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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