Music to the ears

24^th Week OT (W)

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

If wisdom is freed by her children, then who or what is keeping her prisoner? Jesus says that the wisdom to see and hear his message of liberation is held fast by a stubborn need to see and hear nothing less than what we want to see and hear. The children of the age – that's us – play their lutes for John, but he does not dance. And we sing dirges for Jesus, but he does not weep. We say that John is demon possessed b/c he fasts from food and wine. And yet we say that Jesus is a glutton and drunkard b/c he does not fast. What is this generation like? Like children who want what they want but refuse to receive what they want when it's given to them! Those who accept John's fasting and Jesus' joy as both necessary for salvation liberate wisdom from the fickleness of the age. Now, obviously, Jesus is addressing this to those who were present to hear him and John preach the necessity of repentance from sin for salvation. For some, John's mortifications were too much. Too gloomy. Too Old School Religion. For others, Jesus' enjoyment of his Father's creation and his proclamation of divine mercy were too hippyish. Too bright and shiny. Too New Age Spirituality. Taken together, however, we get the wisdom of the Gospel.

And the children of the Gospel liberate wisdom from her fickle captors. The Gospel is both fasting and feasting. It is both a Word about sin and the Father's mercy. It is both a diagnosis and a cure. The Gospel convicts and frees. Totals up a debt and forgives it. Christ's message of salvation from sin and death is both hard to hear and music to the ears. It can be difficult to dance to and perfectly choreographed. Anyone who's sincerely and persistently lived a Gospel life can tell you that there will be days of joy and weeks of despair. Accepting both and loving nonetheless is the soul of wisdom. As Paul writes, “If [you] speak in human and angelic tongues but do not have love, [you are] a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal.” Only the truly foolish believe that following Christ brings instant relief from living in the world while being set apart from it. Christ never promises us bliss on Earth. Nor does he order us into misery to bear witness to his Word. He does, however, promise us his love and orders us to love in return. Fasting, feasting, dancing, standing against wall, whatever. . .we are ordered to love, and we are ordered to be loving.  

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Unblocking Spiritual Constipation

24th Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

We can forgive Peter his panicked outburst. We know what it is to love someone and hear that someone say that they are going to die. Our impulse is to deny; to find a way around the problem; to defend. We're shocked by our loved one's apparent acceptance of death. We're surprised that they seem so much at ease with the inevitable. And we're wholly unprepared for the cold wave of grief that washes over us. Peter's outburst at hearing his friend's fate is almost instinct – “God forbid, Lord!” Jesus' response is unexpected, maybe even a little cruel: “Get behind me, Satan!” Peter goes from being The Rock to The Tempter in a matter of days. He goes from being The Keys to the Kingdom to being An Obstacle for the Lord so quickly that we have to ask what happened? Yes, Peter is upset that his beloved teacher has prophesied his own suffering, death, and resurrection. He's also upset that his teacher's enemies score a major victory over the gospel. But Jesus says that Peter is thinking like a man, like a creature, not like the Creator. He's seeing and hearing Jesus' end through the imperfect eyes and ears of someone who himself fears pain and death. And b/c of his limitations, Peter denies not only Jesus' mission of salvation, he denies his own part in that mission.

We can forgive Peter his panicked outburst. But maybe we shouldn't. He's spent three years with Jesus. Eating, traveling, teaching, healing, cast out unclean spirits. He's correctly named Jesus as the promised Christ. He's even been given the keys to the Kingdom, rising up to take charge of the other disciples and the Church. Yet, yet, he still hasn't denied himself, taken up his cross, and followed Christ. IOW, he's got the easy part of the Gospel mission down pat. But he's yet to wrestle with the costs of being a beloved disciple. Jesus' rebuke – “Get behind me, Satan!” – tells us that Peter's failure to understand what it means to be a follower of Christ is a temptation for Christ himself and for us. How so? So long as our faith remains a set of rules, or a list of beliefs, or an action plan for good moral behavior, we are an obstacle for ourselves. So long as we are pulling the minimum, doing to the least required, or playing at being holy, we are an obstacle. We are blocking ourselves from truly following Christ. And even worse – we are standing in the way of others truly following Christ. How do you move from being an obstruction to faith to being a catalyst for faith? Deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow Christ.

We might wish that Christ had given us a little more here. Like The Ten Easy Steps to Denying Self. Something that we can plug into our spiritual Fitbits and check off as we go. He didn't. What he gives us instead is a living witness. He doesn't tell us what denying self looks like. He shows us. Denying self looks like that [points to the crucifix]. It looks like dying for love. Not some slobbery romance novel love but agape love. The sort of love that arises from the deepest need to be of service. The sort of love that needs another to be rescued from sin and death. That sort of love can only be shown from the Cross – the tool of redemption. When Jesus tells us to take up our cross he means for us to accept, to welcome the means by which we will die for agape love. He doesn't mean to stop complaining about aches and pains, or to just learn to tolerate a rogue son or daughter. He means to search for, find, and embrace the instrument that will assist you in loving sacrificially. That instrument might be chronic pain, or a rogue child, or an intolerable injustice in the world. But it only becomes a saving Cross for you when you see it for what it is: your chance to love radically. Choose to embrace it.

Or. . .you can do what Peter does. Stare at your Cross, discern its demands, flinch, and become an obstacle for yourself and others. Find a mirror. Stare into your own eyes for thirty seconds. Say, “Get behind me, Satan!” Then. . .pick up your cross and follow Christ. Follow him all the way to Golgotha and on to the Wedding Feast!

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Your sin can't forgive my sin

St. John Chrysostom

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Jesus is heaping hot coals on the hypocrites again! This time his target is the disciples. And by extension, us. So, it might be a good idea to figure out what hypocrisy is. Aquinas, quoting St. Isidore of Seville, tells us that the hypocrite is one “who come[s] on to the stage with a disguised face...so as to deceive the people in their acting” (ST II-II.111.2). He goes on to say that the hypocrite is “a sinner [who] simulates the person of a just man.” Hypocrisy then is essentially a form of lying, a dissimulation (Aquinas says) opposed to the virtue of truth. But what does this look like in daily life? Jesus gives us one example in his parable of the Splinter and the Wooden Beam. When I judge you for your sins while ignoring my own much greater sins, I am guilty of hypocrisy. Another example might be simulating holiness or piety while judging others for their apparent lack of such. Yet another example might be holding myself out as a fine example of right-thinking and right-doing while pointing out your apparent failure to be right and righteous. But at the center of hypocrisy is one of the worst sins a Christian can commit: self-righteousness – the lie that I determine whether or not I am right with the Lord.

Here's where the blind leading the blind becomes a real problem. If I am righteous by my own standards and in my own judgment, then I am as blind as I can be. Righteousness is a relationship with God, one that we – as sinful creatures – do not get to define. That's exclusively God's job. He requires our cooperation, of course. But whether or not you and I are righteous at any given point in a day is entirely His call. Not ours. When we take this job from God and give it to ourselves, we not only presume on His mercy, we also proclaim our divinity, a false divinity. Thus we succumb to the same temptation that Adam and Eve fell for in the Garden. We make ourselves gods. And we make the Devil happy. Unfortunately for us, this usurpation of God's prerogative to judge human righteous is fairly easy to achieve. We do it every time we mentally judge that guy at Mass who we know got drunk last night. Or that girl who's not dressed modestly for class. Or that neighbor who has the wrong candidate's sign in their yard. Or that friar who comes back to the priory after midnight. We do it in IOW every time we presume to declare a sinner guilty, knowing that we don't and can't have all the necessary information. Every time we think we are righteous b/c that guy over there is a sinner. As if his sin somehow makes my sin not a sin.

Jesus gives us a way out of this hypocrisy mess. Clean up your own act before you start worrying about your neighbor's act. When our spiritual lives are pristine, utterly pure, then we can point fingers and pass judgment. When will our spiritual lives be utterly pure? The hour we come to see God face-to-face. Not one second before.

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