23rd Sunday OT: audio file

Audio File: Breaking the Conspiracy of Silence (23rd Sunday OT)

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Breaking the conspiracy of silence

23^rd Sunday OT
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
Our Lady of the Rosary, NOLA

Audio File

On truth-telling, Polish poet, Czesław Miłosz, said, “In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.”* To draw attention to yourself – fire a pistol in a silent room. Or, fire that pistol in a room full of noisy people but be prepared to face the angry consequences. Nowadays, anytime the Church speaks to a controversial social or moral issue – no matter how gentle or persuasive her words – it's as if she has pulled the trigger on a hand-cannon and her enemies run screaming as if fatally wounded. One word of truth spoken in a conspiracy of silence, or even to a conspiracy of racket and theater, just one word of truth can break that conspiracy's hold on it victims. Jesus tells his disciples to tell each other the truth, whatever that truth may be, tell it – one to another, one to many, and, finally, one to all. It is no easy thing to be the one who fires off the pistol of truth among those who want nothing more than to be left in silence. But if that silence is hiding a lie, a deadly lie, then the trigger must be pulled. The question for the one who would pull the trigger is this: why are you telling this truth to this person at this time? Fraternal correction – inside and outside the Church – must always be done in a spirit of love and mercy and with a eye keenly focused on one's own faults. 

Way back in the olden days, it was considered a work of mercy to “admonish the sinner.” Warning a sinner that he/she is sinning was thought to be a merciful act, an act of concern for the eternal salvation of another's soul. Admonishments from the pulpit were frequent and could be quite fiery. No pastor wanted to be thought of as “soft on sin.” The caricature of the blustery Irish pastor haranguing his poor flock on the evils of short skirts, rock music, and communist infiltrators is Hollywood stock and trade, an image that many fallen away Catholics of a certain age still use to excuse their distance from the Church. No doubt there were priestly excesses in naming and shaming sinners, but those excesses (such as they were) were replaced all too quickly with another excess – an excess of laxity that has left the Church in much of Europe and the U.S. with a pathetic moral legacy, up to and including the scandal of clerical sexual abuse and the on-going scandal of dissent from the apostolic faith. Our unwillingness to name and confront sin among our own has left us w/o the moral authority to speak to our culture, a culture that desperately needs to hear – in love and mercy – that there is a livelier Way, a truer Way of being a better human being. 

Like most successful cultural revolutions, the revolution the Church needs to restore her moral authority will come “from below,” from the pews not the pulpit or the bishop's chair or a balcony at the Vatican. The revolution we need is a revolution in holiness. Not just another diocesan program or weekend retreat scheme or a new religious order. The clear and unflinching message that Jesus delivers to his disciples is that we are all responsible to one another for one another for our individual and collective holiness, and it is a dereliction of our Christian duty to see or hear sin – our own or someone elses – and not work overtime to help the sinner find repentance. This is not a license to snoop, tattle-tale, gossip, or become a busy-body. It is a call to take seriously the truth that individual sins and collective sins can wreck utter devastation on a family, a parish, a city, or a nation. And that when one member of the body is sick or injured, the whole body suffers. If the Church is weak right now, it's not b/c God has failed to strengthen us; it's b/c we have failed – laity, clergy, religious – to receive His strength; we have failed to bear up under our responsibilities to fraternally correct our wayward brothers and sisters. And to be corrected in turn. 

The pistol shot that Miłosz spoke about, that startling crack of truth let loose among the conspirators of silence, it draws attention, scrunity. Maybe too much attention, the wrong kind of scrutiny. Speaking up to speak an unspoken or forgotten truth will turn heads and the investigation begins. Who are you to say such a thing? Why would you say that? Why do you hate me, us, them? Oh, so you're perfect? These are questions designed to silence the pistol shot of truth, questions that attempt to undermine the truth by undermining the truth-speaker. Firing that pistol takes courage and strength in abundance; it takes clarity in purpose and purity in motive. We cannot wags fingers at our neighbor's dirty house while our own house is filthy. When the pistol is fired and the noisy room drops into silence and all heads turn to you in anger ready to accuse, your holiness doesn't have to be perfect (it can't be yet), but your motive for firing – why you let that round go – needs to be as pure as a baby's baptismal gown. If you fire that pistol for any reason other than love and mercy, to show your love for the sinner and God's mercy, then do not be surprised to find yourself ignored, confronted, or even worse, abused. Hypocrisy is a nasty public sin.

So, how do we avoid hypocrisy while doing our Christian duty? Paul, as usual, gives us sound advice: “Owe nothing to anyone, except to love one another.” Owe nothing to anyone, meaning owe no one a debt in sin. The only debt we should owe one another is the debt of love, the obligation to will the Good for one another. If all I owe you and you owe me nothing except love, then offering one another fraternal correction is the gift of holiness, the gift of drawing one another back onto the narrow Way of Christ. Knowing that you are wandering off the Way and letting you do so is not me just minding my own business; it's not who am I to judge?; it's not well, I'm not perfect either. It's standing by and watching a brother or sister in Christ slowly destroy themselves through disobedience. Sin blinds, it makes us stupid and reckless. Would you watch a child play in the middle of I-10 at rush hour? Or carry around a loaded gun in the Quarter during Madri Gras? Of course not! Why would we then watch a brother or sister carry on in sin, knowing the devastation barreling down upon them? We owe one another a debt of love, an obligation to do the Good (the Best) for one another: when one member of the body is sick, the whole body is sick. Correction is a cure. 

Fraternal correction is indeed a cure for what ails the Church. And I am under no illusion that fraternal correction is easy. Of all the tasks our Lord gives us, this one is among the hardest. It requires us to defy our cultural training to mind our own business. It makes us confront our own motivations for speaking up. It leaves us open to retaliation and scrutiny. It sounds like judgmentalism and moral finger-wagging. But the failure to fraternally correct a falling brother or sister would be far worse than the potential embarrassment of speaking up. We are responsible to one another for one another for our individual and collective holiness. With a heart made pure by genuine love, let loose that shot of truth. You may fail to provoke repentance, but you will have succeeded in breaking open the conspiracy of silence, the conspiracy of sin.

* Nobel laureate speech, 1980

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Jesus speaking Cherokee. . .

^{The things you learn while preparing a homily. . .here's this Sunday's (23rd OT) Gospel reading in Cherokee:}

¹⁵ ᎢᏳᏃ ᏗᏍᏓᏓᏅᏟ ᎢᏣᏍᎦᏅᏎᎮᏍᏗ, ᎮᎨᏍᏗ ᎯᏃᏁᎮᏍᏗ ᎤᏍᎦᏅᏨ ᎢᏍᏛᏒᏉ ᎨᏒᎢ; ᎢᏳᏃ ᎢᏣᏛᏓᏍᏓᏁᎮᏍᏗ, ᎯᏩᏛᎮᏍᏗ ᏗᏍᏓᏓᏅᏟ.

¹⁶ ᎢᏳᏍᎩᏂᏃ ᏂᏣᏛᏓᏍᏓᏁᎲᎾᏉ ᎢᎨᏎᏍᏗ, ᎠᏏᏴᏫ ᎠᎴ ᎠᏂᏔᎵ ᏕᎭᏘᏁᎨᏍᏗ, ᎾᏍᎩᏃ ᎠᏂᏃᎮᏍᎬ ᎠᏂᏔᎵ ᎠᎴ ᎠᏂᏦᎢ ᎠᏂᎦᏔᎯ ᏂᎦᏛ ᏣᏁᏨ ᎠᏍᏓᏲᏍᎨᏍᏗ.

¹⁷ ᎢᏳᏃ ᎾᏍᎩ ᏂᏓᏛᏓᏍᏓᏁᎲᎾᏉ ᎢᎨᏎᏍᏗ ᏧᎾᏁᎶᏗ ᎤᎾᏓᏡᎬ ᎯᏃᎲᏍᎨᏍᏗ; ᎢᏳᏍᎩᏂᏃ ᏧᎾᏁᎶᏗ ᎤᎾᏓᏡᎬ ᏂᏓᏛᏓᏍᏓᏁᎲᎾ ᎢᎨᏎᏍᏗ, ᏅᏩᏓᎴᏉ ᏴᏫ ᎠᎴ ᎠᏰᎵᏉ-ᎠᏕᎸ ᎠᎩᏏᏙᎯ ᎾᏍᎩᏯ ᎯᏯᏓᏅᏖᏍᎨᏍᏗ.

¹⁸ ᎤᏙᎯᏳᎯᏯ ᎯᎠ ᏂᏨᏪᏎᎭ; ᏂᎦᎥ ᎪᎱᏍᏗ ᎢᏣᎸᎢᎮᏍᏗ ᎡᎶᎯ, ᎦᎸᏍᏗ ᎨᏎᏍᏗ ᎦᎸᎳᏗ; ᏂᎦᎥᏃ ᎪᎱᏍᏗ ᎢᏣᎸᎩᏍᎨᏍᏗ ᎡᎶᎯ ᎦᎸᎩᏍᏗ ᎨᏎᏍᏗ ᎦᎸᎳᏗ.

¹⁹ ᎠᎴᏬ ᎯᎠ ᏂᏨᏪᏎᎭ; ᎢᏳᏃ ᎠᏂᏔᎵ ᏂᎯ ᏥᏤᏙᎭ ᎠᎾᎵᎪᎲᏍᎨᏍᏗ ᎠᏂ ᎡᎶᎯ ᏂᎦᎥᏉ ᎪᎱᏍᏗ ᎠᏂᏔᏲᎯᎮᏍᏗ, ᎾᏍᎩ ᎢᏳᎾᏛᏁᏗ ᎨᏎᏍᏗ ᎡᏙᏓ ᎦᎸᎳᏗ ᎡᎯ.

²⁰ ᎢᎸᎯᏢᏰᏃ ᎠᏂᏔᎵ ᎠᎴ ᎠᏂᏦᎢ ᏥᏓᏂᎳᏫᎣ ᎠᏴ ᏓᏆᏙᎥ ᏥᏅᏗᎦᎵᏍᏙᏗᏍᎪᎢ, ᎾᎿ ᎠᏰᎵ ᎠᏆᏓᏑᏲᎢ.

Courtesy of BibleGateway.
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Ridding ourselves of meaning

A longish post from Dr. Jeff Mirus at Catholic Culture: On Not Settling for Less: The Cognitive Guide to Happiness.

An excerpt from the first section:

1. The Denial of Transcendence

Modern man believes he has rid himself of mythology so that he can see reality clearly. The truth is that he wears blinders. Our culture is deeply afflicted by a simple decision to ignore the deepest aspects of reality, that is, everything that transcends the material surface of life. I am of course referring to “meaning”, which is inescapably spiritual. Modern man regards spirit as a myth, and so necessarily denies that there is ultimate meaning to anything. It is an astonishing rejection.

[. . .]

Dr. Mirus starts at exactly the right place -- our culture's denial of transcendence. If this sounds too abstract, too "other-worldly," then his point is made. We think of transcendence as mystical, mythological, ephemeral. Yet, our gifted ability to refer to what transcends the merely worldly is what makes it possible for us to seek out the good, true, and beautiful. 

Philosophers of the "enlightenment" worked overtime to "free" themselves from the cognitive categories handed down to them by their medieval predecessors. Believing that these categories were unnecessarily constraining, even to the point of being irrational, modern thinkers simply choose to discard the grand synthesis achieved by the scholastics. 

What happens when we dismiss transcendental reference as an impossibility? The meanings of words, concepts, ideas, etc. are no longer stable across cultures, ages, or even persons -- language is vacated and only power matters.

And now, we are paying the price for their hubris.

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Preaching to Young Adults

[NB. For some reason a portion of this post was appearing imposed over the blog title. I deleted the earlier post.]

How can a pastor attract and keep Young Adults to and in the parish? 
Jennifer Fitz has a couple of suggestions.
My fav: 
 

3. Your homilies provide a substantial education in the business of serving God.   A good number of your Catholic young adults are down the street at Faith and Grace Evangelical, where the sermon runs 40 minutes of serious Bible study and exhortation to Christian service.  People who are showing up for Jesus don’t want to hear about how special they are. They want to understand the Bible, learn how to pray, and learn how to live.  They want instruction.  They want reminders.  They want to know what it takes to be a saint — like the canonized kind, not the slipped-in-via-purgatory kind — and they want to be pushed towards sainthood every day of the week.

Yes, this means you have to choose.  You can keep preaching the “You’re so wonderful!” message to the core group of pewsitters who’ve been coming for that message for the last forty years, or you can start preaching Jesus.  You’ll lose some of the I’m So Special crowd, because they’re just there for the affirmation and the doughnut hour.  Jesus comes to console, to cherish, to welcome, but all that welcoming doesn’t end with cocktails on the patio.  It ends with the Cross.  Until you are teaching your congregation how to get up on their cross daily, you aren’t teaching your congregation.

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Baiting the hook

22nd Week OT
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
Notre Dame Seminary, NOLA

I taught literature in the late 80's and early 90's. And because my students tended to rely heavily on their classmates for vital information about my classes, I put on all of my syllabi a line from the New Order song, “Bizzare Love Triangle.” The line goes: “The wisdom of a fool won't set you free.” I'm delighted to report this morning that St. Paul agrees with one of the 80's premiere English bands: “If anyone among you considers himself wise in this age, let him become a fool, so as to become wise. For the wisdom of this world is foolishness in the eyes of God. . .” If you consider yourself wise in this age, how do you become a fool for God?

Consider this: a carpenter teaches a fisherman to fish. “Put out into deep water,” the carpenter commands, “and lower your nets for a catch.” The fisherman, suspecting foolishness but at the same time confessing his own earlier failure to catch a single fish, replies obediently, “Master. . .at your command I will lower the nets.” When the great haul of fish breaks the surface of the lake, the size of the catch tears at the nets, and the weight of their gift threatens to sink the fisherman's boats. Awe-struck, nearly dumbfounded by the abundance given in a single cast of his nets, the fisherman does the only thing a wise man would – he falls to his knees and confesses his unworthiness to the man whom he suspected of being a fool: “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.”

Sin makes us stupid. Sin also makes us foolish. But St. Thomas wants to know whether or not folly itself is a sin. He writes that folly is “a dullness of judgment” and this dullness can be contracted when a man “by plunging his sense into earthly things, [such that] his sense is rendered incapable of perceiving Divine things. . .even as sweet things have no [flavor] for a man whose taste is infected. . .such like folly is a sin” (ST II-II.46.2). IOW, If we stunt our taste for the Divine by over indulging in the crude flavors of the world, our ability to judge what is Good and what is Evil becomes dull and twisted. Folly is our judgment led astray by the baited wisdom of this world. 

So, if you are wise in this age, how do you become a fool for God? Following Peter the Fisherman's example, you obey (you listen) to those you sent to teach you and you reap the harvest of obedience, confessing your own sinful folly. You confess – with all humility and genuine gratitude – the depths of your ignorance and a deep desire for knowing the wisdom of God. When the Apparent Fool says to you, “Put out into the deep,” you put out into the deep, trusting that the deep obscures a divine abundance, and that it is only your feckless fear and lack of persistence that binds you in giftless folly. And after you obey the Apparent Fool and haul in your gifts, you fall to your knees awe-struck and nearly dumbfounded with gratitude and pray, “. . . everything belongs to you. . .[O Lord]. . .all belong to you!”

Peter may have suspected our Lord of being a fool. Even for just half a second. But he overcomes his doubt and fear with one word – “Master.” He calls Jesus “Master,” teacher. And places himself at Christ's feet to learn. Peter's docility – his eager willingness to be taught – reaps for him and his friends two gifts: boats nearly sinking from the weight of their catch and a proclamation from the Lord – “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching men.” As heirs to these fishers of men, we best catch souls for God when he put out into the deep at His command and fish with humility, docility, penitence, and – always, always – praise and thanksgiving.
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Nominalism: anathema sit!

Msgr. Charles Pope gives the Vile Error of Nominalism a relatively simple exposition:

How have we gotten into this mess wherein we have set aside reality in favor of what we think reality is? No longer do we go out to meet reality and accept the obligation of conforming to reality; now we sit back and claim the right to posit our own reality, to project reality and define it on our own terms. How did we get here?

Look to the nominalists, my friends.

A rather informative, though challenging, book on this matter is Journey to Modernity by Louis Dupré. In it he traces the medieval synthesis and rise of nominalism in the late 15th century, which in turn gave way to the Cartesian Revolution in the 17th century [and laid the groundwork for the Protestant schism].

Read the whole thing.

I preached against Nominalism in my homiletics class this morning! In essence, nominalism is the de-sacralization of western language, the stripping from our most cherished concepts of any transcendental referent.

It's Evil. And it's the best reason we have for our future priests to learn Thomism.

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Desire can be painful

NB. Didn't get to preach this one tonight at OLR. I'd forgotten that we had a mission-preacher scheduled. 

22^nd Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP

Our Lady of the Rosary, NOLA

Desiring God is not always a pleasant experience. Jeremiah wails b/c God has duped him into being His prophet. So forceful is Jeremiah's need to preach, it actually hurts him to do so: “Whenever I speak, I must cry out, violence and outrage is my message; the word of the Lord has brought me derision and reproach all the day.” The Psalmist is likewise stricken with desire, a desire for God: “. . .for you [O Lord] my flesh pines and my soul thirsts like the earth, parched, lifeless and without water.” And Paul, urging the church in Rome not to bend itself to the will of the age, demands a needful sacrifice, one bound to haunt Christians for centuries: “. . . offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God. . .” Offer your bodies in sacrifice. Not animals or money. Offer your whole self to God. Then, Jesus rebukes Peter for his selfish love and teaches the disciples what it takes to walk with him: “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.” Our desire for perfection in Divine Love can be painful. It can leave us thirsty. It can drive us to sacrifice. To self-denial. Whatever else our desire for God accomplishes, it empties us so that He might find a place with us.

Jeremiah's desire for God – the desire he regrets ever having noticed – causes him pain. Not just spiritual pain but actual physical pain. His love for God drives him out into the world to preach the Word and preaching His Word is costly. Jeremiah tells God, “All the day I am an object of laughter; everyone mocks me.” He considers never preaching again, never again mentioning God's name. That doesn't work. Jeremiah cries out, “But then [your name] becomes like fire burning in my heart, imprisoned in my bones; I grow weary holding it in, I cannot endure it.” Imagine a desire trapped in your bones, a desire so powerful that you grow exhausted trying to keep it trapped. Now, imagine that desire set ablaze. Everything else you want, everything else you need, everything else, all of it, is burned and blown away, leaving you empty for nothing and no one else but God Himself. “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself. . .” Denying yourself means desiring nothing and no one more than you desire God. Even if desiring Him is painful, even if desiring Him means giving yourself up to holiness.

The Psalmist feels Jeremiah's pain. These two share a need, a lack that only God can satisfy: “O God, you are my God whom I seek; for you my flesh pines and my soul thirsts like the earth, parched, lifeless and without water.” His flesh yearns, his soul thirsts – body and soul, he needs God like a drought-stricken land needs water. The God our Psalmist is yearning for is not Santa Claus – a cheery, once-a-year present-bringer. He's not the Cosmic Watchmaker – that distant, uncaring mechanic of the universe. Nor is his God the god of the therapist's couch – an affirming, well-meaning facilitator of human self-discovery. The Psalmist's God is the god of power and glory; the god of living and dying; a god worthy of praise and thanksgiving and shouts of joy! And the Psalmist's desire to give God praise and thanksgiving and shouts of joy is God's gift to the Psalmist. God gifts to us all the desire, the need to offer Him worship. Not b/c He needs our praise but b/c we need to praise Him so that we might grow in holiness and find ourselves – at the end – with Him forever. “My soul is thirsting for you, O Lord my God. . .and with exultant lips my mouth shall praise you.” When we pick up our cross, it's in praising God that our cross is made lighter; it's in the shadow of His wings that we follow Christ.

The first cross we pick up and carry as followers of Christ is the cross of bearing up under the pressures of this world to submit to the desires and needs that the world tells us are true and beautiful. Paul urges us, “Brothers and sisters. . .Do not conform yourselves to this age. . .” Do not bend to the Will of this age. Do not get caught in the Enemy's trap and come to believe that there is nothing more to creation than what we see and hear and touch. Instead, Paul writes, “. . .be transformed by the renewal of your mind. . .” Be changed, be transfigured, get turned around by renewing the way you see and hear and touch the things of creation. By renewing your mind with the mind of Christ, be forever pointed – body and soul – toward the only One Who can ever truly bring your needs to peace, your desires to completion. Why be renewed? If finding the ends of your desire is not enough, then be renewed so “that you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and pleasing and perfect.” Be renewed in Christ so that you may more clearly discern the will of your Father and come to know all that is good and pleasing to Him, all that is perfecting for your growth in holiness. The first cross we pick up and carry is the burden of being in this world but not of it; of living in this world but not for it. 

Paul understands this subtle distinction and urges us to resist the temptations of this age, to be transformed by renewing our minds in Christ, and to offer our bodies as a living sacrifice. Here is the second time we pick up the cross and carry it: being in the world but not of it, living in the world but not for it means that we are dependent on the world for our bodily needs. Never are we charged with hating creation, or hating our bodies, or our physical appetites. But when the world tempts us, it tempts us through our appetites, our disordered desires. With our minds renewed/reordered in Christ, our appetites are transformed from mere animal cravings into a means of sacrifice, a way for us to be holy by giving back to God all that He has given us. His first gift to each one of us is life. So, we make our bodies a living sacrifice by giving our lives back to Him – in service to others, in service to goodness and truth, in service to Christ's Body, the Church. By serving God in serving His people, we “make holy” the same world that tempts us with disorder and disobedience. We sacrifice ourselves in Christ in order to make the world holy for Christ. “Whoever wishes to come after me must take up his cross. . .”  

We must take up our cross once, twice, three times. Our service to the world sanctifies the world; we become servants in the world, living a life of constant “making holy,” sacrifice. Such a life of sacrificial service is not natural to the human animal. So, Christ calls us to deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow him. His way is the way of supernatural graces, divine gifts that poke and prod and lift and cajole us into seeing and hearing our supernatural end – eternal life. When Jeremiah cries out to God, “You duped me, O Lord!”, he is accusing God of seducing him. How else could God move His stubborn prophet to prophesy? How else would any of us deny ourselves, take up the cross, and follow Christ except by divine seduction? We were made by God to be seduced into a life of participation, a life of freely entered entanglement with His re-creating love. That hunger you feel, that thirst that plagues you, that gnawing sense of frustrated-perfection – all of that is your built-in longing for God. We need God. We desire God. Often that need hurts. Sometimes it torments. But you can ease that pain by turning to Christ, denying yourself, taking up your cross and following him. Turn to Christ and turn into Christ, offering yourself as a living sacrifice in praise and thanksgiving to God.

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Lou Jordan: New Orleans artist

Check out Lou Jordan!

She's a New Orleans artist and a lay Dominican. . .

Her latest works are my favorite. She uses alcohol inks.

"Treasure Cave," 13 x 10

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Dominican Vocation Retreat

 The Dominican Experience Weekend   

+     +     +

Who?: Young men interested in learning more about Dominican life.

What?: A weekend to come and learn more about what it means to be a Dominican friar. There is no cost to participants. For more information check us out on Facebook - www.fb.com/opsouthvocations

When?: October 17 – 19, 2014.

Where?: St. Anthony of Padua Priory, New Orleans, Louisiana.

How?: Send email to Fr. Charles Johnson, O.P. at  vocations@opsouth.org

Why?: Because Christ calls men to be friars preachers and the world needs to hear His message.

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Hypocrisy is vicious

St. Monica
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
Notre Dame Seminary, NOLA

Our Lord is on a tear! Or rather, he's still on a tear. He's ripping into the Pharisees and scribes b/c their hypocrisy is making of God's children heirs to Gehenna. Calling down upon them the final Two Woes, our Lord breaks into their hearts – those white-washed tombs – and sees there the bones of dead men and “every kind of filth.” Bones and filth that nourish the rank hypocrisy of men who “strain at gnats and swallow camels,” who neglect “the weightier things of the law [like] judgment and mercy and fidelity,” and obstruct the way back to God. Jesus is angry. But his anger is righteous. And not simply b/c he's the Messiah but b/c those charged with making the way back to God straight and smooth are – out of their own need for glory – making God's way crooked and dangerous. All the while presenting themselves as pristine examples of holiness. Look at us. Listen to us. Follow us. We know the way. Imitate us. Jesus says of their hypocrisy, “You brood of vipers. . .you bear witness against yourselves.” Hypocrisy is not a uniquely Christian vice; however, our vow to bear witness to Christ and him alone makes Christian hypocrisy particularly vicious. 

 

Take a moment to just bask in the raw righteousness of Jesus' anger. Now take another moment to give God thanks that you are not like other men – those who pile up burdens on their people; those who create obstacles on the way back to God; those who demand obedience but rarely give it. Take a moment to praise God that you spend your days and nights bearing up under the gentle of yoke of Christ, gently but firmly preaching and teaching the Good News. Give thanks that your heart and your tongue never disagree. That your mind and your hands never fumble together. That your every thought, word, and deed plant in this world another seed of the Word. And pray that no one – especially Christ – may never rightly condemn you by saying, “You viper. . .you bear witness against yourself.” Why all this thanksgiving, prayer, and praise? B/c as men being made ready to show God's people the Way, you do not want to be credibly accused of hypocrisy, of bearing witness against yourself. 

 

Look at Paul, Silvanus, and Timothy. Paul tells the church in Thessalonica how the followers of Christ properly bear witness to Christ: “For you know how one must imitate us. . .in toil and drudgery, night and day we worked, so as not to burden any of you. . .we wanted to present ourselves as a model for you, so that you might imitate us.” Those who lead God's people along the Way do not pile up burdens on others nor neglect the hard work of service nor put themselves first to be seen and applauded and praised. For the Christian, especially the Christian pastor, the surest way to avoid hypocrisy is to make sure that the only witness you bear is your witness to Christ. Act and give him praise. Speak and give him thanks. Think and make your thoughts a prayer. And never fail to grant to all the gift you yourself have received: God's mercy. There is no better way to bear witness against yourself than to refuse to another that which you have gratefully received from God.

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Thanks (again). . .

I rec'd The Portal of Beauty today from the Wish List.

No name or return address. . .so, Thank You, Anonymous Benefactor!

I will be sharing this with the seminarians.

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Thanks!

Rec'd Wm. A. Dyrness' Poetic Theology in the mail today from the Wish List.

No name or return address for my benefactor. . .

Regardless: Thank You!

And thanks to all of you who have been browsing the WL this week and sending me books. 

P.S. The book had a pop quiz tucked inside from the student who used it last.
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Good dream. . .

First Day of Class! Very excited!

I have my pencil box and erasers and a new pack of wide-ruled paper and two bottles of Elmer's and a pencil sharpener. . .

Then. . .I wake up and remember that I'm the teacher.

:-(

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And so, we are never forsaken. . .

NB. Con-celebrating Mass at the seminary this morning. Here's another 2008 Roman homily that I've yet to preach. . .

21st Sunday OT
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP

Convento SS. Domenico e Sisto, Roma
 

We say to the Lord this morning: “Lord, your love is eternal; do not forsake the work of your hands.” We do not say this because we believe that the Lord might forsake us. We do not say this because we doubt that we are the Lord’s handiwork. Nor do we say this because we believe that the Lord’s love is limited by the timepieces of His creation. We say “Lord, your love is eternal” because—though we know that this is true—we must hear it said with our own tongues for only by tasting the words will we come to live the truth that we speak! We beg the Lord, “Lord, do not forsake the work of your hands”—though we know He would never forsake His promise to us—we beg because we must feel the steel of His promise in our mouths, the cold, metallic resolve of the ordering Word, the First Breath, the finality of our Lord’s enduring guarantee. What we know, we pray: “We give thanks to you, O Lord, with all our heart, for you have heard the Words of our mouths”—the Word You Yourself placed on our tongues “because of Your kindness and your truth!” What we know, we pray: “When he opens, no one shall shut; when he shuts, no one shall open.” Peter opens his mouth to say, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” and when he shuts his mouth, the Lord opens his own to say, “Blessed are you…whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.” And so, we are loved forever. And so, we are never forsaken.

We should celebrate on this twenty-first Sunday of Ordinary Time, the teaching office of the Church, embodied in and employed by he who sits in Peter’s Chair. After all, our Lord says to Peter that he is the rock of the Church, the foundation stone of the Body that will grow into history and produce the great saints (and sinners!) of our western civilization. Our Lord is not speaking metaphorically or symbolically when he says that he will be with us always. His promise to abide with us to the end is best understood as a promise to found, concretely and in perpetuity, a living organism; a breathing, growing entity capable of bringing to it constituent members the stuff of everlasting life, all that which nourishes, cherishes, and sustains holiness and hope. At the head of this Mystical Body is Christ himself, drawing all parts and pieces of creation to him, elements known to the Body and some unknown, seducing and attracting any and all who will perk up an ear to hear the gospel of mercy, or blink open a blearied eye to peek at the glory Christ reveals—the invitation to come to the feasting table is a broadcast not a telegraph, made on an open-mic not a secured line, directed to the milling crowds and not just the favored few, to bring all who will come and not only those who fit.

And all those who come in answer to our Lord’s open-handed, open-hearted broadcast of “come-one, come-all” flavor the Body with a distinctive diversity, an exciting assortment of faces, tongues, customs, rhythms, textures, and for this catholicity we are deeply grateful. As we watch the Lord’s face multiply in his Church, we see him come more sharply into focus as he reveals himself through his creatures. Each beautiful face exposes Beauty Himself. So, it is no wonder at all that we are tempted to celebrate this abundant diversity as a good end in itself, to raise up this bounty of variety and make it the point of the Church, the purpose of Christ’s Body in the world. But if we succumb to this temptation—to glorify the human diversity of the Church for the sake of diversity—we overlook entirely that which attracts and binds the diversity of the Church: the emphatic YES of each beautiful face, each rhythmic tongue, each soul, seduced and delivered to the perfecting love of Christ. It is the commitment of our YES to Christ that unites us as a Church, not the variety of our packaging, not the impermanent assortment of skin and hair and speech but our willed participation in the permanent unity of love, Love Himself.

How difficult would it be for us as creatures of body and soul to live together in the unity of Love Himself without a Body to ground our common spirit? In other words, given what we know to be the case about ourselves as sinful persons, how difficult would it be for us to live together without a concrete expression of God’s love for us? Surely, we have the historical events of the Passion and the empty tomb of Easter Sunday. But none of us now were there then. We have the witness of scripture, the eyewitness accounts of what happened at the moment when the Father revealed His enduring love for us on the cross. Yes, of course, and surely scripture lives with us, but it with US that scripture lives. Our committed YES to the love of Christ is certainly given the gravity of history and the excitement of scripture, but concretely how do we live day-to-day with our YES? How do we make history now? How do we make scripture alive now? If our history is to be more than tall-tales and our scripture more than those tall-tales written down, there must be a living tradition, that is, a breathing, growing body of “that which is handed on.” That Body is the Church and the Church is where our committed YES is held in trust, unpacked in its fullness, suited up, put to work, and elaborated to be handed-on to the next set of beautiful faces and rhythmic tongues.

In handing Peter the keys to the kingdom, Christ not only makes Peter and his successors stewards of the heavenly household, he also founds the rock-bottom slab of the Church, the Body to be energized at Pentecost with the coming of the Holy Spirit. Christ establishes, institutes; he plants and provides nourishment and care for his emerging Body. At the proclamation made by Peter that Jesus is the only Son of the Living God, Christ reveals that the Father Himself has made Peter privy to what has until now been a secret. And now that the disciples know, and now that Peter has been confirmed in his office, Jesus assures his friends that “the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against [my church]. Do you hear the psalmist singing, “Lord, your love is eternal”? Do you hear Isaiah prophesying, “When he opens, no one shall shut; when he shuts, no one shall open”?

Christ’s promise to be with us forever is not a symbol or a sign or a metaphor. His promise is a Church. Founded on Peter and the revelation the Father Himself gave to Peter. Binding and loosing, the Church, through the office of Peter, teaches the faith; that is, what it is to believe and what we are to believe. We know our God’s love is everlasting. And so, we are loved forever. And so, we are never forsaken.

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