Be on your guard and pray: Homily for the 33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time

 

Mal 3:19-20a

Ps 98:5-6,7-8,9

2 Thes 3:7-12

Lk 21:5-19

 

It is consoling to hear stories of discord and bad behavior in the early Christian communities such as those we heard in the second reading.  It is consoling because it confirms that human behavior has not changed for the better or the worse over the past two millennia. Given that consistency, human behavior is unlikely to improve in the 900 plus years remaining in the current millennium.  Discord plagued the early Christian community.  It was prominent among Jesus’ first followers as well as those who came to believe in him after the resurrection. Thus, the answer to “what can we expect from humanity?” requires only two words:  not much.  We are sinners. Sinners loved by God to be sure but sinners nonetheless.  We simply refuse to admit or acknowledge the fact.

 

I worked at Dartmouth before I entered the Society. One of the popular song choices for the student Mass at the Dartmouth Catholic Student Center—one can hardly call it a hymn—was titled “Anthem.” It included  the incredible claim:  

 

“We are called, we are chosen, we are Christ for one another with a big guitar chord on CHRIST. 

 

Called?:  Yes

Chosen?: Probably

Christ for one another?: 

Now way. At best an egocentric statement  reflecting total ignorance of the meaning of Christ. 

 

If anything we are the Thessalonians for one another:  fundamentally lazy, preferring the work of busybodies, complacent, and self-satisfied.  That is hardly Christ-for-one-another-like as claimed in that ghastly song.

 

One interpreter suggests that the Thessalonians’ behavior was explained by the fact that they assumed the apocalypse was just over the horizon.  Why work? The end is near. The apocalypse has been a coming attraction for a long time now, actually since Jesus walked the earth. It ain’t here yet.

 

The readings from Malachi and Luke’s Gospel feature apocalyptic images of  fire, catastrophe and discord that are beloved of those on the opposite end of the spectrum from the self-infatuated “we are Christ for one another” types.  These are the rigid literalists who read scripture the same way they read a cookbook.  They interpret, over-interpret, and misreadthe signs of the times to suit a particular agenda. 

 

We all have traits of both.  Complacency that we are called, chosen, and Christ-like while we fear the end with all that is in us and try to control that fear by writing the script for how we will prevent it. 

 

Though it is not mentioned I think that there was an edge of frustration and irritation in Jesus’ voice as He spoke to the people.  Even at this late stage in his ministry, they didn’t get it. They wanted specific facts:  When will the Kingdom of God arrive?  Where will it arrive?  How will we be able to tell it has arrived?  And they are willing to follow any charlatan who claims to know the unknowable answers.

 

Remember when the year 2000 hit?  Many religiously-based prognostications were bizarre at best and oftentimes delusional. The same can be said about the individuals making those prognostications.  People clung to the words of self-appointed evangelists and soothsayers.  Given the Gospel reading this did not represent novel behavior. It was perfect example of same old, same old. 

 

Jesus cautions us against chasing after those who are pushing an agenda.  The take-home message from this Gospel passage might be that:  the degree of skepticism toward claims about the arrival of  the Kingdom of God should be directly proportional to the certainty and detail with which those claims are put forth.  What Jesus described in the Gospel is a description of both what is to come and the times in which we are living. Indeed, these are the times in which people have lived since He proclaimed these words.  Natural disaster, war, discord within the community and within the family are facts of human life.  Those who follow Jesus have been persecuted—and have persecutedsince  the crucifixion. That will not change. 

 

The first reading in today’s office of readings is from Joel.  It too is full of apocalyptic imagery: blood, fire, and columns of smoke,a sun turned to darkness and a moon turned to blood, “At the coming of the day of the Lord,

the great and terrible day.” 

 

What are we to do?

 

The responsory from the breviary gives the answer:

 

“Be on your guard and pray

for you do not know

when the time will come.”  

 

_______________________________________________

 

 

A monk on the way to vespers

 

 

Fr. Jack, SJ,  MD
 

Slaker of Thirst: Homily for the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica

 

Ez 47:1-2,8-9,12

Ps 46: 2-3,5-6,8-9

1 Cor 3:9c-11,16-17

Jn 2:13-22

 

Water is the source of life and slaker of thirst.  Everything on earth depends on it. Human history, both violent and peaceful was, and is, in large part, the story of water and access to it.  We have seen, and will continue to see, serious crises worldwide because of periodic droughts. It gets ugly.  We can go without food for days. We cannot survive long without water. 

 

Water.  Flowing from the Temple in the eschatological promise of Ezekiel.

Water.  Making glad the city of God in the Psalm.

Water.  Giving us eternal life in Jesus through baptism.

 

Today's readings reflect the basic and elemental nature of this feast. The Feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica is a sign of unity with, the Chair of Peter which, St Ignatius of Antioch noted, “presides over the whole assembly of charity.” 

 

The name of the feast may be confusing.  We are not celebrating a building. The Church building of the Lateran was destroyed and rebuilt a few times over the centuries.  Facades were replaced and restored.  What stands today is not the original.  We don't celebrate A Church today.  We celebrate The Church.

 

The Church into which one enters exclusively through the waters of baptism

 

The Church which can have no other foundation than Jesus Christ. 

 

Jesus, the foundation from whom living waters flow in all directions, to all peoples,  if they choose to bathe in those waters.   If they are willing to drink of the living water that is Jesus. 

 

Today’s gospel is taken from the second chapter of John’s gospel. It is an interesting chapter in that there is a massive shift in scene and tone from the first and second parts of the chapter.  The first twelve verses narrate the wedding at Cana. The thirteen verses that we just heard describe the Cleansing of the Temple at Jerusalem.

 

In this jump we move from miracle to sign.  More importantly, we are forced to confront our notions of who Jesus is and how he acts.  For those for whom zeal for God’s house is a relative thing it is an uncomfortable confrontation between their own delicate sensitivities and the reality of Jesus’ fury. 

 

In his splendid commentary on this Gospel the late Jesuit Father Stanley Marrow wrote,  “One puzzling aspect of the narrative is how generation after generation can read or hear this account and yet persist in clinging to their cherished image of Jesus.   . . . .a Jesus so “gentle and mild” that he is incapable of “overthrowing anything, not even the reader’s smugness. . . . The Jesus in the pages of this or any other gospel is not exactly a standard-bearer for bleeding hearts. . . .the aim (of the gospel) is not to provide us with the biography of an inspiring hero, proportioned to the size of our ambitions, conformed to our ideals, and meeting our currently prevailing notions of what constitutes greatness.”

 

The Jesus of the gospels is not a Jesus of relativism, a Jesus of  accommodation or negotiation.   The Jesus of the gospels is not a wimp, a sissy,  or a doormat.  He did not say to those desecrating the temple, “I’m sorry and I don’t want to offend you but . . . I must ask you to think of what you are doing and to stop doing it . . . if you don’t mind.”

 

Jesus called a spade a spade.  He called sin for what it was and still is. He did not cave to secular society.  He certainly did not tolerate desecration of His Father’s house.  The Jesus of the gospels acted with force when He had to, thus the flipped tables and the whips. We do well to remember that.

 

Human life cannot survive ithout water. Without zeal for God’s house, without zeal for preaching His word The Church cannot and will not survive.

 

______________________________________________

The photos are from St. Vincent Archabbey in  Latrobe, PA.  I made two retreats there, one before ordination and one the following year.  St. Vincent is the first Benedictine Abbey in the U.S., established in 1846.  The original abbey was destroyed by a fire.  In addition to the Abbey.  St. Vincent has a college and a seminary.  In addition the abbey has been the source of chaplains for Penn State for years.   A number of their vocations come from the Penn State.  

 

Of course one cannot mention Latrobe PA without noting that it is the home of Arnold Palmer and, perhaps more significantly for Penn State alumni the home of Rolling Rock beer.   

 

 

 

The spires of the Abbey Church seen from a bluff high above

A monk at prayer

The tabernacle

The Abbey Church.  It is large. 

Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

 

 

 

 

 

 

Requiem Aeternam: Homily for All Soul's Day

 

Wisdom 3:1-9

 

"People don't want to let go. . . .

They think it's supposed to last forever"

 

"But it happens anyway . . . .

it doesn't matter what you do, you can't stop it."

 

"This living . . . . this life . . . .

it doesn't last forever"

 

"It was never supposed to last forever." 

 

These lines are from the poignant final scene of "The Shadow Box"  Michael Cristofer's 1977 Pulitzer Prize winning play. It was later made into a TV movie directed by Paul Newman starring Valerie Harper, Christopher Plummer, and Joann Woodward.

 

"The Shadow Box" reminds us that our lives are finite. It brings into sharp focus the agonizing realization that the lives of those whom we love, must end, as ours must also end. It recalls the words in the first preface of the Mass for the dead, “indeed for your faithful, Lord, life is changed not ended.” The change is not only for the one who died but happens in the lives of those who survive, who must go on living without the one who died.

 

The play, that is set in a hospice, explores the final days of life for three characters and their loved ones.  It does not ignore the strains on relationships when it becomes obvious that death is near, nor does it avoid the regrets as one looks back.  It acknowledges the pain when we finally realize  "it doesn't last forever" and captures the difficult moment when the gut realization hits, "It was never supposed to last forever."

 

Being with someone at the moment of death is to experience awe in its fullest sense.  The last blip on the monitor.  The moment when all movement ceases.  The sigh as the final breath escapes the body.  A life is over. Everything has ended.  Everything has changed.  Even though the final illness may have been prolonged and death temporarily held off with complex medical procedures and technology, the change from life to eternal life

occurs in an instant. 

 

At that same moment we who remain are thrown into the tasks of grieving and  mourning  as we are forced to begin adapting to an absence in our lives.  We don't want to let go.  We never want to let go. We do think it is going to last forever. But it doesn't.  It never will.  We rage against the knowledge that we have carried around that  "It was never supposed to last forever." 

 

Though the Church commemorates All Soul's Day on November 2, We experience private All Soul's Days throughout the year.  That happens, for example, when we see the anniversary of a death approaching. Those private all soul’s days may cause us to dread another holiday without the one who died. It is a private All Souls’ Day when we suddenly recall something that no one else would know except the one we are grieving.

 

"The soul's of the just

are in the hands of God

and no torment shall touch them."

 

The beginning of the reading from Wisdom is consoling, though it may take many months to experience that consolation.  The souls of the just are in the hands of God.  The souls of those whom we loved know something we cannot imagine. Those whom we mourn and for whom we pray,particularly on this day, have returned to the hands of God. 

 

We will never know the how, the what, or the where of the eternal life that was won for us through Jesus' surrender to the Father’s will until we too have died.  For now, we can only know through faith that the souls of those whom we loved and who loved us, are held for eternity in the hands of God. That knowledge does not in any way relieve us of the pain of mourning or the tasks of grieving, but it may at least dull the very sharpest edges of grief. 

 

Today we commemorate the souls of the dead: family and friends as well as those who have no one to pray for them.  It is a day to visit the grave even if only through our memories, and place candles or flowers.  It is a day to attend Mass.  It is a day to sit quietly so as to recall memories, to grieve, to give thanks for that life, and pray for those who have died.

 

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,

et lux perpetua luceat eis.

Requiescant in pace.

 

“Eternal rest grant unto them O Lord,

and let perpetual light shine upon them.

May their souls

and the souls of the faithful departed

rest in peace.”

___________________________________________________

 

The photos are from All Saint's Day in Slovenia where it is seen as All Soul's Eve (and is a national holiday).  I was blown away.  

 

 

The candles surrounded the funeral chapel in the municipal cemetery in žale which the community visited to pray at the Jesuit section. 

The view as far as the eye could see in the huge cemetery.

A family plot at the cemetery in  Preddvor up in the mountains.

The crucifix in the center of the cemetery

The village church.  It was packed to overflowing during Mass with people standing on the steps.  We processed down after Mass to be greeted by several hundred people standing at their family plots.

 

The village of Bašlj, Sloveni

 

 

 

 

Fr. Jack, SJ, MD 

Prayer and Stereotypes: Homily 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

 

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 about the need to pray without ceasing, today about how to pray and how not to pray.  In the first reading from Sirach we encounter poetic images of the prayers of the lowly piercing the clouds and not resting until reaching their goal.

 

Sirach is unique.  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 Sirachas 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 well-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 positively or 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. They are frequently the driver behind the identity politics that mark the pathetic state of affairs in the U.S.

 

Stereotypes do contain an element of truth.  One writer defined stereotypes as statistics in narrative form. All statistics have a degree of truth as well as an element 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 easily be 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 black hair and are shorter than American man.  Statistically this is true.  But, a photo from my ordination proves an exception. 

 

At just over 5’10” 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 black hair, indeed he has great hair but, at 6' 3" he is five inches taller than me. In Ignatius' case, the stereotypes applied Asian men are only partially true. Caution is necessary when dealing with both stereotypes and statistics. 

 

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 or group.   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 in the world of U.S. politics that generally follow the form, if you voted for . . . . .   you are a . . . .  (fill in both blanks)  The poor can be, and are, sinners on the same plane as the wealthy.  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,’ ‘ists,’ and ‘phoooooobias’ thrown around like confetti today. Every one of them a stereotype.

 

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. 

 

_________________________________________________________

Spent the early part of this week at the Charterhouse in VT doing some work for and with the community. Miserable tripi up in the rain on Monday but Tuesday and Wednesday were glorious.  That part of Vermont is past peak leaf color but it was still beautiful.  Had one period of free time to go out and shoot.

 

The monastic church.  The lectern in the middle of choir is characteristic of Carthusian liturgy.

One of the several lakes.  The drought is considerable and water levels are quite low.

The road leading to the monastery.  

The monastery shot with a 150 mm lens.  It is about 500 feet below and perhaps a mile away.  

The light was glorious.  The windows are rarely open.  I've never seen the statue illuminated in this way.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Fr. Jack, SJ,MD

Jim Morrison was wrong: Homily for the 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 remaining years at Penn State when my roommate arrived with a vinyl LP. I still listen to the album. 

The title track, which is at the end rather than first track,  begins with Jim Morrison proclaiming, “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 screams: “YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LORD . . .  WITH PRAYER.”   This blasphemy is followed up by a beautiful melody  that is incongruous with the intro.  Unfortunately, by the time the album was released drugs had him on the course that ended with his death of a probable heroin overdose two years later in July 1971. He was 27 years old.  He 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. That how can be summarized in one word: importune

Importune means: to demand with urgency or persistence, 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 into importuning requests for a box of triple sugared chocolate bombs cerealso as to stop the pleading.  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 periodic 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.

Aaron 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, environmental concern, and social activism must take a backseat to prayer and in particular, the sublime prayer of the Eucharist. Persistent prayer is crucial to the ongoing salvation of the world.  Prayer may be the only force keeping the world spinning 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.

We have much in common with that judge.  Too many today give wrong judgments or avoid speaking out against immoral agendas for fear of being cancelled or being accused of one of the myriad of faux-isms, pseudo-ists, and unintentionally hilarious phobias with which we are bullied daily.  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.    

The responsorial psalm, Psalm 121, is among the most beautiful and poignant prayers in the entire psalter.  It is also one of the most difficult to apprehend.  At first glance the opening seems consoling but, as the song goes, It Ain’t Necessarily So.

About twenty-five years ago Jesuit Father Paul Harmon was addressing a group of us 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 and sacrifices being offered to the pagan gods. That 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.

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, he had to realize that help did not come from the heathen gods and goddesses of fire.  Help did not come from power, money,  or social status.  It did not come from any of the “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."

Meditate on that for the rest of the day. 

 

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The photos below were taken earlier today while I was at St. Joseph Trappist Abbey in Spencer, MA about 1 hr 45 min from BC.  It was a glorious day from the drive out to the return though it was dark for the end of the trip.  As I go there one Saturday per month the drive home was a preview of coming attractions  for the next visit after EDST ends.  

 

A window made of blown glass pieces.  Remind me of the bottoms of bottles.

Looking to the graveyard

Monk in cloister going to vespers

Medallion of the Risen Christ in a stained glass window

Teh

The graveyard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Fr Jack, SJ, MD

Make Us Clean: Homily for 28th Sunday 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 the mycobacterium that causes Hansen’s disease may have been in the population during Jesus’ time, it was not at the time of the first reading six centuries before Jesus' birth.  In the Ancient Near East  walls, clothing, and other inanimate objects as well as humans could be diagnosed with leprosy. The word leprosy derives 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 neither related nor 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 such as TB were a threat to the ongoing life of the community.  A few years ago irrational fear of contagion destroyed the fabric of life in the U.S. through harsh and unnecessary regulations from which some people, such as students who were kept out of class, will never recover. Delusional fear of contagion forced old people to die alone and unvisited, deprived of the sacrament of the sick and viaticum when they needed it most.

 

People in the Ancient Near East understood the relationship life and disease differently than we do today.  We understand living and disease as an unbroken line that is interrupted only by death.  In the Ancient Near East disease was understood as a “mild form of death.”  The radical interruption, was not between life and death but between health and illness at a time when  any illness, any fever, was a credible threat to life.

 

Lepers were thought to be losing life’s vital force from the lesions on their bodies.

They were seen as the living dead, already in sheol, the abode of the dead. Adding to the stigma was that, like other illnesses or disabilities in the Ancient Near East, leprosy was understood punishment for sin.  It was visible evidence that the afflicted was a sinner. 

 

The lepers who approached Jesus were desperate. They were excluded from society.  In His compassion for their suffering, isolation from society, and their 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.  He did and 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 through his passion, death, resurrection, and ascension. 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 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. Then 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  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, meditation upon scripture and most especially the Eucharist.

 

Prayer is not just for petition in times of trouble.  Prayer is 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 instructs us how to express our gratitude:  

 

"Sing joyfully to the Lord, all you lands,

Break into song; sing praise." 

 

________________________________

 

Ya' gotta love New England in the autumn.  Not just the brilliantly colored vistas of read, gold, and orange leaves in the landscape but the smaller moments that are mostly unnoticed.  Took these at St. Joseph Abbey, the Trappist monastery in Spencer, about an hour and change northwest of Boston.  

 

 

An apple hanging on.  

"The Cottage" where I've made a number of retreats.  

One of the meadows.

Looking out of the cottage window

A random still-life 

 

Fr. Jack, SJ, MD 

 

How Long O Lord? 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.

 

Habakkuk is unique among the prophets because he openly questions God’s wisdom, he asks the question WHY?  One can only wonder how many parents in Minneapolis whose children were attacked by a crazed gunman or those who found a reliable guide in Charlie Kirk before his assassination are asking that question.

 

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 does the prophet express his ultimate faith in God in what is sometimes called the Psalm of Habakkuk .

 

In this prayer that is part of the Liturgy of the Hours, we hear the prophet reflecting on the potential--and real-- loss of everything he has 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, faith that is being sorely tested in this country today.

 

Faith is freely given to us. Faith sustains us through the ups and down of life.  It augments the joys and tempers the 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, Gospel begins with the famous parable of the mustard seed.

 

Think back to the popular necklace from days of yore, those days being the 50s and 60s. The necklace held a pendant that 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, wore crucifixes or 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 birds to perch in as if it were a tree.  Just as it takes the mustard seed takes a long time to grow from 1/25th of an inch into a large bush,

so it is with faith. 

 

As we live our faith from youth to old age, as we cultivate and attend to it through prayer, reflection, meditation on scripture, and frequent reception of the Body and Blood of Our Lord in the Eucharist, it matures, becomes stronger, and more resilient.  It becomes more able to sustain us in good times and guide us 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.  It also allows us to sing the great Psalms of praise.

 

Ideally, despite the losses, traumas, and unavoidable crises of life, faith will 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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The photos below are from Horseneck Beach, a beach in MA near the RI border.  Several years ago I was going there periodically to do some supply Masses on weekends.  These were taken in late September or so.  I am not a beach person in the summer but give me an autumn, winter, or early spring beach and I am quite content.  

 

 Fr. Jack, SJ, MD