Telling God What He Already Knows

11^th Week OT (Th)

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

We will spend about 30 minutes this morning at Mass telling God stuff He already knows. We'll ask for things He already knows we need. And we'll give thanks for everything He has already freely given us or will give us. Instead of spending this time reminding God of who He is for us, we could be on our third cup of coffee and second doughnut. But here we are! Sat in a room telling Him what He already knows and asking for what He has already given. It would be absurd if it weren't absolutely necessary. Of course, we know that what we're really doing is reminding ourselves of what we need from Him. That way we remember that everything we have and everything we are is a gift from Him. Nothing is truly ours, including ourselves. We live and breath as gifts. As gifts given to be re-gifted to one another. The whole point of prayer is to grow in humility so that we can approach total surrender to divine providence and detach from everything and everyone but Christ. The moment of perfect surrender – think of Christ on the cross – is the moment we become Christ. Everything we say, think, and do up until that moment should strengthen our dependence on God alone.

Sounds easy enough, right? And it is. . .from God's view. From ours, things get complicated. We want a plan. We want control. We think we need measurable spiritual objectives and real-world results. We look for improvement or progress. And we despair when it looks like we aren't moving fast enough or far enough. Am I praying correctly? Am I praying the right prayers? What am I missing? Probably, probably you're forgetting that it is not you who prays but the HS who prays through you. As the instrument of prayer, our job is to get out of the HS's way. Detach from the need “to improve” or “to progress.” Detach from the lie that there's a “correct prayer to pray.” Detach from praying in scarcity – I need, I want – and pray in abundance: thank you, Lord for all you have given me and will give me. He is Our Father. You are a child of the Most High. We are heirs to the Kingdom. Everything He has is already yours. So, why pray like an orphan? Like an orphaned pagan! Pray instead like a beloved child b/c your Father knows what you need before you ask. 

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Is there a Thomas in your life?

2^nd Sunday of Easter

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Thomas, called Didymus, has a problem. It's problem just about every Christian or potential Christian who's lived since the Resurrection has encountered. We can call this problem Doubt. Or, better yet, Denial: “I will not believe until I have physical, verifiable evidence.” Generally, this is a problem about believing the supernatural claims of the faith: the virgin birth, various miracles – healings, water to wine, raising the dead –, casting out demons, the Resurrection, etc. More specifically, in the case of Thomas, it's a problem about believing that his fellow disciples have seen the Risen Lord in the flesh post-Resurrection. Thomas does not believe that the other disciples actually witnessed Christ appear among them. He not only doesn't believe them, he also flatly says, “I will not believe until I put hands into his wounds.” We can imagine the reactions of the other disciples. Are we that untrustworthy? Is he accusing us of lying? Maybe he thinks we're delusional! Whatever they may have thought about Thomas' denial of their witness, Thomas himself is adamant: I will not believe! Taking his denial at face value, Thomas is the first modern Man. How do we respond to the Thomases we encounter every day?

Now, it could be that Thomas is overcome by grief. Or anger. His disbelief, at this stage of mourning, could be a response to losing his teacher and friend. He wasn't there for the revelation of Christ in the flesh. His outburst is just an overly emotional reaction to missing out on the reunion. Perfectly understandable. But his denial seems more serious than that. He has to know that his fellow disciples are hearing him say: “I don't believe you. I don't believe you are telling the truth. You're lying.” Grief or no grief, they can't be happy with him, and he knows it. Christ has established his mission on the power of testimony; that is, the entire project of preaching the Good News depends on the ability of his followers to bear witness to his life and works. To tell the world about how Christ has changed their lives by bringing them into right relationship with divine love. By denying Christ's appearance among the disciples, Thomas is rejecting the very means of building the Church that Christ himself proclaimed. Thomas is the modern person standing against the Gospel-witness of the Church, demanding empirical evidence for her claims. How do we respond to our own Thomases?

Christ responds to Thomas by appearing again – in the wounded, post-resurrection flesh. He invites Thomas to touch his wounds and says, “...do not be unbelieving, but believe.” Is this an option for us? Can we invite our Thomases to touch Christ's wounds and believe? Well, not exactly like Christ does in the Gospel, but we can bear witness to our own wounds and the healing Christ gives us. We can show our Thomas the brokenness we offered to Christ. We can show him our despair, our pride, our envy. We can show him the times we chose against love and mercy and how Christ's love and mercy brought us out of darkness into the light. We can show him how we have been betrayed, rejected, ignored, and silenced. How we stood in the crowd on Palm Sunday, cheering him on, and then screamed for his death on Good Friday. How we deny him when we deny the least of his. We can invite him into our doubts and denials and show him how – in the larger divine plan – our demands for proof fall short. We can even confess to smaller and larger betrayals of Christ in our sin. And then bear witness to the forgiveness we receive when we confess. At rock bottom, all we can do for our Thomases is show them Christ as we've lived with him. From there, it's the HS's mission to bring about a conversion of heart.

That's what we can do for the Thomases we encounter. What if we ourselves are a Thomas? It happens. Maybe no one here is a Thomas all the time...but there are times when believing is a battle. We're asked to believe a host of incredible things. The historical, physical reality of the Resurrection is perhaps the most incredible. But I'm willing to bet that if we experience doubts or express denials, it's not about the Big Dogmatic Stuff. It's about the smaller stuff – have I really forgiven him/her? Am I really forgiven? Is the HS really guiding me? Am I doing everything I need to do to get to heaven? Does God really hear my prayers? When these doubts and denials pop up – and they will! – remember God's mercy. We're not here to provide entertainment for the HT. We're not playing a cosmic game. We are given a purpose – to freely return to God in love. We are given everything we need to make that happen. Whatever happens here – good, bad, ugly – contributes to our progress toward perfection in Christ. And all of it is fueled by divine mercy. He knows our doubts. He says, “Do not be unbelieving but believe.” 

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Repent!

3^rd Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Strip the apostolic faith of its Greek metaphysics, its Jewish prophetic tradition, and its imperial Roman administrative structure and you're left with a simple proclamation: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!” Immediate, forceful, and crystal clear. This is the Gospel in nine words. Without much effort, we could reduce it further to just: “Repent!” That one word holds within it the whole of the Law and the freedom of Christ. Now, you might be thinking, “I thought the Gospel was about love or mercy or sacrifice.” It is. But love, mercy, and sacrifice turn on repentance. In sin, we cannot love, forgive, or sacrifice because all three come first from God. If we are confused in disobedience, deadened to the movement of the Spirit, we cannot receive all that the Father has to give us. Without access to the Source of our freedom, we are slaves to things of the world. So, yes, “repent” is the one word that bears the whole of the Gospel. And the rest – “for the kingdom of heaven is at hand” – is our reason for getting on with repenting. The Kingdom is here. It's coming. And God's promises are bursting at the seams.

Later today – at breakfast or dinner – the novices will likely accuse me of backsliding into my old Southern Baptist ways! You focused on repentance, Fr. Prior! Very Baptist of you! Well, like Paul says, “...Christ sent me...to preach the gospel, so that the cross of Christ might not be emptied of its meaning.” The persistent temptation for us humans is to ease our way toward what we think we want. To shortcut the longer, harder route and arrive early. With the Gospel, we've done this repeatedly. First, we get rid of the necessity of suffering well. Suffering is evil. Avoid it. Medicate it. Psychoanalyze it away. Make it illegal. Next, we make sacrifice heroic. Something done only by the truly saintly, those given extraordinary graces. That way we – the ungifted many – don't have to think much about it. Sacrifice becomes nearly miraculous and therefore rare. Then, we turn love into a sentiment, a feeling of generalized warmth that smothers truth and goodness. Love is no longer a passion worthy of martyrdom but a gesture of mere approval. Now, the Cross is empty. It's been flattened. Squeezed. And mass-produced as a plastic toy. The Way back is repentance.

If I were going to backslide fully into my Baptist past, I'd end this Mass with an old-fashioned altar call. I'd ask Br. Isidore to get on the organ and play, “Just As I Am” or “Old Rugged Cross.” And while he softly played in the background, I'd harangue you all to come forward, kneel, and confess your sins to our brother priests. I'd urge you to accept Jesus into your heart as your personal Lord and Savior. But all that stuff we stripped away from the apostolic faith at the beginning – the metaphysics, the prophetic tradition, and the Roman administration – gives us a different way of repentance. One grounded firmly in the Gospel and sacramentally effective – confession. But repentance isn't limited to the sacrament. It can be an unspoken resolve to turn to God again. It can be a prayer for mercy and the reception of grace. It can be a private conversation with a fellow sinner or saint and the joy of reconciliation. The drama of an altar call and public repentance is compelling. It's also frightening. But it is not as frightening as the coming of the Kingdom and the possibility of choosing not to be an heir. So, in word and deed, repent for the Kingdom of God is at hand!   

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Being sane in an insane world

St. Francis de Sales

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

It shouldn't surprise us that Jesus' family thinks he's crazy. Just look at what he's doing. Listen to who and what he claims to be. Given the Mosaic Law, the religious traditions, the cultural baggage of ancient Israel, Jesus' words and deeds make him seem not only crazy but downright dangerous. If what he says is true, then everything – and I mean everything! – is shaken to its core and has to be rebuilt almost from scratch. Think about it: thousands of years of belief in a yet-to-come Messiah; thousands of years of law, practice, sacrifice, prayer. Persecutions, genocidal exiles, slavery all b/c of one's race and belief. All of this reaches its final form in a young man born of a virgin who lays claim to being the Christ. He's not from a politically connected family. He's not from money or property. His claim to royalty is some 28 generations back into the dusty history of the land. Who is this guy? Even his family and friends thinks he's crazy. He's out of his mind. Well, maybe so. But being “crazy” and “out of your mind” sometimes means simply not see and hearing and speaking like those around you. Sometimes being crazy means being saner than the insane world you were born into.

And what could be saner than being the source of reason and peace himself? What could be saner than being the only-begotten Son of Him Who brought everything that is out of nothing? Jesus isn't irrational or delusional or psychotic. He sees perfectly clearly. He sees the unclean spirits that possess the weak and the strong. He sees the sin that cripples and kills. He sees the lies that an insane world calls truth. And he sees the ugliness that some hold up as beauty. But mostly importantly, he sees you and me and the limits we force on our freedom to love him and follow him. Strange limits like pride, jealousy, unrighteous anger, judgment, fear, and anxiety. Those are the crazy. Those are irrational and delusional. Why? B/c they keep us from reaching out and grasping the source of sanity in an insane world. No, Jesus is not out of his mind. But we are when we pit our limits against his limitless love and mercy. Being sane among the insane is like being the sober one when everyone else is drunk. You can see the stupidity and rejoice that you aren't being a fool. 

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Blessedly terrifying

St. Agnes

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

It's not enough to ask God for the grace of healing. We might say that asking for healing is necessary but not sufficient. One more thing is required: we must offer the disease, the wound, the broken part in sacrifice. We must hold it up and out as a sign, a gesture of humility. We don't do this b/c God needs to see us being submissive, or b/c He doesn't know what needs healing. We do this b/c we need to be free of whatever it is that's holding us back from receiving what He has to give. Almost always, what's holding us back is Pride – that primordial disobedience rooted in the lie that we can become God w/o God. I can heal myself. I can make myself holy. I can be virtuous on my own. And the most vicious of all: I can love w/o Love Himself. NB the man with the withered hand. He doesn't ask for healing out loud. But you know he's asking in his heart. He's watching Jesus and the Pharisee square up – once again! – over the limits of the Law. Jesus has a chance here to perform two miracles – heal a broken hand and open the hearts of the Pharisees to the power of divine mercy. The man offers his hand, and it is healed. But the hardness of the Pharisees' hearts grieves and angers the Lord. Why won't they offer their broken hearts in sacrifice?

We can ask ourselves the same question. The answer is probably the same for us and the Pharisees. Yes, Pride. But how is our Pride being expressed? A deeply seated need for control. A fear of losing independence. Appearing to be weak or needy. Refusing to admit that we can be broken. Maybe we can't face our mortality, so asking for healing turns into an admission that our time here is ticking away. Or maybe, asking God for healing means conceding that we are dependent on Him for everything we have and are. That's a life-changing concession that changes things well-beyond a single wound or a disease. But that's what divine healing does: it changes everything. We shift from being a prideful and wounded sinner into being a humble and healed saint. And maybe that's the scariest part of offering ourselves in sacrifice. What comes next? What happens after I am made whole again? Truly, there is nothing left but surrender, gratitude, and praise. All of which lead inexorably to freedom in Christ. That's not just scary; it's terrifying. Blessedly terrifying.   

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A pattern of signs

33^rd Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Palm readers claim to see the future drawn by the lines in your hand. Astrologers calculate the position of the stars at your birth and claim to know your future. An ancient Roman haruspex would tell you that the significant events of your life could be read in the entrails of a ritually slaughtered animal. That anyone actually ever believed any of this nonsense to be true is dumbfounding. Yet, our impulse to get ahead of events by knowing our future seems to be part of our fallen nature. Every human culture in every age has entertained divination – whether it be reading the flight patterns of birds, or Tarot cards, or the latest election poll. Jesus makes a prediction in the Temple courtyard: “All that you see here – the days will come when there will not be left a stone upon another stone that will not be thrown down.” The crowd – no doubt stunned – asks, right on cue, “Teacher, when will this happen? And what sign will there be when all these things are about to happen?” NB. that they do not ask for a specific date. Or an exact time. They ask for signs. Instead of signs, Jesus gives them a pattern. Or better: a pattern of signs that point to the end.

Over the centuries, many have said that Jesus' “prediction” is vague, almost meaningless. When hasn't there been wars, famines, plagues, persecutions, and just general all-around strife among nations? That sort of “prediction” can't tell us much about what's coming. What if Jesus' purpose here isn't a prediction at all? Sure, the temple was destroyed by Roman troops about 40yrs later – if you accept that the Gospel of Luke was written before 70AD. Even so, remember, he's also talking about himself, the Temple made flesh, his Body, the Church. What if his “prediction” of the Temple's destruction is also a prophecy about the on-going battle btw the Church and the world? Rather than giving the crowd (and us) a foretelling of a specific future event, he's laying out a pattern of conflict that repeatedly plays out over the centuries. There will always be wars, famines, plagues, and persecutions before his Church is destroyed. And the Church in many places around the world has been destroyed – N. Africa, many in the Middle East, Communist China and Russia; a case can be made that the Church in Europe is all but gone. The buildings still stand, but where is the faith? Where are the faithful? Where are those who will love, forgive, and show mercy when the world once again persecutes Christ?

And here is where hope enters the pattern. Just like clockwork, when the world once again decides that the Church can no longer be tolerated, persecution ensues. Our instinct is to fight back, strike out, using the tools of our persecutors. When we do this, if we do this, our persecutors win. We become them. In effect, we join their side in violence and death. Our way of fighting is far more difficult than anything the enemy can manage. Jesus says, “Remember, you are not to prepare your defense beforehand, for I myself shall give you a wisdom in speaking that all your adversaries will be powerless to resist or refute.” Our way is more difficult b/c we must prepare ourselves to be recipients of divine wisdom. Whether the attack is physical or legal or philosophical, Christ will give us what we need at that moment to defend his Gospel. This doesn't mean that we will win every battle. We won't. But it does mean that by responding as Christians we will preach the Good News to the faces of those who hate us b/c of his name. The goal is not total victory in this world, the annihilation of an opponent. The goal is living faithfully the victory we have already won from the Cross. If we cannot do this at peace, how can we do it at war?

We are fast approaching Advent – the annual season of preparation in anticipation of the Christ's birth. Now is as good a time as any to take stock of our faith. Ask yourself: how's my relationship with Christ? How am I praying? How am I being generous with all that God has given me? Am I receiving God's gifts fully, freely? Am I bearing witness to His mercy? Am I forgiving, loving, being Christ where I am planted? All these matter a great deal while you are at peace. Imagine how much more vital they will be at war. Am I predicting a persecution of Texas Catholics next week or next year? No. But I point you back to the pattern of signs laid out by Jesus in the Gospel. We will probably never be rounded up and executed like the Christians in Syria or Nigeria. Not anytime soon anyway. But this doesn't mean the world has surrendered to Christ and given up the fight. It just means the fight takes place at another level, the spiritual level. There the fight is furiously fought. Thanks be to God, our victory is won. Jesus promises, “...your perseverance you will secure your lives.”

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Seek Wisdom

St. Albert the Great

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Albertus Magus is in trouble with the Prior. In a fit of experimental zeal, he's taken some of the brothers' beer and fed it to a snake. The inebriated serpent escapes Albert's cell and is terrorizing the less scientifically studious friars by flopping around like a...well...like a drunken snake. For the sake of weak hearts and a calmer convent, the Prior forbids any future experiments with alcohol and snakes. You may have heard this story before. I told it last year on this feast to defend Albert against charges of curiositas. I tell it again this year to highlight the effects of seeking wisdom – namely, joy and gladness. Sirach promises, “Happy those who meditate on Wisdom, and fix their gaze on knowledge...Whoever fears the Lord will do this; whoever is practiced in the Law will come to Wisdom...Joy and gladness he will find, an everlasting name he will inherit.” Now, we can't say that Albert's confreres found joy and gladness in his pursuit of wisdom. Nor can we say from this single event that Albert himself did. We can say that he eventually found the Wisdom he sought his whole life and that's sufficient for us to conclude that he was and is joyful and glad. That we celebrate his feast today is enough to know that he has inherited an everlasting name. Seek Wisdom, know gladness and joy!

How do we seek Wisdom? Sirach suggests a sequence: meditate on Wisdom as an object; fix your gaze on knowledge; fear the Lord; and practice the Law. The last two steps in this sequence don't sound like things a seeker of Wisdom and knowledge would do. Fear the Lord. Practice the Law. How exactly do these help in the acquisition of Wisdom? Fearing the Lord, meaning (of course) standing in awe of God, guarantees that the seeker is properly humble as a creature. That is, that the seeker is aware of and lives as one of the Lord's creations and not as a detached observer outside of creation. Self-knowledge is as important to the seeker as Other-knowledge will ever be. Practicing the Law. Here Sirach means following the Mosaic Law, following God's revealed plan for human perfection. As followers of Christ, we take this to mean following the Law of Love: love God and our neighbors as ourselves. Following this law not only keeps the seeker humble but it also ensures that whatever else he/she does they do it for the good of the other. IOW, there is no such thing as “self-serving Wisdom.” Wisdom is, by nature, communal, constructive, and peaceable. So, where is the joy and gladness?

Albert's best student, Thomas Aquinas, teaches us that joy and gladness are effects of love. Love causes joy and gladness. And what better source of love than Wisdom, God Himself who is Love. As the highest cause of all things, God is the object of our search for Wisdom. Find God, find Wisdom. Albert knew this when he searched the Lord's created things, looking for their cause. He knew that studying creatures revealed their Creator. He found in them the logos of the Real. Their reason for being, a created order that ordered them to their given end. And he knew that that logos is Christ. We don't celebrate Albert this morning b/c he was a genius biologist, or a great botanist. We don't celebrate him b/c he was a renowned teacher and preacher. We celebrate him b/c he loved God, found Wisdom, and shared the fruits of his contemplation with his brothers and sisters. For the short time that we are here, revealing to self and others the glory of Christ – that's joy and gladness.

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Don't forget what you signed up for

Dominican All Saints

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

There's an old joke in the Order of Preachers: “If you want to be a Dominican saint, then live with a Dominican martyr. If you want to be a Dominican martyr, then live with a Dominican saint.” The implication here is that surviving life with a either a Dominican saint or martyr is a sure-fire way to get at least a memorial Mass with your name on it. Why? B/c living saints and martyrs can be challenging housemates. The religious fervor of a still-living Dominican saint easily convicts the evident laxity of less fervent brothers and sisters. And the self-sacrifice of the still-living Dominican martyr similarly exposes the selfishness of those confreres less inclined to surrender their preferences for the common good. Of course, the joke is: the religious fervor of the saint and the ease of self-sacrifice in the martyr is usually only present in the mind of the Dominican in question. The rest of us just chuckle and wonder. And probably pray a little harder for the grace of sainthood and martyrdom. You know, just in case. This feast taps all Dominicans on the shoulder and whispers, “Don't forget what you signed up to do and be.”

It never hurts to be reminded of our ideals. Dominic started this whole thing to “preach the Gospel and care for souls.” From the start, he sent us out two-by-two to universities to study God's Word so that our preaching would be grounded in the ancient apostolic faith. He gathered us together in community so that that ancient faith would always have a contemporary expression. He made sure we prayed together so that we'd learn to express that faith with one voice and at the same time shape that one voice to speak in different tongues. He knew that the Truth is always the Truth. But he also knew that our understanding of Truth grows by nature. So, he gave us the enduring habit of study, the habit of always seeking out the “manifold wisdoms of God.” Most importantly, most fundamentally, he gave us the grace of preaching, the gift of giving the Eternal Word a human voice to bring souls to Christ. On the more practical side of our life together, we have the vow of obedience, our only vow. It binds us, frees us, and makes everything we do and are possible. It gives life to Peter's declaration to Christ: “We have put aside everything to follow you.” Ideally, you could ask any Dominican, “What have you given up to follow Christ?” And he/she would answer, “Everything.” “And what have you gained?” The answer, “Even more.”

Our saints, blesseds, and martyrs show us what “even more” means in light of what they all sacrificed. From the 13^th c. to just a few weeks ago, they still bear witness to the power of Dominican life to bring the preaching of the Gospel to every nook and cranny of this needful world. Jesus promises Peter that his surrender will result in a hundredfold multiplication in this world and the world to come. That promise is our inheritance. What will we do with all that wealth? We'll pray, study, care for souls; and live together with one heart and one mind; forgiving one another; loving the grumps, the self-made martyrs and saints; correcting, teaching; and being docile to the Spirit, waiting for the advent of our Christ; and never forgetting that we do all of this willingly, freely for the sake of the Gospel. IOW, we'll spend our inheritance in the same way it was given to us – with generous abandon for the salvation of the world.  

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The dead minister to us

All Souls

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

The Christian dead minister to the living by reminding the living that we too will one day be dead. That's not exactly a cheerful reminder for a Sunday celebration of the Eucharist. But it is a necessary reminder. While we move about in this space and time-limited world, we can neglect the reality of the possible worlds we'll come to haunt. With faith lived in earnest hope, we look forward to haunting the Lord's table at an eternal wedding feast. That's one – hopeful – possibility. Another possibility – despairing, at best – is to choose to live eternally rejecting God's love. And then there's a third possibility, the Between Possibility, where we haunt for a while while being purged of whatever keeps us from the feast. If we're honest, most of us will confess to shooting for the third option. Fingers-crossed, relying on the prayers of family and friends, we are confident that purgatory seems our best after-death bet. Here's where the already-dead do their best work. We pray for those in purgatory and in doing so keep our hearts and minds turned toward the inevitable day of our own death. The dead minister to us by just not being here.

If all this talk of death and purgatory seems funereal, it's meant to. In its way, the Feast of All Souls is a funeral Mass for all the faithful departed. One day, one celebration for the repose of all the souls who are no longer with us. And like any funeral Mass for a single soul, this Mass has a double purpose: to pray for the eternal rest of the deceased and to shake the living out of their spiritual complacency. Mourning the dead is a ministry of the living. Shaking the living is a ministry of the dead. If we think the passing of “just souls” is a tragedy, their leaving us behind an affliction, remember that they are at peace. The Book of Wisdom says, “...chastised a little, [the souls of the just] shall be greatly blessed, because God tried them and found them worthy of himself.” Of course He did! Paul writes to the Romans, “God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us.” Jesus himself says, “Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and I will not reject anyone who comes to me...” Why wouldn't the just souls be greatly blessed and found worthy of God Himself? Even if they must be chastised for a little while.

It's too hard to think that one day you and I will be laid out in a box or poured into an urn. But that day is as inevitable as sunrise and sunset. That we are here this morning asking for God's mercy on the faithful departed is just one clear sign that we know our time is short. While we are here, still breathing, our work as those given to Christ by his Father is sanctifying; it's designed to bring us to and keep us in holiness. That work is the work of living freely in the hope of salvation, living freely in the love of God, and trusting absolutely that we are beloved sons and daughters of the Most High. If we are truly free to live as Christ remade us to live, then we will expend what time we have left in proclaiming in word and deed the mercy our Father offers to sinners. And we will be compelled in our proclamation by the reality that at some unknown hour it will be our turn to pass through the purging fire and onto the Narrow Gate. One mercy we can do for the dead is to pray for them. And ask for their prayers. In every sense that matters, they are more alive than we are. Even if they are being chastised, they are closer to God. Mourn for your dead joyfully b/c grace and mercy are with His holy ones. Allow them to bring you into the Wedding Feast.

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You gotta be the hose!

All Saints

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

I hear from the seminarians and my UD students all the time, “Father, I want to be a saint.” I usually respond with, “Good for you. And good luck.” If they get my weak attempt at humor, we smile and part ways. If they don't, well, we spend some time talking about what attaining sainthood entails. For the most part, they seem to think that becoming a saint is all about absolute moral purity. It's about never violating the 10C's. Or never thinking bad thoughts. Or being dramatically and publicly “humble.” Or all of the above. They usually have a favorite saint they try to imitate. And that saint is usually one with a fantastic backstory, including a harrowing conversion and a list of miracles James Cameron would find difficult to re-create in a movie. Nothing wrong with any of this. Having a holy hero to look up to is nothing to sneer at. But...we have to be careful that we do not make our saints out to be the Christian answer to the Avengers or the X-Men. Saints – those men and women fully realized in Christ – are more than superheroes. They are children of God who see Him as He is.

John tells us that we – those not yet fully realized in Christ – are children of God too. He says, “...we are God's children now; what we shall be has not yet been revealed.” So, we might say that we are saints-on-the-way. I'm sure you feel it too. That “on-the-way” part seems much more real than the saint part. That is, the feeling of being incomplete, not-yet, almost-there but not quite. Am I right? We can spend years, decades striving for saintliness – building our merits in prayer and good works, going to Mass, avoiding sin – and still barely limp toward the next step. Just barely making it. And then the whole thing starts all over. The frustration is maddening. What's missing in all this struggle? Maybe, just maybe, we let it slip our mind that we are already children of God. We are already graced with everything we need to become saints. We are already well-equipped to live with Not Yet and Almost There. John says it plainly, “...what we shall be has not yet been revealed.” If what we shall be has not yet been revealed, then why are we fighting so hard to figure it out? We know what we are now: children of God. Can't that be enough right now? Can't just being the best children of God we can be be enough until what we will be is revealed?

John goes on to say, “We do know that when [what we shall be] is revealed we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.” So, we do know something about what we will be. We will be like God b/c we will see Him as he is. What is it “to be like God”? The Catechism of Trent gives us a partial answer: “...beatitude consists of two things: that we shall behold God such as he is in his own nature and substance; and that we ourselves shall become, as it were, gods. For those who enjoy God while they retain their own nature, assume a certain admirable and almost divine form, so as to seem gods rather than men” (I, 13, 7). For us to be like God then is to be fully human and almost divine. That is, for us to be like God is to be saints – first, children of God; then, Christs. Christ plural. To be Christ imperfectly now and perfectly then. To embody the beatitudes right when and where we are. Jesus says again and again that to be among the blessed is to be poor in all the ways that the world thinks is rich. To be among the blessed is never about the work we ourselves put into becoming blessed. We can do nothing w/o Christ. Whatever work we put into becoming saints is first the work of Christ done through us. To believe otherwise is to believe that we can make ourselves into saints. That error is known as Pride. And nothing motivated by Pride can enter the Kingdom of God.

How do we become saints and enter the Kingdom? It is both insanely simple and devilishly complex. Simple b/c all we have to do is receive sainthood from God. Receive His perfection into our imperfect nature. Receive Him and then simply be His son and daughters. But it's complex b/c we have trouble shaking the idea that anything free is valuable. Anything worth having is worth working for. Anything worth anything at all should be difficult to obtain. So, we fight temptation. We struggle against sin. We wrestle with our demons. We bargain with God to get what He has already given us for free. What the Saints know now – being in the presence of God – is that nothing they did on earth was done w/o Christ doing it first. Their prayer, their fasting, their devotion, their miracles, all of it was Christ himself working in them. And they understood their role: get out of his way and let him work! Let him work in you and through you. I'll leave you with a weird image. You're washing your car. Which gets wet first? The car or the hose? Right. To become a saint, you gotta be a hose for God's abundant love!

      

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The Idol of Ingratitude

28^th Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

The benefits of gratitude are obvious: a deep humility and a graced clarity in seeing God's blessings. When we give God thanks and praise for His abundant goodness, we reinforce the central truth of our being: we are made from dirt and divine breath. As dirt, we are not worthy of His notice. As divine breath, we are made worthy to participate in the life of the Trinity. Humility is the good habit of living as dirt made worthy of divinity. And gratitude keeps us honest. If the benefits of gratitude are obvious, can we say that the perils of ingratitude are obvious as well? They should be. But there's something about us that tempts us to believe that all that we are and all that we have is ours by right, or ours by hard work, or ours by clever invention. This idol is praised everyday in the market, the office, our school and universities, our sports arenas. It seems as though we begin with the idea that we are blessed or cursed to the degree that we are busy getting more, having more, accumulating more. And what's worse, we seem to think that all that More makes us better – wiser, holier, stronger, just. . .better overall. I think of Flannery O'Connor's Ruby Turpin* who says, “You have to have things to know things.”

To break this idolatrous spell, we turn to our Gospel scene. Jesus is met by ten lepers in a village. They beg him for pity. He heals all ten. Only one returns to give God – Jesus – thanks. He asks the fateful question: “I healed ten. Where are the other nine?” Apparently, the other nine think their renewed health is an entitlement, a miracle they received as a right. Jesus tells the lone, grateful former-leper that his faith has saved him. The other nine? Not so much. NB. the connection Jesus makes between gratitude and salvation. The act of returning to Jesus to say a simple Thank You is enough to bring this man into the Holy Family of the Father. Everything he is right now and everything he has right now is a freely offered gift from God. He received it all as a gift with praise and thanksgiving. He was not owed healing. He didn't earn healing. He didn't borrow it or steal it. He humbly took it from the hands of Christ, went to the priests as commanded, and then returned, “glorifying God in a loud voice; and he fell at the feet of Jesus and thanked him.” Maybe Mrs. Turpin is right. You have to have things to know things. But having things must teach us humility and gratitude.

The idol of ingratitude seems to thrive on the idea that if I don't think of my things as mine first, I will lose them. Or if I don't think of myself as mine first, I might end up a slave to someone else. The problem here is that – as a follower of Christ – nothing is truly mine. Not my stuff, not even me. This truth is expressed for religious in our vows of poverty and obedience. What about all of you “just normal Catholics”? Well, you aren't immune to the effects of ingratitude. And you reap the benefits of giving God thanks and praise! You can find humility in living your marriage vows. Your spouse is given to you as a help in gaining heaven. You can find humility in raising your children in the faith by example. They are given to you as a help in growing in patience and strength. Children, you can grow in humility by being a help to your parents and siblings. Do you say “thank you” to mom, dad, brother, sister? You depend on them, so be grateful! Whatever your state in life, there is someone or something there to goad you toward humility. A co-worker? A classmate? A professor or teacher? A student? That middle-aged guy in the red Miata that cuts you off every morning on the commute to work? If you look, you will find abundant reasons to give God thanks and praise. If you cannot see these reasons, ask God to heal your blindness.

Mrs. Turpin is a haughty, middle-class white Southern woman, living in the late 1950's. She's an unrepentant racist, a snob, a gossip, and, according to a college girl at her doctor's office, “a warthog from hell.” That college girl hits Ruby in the face with a textbook. She deserves it. But that textbook and her new status as a warthog push her to contemplate her pride. While hosing down her hogs on the farm, Ruby has a revelation. A vision. She sees everyone – even those she thinks unworthy – rising to heaven on a bridge of light. And she knows – it is all a gift. It has nothing to do with race or property or cleanliness or good manners or being law-abiding or having or knowing. It's all about taking in what God gives and giving Him thanks and praise. Ms. Ruby, her story ends in shocked gratitude.

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They need to believe in Someone

27^th Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

If you pay no attention to social media you may not have heard – there's an unprecedented boom going on in the Church. Specifically, a surprising increase in the number of 18 – 24yo's being baptized and confirmed worldwide. For example, btw 2023 – 2025, the number of young people entering the Church in France has doubled. And then doubled again. Campus ministries in the US are also noticing a huge increase in Mass attendance. So are regular parishes. This boom isn't restricted to the Catholic Church. Protestant and EO ministries are also reporting similar revivals. What's going on? Secular media are pointing to CK's assassination and attributing the booms to reactionary forces taking advantage of populist sentiments to rile up the rabble. There may be some of that going on. But the vast majority of these young people seem to be drawn to the Church by everything but politics. Their motivations vary but the common thread seems to be: they are tired of the incessant drone of nihilism and the performative morality of their peers. IOW, they are tired of the emptiness preached by the spirits of the world and fake utopias of godless ideology. They want to believe in something. They need to believe in Someone. They are seeking faith.

(Forgive me for Going Professorial. But it's always a danger with Dominican preachers). We've been calling the last eight decades of turmoil in the West a “culture war.” And it is that – at some level. All sorts of ism's get thrown around: capitalism, modernism, nihilism, progressivism, fascism, etc. It's a near-blinding flurry of warring ideologies and philosophies, each trying to define the Real and insisting that only its solutions can truly bring about utopia. What all these ism's have in common is their disdain for faith in a transcendent referent, something to point to beyond the material world that gives meaning. If your only way of making meaning in the world is the world itself and the world itself is constantly changing, then who and what you are is always changing. These young people are living with the war-torn leftovers of their cultures' failed revolutions, most especially the horrific failures of the sexual revolution. I don't need to list all the failures but here's a few: abortion-on-demand, the collapse of marriage, the destruction of the family, and transgender ideology. From this moral and social chaos, these young people are looking for – needing! – a way to give their lives meaning.

Thus, the culture wars. But these wars aren't just being fought in the world. They are being fought in the Spirit. I don't mean some sort of cosmic battle btw the equally matched forces of Good and Evil. That's heresy. Christ has won. He won from the Cross and the cosmic war is always, already won. The spiritual wars I mean are being fought within the hearts and minds of each man and woman. They fight to choose Christ. These men and women were born and raised in de facto Christian cultures. And they have in them the seed of God's Word (however deeply buried!). Paul writes, “...God did not give us a spirit of cowardice but rather of power and love and self-control.” It is this spirit who is stirring and finding its voice in the tumultuous lives of these young people. I see it everyday in my UD students, the seminarians I direct and teach; and in our own novices. What I hear them saying is that they are exhausted by defeat in a worldly war that can have no winners. They are tired of the stupidity of politics and the pablum of therapeutic religion. Where is the Spirit of power, love, and self-control? Where are the witnesses who will testify to the saving power of God?

The Sexual Revolution has failed. Paraphrasing Cardinal George from 2007, the progressive revolution in the Church has failed. One Utopian revolution after another has failed. Now it's time for a Spiritual Revolution and – as usual – our young people will lead the way. What can we older brothers and sisters do to help them choose Christ? Again, Paul writes, “...do not be ashamed of your testimony to our Lord...but bear your share of hardship for the gospel with the strength that comes from God.” Show them your scars. Tell them about your battles and how Christ rescued you. Let them see you fight yourself and win with God's grace. Don't be ashamed of your battleground. With Christ, it's where you won. This is not a fight where you must maintain your polite, middle-class American facade to save face. Your fight may be private but the war is public. Share your hardship. But most importantly, share your victory in Christ Jesus. They are looking for witnesses. You've been there. Tell them what you know. Tell them what to expect. And then show them nothing but mercy and the love Christ died for sinners. For you and for me. 

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Spiritual Direction: Diagnostic Mode

You work from home. Your laptop is a necessity. It's your only source of income. One day, right in the middle of a major project, your laptop crashes. You panic. Once you've calmed down, you call your company's IT department for help.

The tech arrives and spends about two hours fixing your laptop. As he's leaving, he says, “You can prevent this from happening again if you run the included diagnostic software. It will warn you about problems and suggest fixes.”

Relieved that your laptop is working again, you get back on-task with that project. An hour in, you recall your earlier panic and decide to run the diagnostic software. Just to be safe. It only takes about ten minutes. You get a big green thumbs-up on the screen. Great! Back to work.

Another hour in and you start feel like your machine is teetering on the edge of breaking down. There's no objective reason for feeling this way. It's working just fine. But there's something comforting about knowing for sure that all is well. You run diagnostic mode again. Again, big green thumb. Whew.

Each time you use diagnostic mode, you lose about ten minutes of productivity. Add to that number the cost of disrupting your focus.

This pattern of running diagnostic mode several times a day continues through the month. Everything is fine. But you can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. Then it hits you: what if the diagnostic mode is malfunctioning? What if the software designed to tell you what's broken is itself broken?

You call the IT department. The tech checks out your machine and assures you that all is well. Though you are relieved, doubts linger. What if the tech is wrong? Maybe he missed something. Maybe his diagnostic software is faulty. . .

And the cycle of relief, anxiety, doubt continues rolling along until you're fired b/c you're spending half your working day diagnosing your laptop.

If you allow it, this is what the Devil does to your spiritual life. Rather than spending your time growing in holiness through prayer, fasting, etc. you obsess over what's wrong, what could be wrong, what will be wrong in the future. You spend your time looking for fixes to problems that don't exist and will probably never exist. The really insidious part of this cycle is that you come to believe that Diagnostic Mode is what your spiritual life is supposed to look like.

There's nothing inherently wrong with the occasional diagnostic scan of your spiritual life. But being in a constant state of diagnosis is damaging.

Pray, fast, give alms, read spiritually beneficial literature; build good friendships; celebrate the sacraments, and stop wasting your time and energy on endless diagnostic scans.  

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Are your feet beautiful?

Simple Profession 2025

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

Church of the Incarnation, TX

Novices brothers, please stand and face the congregation. Folks, I want you to look at these young men very closely. Take a second to really SEE them. Now, here's my question: do these novices have beautiful feet? It's difficult to tell with their shoes on, right? In yesterday's reading for the feast of St. Dominic, we heard read the words of Isaiah: “How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news.” We can't see the novices' feet at the moment. They may be beautiful already. Or they may need some work. We don't know. What we do know is these men are here this morning to announce to this congregation, to the Order of Preachers, and to all the People of God that they are ready to take next step in a life-long transfiguration, growing from novice preachers into men walking on the most beautiful feet! One year down, brothers. Seventy years or eighty with good health to go. What must they do to become the great preachers God has called them to be? What must they give to Christ to be bearers of his Word?

The RYM asks Jesus a similar question. “Teacher, what must I do to gain eternal life?” We can imagine the RYM preparing himself for all sorts of answers. Climb that mountain and sit in silence for a year. Wash in the river everyday while singing the Psalms. Cross the desert w/o food or water. Instead, Jesus says, “If you wish to enter into life, keep the commandments.” We can almost see the RYM's relief. Whew! I'm doing that already. But just to be sure, he asks, “Which ones?” Jesus quotes the first few commandments. The RYM, maybe growing anxious again, says, “I'm doing all that. What do I still lack?” What do I still lack? This tells us that the RYM isn't happy. He's not fulfilled. Following the commandments isn't enough to attain eternal life. What's fueling his lack, his sense of not having what he knows he needs? Jesus answers, “If you wish to be perfect, go, sell what you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” You can see the RYM's face drop. Not the answer he is looking for. Why? Because he has many possessions. We goes away sad. He goes away with that lack still gnawing at his heart. IOW, he is unwilling to do what it takes to follow Christ, to become a witness to Christ's Word in the world.

These novice brothers asked Christ to teach them the way to eternal life. He taught them to detach from the world and follow him. They've answered his call to work out their salvation in fear and trembling as Dominican friars. They've chosen to cooperate with God's grace in the perfection of their nature by taking simple vows and striving to live those vows as faithfully as they are able. Their gifts will be turned toward bringing divine love and mercy into the lives of everyone they meet and in turn that love will be perfected in them. What “rough edges” they have will be smoothed out over time. Community life will see to that! Whatever deficiencies each may have will be made up for by the gifts of their brothers. And together with their brothers and sisters in the Order, they will contribute to a more perfect witness to the Father's mercy wherever they go. They know that Dominican life is both the hardest and the easiest life they can live. Hard b/c we expect great things from them. And easy b/c they will receive in abundance the mercy they need to flourish. I've lived with these five for the past year. I can bear witness that they are good men motivated by a love of God, a longing for holiness, and a readiness to learn what they must learn. Their vows bind them to us and at the same time free them to be what God has made and remade them to be. Where do they go from here?

Literally, they go to St Louis to begin six years of study. Spiritually, they begin what will be a life-long formation in charity under the vow of obedience. To modern American ears, “vow of obedience” sounds ominous, almost draconian. Images of identical little robots marching in step come to mind. Not even remotely close. If you know Dominicans, you know we may look alike from a distance but up close we're a grab bag of everything from Martin de Porres to Garrigou-Lagrange, from Rose of Lima to Catherine de Ricci. Our variety is marshaled and freed in obedience – the vow to listen to one another; to submit our preferences to the good of the community; and to wholeheartedly follow those elected to lead us. These brothers know that life of a Dominican friar is never lived in its Platonic Form. We are men not angels. They know we fall. They know we sin. They know we sometimes want to quit. And this is why we take vows. We say Yes to the mission of the Order once for all our lives. We should never need to say Yes again. We've said it. And once is enough. But when we do start to feel the urge to backslide, we have the brothers to strengthen us. And they will, if we let them.

Brothers, I've been your Prior and Professor this year. I can't resist one more priorial lesson: surrender. You've heard my wild stories of my novitiate and studium years. I was the RYM who refused to surrender his possessions to follow Christ. My possessions weren't the stuff of wealth and privilege. What I refused to surrender – at first – was my Pride. It kept me in trouble. So, I admonish you: do not be like me! It's not worth the anguish. Instead, go to STL with an open heart and critical mind ready to learn what you need to learn to be great preachers. You're going to be challenged. You're going to balk on occasion. And you will likely find yourself wondering, “What have I done?” Persevere. The studium is not the province; the province is not the Order; and the Order is not the Church. Stay the course. Be obedient. Contribute your gifts. And you will flourish. Detach from whatever it is that keeps you bound to this temporary world of things and strive for all the treasure in heaven. Brothers, we are proud of who you've become this year, and we give God thanks for your vocation and your Yes. God has amazing things in store you and through you for us. May your feet become as beautiful as they were made to be.

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You have no power here

16^th Week OT (W)

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Parables usually have a villain – a character or character-type who exemplifies an obstacle for or foil to the hero. Our villains this morning are the birds, rocky ground, and thorns. Individually and all together these villains thwart the good fruit the sown seeds are sown to produce. They prevent the seeds from taking root, or from germinating, or from blossoming. If we understand the seeds to be the Word of God sown into the world, then we can take to the villains to be the enemies of the Word. If we were to give contemporary names to these villains, what would they be? Perhaps the birds would be the people in our lives who come along and devour our hope with their cynicism. Or maybe those who peck away at our faith with their anxiety. The rocky ground could be how we were raised, or our current living conditions. Faith can take root in the most hostile soil, but it's a fight to see it flourish. The thorns would be temptations – pricking skin, drawing blood, causing infection. We all know these thorns too well. They grow even in the best soil. If these are our contemporary villains, how do we combat them? We don't. We surrender to Christ's victory on the Cross and allow the ground where we are planted to be made fruitful.

The idea of not fighting a villain is almost outrageous. Goes against everything we've ever heard about “fighting temptation.” But the truth of the matter is that you and I have already won the fight. Or rather, we haven't won, Christ has won, and we are hidden in him. We win with him. Whatever power the villains have, they have b/c we give it to them by fighting them. They are already defeated. Why fight the loser? Doing so clearly proclaims that the loser isn't really the loser and that Christ has failed to win his victory on the Cross. When one of these villains threatens to damage your good harvest, to choke the seed of the Word given you by God, remember – at that moment – to surrender to Christ's big win and say – aloud if you have to – “You have nothing I want. You have no power over me.” And then give thanks and praise to God for making your soil rich and fertile. You have ears to hear. You understand already. There is nothing and no one to fight. Nothing and no one to lose to. Stay hidden in Christ and produce much good fruit.     

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