still living until the moment of death.  In the Ancient Near East disease was understood as a “mild form of death”  or “a living death.” The break, the radical interruption, was not between life and death but between health and illness. Lepers were thought to be losing life’s vital force from the sores on their bodies. They were seen as the living dead, as already inhabiting sheol, the abode of the dead.  

 

Adding to the stigma was that, like other illnesses in the Ancient Near East,  leprosy was understood as punishment for sin. It was visible evidence that the afflicted was a sinner.  The lepers who approached Jesus were suffering in their exclusion from society.  They asked Jesus for healing. In his compassion for their suffering, isolation, and self-alienation, Jesus healed them of the visible cause of their suffering.  He removed the "leprosy" that visibly marked them as sinners.  Jesus returned them to society  and gave them back to themselves.  Jesus did the same for us.  He continues to do the same for us.

 

Jesus took the burden of our sin upon himself.  Through his obedience to the will of the Father, he freed us from sin and death. In the sacrament of confession he offers us the opportunity to be made clean again and again, from the internal disfiguration of “leprosy;” and thus He returns us to right relationship with God and with ourselves. The readings and the Gospel also highlight the interdependence of gift and thanksgiving. 

 

Naaman’s story in the first reading began with verse fourteen, when he descended into the Jordan seven times and emerged healed of his lesions.  We didn't hear the important verses  that immediately precede these.  In those verses Naaman was told by Elisha's messenger, not the Prophet Elisha himself, to bathe in the water of the Jordan seven times.  There we read, "But Naaman was angered and walked away.  He said, 'I thought he would surely invoke the Lord his God by name and wave his hand toward the spot” curing it. Naaman raged until a servant asked, "if the prophet told you to do something difficult, would you not do it?" The servant pointed out that the prophet had suggested something easy.  Logic triumphed over fury.  Naaman's gratitude was total, immediate, and sincere. 

 

The gospel adds a twist to healing.  Only one of the ten lepers returned to express his gratitude.  Only one gave thanks when he realized that he had been healed.  The response of the other nine is an important point.  It highlights the unfortunate disconnection between faith, gift, and thanksgiving that characterizes people at least some of the time.  The ten lepers had faith in Jesus.  Otherwise, they would not have set out to present themselves to the priests.  But only a Samaritan returned to give thanks.  

 

Faith cannot exist and grow without thanksgiving. Faith is nurtured with prayer, the Eucharist, and meditation upon scripture. Prayer, for its part, is not just for petition in times of trouble.  Prayer principally for thanksgiving. It is conversation between us and God that expresses our gratitude for what God has done, for what He is doing, and for what He will do for us, even if we don't understand it at the moment.  

 

The psalm explains it all.  First, the psalmist instructs us in the way of faith when he sings: 

 

"All the ends of the earth have seen the salvation by our God."

 

And then he tells us how to express our gratitude: 

 

"Sing joyfully to the Lord, all you lands, Break into song; sing praise." 

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Some shots from the Trappist Abbey at Spencer, MA, about one hour west of here.  I made my final vow retreat there at the end of September 2013, and pronounced vows on 1 October, two days after returning to Boston.  

 + Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

How Long O Lord, How Long? Homily for the 27th Sunday in Ordinary Time

 Hab 1:2-3, 2:2-4

Ps 95: 1-2, 6-7, 8-9

2 Tim 1:6-8, 13-14

Lk  17:5-10

 

The first verses of Habakkuk are startling: 

“How long O Lord?  

I cry for help 

but you do not listen!

I cry out to you, "Violence!"
but you do not intervene.”

  

“I cry for help 

and you do not listen.” 

 

Habakkuk is one of the minor prophets; minor not because his message is insignificant but because the Book of Habakkuk is so short that it was combined 

with eleven other short prophetic books so as to be able to fill one scroll.  He is unique among the prophets because he openly questions God’s wisdom and asks the question WHY?  One can only wonder how many people in Florida,

and southeastern coastal cities are asking this question and expressing doubts about God’s goodness at this very moment.  The devastation is unbearable to consider.

 

The major thrust of Habakkuk is moving, or trying to move, from perplexity, confusion, and doubt toward faith and reliance on God. Only at the end of chapter three, the book's final chapter in what is sometimes called the Psalm of Habakkuk does the prophet express his ultimate faith in God, 

even if he, like us, does not understand God's ways. In this prayer, that is part of the Liturgy of the Hours, we hear the prophet reflecting on the loss of everything only to end on a note of optimism.

 

“For though the fig tree blossom not 

nor fruit be on the vines, 

though the yield of the olive fail 

and the terraces produce no nourishment, . . . 

Yet will I rejoice in the Lord 

and exult in my saving God.

God, my Lord, is my strength; 

he makes my feet swift as those of hinds 

and enables me to go upon the heights.”

 

Only at the end of a book that opened with a hostile challenge do we learn of the faith that redeems and sustains through everything despite the challenges to that faith. 

Faith is freely given. Faith sustains us through the ups and down of life. It augments joys and tempers sorrows.  Faith brings us eternal life. But we must tend it and nurture it. Much of Jesus’ teaching turns on the question of faith,

how it is nurtured and how it is maintained.  Thus, today’s Gospel begins 

with the famous statement relating faith to the mustard seed.

 

Think back to the popular necklace from days of yore, those days being the 50s and 60s. The pendant was a small clear globe with a tiny yellow mustard seed 

suspended in the middle. It seemed that half the Protestant girls in my high school wore them while the other half wore crosses. The Catholic girls, of course, 

were split between crucifixes and miraculous medals.  

 

Because the mustard seed is only one or two millimeters in size, about 1/25th of an inch, one had to look very closely to see it suspended in the clear globe. The tiny mustard seed grows into a large bush that, while technically not a tree, is large enough for the birds to perch in as if it were a tree. Just as it takes the mustard seed a long time to grow from 1/25th of an inch into a large bush, so it is with faith.  As we live it, cultivate it, and attend to it through prayer, reflection, meditation on scripture, and frequent reception of the True Body and Blood of Our Lord in the Eucharist, faith matures, becomes stronger, and more resilient.  It becomes more able to sustain us in good times and through bad times. Faith permits us, indeed it sometimes compels us, to ask the question that opens the Book of Habakkuk:  How long O Lord? How long?  Faith allows us to pray 

with one single screamed word:  “WHY?”  in times of grief and loss.  And, it allows us to endure the startling silence that may be the reply.  Faith also allows us to sing the great Psalms of praise. 

 

Faith allows us,  despite the losses, traumas, and unavoidable crises of life, to change the angry question: How long O Lord? How long? 

 

to the affirmation: “God my Lord is my strength, He enables me to go upon the heights.”

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Nine years ago today, October 1, 2013, the Memorial of Terese of the Child Jesus, I pronounced final vows in the Society of Jesus.  The event was photographed only because our late Father General Adolfo Nicolas, received the vows.  Below are a few of the photos.  Photographers are generally not hired for final bows but with Father General presnet it was a no brainer. 

The vow Mass program

Chapel of the Holy Spirit at Campion Center

Jesuits pronounce vows at communion while the man receiving them elevates the Body and Blood of Our Lord

The second half of Jesuit vows is the simple vows that are pronounced in the presence of other Jesuits in the sacristy.

The man and the superior, in this case the General, sign six times, twice on each of the three copies of the vow formula and the simple vows

George Murray, SJ, MD in wheelchair speaking with Fr. General.  The only man who had more influence on my life was my physician father.  George died six weeks after vows.  I celebrated and preached at his funeral Mass

Fr. Jack, SJ, MD