Drinking from Jesus' cup

Feast of St. James: 2 Cor 4.7-15 and Matthew 20.20-28
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
St. Albert the Great, Irving, TX

Listen to this homily here!

Living in a democracy founded on the philosophical principles of Enlightenment Europe, I’m not sure we have much experience in this country with our rulers lording their authority over us. At least none of our experiences, if we’ve had them, measure up much, I bet, to the sort of oppressive suffocation of the human spirit I witnessed in communist China in 1990. Every second guarded against suspicion. Every word crafted to fit ideology. It seemed that nothing escaped the black-hole gravity of the state’s need to master its own people, making them servants by birth, accidental slaves to the political and economic jackboots of leftist Fascism and collectivist poverty. Now, I doubt the mother of the sons of Zebedee is hoping that Jesus will give her sons this kind of absolute power. But, like most of modern citizens of the Enlightened world now, she was probably thinking then, “Given the choice: it is better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven.” It is better to be the master than the servant. Jesus has a slightly different idea for his church.

Jesus says that the great ones among the Gentile rulers make their authority over their people felt. Then he says, “…it shall not be so among you.” Greatness in the Body will be determined by one’s willingness to be a slave in the service of others. Authority will flow from servanthood not heredity or wealth or connections but from following Christ’s destiny as the final servant of all in his sacrifice on the cross. He says, “[I] did not come to be served but to serve and to give [my] life as a ransom for many.” Paul writes to the Corinthians, “We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained;…always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus…so that the life of Jesus may be manifested in our mortal flesh.”

To carry the dying of Christ is to carry his last act as a slave sent to serve. To manifest in our mortal flesh the life of Jesus is to take on a life of servitude to others. We are to witness as the apostle did—to death, if necessary. We are to stand up and serve even when perplexed, persecuted, and struck down, b/c though we maybe troubled by enemies, we are not driven to despair; we are not abandoned; we are not destroyed. In fact, we serve, we witnesses against persecution and the darkness of sin, “knowing that the one who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus and place us […] in his presence.”

In Lumen gentium our bishops teach us that the People of God is one, “…sharing a common dignity as members from their regeneration in Christ, having the same filial grace and the same vocation to perfection; possessing in common one salvation, one hope and one undivided charity…[we] are all 'one' in Christ Jesus…”(n. 32). And one in Christ, we have the same vocation to service in the Body and out, to the Church and to the world, and though the practicalities are different for each according to his or her ministry, the service you render is rendered as Christ for Christ—by you, a member of his body, and in his name.

Sounds good. What’s the catch? No catch, just a question: Jesus asks you, “Can you drink the chalice that I am going to drink?”

Pic credit: Paul Soupiset

Something Greater Than...

16^th Week OY (M): Exodus 14.5-18 and Matthew 12.38-42

Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
St Albert the Great Priory

Listen to this homily here!

All things have been handed over to Christ by his Father, so there is something greater than Solomon here. There is something greater than the Temple here. There are many things to be worried and anxious about, but there is need of only one thing. Mary, Martha’s sister, chooses it as the better part, knowing that whoever does not take up his or her cross and follow after Jesus is not worthy of him. Those least worthy of him, the evil and unfaithful generations that seek after signs, some wizardly proof from Jesus that he is who he says he is, these obstinate hearts claw at him for spectacular verification; despite their desperation, the only sign that these generations will receive is the sign that Nineveh received in Jonah: the death and resurrection of a prophet of God in three days. Truly, there is something greater than Jonah here!

If the Pharisees and scribes were sincere in their desire to see a sign of Jesus’ credentials as the Messiah, we might be a little more sympathetic to their skepticism. I mean, if they were truly, at the heart of doubt, fighting to say YES to God’s self-revelation in Christ Jesus, we might argue, “Come on, Jesus: just one little miracle, one small healing to boost them on over the top of fear.” But Jesus’ own description of these guys—“an evil and unfaithful generation”—pretty much tells us that their motivation for seeking after signs is rotten. They do not seek a sign to doubt-proof a firm faith. They are seeking a logical sign, a political sign, some indication from Christ that it is safe either to join up with him or dangerous even to be seen near him. They are calculating their trust, running their faith through the numbers, trying to weight the odds and waiting for the argument to slant in favor of or against belief.

Seeing these gamblers’ machinations, Jesus says to them, “You had Solomon, the Temple, Jonah and Nineveh. And now, you have something greater than Solomon’s wisdom; greater than the Temple’s access to God; greater than the clarity of Jonah’s sign, and the witness of the Ninevites’ repentance b/c of him, and still you harass me for a sign!” Evil. Unfaithful. If you roll dice to trust God, expect the odds to be against you…always. Why? B/c trusting God is never about probabilities; it is always about possibilities and more than just “what if’s,” it is about His promises—not lab experiments, not geometric proofs or formulas, not even good ole Reason with all of her properly graced power to reveal and to convince. There is something here greater than all of these!

Jesus says that the people of Nineveh heard Jonah’s preaching and repented. He says that Queen Sheba traveled “from the ends of the earth” to witness first-hand Solomon’s wisdom. And he says that the “men of Nineveh” and “the queen of the south” will “arise with this generation and condemn it” b/c they are calculating the odds of trusting the only sign they need of God’s promise to save them: Jesus Christ. If we could put words to Jesus’ frustration, he might ask: “How can anyone so misunderstand what faith means to us and requires of us?” I wonder. . .

How do you calculate your faith? Weigh the odds? How do you covertly test God to see if He’s paying attention to you? What conditions have you placed on loving your brothers and sisters in Christ? Are you seeking after, waiting around for some greater sign than Christ himself: a weeping statute, a rosary turned to gold, maybe an appearance by Mary on the side of barn? Or maybe you wait for the trendiest philosophers of religion to tell you it is now fashionable again to believe. Fides ex auditu! Believe because you have heard. Heard the witness. Heard the Word spoken and heard the Word speak. Don’t gamble on signs! Invest in mutual affection and trust: when you hear his voice, soften your heart and welcome in his saving wisdom.

Image credit: Probability

Fire all the Martha's!

16^th Sunday OT: Genesis 18.1-10; Colossians 1.24-28; Luke 10.38-42
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
St. Paul’s Hospital, Dallas, TX

Listen to this homily here!

I don’t want to point fingers! You all know this already, of course: there are Martha’s among us and Mary’s. You’ve heard this homily a hundred times: in the church there are workers and contemplatives. Those busy about many things and those who sit at the feet of the Lord. Workers in the church get short shifted b/c Jesus holds Mary up as the example of correct attitude and behavior. What does it mean to be a Martha and what does it mean to be a Mary? To be a Martha one must be either industrious and responsible OR anxious and controlling. To be a Mary one must be either humble and dedicated OR lazy and inhospitable. So, we are usually told, we should choose which “model of service” we want to imitate: the Martha model or the Mary model. Here’s a hint about the conclusion of that tried and true homily: we are called upon to be both b/c the Church needs both her Martha’s and her Mary’s to survive and flourish. Everyone is happy that his or her favorite sister is still safe and no one barks at the preacher on the way out the door for picking one sister over the other. Well, sorry, folks but this preacher is taking sides!

When I want to learn something, I first think to teach it to someone else. I really don’t mind the messy work of jumping into an intellectual project w/o a perfectly clear plan of attack. We don’t have to know every text, every authority, every footnote. Living is mostly about introductions, anyway: pieces, snapshots, collections. To make sense of all of our snapshots in the album, we will look to all sorts of larger stories, bigger introductions, trying to fit My Story into The Story, so that My Story doesn’t end up as a knock-knock joke or sidewalk graffiti or a mumbled curse against fate. But if we are smart, we will sit at the feet of the Teacher who is himself the Big Story, the Grand Script, and let him coach us through our ignorance, our rebellion, and pride.

There’s one small gift we must bring to The Teacher in order to be properly taught. We must bring the bright red apple of humility! To be taught is to be changed, converted, turned around and upside down, made new. Can you feel the tingling of anxiety! Change?! Made new?! The dark fingers of worry are closing into a fist. Humility is kept caged by worry and anxious need. You cannot submit yourself to the Teacher for proper instruction if you will not unclench that fretting fist, those busy, busy, busy fingers that seem to believe that hard work earns salvation. Why does Jesus say to Martha that Mary has chosen the better way? B/c Mary is lazy and wants to avoid work? No. B/c Martha is trapped in an oppressive gender role that makes her a servant to men? No. Jesus says to Martha that Mary has chosen the better path b/c she, Martha, is “anxious and worried about many things.” Martha, where is your humility, sister?!

Let’s ask Martha another question: “Martha, does your worrying about many things proclaim the Christ in you? Are you presenting yourself as perfect in Christ when you vibrate around the room throwing off angst like clothes set on fire?” Martha might answer, “I am showing our Lord honor by serving him. And Mary is lazing about his feet doing nothing!” So, maybe the question we need to ask here is: what is it to serve the Lord and how is that service an honor to him? Martha argues that being up and moving, doing something productive, serves the Lord. Manual labor honors the Lord b/c it shows a willingness to work for his sake. Mary seems to be arguing that sitting at the Lord’s feet, listening to him teach, serves him. And he is honored best by allowing him to serve her as her Teacher. The Lord says to all this, “Mary has chosen the better part…” Yes, she has.

Beyond the Martha/Mary contest, do we find this idea of honoring Jesus by allowing him to serve us and then serving others in his name, do we find this idea anywhere else in scripture? Yes, of course. Conveniently enough, right here in today’s reading from Colossians! Paul writes to the Colossians, “Brothers and sisters: Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ on behalf of his body, which is the Church…” Paul is teaching us here that he is taking on, in his own person, the sufferings of the Church, the pains and trials that Christ’s Body still suffers, and that he makes this sacrifice gladly so that Christ’s Body, the Church, doesn’t have to suffer unduly. Paul eagerly shares in the sufferings of Christ through grace, thus, allowing Christ to serve him personally. This shows Christ great honor. Paul then removes these sufferings from the Church, thus serving the members of the Body, and honoring, once again, the person of Christ. If we, the Church, pay careful attention to Paul’s suffering for us, we see a Great Lesson taught by a Great Teacher: the mystery once hidden from the ages is now revealed to us. How is the Word of God completed for us? That’s the mystery. Paul answers, “…it is Christ in you, the hope for glory.” God’s Word is completed for us as Christ in us!

How do Paul and Mary manage to teach us all of this? Through humility. Paul eagerly accepts the Church’s sufferings into his own body and Mary submits herself to instruction in a subject normally forbidden to Jewish women. Both submit themselves to the Word—to listen to the Word, to be instructed by the Word, and to go out and do the Word once sent. And in submitting to the Word, each takes on the Word and speaks with the power of Truth that is Christ Jesus. Essentially, each becomes the Word they teach and each lives out a life totally dependent on God, acknowledging with breath and hands and feet their absolute reliance on the Father for absolutely everything they need. They can teach us about God with the clarity of one who looks to God for his very existence. This is not the clarity of calculated logic, or computer science, or astrophysics. It is the kind of clarity that sharpens in trust our first commitment to love. And calls us back over and over again to the promise we made to honor God by preaching His Word with vigor and vim.

Paul and Mary have made the better parts of sacrifice for us. Paul suffers. Mary contemplates. Paul evangelizes and Mary exemplifies. Both show us how to make the Big Story of Christ’s life, the smaller story of our own lives; how to take that Grand Script of Jesus and compress it into our own dramas, comedies, and tragedies and find eternal life among the pages remaining.

Martha didn’t choose a bad part when she choose to honor the Lord by serving him a meal. It’s just that Mary chose the better part when she chose to honor him by allowing him to serve her as her teacher! So, this means then the Church doesn’t need workers like Martha? That’s precisely what it means! The Church needs workers but not workers who are “anxious and worried about many things.” Jesus is not criticizing Martha for her work in his honor but for the fretting about that is driving her to despair and jealousy. Who, between the sisters, is being inhospitable? Mary who is seeking wisdom at our Lord’s feet? Or Martha who’s nagging at him about a sisterly fuss? Mary has chosen the better part.

If you will learn from the Teacher of the Ages, you must: unclench your jaw; free your heart and mind from worry; unwring your hands, settle your voice, soothe over the turmoil of second-guessing and what-if’ing; reach deeply for the flower of humility, that small bloom of total dependency on God you hide so well; and, sit down! Sit at the feet of the Word and listen. Listen! B/c what you hear and what you do once you have heard will not be taken from you.

Pic Credit: Matthew Jacobs: PANIC

Mercy OR sacrifice? BOTH!

15^th Week OT(F): Exodus 11.10-12.14 and Matthew 12.1-8
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
Church of the Incarnation (Serra Club), Irving, TX

If the Devil can quote the Bible as a means for his ends, then we can be properly warned, without fear of impiety, “Be careful: read scripture and be tempted!” That we even think that reading the Bible might tempt us to disobedience seems not just odd but downright freaky, if not plainly blasphemous. But we all know that the thrill of the Word, the rush of the unveiling will strike a passionate note and quickly, swiftly swirl us away, dropping us carelessly at the foot of the first fool thought that floats too close to escape our curious eye. And we can start believing utter nonsense as if it were wholesome logic in a breath and two heartbeats. Jesus, always the clarion cure for foolishness, says to the Pharisees who have accused his disciples of impious labor on the Sabbath, “I say to you, something greater than the temple is here. If you knew what this meant, I desire mercy, not sacrifice, you would not have condemned these innocent men.”

Ah ha! Jesus is admonishing the Pharisees for following the rules; he’s berating them for being concerned about the Law, about procedure and process; therefore, we, as followers of the Way of Christ, are under no obligation to follow the Law or any law, and all of those puritanical restrictions against our favorite, former sins are now abrogated! We are free indeed! God desires mercy from us, not our empty, choreographed sacrifices inside an over decorated, incense-choked building! Thanks be to God we are free. . .!

As I said, in a breath and two heartbeats utter nonsense starts to sound like wholesome logic. This is our temptation here: to take what is a profoundly subtle ethical teaching from Christ, ignore the subtleties in favor of what we want to hear, and make Christ’s teaching into an excuse for sin. The Devil’s means for the Devil’s ends indeed. Where do we go wrong with this teaching? We go wrong with this teaching when we place mercy and sacrifice against one another, in conflict with one another, and we come out believing that we are to do one and not the other. The truth that Jesus is trying to push into the legalistic brains of the Pharisees is that showing mercy to a sinner is a sacrifice; to be merciful is sacrificial.

The logic of mercy requires you to forgive an offense against you w/o asking for what you are justly owed in compensation for the offense. You “sacrifice” what is rightfully yours in exchange for nothing, for nothing at all. In effect, there never was any offense. We can say that this or that bad act was committed—Jesus doesn’t deny that his disciples are picking grain on the Sabbath—but once sacrificial mercy is shown to the actors, we cannot say that any offense was given by the act. Jesus calls David and the priests and his disciples “innocent men.” No offense, no sin.

Divine mercy then is that kind of love that sees clearly into the heart of the sinner and rightly discerns what drives him to offend. However, only God has such clarity, the clarity to know perfectly a heart’s intent; you and I are called to a far more difficult task: to show mercy as a sacrificial habit; as a virtue faithfully, daily practiced without the benefit of a divine mind to see inside another person’s motive!

So, does God want mercy from us rather than sacrifice? Yes, if by “sacrifice” we mean “merely following the Law jot and tittle.” Does God want mercy from us rather than sacrifice? No, if by “sacrifice” we mean “offering to God what we are owed in order to make it holy.” God wants us to be merciful as a sacrifice. Why is this difficult for us? My guess: being offended makes us the creditor, we are owed. And being owed a debt gives us power. This is the Devil’s means to another one of his favorite ends: you in Hell with all the foolish. Poke him in the eye by giving up what is owed you—sacrifice in mercy and live among the wise.

Knowing the Truth to do the Truth

15^th Week OT (W): Exodus 3.1-6, 9-12 and Matthew 11.25-27
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
St Albert the Great Priory, Irving, TX


Listen to this homily here*

They were here long before we came along. The spirits of rivers, trees, rocks, and animals tell them about mysteries only they can reveal. Even the stars speak to them about celestial influences and memories. They have gods; we have God. They have sacrifices; we have the one sacrifice. They have priests; we have the priesthood of Christ. They have altars, candles, incense, water, wine, bread, blood, flesh. And so do we. They have heroes, heroic stories, miracles, sacred texts and places, taboos and totems, moral systems. And so do we. How, then, do we distinguish between the so-called “pagan” religions—the Greek and Roman Mystery cults, for example—and the Way of Christ Jesus?

The Greek Orthodox theologian and bishop, John Zizioulas puts it best when he writes, “Unlike the pagan religions […] which sought salvation in escape from time and history through myths leading to extratemporal experiences, Christian spirituality, under the influence of the scriptural mentality […] focus[es] on history…the church’s outlook [is] not cosmological but historical.” He goes on to note that the Christian’s relationship with God “[does] not pass through nature but through obedience to the will of God,” giving Christianity its “ethical character,” its charge to “do the truth,” and it is “through personal relationships that the human person’s union with God [is] realized.” In all the ways that we relate to God, two differences mark us off from the pagans: 1) a “scriptural mentality” and 2) a personalist revelation of God.

In scripture we read, “[On the mountain of Horeb] an angel of the Lord appeared to [Moses] in fire flaming out of a bush…God called out to him from the bush, ‘Moses! Moses!’ He answered, ‘Here I am.’” And then God reveals Himself to Moses as the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and charges Moses to go to Pharaoh and “to do truth:” lead my people out of Egypt! We also read in scripture: “No one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son wishes to reveal him.” Jesus wishes to reveal the Father to us, and we know the Father first and best through the person of His Christ—Jesus our Teacher and Lord. Jesus, as a person like us in all things but sin, shows us, reveals to us, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. In his person—both human and divine—he reveals. In his Sonship, his Lordship, in his teaching and preaching, in every word spoken and every deed done, Jesus unveils his Father’s face to us. This is not myth; it is history. This is not “once upon a time in a land far, far away.” God’s revelation of Himself to us, his creatures, took a place, a time, and a person and spoke to us: “Here I AM!”

And why does any of this matter to us now? Simple: if you will do the Truth, you must know the Truth. The Truth that is Love Himself is beyond measure, beyond words, beyond image or imagination or space-time, beyond any human art or science to know—fully, perfectly. To glimpse God, we must be shown God. And only God can show us God. Jesus shows us God the Father and so we know God as Father, Source of our being and Author of our freedom. If you will do His Truth, you must know His Truth. Knowing and doing His Truth will not only set you free, but it will make you into a means of freedom for others. What do we call a person who is a means of true freedom for others? We call him, we call her “Christ.”

In the record of our family’s faithful struggle with God, we find human histories—of hope, despair, obedience, betrayal, fidelity, sacrifice, greediness, any and everything imaginable. And we find Christ, the ancient promise of God given flesh and blood, and given up for us. Why does any of this matter? It matters b/c it is true. To do the truth, we must know the truth.

And God said to Moses, “Here I AM. I will be with you always.”

*My little digit recored crapped on me this morning at Mass, so I had to re-record this homily in my room...thus the poorer sound quality.

Pic credit: The Burning Bush

Jesus Must've Known

15^th Week OT(M): Exodus 1.8-14, 22 and Matthew 10.34-11.1
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
St Albert the Great Priory


Listen to this homily here

Jesus teaches his apostles that he comes to us wielding a belligerent sword, a great blade of division and strife, setting man against father, daughter against mother. And we must not think that he brings peace! We must not think that the Word of his Good News, spoken from start to finish and through all creation, tranquilizes our discordant human hearts or smooths all the coarse ways we grind up and pit with sin. “Do not think that I have come to bring peace upon the earth,” he warns us. Instead, know that I have come to dare you to receive a prophetic charge, a commission to lose your life for my sake, and in so doing, to find your life made worthy of Christ. Refusing this messianic dare is unthinkable, “Whoever does not take up his cross and follow after me is not worthy of me.” Our cross—the one cross we all share—is the graced burden of stepping into the world as prophets of a Truth whose light is blinding and razor sword-sharp.

Jesus must have known that at some point in the history of his church, even his most devoted members would no longer be scandalized by his more outlandish teachings. At some point, someone would read the synoptic accounts and John’s gospel and realize what a master rhetorician Jesus was, what a masterful storyteller, a man gifted with the ability to speak memorably. He must have known that at some point, someone would deconstruct the texts of these evangelical memories and untie all the bound pairings—peace/sword, enemies/household, righteous/lost—and once done report back to us that his metaphors of power are really just grabs at establishing a totalitarian religious state or something equally ridiculous. He must have known that our weak human hearts would flail about, grasping at any tool to loosen his grip on our integrity, to pry away our vow of obedience, freeing our souls from his prophetic commission. He must have known, otherwise he would not have spoken the Truth with such blinding clarity, with such slicing strength: “Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”

Here’s the kicker, folks: we chose this life! The life described here in Matthew’s memories of his time as an Apostle. We chose this life. Jesus dared us to pick up his prophetic cross—of speaking the Truth of his Good News to the world—he dared us! and we jumped at the chance to die following after him. But we have to ask one another: have we left mom and dad behind? Have we given over every attachment, every clinging bit of need and want? The yearning after a half-lived life of stupored munching, rutting, sleeping, and polluting? We are his disciples if we can receive a single cup of cold water in his name. A single cup! And the one who gives us this water is truly blessed.

He must have known we would come to the point where very few stones littered our paths, where almost nothing stood in the way of carrying our crosses into the world…and yet we flinch at a clear path to our goal? Do we? I do. And often. Saying this life in Christ is not easy doesn’t make it difficult. Nor does it excuse the lack of blisters or bloody feet. Follow after me he says. Pick up that cross…you said you wanted it!...pick it up and follow after me. And make following him the first thing you do. The last thing you do. And everything you do in between. Then mom and dad and child and household and job—all that you have forsaken for his sake—all of it will make the best sense b/c the Good News that you bring to the world (bright as the sun and sharp as a sword) is that God’s mercy, though free, ain’t cheap. And the choice to pick up his cross as your own is a dare worth eternal life. Our reward then is a life—even a life of persecution—a life suffused with enduring glory, a Divine Love that makes all love possible and wholly prophetic.

"Define: 'live.'"

15^th Sunday OT: Deut 30.10-14; Col 1.15-20; Luke 10.25-37
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
St. Paul’s Hospital, Dallas, TX

Listen to this homily here!

Guy comes up to Jesus and asks, “How do I get to heaven?” Jesus says, “What does the Law say?” Guy repeats the Law, ending on the now infamous line, “…and love neighbor as yourself.” Jesus says, “Yea. That’s it. Do this and you’ll go to heaven.” But the Guy couldn’t let it go at that. He just had to ask, “And who is my neighbor?” You’ve had the same question, right? Don’t deny it! We’ve all asked, usually in a lazy effort to avoid something we don’t want to do, we’ve all asked the Define Your Terms question. Daughter asks Mom, “Mom, can I go to the mall?” Mom, always suspicious of her offspring’s motives, uses a classic Mom delaying tactic, “Is your room clean?” Daughter, exasperated with Mom’s maternal machinations demands of her mother a little more precision. She says, “Define ‘clean’.” Teacher, assigning research papers to his freshmen, notes that the papers must be no fewer than five pages long. Freshmen, probably the Daughter from the Mall, asks, “What counts as a ‘page’?” You’ve done it too! But do we ask the DYT questions for the same reasons that the scholar of the law asked his? Yes, we do. Like the scholar, we want to justify ourselves in our diluted love.

And who is my neighbor? I’ve come to admire the classical theological approach to definition, the via negativa, a technique by which a term or concept is defined by what it is not. So, who isn’t my neighbor? Mostly anyone who disagrees with me. Anyone who doesn’t “fit” in my social circle. Anyone I don’t like the look of. Those who annoy me. Anyone with more money than me, or a better car, or a bigger book budget…that’s most everyone. Anyone who lives next door to me—come on, how cliché is it to call your neighbors “your neighbors”?! Anyone who might embarrass me in public. Anyone who doesn’t look like me, talk like me, think like me; anyone who doesn’t share my love of British comedy. Basically, “my neighbors” are only those people with whom I feel perfectly comfortable, completely unthreatened by, or possibly benefit from. In other words, I do not love. Not with my heart, not my being, not my strength nor my mind. I “love” God—abstractly, in principle anyway, the way one might love a long-dead rock star—but loving my neighbor? Well, again, who’s left? Who’s left to be my neighbor? And am I even absolutely sure that I truly love myself? If I am supposed to love my neighbor as my myself, and I don’t love my neighbor…well, it’s too important to worry about!

What is the scholar of the law dodging in his DYT question? My guess: as a lawyer, this guy like definitions, limits, solid distinctions and clear ideas. The dodge? The same one we make when we ask the DYT question: Lord, you can’t be serious about this limitless love thing, this unbounded mercy thing! That’s too difficult. Not practical. Simply not doable. You can’t really mean that I have to love my neighbors exactly like I love myself. I have to pour my heart, soul, being, strength, and mind into willing (doing!) the ultimate Good for anyone who is considered “my neighbor”? Fine then. Who is my neighbor? See the dodge? Unwilling to love as you ought—freely and w/o frontiers—you rush to narrow the scope, to shallow-out the depth and shorten the reach of God’s love working through you, and then you discover that the first victim of your penny-pinching love is your salvation, your most basic friendship with Christ, with He Who Is Love for you.

Paul teaches the Colossians that Christ is “the image of the invisible God.” Therefore, Christ is “the firstborn of all creation [and] all things were created through him and for him.” Himself uncreated, Christ comes before creation, and in him the fullness of divinity, all that God Is, was pleased to dwell, and so, “ in him all things hold together…” and through him all things are reconciled for him. We were created through Christ and for Christ. We were redeemed through Christ and for Christ. We are being perfected in our creatureliness through Christ and for Christ. And we will come to thrive in the fullness of God through Christ and for Christ. But we must love! This is not a matter of mushy sentiment or weepy affection. All things are held together in Christ, and Christ is love for us. Without the passionate divine willing of the Good for us, we simply cease to exist. Blink, blink. Gone.

Quoting the Law, the scholar argues that God is telling you to love wholeheartedly, with all your being, all your strength, all your mind, and to love your neighbor as yourself. This teaching is a plea for us to prepare ourselves to inherit lives lived in beatific eternity—love and be loved imperfectly here and now so that we will love and be loved perfectly there and then. We are not simply being warned, “Be morally good people.” We are being prepared, “You will not all die, but you will all be changed.” Follow the logic…we were created and redeemed (re-created!) through Christ and for Christ. To the degree that we love, we are being perfected through and for Christ to become Christ perfectly. And we will be brought to God through Christ and for Christ. Let’s translate just one sentence to make the point: to the degree that we are Christ, we are being perfected through love and for love to become love perfectly.

And this is what the Samaritan traveler does for the robbery victim. He loves him like a neighbor. Yes, of course, he bandages his wounds, provided for his care, and promised even more if needed, but it is not so much what he does that makes the hated Samaritan the man’s neighbor; it’s why he does it. Noting to the scholar that a priest and a Levite see the wounded man but do not stop to help him, Jesus tells the lawyer of the Samaritan’s compassion and asks him, “Who is the neighbor to the wounded man?” The scholar, who has been paying careful attention, says, “The one who treated him with mercy.” Exactly! Note: treated with mercy. Not just “treated” and not just “mercy.” The Samaritan could have treated him out of a sense of duty or fear. And he could have felt mercy, experienced compassion standing near the wounded man, done nothing, and moved on.

Here’s a another scene: Jesus tells the lawyer about a Samaritan traveler who comes upon a robbery victim, half-dead from his wounds. The traveler is moved to compassion at the sight of his injuries. He approaches the victim and asks, “Are you my neighbor?” Pondering what this might entail, the traveler rests near the wounded man and contemplates what it might mean to be neighbor to someone: How would one act toward a neighbor? Are there reasonable limits on what one can and cannot do for a neighbor? Does my love for myself translate directly into a love for neighbor, or is it somehow mitigated? While the traveler contemplates these vital questions, the wounded man bleeds to death. Jesus asks the stunned lawyer, “Did the traveler treat the man as a neighbor?” The lawyer, clearly upset, says, “No.” Jesus nods, “What should he have done instead?” The lawyer, eager now to show he has learned says, “The traveler should have loved the wounded man and cared for him.” Jesus asked, “But why?” The lawyer, near tears says, “So that he might know you, Lord.” Jesus smiles and touching the lawyer’s face says, “Go and do likewise.”

SpiritDefense 3.0

14^th Week OT(F): Genesis 46.1-7, 28-30 and Matthew 10.16-23
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
St. Albert the Great Priory, Irving, TX

Listen to this homily here

We live by promise. Not only the possibilities of our unfolding potential—all the gifts we have yet used and perfected—but we also live in the world by assurances, pledges; for us, by divine guarantee. And these are not contracts. Viable contracts require “consideration,” that is, an exchange of goods or services, cash for product or merchandise for labor. The divine guarantees we live by, the promises that sustain us in being are not tit-for-tat bonds made between equals. We do not “deal” with God. And God does not “deal” with us. When we answer in faith our deepest longing, our blood and bone need for completion in God; when we pitch ourselves head first, arms opened into the life His Christ has made possible for us, we commit ourselves to the Truth of His Word. That Word—creating, forgiving, perfecting—abides with us as our fire, our breath, our voice, so that when we hear Him call, “Jacob! Jacob!” or “Bob! Bob!” or “Mary! Mary!” we may speak back with all the weight of an ancient promise: “Here I am, Lord.”

The Lord calls Jacob, and Jacob answers, “Here I am.” Then the Lord says, “I am God, the God of your father. Do not be afraid to go down to Egypt…” What is there to assuage Jacob’s fear of such a dangerous journey? The Lord promises: “. . .for there I will make you a great nation. Not only will I go down to Egypt with you; I will also bring you back here…” God’s promise of permanent presence is made. Jesus, teaching his Apostles, makes a promise. Warning his friends that preaching the Good News will get them killed, Jesus says, “When they hand you over [to governors and kings to be punished], do not worry about how you are to speak…You will be given at that moment what you are to say.” If the Word manifests himself in you so abundantly, so publicly that you find yourself confronted with the possibility of red martyrdom at the hands of God’s enemies, why would Christ abandon you at the most crucial moment of witness? He won’t; he promises: “…it will not be you who speak but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.”

Let’s get a proper grasp on this idea. So, at the moment I am about to die for the faith, God’s Spirit possesses my body like some modern Delphic Oracle, and uses my mouth and tongue to argue my defense? No. OK. So, at the moment of martyrdom, I am inspired by God, in a flood of overwhelming emotion, to compose a lyrical defense of my faith, which will later be said to have been “God speaking through me”? No. OK. So, what then? As a defense against persecution, Jesus teaches his Apostles to be “shrewd as serpents and simple as doves.” Shrewdness—being clever, wise—is a gift that needs practice to stay sharp. Simplicity of heart and mind—the uncomplicated easiness of trust—is a gift as well, also needing practice. When wisdom and simplicity are practiced daily, sharpened by every word and every deed, the abiding Word is clarified, tuned more tightly; our trust in his promises evolves into a boosted signal, into a sign of thriving grace. And the words that we speak under trial can only be from the Word b/c we are—persevering in abiding wisdom and simplicity—we are the Word Himself.

You will be hated because you trust the name of Jesus. That’s a promise. Not a contract. And when and if that hate turns to violence—state-sponsored or not—you will already have the Word with you to witness. This is not Jesus the Network Server downloading SpiritDefense 3.0 onto your spiritual hardrive. It is you—faithful, simple, wise, loyal to Christ’s teachings, loving—you, with the Spirit, a witness to the strength, the endurance of our Father’s promise of permanent presence among us. He has called His church to holiness. With everything we have, we must answer in obedience, “Here we are, Lord!”

Pic credit: Whitt Krauss, Martyrdom of St. Cecilia

Blessed are you when you are hated. . .

St. John of Cologne, OP and Companions: 2 Cor 6.4-10 and Luke 6.22-28
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
St Albert the Great Priory, Irving, TX

Listen to this homily here!

I want to announce to you this morning a difficult decision. After careful listening in prayer, consultation with my spiritual director, and a many discussions with my mama and daddy, I have decided, reluctantly, to be loved, included in the community, complimented, and thought of as a good person. I have arrived at this conclusion reluctantly b/c this means that I will no longer be blest as a disciple of the Lord. I can no longer count myself among those whom the world hates, ostracizes, insults, and calls evil. My days of exultation as a despised minister of the Word are over, and I watch even now as my reward in heaven shrivels up. I am, however, despite this, looking forward to being treated as a false prophet! As one who tells my admirers what they want to hear: happy prophecies, only bright-shiny futures where we are always doing what we ought—even when we’re not. The life of a true prophet is messy. Lots of rocks and mean dogs, spitting, rotten veggies, prison time, threats against life and limb. Angry kings and vengeful strippers. Yes, the life of a false prophet will do just fine for me. So, great! You may begin loving me now and thinking of me as a good person. And…the occasional gift would be OK too!

When Jesus tells his disciples that being prophets and preachers for his Good News will land them in jail, or on the cross, or worse, you have to wonder what he’s thinking. This is not the advice that P.R. firms are giving vocations offices around the country: “OK. Here’s what you do! Big poster with a bloodied seminarian in chains; wild mob beating him with bats and chains; you can see several of his classmates hanging from trees in the background. The caption? ‘Is Jesus Calling You to a Life of Severe Mob Beatings and a Trip to the Hangman’s Noose?’ Call Fr. Rudy for more info!” This is ridiculous, isn’t it? Yea. But here’s the real kicker: this is precisely how the church was built. The blood of martyrs is the seed of the church.

Jesus understood then that his message of conversion, repentance, confession, mercy, and forgiveness would throw the cosmic order off its tracks. There is no balance in mercy. Mercy costs nothing to those who are shown mercy. Where’s the trade? Where’s the exchange? And then he goes on to really shake the foundations by teaching his disciples this bit of chaos: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you; bless those who curse you and pray for those who maltreat you.” Why? Why would you do this? Not because Jesus says so. That’s mere compliance and not obedience. Listen: “You yourself show God to those who would harm you, be Christ to those who do not yet know God; will the best for those who will you evil and call on God’s grace for those who do not yet treat you as a brother or sister.” And what are we supposed to be doing here? Basically, in this malicious relationship, you and I are being called upon to sacrifice, to give up on pride, on being right for sake of mercy. We must shine out the mercy we have received from God. Otherwise, it could be said that we have received nothing of God’s mercy, nothing of His grace. How exactly will the Good News spread if we consistently confront Christ’s enemies with their own hatred, their own bitter bile, and vile violence? What are we witnessing to but their own rebellion?

It is a bit clearer to me now why we must be hated and thrown out and insulted for our preaching of the Good News. No one in their right mind is ready to die in order to love an enemy. But what happens when we are ready and when we do love and bless and pray for our enemies? They are confronted with the real possibility that their world, conveniently disordered in sin, is not the real world. And now they must choose: life or death. Sometimes they choose life for themselves. And sometimes they choose death for Christ’s preachers.

Advice from Paul: in all you do make sure you present yourselves as ministers of God, acting and speaking with patience, conducting yourselves with innocence, knowledge, sincere love in the Holy Sprit. You are poor but you bring great wealth to many. We seem to have nothing, yet everything is ours!

Pic credit: Gorkum Martyrs

Naming Workers for the Harvest

14^th Sunday OT: Isa 66.10-14; Galatians 6.14-18; and Luke 10.1-12, 17-20
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
St. Paul’s Hospital, Dallas, TX

Listen to this homily and all my homilies here

Watching this world pass it seems strange to find anyone rejoicing; strange to see or hear anyone playing out a joy, a moment of bliss or delight. From where do they snatch the energy required to spend even a second in glee? Where do they find air abundant enough to waste on trifling giggles? Even a small flash of laughter, burning at light speeds, holds heavy in a heart where darkness has soaked into muscle and blood; where something like sticky despair suffocates the tissue and sinew of faith. It is blinding and not enlightening—that burst of excited breath. Or maybe, like Paul’s revelation on the road to Damascus, it is both: to be blinded is to be enlightened. You come to believe by trust what you cannot see in color. And you rejoice not b/c you see in faith but b/c your name is written in heaven.

Think about the seventy-two appointed in pairs to go out ahead of Christ! They go out, preach his Good News, and return rejoicing b/c of their great success. They have cast out demons in his name, healing the sick, restoring the diseased to purity. Jesus tells them that he has seen Satan fall like lightning from the sky. And he tells them that he has given to them the power to “tread upon serpents and scorpions.” They rejoice. They celebrate, throw praise and thanksgiving to the sky and give God their joy and their enlightened hearts. Then Jesus says to them, “. . .do not rejoice because the spirits are subject to you, but rejoice because your names are written in heaven.”

Do not rejoice in the Lord b/c you have been given power in His Name. Do not rejoice in the Lord b/c you can heal; because you can pray in tongues; because you can prophesy; because you can teach, preach, administrate, judge, preside, or serve. Do not rejoice because you are special in the Church, but rather rejoice because you are in the Church at all, because you are a member of the Body in the first place. Rejoice; please, rejoice because you are special in the world. But do not relax too much in your worldly specialness: there’s work to do. The harvest is HUGE and we don’t have enough workers to get it all done.

And why not? Why don’t we have more workers? And why do some of the workers we have not work? This work of Christ’s, this labor of love in Christ Jesus to sow his Saving Word, is appointed work, that is, work to which one is called, invited to. This is not the sort of work that one picks up on the side, or pecks around at for a week or two and leaves, or the sort of work that attracts “easy in, easy out” devotion. Jesus selects the seventy-two; he appoints them. You, you, you, you, and you and you…and he send them on their way with instruction. Note: they do not choose themselves for this work. They do not decide to go among the wolves as lambs and take charge of demons themselves. They are picked to do this and they are commissioned in Jesus name. Are we now short on workers because no one is taking on the responsibility of appointing disciples for the work to be done? We can ask—and we do all the time!—where are the seventy-two for us today? Where are the vocations to priesthood, religious life, lay ministry? Here’s a better question: why aren’t those who are charged with appointing the seventy-two for us now not doing so? Christ didn’t ask for volunteers. He NAMED his workers. Matthew. John. Simon Peter. Philip. Paul. He named them. At no point did Jesus ever stand before the crowd and say, “I need seventy-two volunteers to go like lambs among the wolves! Let’s see those hands, people!” Jesus knows what he is sending his workers to do. And he knows where he is sending them to do it. This is why the seventy-two are appointed ministers and not volunteers. Jesus knows that the harvest is abundant—it’s HIS harvest, after all—but he also knows that there are wolves among the sheaves. Satan has fallen from the sky like lightning. And his false light casts shadows where serpents and scorpions and wolves move to hide. . .and wait.

Jesus’ careful instructions to the seventy-two tell us a bit about what he thinks the wolves are waiting to do. Carry no money bag, no sack, no sandals; pray peace on whatever house you enter; stay in the same house and eat and drink what is offered; cure the sick where you are; preach the coming of the kingdom of God; and, if any town refuses you hospitality, shake off their dust—Sodom’s fate will look kind compared to what will happen to this town. Know this: the kingdom of God is at hand! Clearly, Jesus knows that the wolves will attack his ministers as money-grubbers, moochers, long-lingering guests, spiritual and civil provocateurs, snake-oil salesmen, and dupers of the gullible. The wolves will follow and provoke dissent under the pretense of righteousness; they will entice violence in the name of preserving purity and safety; they will lay claim to the prophet’s mantle and prophesy out of their dark hearts that these ministers of Christ are intolerant of other opinions, closed to dialogue, blind to a plurality of possible “kingdoms,” and committed to an cultural and social ethos that excludes the open-ended celebration of diversity and difference. The ministers, who are preaching nothing but the peace of Christ and the truth of his Good News, will finally be charged with preaching Hate. And when that charge is repeated on the streets, in the media, among the disciples, the wolves all sharply smile.

Watching this world pass it seems strange to find anyone rejoicing; strange to see or hear anyone playing out a joy, a moment of bliss or delight. From where do they snatch the energy required to spend even a second in glee? We could count the sources of material joy if we needed to. But there is just one source of eternal joy: Christ Jesus. For those chosen for this work—all the baptized!—our second of glee, our moment of bright delight is bringing the peace of Christ to the world by preaching his gospel with anointed lips and calloused hands. Our enduring joy comes from the knowledge that our names are written in heaven. We are, you and I, inscribed—essentially, substantially— carved into the very book of God’s Beauty; we are Words of Truth and whole paragraphs of Goodness. And so we rejoice not b/c of our power or our gifts or our deeds. We rejoice b/c we belong to God! And His kingdom is at hand. Remember that when the wolves begin to howl and the snakes begin to rattle: His kingdom is at hand, and you have been chosen as his herald. What are you doing to preach the coming of the kingdom?

Think of Paul: he tells the Galatians that he bears the marks of Jesus on his body. That he has been crucified to the world and the world to him. He is a new creation for whom the old law means nothing. How have you been crucified to the world? How have you been both blinded and enlightened? What can you no longer see in the world b/c of the light of Christ? Let the peace of Christ control your heart! And give thanks that his light burns away the shadowed hiding places of wolves and scorpions for they cannot harm you.

One last question, if you are ready to rejoice: when you are appointed, will you say, “Yes, I will be a worker for the harvest!” If so, may the Word of Christ dwell richly in you and may you flourish like the grass in spring. If not, well, be prepared to sweep up some sandal dust.

Pic credit: Gerald Huthart

Mercy Crushing Comfort

13 Week OT (F): Genesis 23.1-4, 19; 24.1-8, 62-67 and Matthew 9.9-13
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
Church of the Incarnation/Serra Club Mass

Listen to my homilies here!

No doubt we are meant to find some comfort in this gospel scene. Jesus picks out Matthew, a customs officer, a Jew who works for the Romans as a tax-collector. Jesus says to Matthew, “Follow me.” And he does. Jesus takes Matthew to his table and eats with him and other notorious sinners—an unclean act for an observant Jew! And the Pharisees are scandalized. They question Jesus’ students, “Why does your Master eat with sinners?” And Jesus gives them an answer that probably shocked the puritanical Pharisees but comforts us in our self-conscious frailty: “The well don’t need a doctor,” Jesus says, “but the sick do…I came not to call the righteous but sinners.” We do find this comforting. But there’s nothing comfortable about it. The biblical tradition Jesus is calling on here is this: “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” And there is perhaps nothing more disconcerting to comfort than mercy.

Have you ever found yourself defending your fallenness by saying, “Like Jesus said, ‘The well don’t need a doctor.’” Or maybe when you have fallen into sin you say on your own behalf, “Thank God Jesus came to call sinners. . .” What are we doing when we use these phrases in this way? Obviously, we’re quoting Jesus from today’s gospel, but are we doing getting at the root of the teaching here or just casting off a line, hoping to excuse a sin? There is a way in which we can use these phrases to be flippant about our fallenness and our redemption in Christ Jesus. There is a way in which this fundamental lesson on mercy can be turned into a divine permission slip for ignoring disobedience.

Let your own experience bear this out: how often have you heard faithful Christians use the phrase “but Jesus ate with sinners” to gloss over the notorious public sin of those who would use a veneer of Catholicism to lend social credibility to their otherwise starkly barren spiritual lives? The implication of the excuse seems to be that by eating with sinners Jesus somehow teaches us that the sin of a notorious sinner isn’t sin at all. This is simply false. Jesus is, in fact, demonstrating something far more profound with unclean act, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.”

How much easier it is for us to accept punishment for our sins than it is to accept mercy! There is in us something that seems to demand balance, desire recompense; something that wants our faults whipped but not eliminated entirely. Do you ever feel justified in sinning again b/c you feel like you’ve been punished already? We want to sacrifice! We want there to be clean and unclean acts, good and bad attitudes; we want these b/c we want boundaries; we want totems and taboos. There is something immensely comforting about being told, “Do no cross the line!” Great. Now I know where to stop. The road is not endless. And Jesus is truly messing things up when he says, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” Mercy is a wild freedom, a near chaotic dispersal of undeserved forgiveness, of amnesty broadcast unbounded; mercy is health freed from medicine, the good end without the ugly means; mercy comes from sacrifice but not from any sacrifice you and I are capable of making. That sacrifice, made once for all, was made and is still being made by the Physician himself.

He can eat with sinners—and he calls them unequivocally “sinners”—b/c he is the sacrifice that will bring them to healing. He does not require an atoning sacrifice of them b/c he is the willing sacrifice for us all, once for all, and what he desires from us, his disciples and children, is that we live our lives—lives given to us—in the discomforting messes of mercy: that great destroyer of expected balance, the needful waster of perfectly good self-righteousness.

If you are prepared to welcome the spiritual anarchy of Christ’s mercy into your sinful life, then follow him to the table where the tax collectors, the prostitutes, the pro-abortion politicians, the war-mongers, where all your favorite sinners eat. Show mercy. And do not demand from them the sacrifice that was never demanded of you.

Lori Kay (Pic Credit)

Independence in the Lord

Independence Day USA (4^th of July): Isa 32.15-18 and Luke 12.15-21
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
St. Albert the Great Priory, Irving, TX

If we were to look to our country for signs of the Lord’s favor, what would we find? First, would we even recognize signs of the Lord’s favor? Can we tell the difference between what the Lord has given us all as a gift and what we have earned by our ingenuity and hard work? It’s a trick question, of course. For us, that is, for Christians, there is no difference really between what we work to earn and what the Lord gives us. Those skills, those attitudes of industry and creativity, all of those spirits of innovation, commerce, longing for growth, all of it, everything we use to work for our prosperity is first given to us by God. Whatever abundance, whatever excess, whatever generous plenty that we enjoy as a result of sweat, bent backs, calloused hands, or talented minds hurting at the edges of possibility; whatever good or truth or beauty we build; all bounty, all harvest, all of our riches as individuals, as a nation of citizens and immigrants, and as a tribe of priests and prophets baptized in the death and resurrection of Christ, all we call mine, ours, and theirs is first and always the treasure of our God; His abundance first, then His gift to us in grace, and only then do we rightly call this nation’s material and spiritual flourishing “a blessing.”

Isaiah reminds us because we forget: “In those days: the spirit from on high will be poured out on us”. . .then the desert becomes an orchard and the orchard a forest; right and justice will live in the desert and orchard and God’s “people will live in peaceful country…” God says to Isaiah, “My people will live in peaceful country, in secure dwellings and quiet resting places.” When do we forget this peace? When do we forget that our wealth is a gift and not a right?

There is a forgetfulness in wealth that poverty holds at bay. The prophetic witness of scripture testifies to the inherent dangers of possessing too much. Perhaps it is more accurate to say that scripture warns against the dangers of believing that and behaving as if we possess anything at all. The greater the imaginary treasury, the more tightly the acquisitive imagination binds the greedy dreamer to things and their accumulation and security. Bigger barns! More treasure! Bigger barns! More and more treasure…! Better locks, tighter control, limited access. Mine, mine, mine. And the narcotic stupor of acquiring without giving thanks, of possessing without surrendering to generosity, of storing up without abandoning to divine providence, that sedating haze of entitlement clouds the presence of the Spirit and we fail in our avarice—just me, just you, and all of us as one in a nation—we fail in greed to look back at the font of our blessing, to remember, and to put our faith in the only place where it cannot be exhausted: the heart of Christ Jesus!

We can celebrate our independence from the British Empire today. (I have it one good authority that they were more than happy to cut us loose!) We can celebrate political and economic freedom, religious and press freedom; we can even celebrate a certain material prosperity that comes from our long and assertive history as entrepreneurial capitalists and proponents of enlightenment democracy. But if these are godly treasures, harvests gleaned from a divine bounty, then they cannot be stored, cannot be hoarded in barns of privilege, heredity, merit, or in anything as flimsy and accidental as nationality or race. Some will argue that as Americans our claim to be heroes of a progressive manifest destiny ended in Vietnam. That’s a question for historians. Here’s a question for us Christians who would be heroes (American or not!): will you surrender—in absolute trust—all that you have, all that you are; abandon entirely your life and your things, hiding nothing, holding nothing back; sacrificing for the good of others your bountiful harvest to the Source of your life and all your wealth?

If so, you are free already. And today is truly a day to rejoice in the independence of the Lord!

Reconciled in his fleshly body. . .

The reading for vespers this evening is taken from Paul’s letter to the Colossians (1.10-21). Though I have read and heard this passage many times, as Fr. Matt read out loud, I was floored by the power and clarity of what Paul is saying to us. I would be willing to argue that this passage, properly unpacked and presented, would make an excellent retreat mediation, or even something like a “mini-catechism” for reflection. Read it out loud and slowly. . .

“…we do not cease praying for you and asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of his will through all spiritual wisdom and understanding to live in a manner worthy of the Lord, so as to be fully pleasing, in every good work bearing fruit and growing in the knowledge of God, strengthened with every power, in accord with his glorious might, for all endurance and patience, with joy giving thanks to the Father, who has made you fit to share in the inheritance of the holy ones in light. He delivered us from the power of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins. He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. For in him were created all things in heaven and on earth, the visible and the invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers; all things were created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. He is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in all things he himself might be preeminent. For in him all the fullness was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile all things for him, making peace by the blood of his cross (through him), whether those on earth or those in heaven. And you who once were alienated and hostile in mind because of evil deeds he has now reconciled in his fleshly body through his death, to present you holy, without blemish, and irreproachable before him, provided that you persevere in the faith, firmly grounded, stable, and not shifting from the hope of the gospel that you heard, which has been preached to every creature under heaven…”

Print it out. Post it on the inside of your front door or on the visor of your car and read it aloud everyday as you begin your day, remembering especially that you are “ now reconciled in his fleshly body through his death,” and that you have been made presentable, “without blemish…provided that you persevere in the faith…”

Pic credit: Faces of Christ

Are you making daily deals for Sodom?

13 Week OT (M): Genesis 18.16-33 and Matthew 8.18-22
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
St. Albert the Great Priory, Irving, TX

Listen to my homilies here

If God speaks to you today, do not harden your heart against His Word. That’s our gospel acclamation this morning. If we were to rewrite this acclamation to better suit our needs, to better reflect the reality of our spiritual lives, we might come up with: “If today you hear his voice, prepare a prioritized To Do list, noting which items are negotiable and which are deal-breakers; prepare another list of willing sacrifices—going to daily Mass, stop smoking, eating less—, prioritize these in order of increasing inconvenience and remember that July 4^th is coming up (note to self: scratch ‘stop drinking’ from negotiation list); practice sincere pleading tones on recorder; enlist help of those God likes more than me (e.g., Sr. Mary Grace, Fr. Bill, and my mom); note to self: call Mom” and so on. If today you hear His voice, alert the tactical negotiation teams! We have deals to make, people!

Now, Abraham was the first host of “Let’s Make a Deal.” Standing over Sodom and Gomorrah, the Lord tells Abraham that he, the Lord, must find out if the city is really as sinful as some claim. Abraham, hearing the voice of the Lord, launches into a negotiation that ends in a classic deal to save the city from divine destruction. Abraham, in a series of downsizing talks, persuades the Lord to spare the city if there are only fifty innocent people in the city, then forty-five innocents, and so on down to ten innocent people. It appears as though negotiating with God actually works! Does it? Not really. This incident is more about Abraham learning to ask for God’s mercy for others than it is about God’s mind being changed by a mere mortal. Nonetheless, Abraham heard the voice of his Lord, and rather than hardening his heart against the notorious sinners of Sodom, he risks the Lord’s anger, and asks that they be spared for the sake of the righteous.

In Matthew’s version of the story from Luke we heard read at Mass yesterday, Jesus is approached by a potential follower and Jesus invites a potential follower. The first is a scribe who says to Jesus, “Teacher, I will follow you wherever you go.” Is this the opening line of a negotiation? I think so. Jesus could have said, “Good. Follow me.” Instead, he rather cryptically indicates that though the animals of the fields have homes, he himself has no home. Does Jesus sense hesitancy in the scribe? Maybe just a pinch of doubt about his claim of absolute fidelity? Jesus seems to be saying, “OK. You want to follow me wherever I go, uh? Fine. Know this then: my home is where I am and resting is not something I do much of. Still want to come?” The disciple that Jesus invites enters into a much more obvious negotiation: “I’ll follow you, Lord, but first let me bury my father.” Not one to pull punches or evade the truth, Jesus says simply, “Follow me, and let the dead bury their dead.” Meaning what exactly? Those who are dead in their faith can bury the truly dead. Those alive in their faith have a duty to both those who are already alive in the Spirit and to those living who seek the Spirit—the Dead who want to live again!

One habitual way that we harden our hearts against God’s voice is the negotiation ploy—the idea that we can bargain with God to get what we want. If prayer worked this way, Jesus would not have instructed us to pray in his name. It is the name of Christ Jesus, that is, who Jesus is for us and to us, that gives our prayers their power. Alone we are merely whispering words into the air. With Christ we are participating in his One Act of Worship, his One Act of Sacrifice on the cross; we throw our prayers into his one prayer of praise to God. No negotiation. No bargaining. Just a simple trust in God’s word that His promises will be kept. We follow Christ b/c we vowed to do so not b/c we want the divine goodies to keep on flowing.

And remember, the next time you want to negotiate with God in prayer, ask yourself: what happened to that classic deal He made with Abraham to save Sodom and Gomorrah?

Pic credit: Alessandro Bavari