Joy in persecution

3rd Week of Easter (W)
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
NDS, NOLA

Christ's church in Jerusalem is under persecution. Peter and the Apostles are arrested twice and brought before the Sanhedrin to answer charges of heresy and sedition. Both times they are sternly warned to stop preaching and teaching “in THAT name.” Both times they defy the authorities and continue doing what they were sent by Christ to do. B/c the Apostles must obey God rather than men, the persecutors are turning violent, and the Church is scattered “throughout the countryside of Judea and Samaria. . .” Saul is dragging Christians out of their homes and putting them in prison. By the standards of the time, none of this is particularly noteworthy. What is noteworthy is the reaction of the persecuted Church. We read in Acts: “Now those who had been scattered went about preaching the word.” Also of note is the reaction of those who hear and benefit from this apostolic preaching: “There was great joy in that city.” How does the persecuted Church defy the threat of prison and violence? How do we answer religious rejection and secular condemnation? We do the ordinary: We go about preaching the Word.

The ordinary? Well, we can only consider our response to persecution extraordinary if we fail to understand our purpose as a Church. If we believe that the Church's purpose is to create and defend a particular version of western culture, then preaching the word in defiance of violent secular repression seems extraordinary. If we believe that the Church's purpose is to support the platform of a particular political ideology, or promote a particular economic system, then preaching the word in defiance of persecution seems extraordinary. If we believe that the Church's purpose is to provide us with a ready-made network of like-minded friends, business contacts, or just something to do on a Sunday morning, then preaching the word in defiance of the law, in defiance of all social pressure to stop seems more than just extraordinary; it's socially suicidal, even downright dumb. However, since the purpose of the Church is to preach the word, preaching the word – even in defiance of persecution, esp. in defiance of persecution – is the most natural thing for us to do. Why? B/c when the word of God is preached, there is always great joy. The Good News of God's mercy to sinners always brings with it the blessings of freedom, healing, and peace.

It is the nature and purpose of the Church to preach the word “in season and out.” If that's not enough to explain her defiance of persecution, then let this be enough: “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.” Where would the hungry go to eat the bread of life if not the Church? How could anyone come to believe if there were no witnesses giving testimony? The Church is in the world to be the living sacrament of Christ, to point to and make present his saving power among the nations. Jesus says, “For this is the will of my Father, that everyone who sees the Son and believes in him may have eternal life. . .” How does anyone in 2016 “see the Son” and come to believe in him? Through the teaching and preaching and sacraments of his Body, the Church – alive and well 2,000 yrs after his resurrection. In defiance of persecution, social ostracism, ridicule, corruption, scandal, exile, and occasional defeat, alive and well for 2,000 yrs, living in his resurrection to preach the Good News of God's mercy to sinners. Our purpose is not victory over our enemies. God has always, already won. Our purpose is to tell the world that He has won, is winning, and will always win, and that He wants us all, everyone to share in that victory through Christ, His Son.

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You know that I love you

3rd Sunday of Easter 2016
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
Our Lady of the Rosary

Our Lord asks Peter a question—The Question, actually—the question that makes Peter squirm like a worm on a hot rock: “Simon [Peter], son of John, do you love me more than these?”* We can't help but wonder what went through Peter's head at hearing this question. He must've flashed back to the time Jesus asked the disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” And he answered, “You are the Son of the living God.” He must've remembered rebuking Jesus when the Lord revealed that he would die in Jerusalem, and Jesus yelling at him, “Get behind me, Satan!” He must've remembered Jesus' prophecy that he would deny knowing him three times in the Garden. That memory must've made him blush in shame. His betrayal. Fleeing arrest. Outright lying. Now, the Risen Lord sits with him on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias and asks, “Simon [Peter], do you love me more than these?” Of course, Peter says that he loves the Lord. Could he say anything else? Truly, sitting there in the presence of the Risen Lord, could he confess to any other passion but the love btw friends, friends who willingly die for one another? “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” 

This first answer to the Jesus' question tells us that Peter is confused. “You know that I love you,” so why are you asking me if I love you? All those memories of rebuking Jesus, betraying him, denying him; all those chances to live out the radical love btw friends willing to die for one another; all those flashes of revelation into his teacher's true nature and ministry, the entirety of his short but intense life with this extraordinary man of God—they all collapse into this single, profoundly intimate meeting btw a sinner and his Savior: “Peter, do you love me?” “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” No, Peter isn't confused at all. He's feeling awkward, spiritually clumsy. He wants this moment to end. What can I say to get this over with? Or maybe he's hurt that his teacher thinks he might not love him. He has every reason to doubt that he does. Or maybe Peter is offended by the question, “You know that I love you, Lord,” why do you ask? Why does Jesus interrogate Peter this way? Not once or twice but three times he asks. And three times Peter gives the same answer. By the third time, John tells us, Peter is “distressed.” He's worried. Does the Lord really think that I don't love him? Peter is “grieved” by the possibility, so he answers, a little desperately, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus says, “Feed my sheep.” 

This seaside scene btw Jesus and Peter brings to harvest a number of seeds planted by Christ in the hearts and minds of his disciples. Though Peter is the focus of this interrogation, the other disciples bear their own spiritual wounds and fruits as a result of Christ's teaching. Since he first said, “Follow me” to these fishermen, Jesus has taught them in word and deed to forgive one another, to be at peace with one another, and above all, to love one another. He's taught them to surrender themselves to God by taking up their crosses and bearing up under whatever burdens must be carried. He's taught them to remember him in the breaking of the bread, in daily prayer, in fasting and in taking care of the least among them. He's taught them that being first in God's kingdom means being last in the Enemy's; and that if they love him, if they are truly willing to die for love of him, they will feed those who follow him. Feed my sheep. Feed them with the bread of life. Feed them with the Word. Satisfy their hunger for heaven, their thirst for the truth. This seaside scene btw Peter and Jesus is not only Peter's reconciliation with his Lord, it is also his final exam, his last test as the Lord's favored student. 

As students of Christ, how would you and I do on this final exam? If the Risen Lord were to appear to us and ask, “Do you love me?” how would we react? Would we be confused by the question? Hurt? Offended? Embarrassed? Distressed? Or would we jump at the chance to tell the Lord that we do love him? Would there be that split second btw the question and our answer when we remembered that time when we had the chance to bear witness to God's mercy and didn't? That chance to forgive we let slip away. Would we recall all the times we've denied knowing Christ by failing to love as we should? Those times when we let our pride stand in the way of our humility? Would our failures to give God thanks for our blessings cause us to stutter an answer? Would we blush at our lack of growth in holiness? Our spiritual clumsiness when disaster strikes? Yes, probably; yes, to all of these. And then we'd remember what Christ taught from his cross: all is forgiven; every sin, every flaw and fault, every failure to love is washed away. And we'd say, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” And he'd say to us, “Feed my sheep.” 

When Peter and the other Apostles are arrested by the Sanhedrin, did they remember this profoundly intimate meeting with the Risen Lord? They must've. The high priest accuses them, “We gave you strict orders, did we not, to stop teaching in that name? Yet you have filled Jerusalem with your teaching. . .” Before he responds to the accusation, Peter must've heard Jesus saying, “Feed my sheep.” So, he says to the priests, “We must obey God rather than men. . .” Rather than obey men, we must feed the Lord's sheep. Rather than bowing to your worldly power, we must bow before the glory of God. Rather than surrender ourselves to this world's hatred, we must teach others to surrender themselves to God's love. Peter must've smiled a little, recalling the grilling Jesus gave him by the Sea of Tiberias. Three times he had to confess his love for Christ. Three times Christ ordered him to feed his sheep. And now, here he is, standing before the powers of men, and he understands why Christ put him to the question. Jesus knew that he, Peter, could not feed his sheep if he himself would not be fed. The Lord absolved Peter of his sins, gave him a word of mercy so that when the time came to defy the world, he can so ready to die. I imagine Peter in front of the Sanhedrin, whispering, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” 

You know already, brothers and sisters, that we must obey God rather than men. We know this, but can we do it. More often than not, there is no conflict btw what we must do to satisfy the world and what we must do to satisfy God. But when a conflict arises, do we think immediately of Peter before the Sanhedrin? Do we think of him at the seashore with Jesus? Or do we think instead of all our failures and flaws, all of our sins and then excuse ourselves again from the obligation to put Christ first in our lives? Our failures and flaws cannot serves as excuses. After the death and resurrection of Christ, our sins are forgiven. We can no long demur in our duties to God b/c we are unworthy, or b/c we imagine ourselves to be too irresponsible to love properly. Jesus asks, “Do you love me?” If your answer is, “Yes, Lord, I love you,” then hear him say to you, “Feed my sheep.”

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No fear in Christ!

2nd Week of Easter (S)
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
St. Dominic Church, NOLA

In traditional iconography, St. Catherine of Siena is often portrayed carrying a ship on her shoulder. That ship is the Church. It reminds us of Noah's Ark, those who were saved from the flood. Most of us here this morning are sitting in the nave of the church. “Nave” derives from the Latin word, navis, which also gives us our word “navy.” So, the symbolic connections btw a ship on the sea and the church in the world are easy to draw. The disciples get into a boat and head out over the sea to Capernaum. A storm is brewing, the wind is kicking up, and the disciples are worried about capsizing. In response to this imminent danger, the disciples nominate a Task Force to address the crisis. The Task Force appoints a commission to study the problem. The commission selects a committee to hold hearings, and the cmte recommends that a working group issue a report. Eventually, the disciples vote on a draft of the report and release the document under the title, In navi durante tempestas, “On a Boat during a Storm.” Unfortunately, all the disciples are tossed overboard and drowned. In another version of this story, Jesus appears to his frightened disciples and says, “I Am. Do not be afraid” and the boat arrives safely on the shore.

My irreverent version of John's gospel story is meant to be a little cheeky and a little telling. When the Church confronts a contemporary crisis, whether its a crisis in the Church or with the world, how do we normally proceed? There's really no way to answer that question fully, of course, b/c each crisis presents its unique problems, thus requiring unique solutions. Maybe a better question would be: from what resources do we draw when a crisis confronts us? Even better: to whom do we turn when a strong wind blows up a storm? We humans are designed and built to solve problems, and we manage quite well considering our fallen nature. But the same instinct to solve problems often leads us to cause problems as well. When we flounder around trying to solve spiritual problems with secular tools, we invariably arrive at secular solutions that worsen the original spiritual problem. Jesus' last- minute appearance to the near-drowned disciples shows us the best way to deal with every crisis we encounter: look for the Lord and expect to hear him say, “I Am. Do not be afraid.” In other words, we are reminded again that we, the boat, the sea, the storm, all belong to God. Fear in a crisis is not only futile, it can be deadly—spiritually deadening.

Fear has its natural uses. Being afraid for our lives discourages us from doing all sorts of dangerous things. Leaping out of planes. Swimming in Lake Ponchatrain. Driving in New Orleans. Fear even has its supernatural uses. It makes us wary of sin. Using occult means for achieving our goals. But fear can also prevent us from doing the holy work we've been given to do. It can discourage us from risking our time, talent, and treasure in the pursuit of holiness. We are not baptized to seek spiritual safety, to cuddle close with our devotions and watch the world burn. We are baptized to go out and proclaim—in word and deed—the freely given mercy of God. We are baptized to go out and preach and teach and heal and forgive and be forgiven. BXVI, introducing the Year of Faith, teaches us that we must propose again to the world an encounter the Risen Lord. How? He writes, “. . .we need to renew our preaching with lively faith, firm conviction, and joyful witness.” Filled with faith, conviction, and joy, there is no room in any of us for fear. Leave no room for fear. And if fear should blow your way, stop, look for the Lord, and expect to hear him say to you, “I Am. Do not be afraid.”

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Thanks & Prayers

My Mendicant Thanks and Shout Out to W. Clement for browsing the Wish List and sending me an early birthday gift. . . 

As always, my Book/Paint Benefactors are in my daily prayers!

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Are you unbelieving???

2nd Sunday of Easter (Divine Mercy)
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
Our Lady of the Rosary, NOLA

Audio File

What do we know about Thomas? He's one of the Twelve disciples chosen by Christ to serve as apostles. He's called Didymus b/c he has a twin brother. And we know that he is absent on the night that the Risen Lord appears to his apostles. Oh, and we know that despite having lived and died more than 2,000 years ago, he's a thoroughly modern man. What makes him modern? When told by his friends that Jesus—dead and buried for three days—appeared to them, Thomas proclaims a thoroughly modern standard of truth: “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nailmarks. . .I will not believe.” Modern philosophers and scientists would congratulate Thomas for demanding such a sensible and obviously right-thinking empirical standard for assenting to the truth of a claim. Jesus, on the other hand, isn't impressed. Appearing among his apostles a week later, Jesus allows Thomas to test his empirical standard. Now, Thomas believes. Jesus, far from praising his student's rigid need for proof, says, “Have you come to believe because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.” No one here has seen Jesus as Thomas did. Do we believe? And what difference does it make if we do or do not believe? 

It might seem strange for a Catholic priest to ask a church-full of Christians attending a Sunday Mass whether or not they believe in the Risen Lord. Why would any of us be here if we didn't believe? Let me suggest that there is a difference btw “believing that the Lord is risen” and “believing in the Risen Lord.” Simply believing that the Lord is risen is a matter of assent, saying, “Yes, I believe that” when asked. Believing in the Risen Lord is also a matter of assent—saying, “Yes, I believe that”—but saying Yes to the Risen Lord entails a commitment far more intimate and demanding that merely saying that he is risen. When prompting Thomas to explore his wounds, Jesus says to him, “do not be unbelieving, but believe.” How does Thomas respond? He doesn't say, “I retract my earlier statement of disbelief and now assent to the claim that you are risen.” No. He exclaims, “My Lord and my God!” Believing in the Risen Lord commits us to submitting ourselves to the rule and measure of Christ as the source and summit of all that we are. A church-full of Christians can easily assent to the fact that the Lord is risen w/o ever committing themselves to being ruled by the Risen Lord. Doubt about the mechanics of the resurrection is the smallest obstacle we face when it comes to bending the knee to Christ our King. 

How does Thomas overcome his disbelief? Through Christ's mercy. It is b/c he is merciful that Jesus allows Thomas to satisfy his doubts on his own terms. We know that this is an act of mercy b/c Jesus says to Thomas, “Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.” Our Lord could've very easily left Thomas stewing in his doubt, left him outside the company of the blessed, and w/o the benefits of genuine belief. Instead, Jesus shows him mercy. Thomas is charged with the sin of disbelief, found guilty, and then pardoned; pardoned for no other reason than for the sake of the Gospel. The Gospel needs Thomas. And Peter and John and James and you and me. So, it is vital that we are not unbelieving but believing, that we are committed—heart, body, mind—to living under the rule and measure of Christ; thinking every thought, speaking every word, doing every deed for the sake of Christ and the spreading of his Good News. What is the Good News of Christ? That God freely offers His abundant mercy to all sinners. With repentance, we receive all that He generosity provides through the once for all sacrifice of His Christ on the cross. His mercy is our freedom from sin and our license to tell the whole world that Christ is Lord and God! 

Not too long after this meeting btw Jesus and Thomas, the apostles find themselves consumed by the Holy Spirit at Pentecost and set upon the world to preach the Good News and accomplish mighty deeds in Christ's name. Luke tells us in Acts that “many signs and wonders were done among the people at the hands of the apostles. . .the people esteemed them. . .more than ever. . .great numbers of men and women, were added to them.” What were these signs and wonders? What exactly were the apostles doing and saying to bring so many to Christ? We know from Acts that the apostles were preaching God's mercy; baptizing those who repented; healing the sick and injured; freeing souls from unclean spirits; teaching the Word and breaking bread in memoriam. They were establishing the Lord's household among those who answered Christ's call to follow him. Why did they do these things? So that all may come to believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that through this belief they may have life in his name. When we come to believe in the Risen Lord, when we come to trust in his name, we too accomplish mighty deeds, preach his Good News, and strengthen his household for all who answer his call to repentance and holiness. 

Do you believe? And what difference does it make if you do or do not believe? Do you call on his name in faith? And what difference does it make if you do or do not? After appearing to Thomas and some of the other disciples, Jesus reveals himself again at the Sea of Tiberias. To this group of disciples, Jesus not only reveals himself as the Risen Lord, he also reveals to them why it is necessary to listen to and obey his commands. The disciples are fishing and not having any luck. Jesus—disguised—tells the Beloved Disciple to cast his net over the right side of the boat. He obeys. The catch is so large that they can barely haul it in. At that moment, the B.D. recognizes Jesus and says to Peter, “It is the Lord!” Note that Jesus is unrecognizable to the disciples until the B.D. listens to and obeys his commands. The miraculous haul of fish is a sign for the B.D., and he instantly sees his Risen Lord. What difference does belief make? Belief in Christ makes it possible for us to see his words and deeds speaking and working in our lives. Belief in Christ gives us the courage and strength necessary to repeat his words and deeds, to put his words and deeds to work in building and fortifying his royal household. 

Belief in the Risen Lord means submitting ourselves to Christ as our only rule and measure. The disciples do not recognize the Lord on the road to Emmaus. Nor when he visits them on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias. Nor will Thomas believe that he is risen until he appears in the flesh for inspection. Doubt, worry, fear, pride—all of these cloud the disciples' eyes and plug up their ears. Btw Easter and Pentecost the disciples find it difficult to recognize the Risen Lord b/c they have yet to make Christ the rule and measure of their hearts and minds. Here we are btw Easter morning and Pentecost. Does Christ rule our lives? Do we measure our holiness against his? What does anxiety measure? What does fear demand of its subjects? The Risen Lord gives us one last command before he ascends to the Father, “Peace be with you.” Be at peace. If our hearts and minds are torn apart by dread, or frightened by the unknown, or troubled by our past, then we cannot rest in the sure knowledge that Christ died for us b/c he loves us. And if we cannot rest knowing this truth, then we cannot come to believe in the Risen Lord. Be at peace. . .and come to believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that through this belief you may have life eternal.

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Thanks!

Mendicant Thanks to E. Menezes for hitting the Wish List and sending me Kim Holmes' The Closing of the Liberal Mind: How Groupthink and Intolerance Define the Left. 

I've read the first few chapters of this book, and it's great. Holmes traces the decline of classical liberal thought through the fascistic progressivism that currently dominates our cultural and political discourse. 

Get a copy! 

E.M., I'm praying for your discernment. . .

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HE IS RISEN!

NB. No Mass at OLR this evening, so here's an Easter homily from 2014.

Easter Sunday

Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP

St. Dominic Church, NOLA

No one sees him rise. The grave stone is rolled away. His tomb is empty. The burial shroud neatly folded and left behind. Our Lord is nowhere to be found. Mary Magdala finds all this, evidence of theft, evidence of sacrilege and runs to Simon Peter, reporting, “They have taken the Lord from the tomb, and we don’t know where they put him.” Mary did not see him rise. Neither did Simon Peter nor John the beloved disciple. No one sees him rise. No one who visits the tomb that morning knows what happened. Why? Because “they did not yet understand the Scripture that he had to rise from the dead.” He had to rise from the dead. And because he emptied his tomb that morning, rising to new life with the Father, we too are raised to new life. His resurrection from an ignominious death gathers us all up and treats us to the possibility, the promise of deathless lives lived in the unfiltered presence of God the Father Himself. And so, Paul declares, “If then you were raised with Christ, seek what is above. . .Think of what is above, not of what is on earth.” Seek what is above, and ask yourself: where have I put Christ?

Where is Christ? Mary finds the tomb empty. Peter and John find the tomb empty. Their Lord's body is missing, and they do not know where the grave robbers have taken him. These three disciples believe that Jesus' body has been stolen b/c they do no understand – yet – that he had to rise from the dead. Do we understand this any better? We do, but then we have a 2,000 year advantage: centuries of personal testimony, libraries jammed with theological treatises, the sanctifying assistance of the Holy Spirit, the magisterium of the Church. We certainly understand the resurrection better than Mary, Peter, and John did back then. But understanding is not believing. Understanding is not trusting. When we believe in someone, trust someone that someone becomes for us the measure and means of how we live. Not just the center but the very foundation, the whole structure of our being. Knowing this, Paul writes, “If then you were raised with Christ, seek what is above. . .” If you truly seek what is above, then you can answer the question: where have you put Christ? Where is he in your life? Have you set him aside as a decoration? An observer? Have you placed him on a shelf to be seen but not heard? If we believe in, trust in the Risen Lord, he must be more than a necklace charm, more than a dashboard saint. He must be the Lord of our lives. The means and measure of our everyday thoughts, words, and deeds. Everything we have and are is his and his alone.

What does all this mean? The resurrection is all about new life, new beginnings, a fresh start in an old world eaten through with corruption and bitter disobedience. The resurrection is all about leaving behind our old ways and taking up The Way in Christ, following after him toward the perfection of holiness. Yes, all of that. But more. Much, much more. You see, if you believe in, trust in the Risen Lord; if you give everything you are and everything you have back to him for his use in bringing the Kingdom to fruition; if you follow him, sacrificing for love of him and giving that love a body and soul in this world; then, you become Christ. Not just a follower. Not just an attendee. You fulfill your baptismal vows and become Christ. Paul says it, “For you have died [in baptism], and your life is hidden with Christ in God.” To hide your life in the life of Christ means that you have placed Christ above you, over you, hiding within his life so that yours is indistinguishable from his. The resurrection makes it possible for us to hide in Christ. Our human nature is made new in the resurrection. We have joined him in death, now we can join him in life eternal.

That promise – eternal life – is our Easter promise. We hide our lives in Christ so that his work is our work, his mind is our mind, his body is our body. In faith, we are bound to him. So much so that Paul says, “When Christ your life appears, then you too will appear with him in glory.” But to be bound to him takes more than understanding. It takes much more than just knowing the story of the resurrection, knowing the details of the tale. The resurrection gives us the authority and the power to act, to speak, to think with the heart and mind of our Risen Lord. Until he comes again, we are his Body. Until he comes again, we are his hands and feet. We are not Pilate, fidgeting over politics, making carefully crafted decisions with an eye on our reputations. We are not the crowd in Jerusalem, frothing for blood and easy victory. We are not the Roman soldiers at Golgotha, just obeying lawful orders. And neither are we Mary, Peter, or John, despairing at the loss of Christ b/c we do not yet understand. We know what has happened. We know what is happening. Christ is risen. With the Father, he lives. In his Church, he lives. And if we hide ourselves in his risen life, he lives in this world. No one sees him rise. But everyone is watching to see if his Church will rise. Show the world the Risen Christ. In your words and deeds, show them Christ!

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Are you ready for a kenosis?

Monday of Holy Week 2016
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
St. Dominic Church, NOLA

Yesterday, Palm Sunday, we read a portion of Paul's letter to the Philippians, “[Christ] emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness. . .he humbled himself, becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” The Son of God empties himself to become the Son of Man. As the Son of God and the Son of Man, the Christ is both human and divine. He poured out his divinity to come among us in flesh and bone; now, this holy week, he pours out his humanity to rejoin his Father, taking with him all who will follow. The first prophetic sign of this kenosis—this emptying out—occurs in Bethany at the beginning of Passover week during a feast thrown in Jesus' honor. Mary, the sister of Lazarus, anoints Jesus' feet with a pint of expensive spikenard, a funereal oil used to prepare corpses for burial. Though no one else at the feast seems to understand what Mary is doing, Jesus does. She is anointing his living body before he goes to die on the cross for the sins of the world. This week, he will go to the Place of Skulls, anointed with the stench of the grave.

From today until we shout our first alleluias on Easter morning, we will witness the second kenosis of our Savior, the second time that he freely empties himself out for us. When Mary anoints his feet with $10,000 worth of funeral oil, Judas insincerely objects to the extravagant waste, “Why was this oil not sold for three hundred days’ wages and given to the poor?” Jesus answers, “Leave her alone. Let her keep this for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.” We will not always have the Son of God and Son of Man with us; we will not always have the Christ, flesh and bone, among us. Thus Jesus begins his second kenosis, leaving behind body and blood, accepting the necessity of his death for the salvation of the world. Tomorrow, he will accept the necessity of a double betrayal. Judas will sell him to his enemies, and Peter the Rock will deny him three times. Each day this week, Jesus will accept another detachment from this world, another moment of “letting go,” and loss. By the time he reaches the Place of Skulls, nailed to the cross, he is emptied of life, friendship, loyalty, promise, hope, all that we ourselves—even in our sinfulness—receive as gifts from his Father. Good Friday is good b/c, come the day, we are no longer bound by sin. 

What does Jesus' second kenosis mean for us? How do we follow him in emptying ourselves of all that binds us to this world? First, we must ask: what binds us to this world? Family, friends, plans for the future, the stuff we have and want more of? All of these can and will be lost. None of these is eternal. Are we bound by promises, vows, a determination to live? Also, impermanent, all are fleeting. If you were to be anointed this morning with funeral oils, prepared for burial, what would you need to be freed from in order to enter your grave unattached? Possessions? Sure. Relationships? Yes. How about your sins, your transgressions against God, self, and neighbor? Definitely. How do you follow him in emptying yourself of all that binds you to this world? Surrender, as Christ did, to the inevitability of death, and pour out all that keeps you away from God. Pour out whatever lives on your heart and mind as a parasite. Scrape it off. Rid yourself of obstacles, distractions, accumulated junk, and make room—plenty of room—for the coming of God's Holy Spirit. Empty yourself out by dying to self and find yourself filled with life eternal.

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Is your name written in the dirt?

NB. I was asked to celebrate and preach the 7.30am Mass for the nuns.

5th Sunday of Lent
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
Monastery of OLR, Summit, NJ

Standing before him in the temple area is a woman accused of adultery. Standing behind her are her accusers, the scribes and Pharisees who hope to trip him up with a tricky legal question: should this woman be stoned to death according to the Law of Moses? The woman's accusers present their bear-trap case to him and then wait for his reply. What does he do? He bends down and writes in the dirt with his finger. Befuddled by this strange behavior, the woman's accusers continue to press their questions and demand answers. Finally, he straightens up and says to them, “Let the one among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” Then, he bends down to write again in the dirt with his finger. The woman's accusers drift away, leaving Jesus and the woman alone. This is what happens when the demands of justice collide with the need for mercy; or rather, what happens when our need for justice collides with God's demand that we freely grant mercy. Justice—to be truly just—must flow from righteousness, a righteousness that no man or woman possesses. The best we can do is imitate Christ and grant mercy. 

Jesus and the adulterous woman are left alone in the temple area. Her accusers have fled b/c they know the Law as well as Jesus does. They know that their accusations against her—though true—are also incomplete. According to her accusers, the woman was “caught in the very act of committing adultery.” Where is her accomplice? The Law requires that a man caught in adultery be stoned as well. Since the woman was “caught in the act,” why is she not being accused by those who caught her? The Law requires that the witness to a capital crime throw the first stone. When Jesus challenges the accusers to carry out the death sentence, “in response, they went away one by one, beginning with the elders.” Pouring salt in their wounded pride, Jesus publicly accuses the accusers of being sinners themselves and forces them to acknowledge their sinfulness. He knows the Law as well as they do, so he publicly humiliates them all by exposing their hypocrisy under the Law. How can they accuse this woman of violating the Law when they themselves violate the Law by accusing her as they have? Justice—to be truly just—must flow from righteousness, a righteousness that no man or woman possesses. 

Jesus shows the accusers that they are unjust by challenging them to follow the Law. They can't. Doing so would condemn them under the Law. To underscore his own accusation, Jesus writes in the dirt, following the Sabbath Law that forbids the work of writing on paper on a holy day but allows writing in the dirt. Though John doesn't tell us what Jesus is writing in the dirt, tradition tells us that he is alluding to the prophet, Jeremiah. Jeremiah cries out, “O Lord, all who forsake You will be put to shame. Those who turn away on earth will be written down, because they have forsaken the fountain of living water. . .” Another translation reads, “The rebels shall be enrolled in the netherworld.” To have your name written in the dust is to be enrolled in the netherworld as a shameful rebel against God. The woman's accusers watch Jesus writing in the dirt; remember Jeremiah's righteousness cry to God; and then ask themselves: are we prepared to be consigned to the netherworld as rebels against God? “In response, they went away one by one, beginning with the elders.” Confronted—even subtly—by their own failures in holiness, the scribes and Pharisees simply fade away to plot another trap for the Lord. 

The story of the adulterous woman and Jesus' merciful response to her sin can be a trap for us. Has been a trap for us. When finally left alone with the woman, Jesus asks her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” She answers, “No one, sir.” Jesus is the only one left to pass judgment, the only one truly qualified to condemn her for her sin. He says, instead, “Neither do I condemn you. Go, and from now on do not sin any more.” The trap for us here is to read Jesus' challenge to the accusers and this final act of mercy as a judgment against calling out sin. In other words, b/c Jesus shows the accusers to be sinful themselves and b/c he does not condemn the woman, we're to believe that no one should ever call a sin Sin. When the Pope or our bishops challenge abortion or same-sex marriage, how often do we hear the culture respond, “They shouldn't throw stones given their track record on sexual abuse”? Somehow Jesus' challenge to the righteousness of the woman's accusers has been perverted into a blanket denial that sin can be named Sin. What's missing here is Jesus final word to the woman, “Go and sin no more.” He grants mercy to the person while naming sin Sin. 

And that's the difference btw man's justice and God's mercy. Man's justice condemns both the crime and the criminal. God's mercy passes sentence on the sin and forgives the sinner. By forgiving the sinner, God does what God Is: Love. Forgiveness of sin, showing mercy to the sinner is in no way an admission that sin isn't sin. The righteous do not need mercy, therefore, only the unrighteous may receive it; that is, only those found guilty of sin require mercy in the first place. It's vital to our growth in holiness that we understand how God's mercy relieves us of the burden of sin. The weight of disobedience is crushing. Under the heavy load of sin, we cannot follow after Christ; we cannot complete our mission “to go and do likewise” if we are suffering in slavery to our disobedience. This is why the Father sent to Son to lift this burden off our backs. Christ has removed the yoke of sin and we are now free to follow him. When Jesus refuses to condemn the adulterous woman all he is doing is freeing her so that she might choose to take up his yoke and do the joyous work of witnessing to God's mercy. Adultery is still adultery. But no sin—not even adultery—can forever chain a soul in servitude when the Father's forgiveness is freely offered and freely received. 

Lent is our time to stare intently at the dirt to see if our names are written there. But the time for watching the dirt is almost over. We are rapidly approaching the empty tomb on Easter morning. Ahead of us, drawing us in, is the emptied cave where Jesus went to rest. But for our sakes, he didn't rest. Instead, he rose; he rose to the Father and sent his Holy Spirit to dwell among us, strengthening us along his Way, encouraging us in our temptation to despair for a lack of holiness. Lent is a time set aside for us to search the dirt for our names. It's that time in our lives when we set ourselves against ourselves to fast, pray, give alms; to acknowledge our total dependency on God; to give Him thanks and praise for His blessings; and to generously share those blessings. If it seems that we pay too much attention to sin during Lent, remember: God's mercy frees us; His forgiveness unburdens us. But without the confession of our sins, without acknowledging our sins, we cannot receive His mercy. No man or woman possesses the righteousness required to free themselves from sin, or to dispense others from the rot of their sins. Christ alone is able to say, “I do not condemn you. Go, and sin no more.”

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Whatcha got to lose?

Preached: Sat., March 12, 2016

NB. The Good Sisters have posted an audio version of this homily. 

Solemn Profession of Sr. Mary Jacinta, OP

Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP

Monastery of Our Lady of the Rosary, Summit, NJ

Pondering a dodgy bet or a risky bit of business, a friend might ask you, “What you got to lose?” We can hear this question as a dare. Or as nonsense that just sounds right in the moment. We can hear it as a caution, a real question about the stakes and what could happen if things don't work out. But if we listen with the ears of Christ – as we ought – what do we hear? What do you have to lose? What do you possess that could be lost? For us, this is a question about sacrifice, about what it is that we could be rid of in order to follow Christ more perfectly. Paul writes, “I even consider everything as a loss because of the supreme good of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.” For this come-lately apostle, the supreme good of knowing Christ as Lord pushes all of his stuff into the loss pile. When we are possessed by the love of God through Christ, and we know him as our Lord, nothing else that we might possess can be thought a necessity. While we strive to grow in holiness, while we work on being made perfect in Christ, nothing more is needed than that we consider everything – most especially our lives – that we consider everything a loss. So, Sr. Mary Jacinta, what you got to lose?

Can you, for example, say with Paul: “For his sake I have accepted the loss of all things and I consider them so much rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him. . .”? To gain Christ and be found in him, will you accept the loss of all things and consider them rubbish? Will you accept the loss of what many American Catholics would call your “freedom”? The loss of a husband, children, in-laws? The possibility of a successful career, a good paycheck, benefits, and retirement? The loss of choosing where to live, what to eat, what schedule to keep? Will you expend all of your waking hours – until death – doing what most of us do for only an hour or two a week? What do you have to lose? If you answer, “I have nothing to lose,” then you are well on your way to being made perfect in Christ. However, I'm guessing that that would not be your answer. If it were, you wouldn't be here. You would not have enrolled in this school of charity called a monastery. You would not have spent the last several years as a Dominican nun practicing the art of loss for Christ's sake and for ours. By your solemn vow this morning, you admit to your sisters, your family and friends, to me and the whole Church that you have only just begun to lose, to lose everything, most especially your life.

To postmodern American ears this all sounds quite grim. Morbid even. What's this obsession with losing everything all about? Doesn't she want to be happy? How can she be happy locked up in the same building living with the same faces day in and day out for the next 40+ years? How does she know if she's succeeding with no markers for measure? No raises, no promotions, no awards, no bonuses. She can't even upgrade to a better monastery! All the measures we use “out here” in the non-monastic world count for nothing “in there” where the art of loss is practiced with all hearts and minds turned toward being perfected in Christ. Without a doubt, the life of a nun is strange. Even as a Dominican friar, I often find my cloistered sisters a little. . .weird. I don't mean individually. I mean the whole idea of cloistered life seems so out of the ordinary. . .even for a friar. The friars go out into the world to preach the Good News. The nuns go deeper into Christ in prayer to shine out as the Good News. The friars go out into the world to teach the truth of the faith. The nuns live out the truth of the faith with one another so that the truth always has a firm foundation in this world. The friars are itinerant, constantly moving around. The nuns are enclosed, stable, always present. Yes, the nuns are weird. And thank God they are!

Thank God that they are here to show us through their faithfulness to prayer and communal life how to bear our crosses. Even if the crosses we bear up under look nothing their own. Peter discovers the difficulty of carrying one's cross when he rebukes our Lord for appearing to give himself up to his enemies. Jesus, in response, calls Peter “Satan” and “an obstacle.” Peter did not want the Lord to go to the cross b/c he himself did not want to go to the cross. And so Jesus teaches the disciples and us, “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” In other words, “Peter, what you got to lose, brother?” His ambition, his possessiveness of Christ's love, his fear of persecution and death, and his anxiety about what happens after the Lord is executed. Until he loses all these, he is Satan and an obstacle. This morning, our sister, Mary Jacinta, steps to the door of heaven and asks for God's mercy and ours. She will return to her cell and begin again the hard and holy work of being Christ for us in prayer. Her cross – the one she has chosen to bear – is total freedom in Christ, that freedom that the evangelical counsels help us all to achieve.

What cross have you chosen to bear? No one follows Christ w/o bringing along a cross. So, choose one and follow along. We might think of our crosses as burdens or afflictions. We might think of them as responsibilities or mistakes that we cannot correct. But the cross is the instrument of Christ's death for the salvation of the world. What Christ is telling us is that we too must carry with us the instrument of our deaths for the salvation of the world. How will you give your life for a friend? How will you show your Christ-like love when you are called upon to do so? What Christ is telling us is that just as he gave his life so that we might live, we too must be prepared to sacrifice ourselves for the life of another. That sacrifice might be motherhood/fatherhood; it might be a life given to the Church in lay service; it might be a life given over to ordained ministry, or consecrated life, or it might be a life given – literally – in blood for the truth of the faith. What cross have you chosen to bear? No one follows Christ w/o bringing along a cross. If you finding it hard to decide on a cross, ask yourself, “What do I have to lose?” What do I possess that prevents me from possessing the love of Christ?

If you need additional help in choosing a cross, look to the nuns of this monastery. Here you will find a school of charity, a place where the consecrated artists of loss practice their art. Absent any worldly measure fof success, stripped of pretense and the need for celebrity, detached from the things of the world that anchor us to sin and death, these nuns of St. Dominic create loss by living out Christ's command, “Deny yourself, take up your cross, follow me.” Are they perfect? I hope not. Otherwise, they wouldn't be here. Do they fail? Of course. And that's good for them and for us. But if they aren't perfect and sometimes fail, then why should we look to them as teachers? Simply put: they are happy with less and less and they delight in the Lord b/c they have so little that competes for his love and attention. Our sisters here practice the art of living as if they are already in heaven. This doesn't mean that they are closer to heaven than we are. But it does mean that they have given themselves to the arduous task living in the world while remaining apart from it. A task given to every Christian at baptism.

About five years ago, I was pulled into this nun's world to give a series of lectures to the sisters. I want to remember that I was nervous, but I wasn't. I want to remember being intimidated, but I wasn't. What I encountered behind the grille was a world of prayer, study, work, and cheerful communal living. I also discovered a large dog, Sr. Sabina. As I remember she was most attentive to my lectures! Though I could never understand her questions. Among the nuns was a shy sister who stood out. . .not b/c she sports a lovely Haitian tan. . .but b/c her smile and her desire to learn burned across the room. I eventually became her spiritual director and friend. Our once a month phone sessions are a delight for me b/c all I have to do is listen. That's a southern way of saying that sister does all the talking! I can't reveal what we talk about during our SD sessions, but I can say that over the last few years I've come to see Sr. Mary Jacinta as a fervent soul given wholly over to the pursuit of her perfection in Christ. The step she will take this morning bears witness to her drive to bear her cross, to lose what she has to lose, and to deny herself so that others might live. If all goes well, we might one say, pray, “St. Mary Jacinta, OP, pray for us!”

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Do you live a grateful celebration?

4^th Sunday of Lent (C)
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
Our Lady of the Rosary, NOLA

Something draws sinners to Jesus. Tax collectors, prostitutes, all sorts of disobedient souls are pulled into his presence by. . .what exactly? What is there about Christ that attracts those who have put themselves outside of God's good graces? You would think that sinners would run and hide when he shows up to preach. But the only creatures who cringe at his approach are the unclean spirits, the demons. The gospels report that when our Lord walks into town, a crowd gathers. Some are there in hopes of seeing a magic trick. Others out of curiosity to hear what this guy has to say. Sprinkled throughout the crowd though are men and women whose deeply seeded desire for holiness is struck like a bell when Jesus comes near. There's just something about who and what Jesus is that makes these sinners drop whatever they are doing and run to be with him. What is this “something”? Whatever it is, the Pharisees and scribes are unhappy with the fact that a rabbi is eating and drinking with sinners. When they complain, Jesus tells them a parable about a long-lost son and his welcomed return home. This prodigal son leaves his life of sinful dissipation and starts a life of grateful celebration. Can we – former sinners and sinners alike – describe our lives as “grateful celebrations”?

The standard way of reading the Parable of the Prodigal Son goes like this. . .the son is the sinner; the father is God; and the good son is the Pharisee. When the sinner-son returns home after wasting his inheritance on wine, women, and song, his father throws a party to welcome him back. The good son (Pharisee) angrily objects to the party b/c his sinner-brother hasn't earned their father's forgiveness. The father responds “My son, you are here with me always. . .But now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.” Here's my question: what draws the sinner-son back to his father to live his life in grateful celebration? What is it about the father that attracts his son home? The sinner-son and the father share a habit of the heart: both are prone to prodigality, dissipation. For the son, this habit is a vice; for the father, it is a virtue. The father's welcome home feast is no less extravagant, no less excessive than the son's squandering of his inheritance. Both lavishly spend, both are reckless in their indulgence. However, while the son viciously spends money to sin, the father virtuously spends mercy to love. The son is drawn home to his father by a deeply seeded desire to have his own love perfected. In his father's mercy, the son's love is made perfect.

And imperfections always seek their perfection. A sin, of example, is always an act of imperfect love. Even when we are wrong about a choice, we think we are choosing the good. Sinners are drawn to Jesus like magnets, pulled toward his perfect love for them. His loving presence – extravagant, abundant, indulgent, perfect – seduces sinners, reels them in. We see in him and hear from him the holiness we long for, the righteousness we were made for. His fullness shames our emptiness and so we draw close so that we might be filled. Our Lord too is a prodigal child, a son of excessive love, abundant mercy, indulgent forgiveness, and perfect hope. He spent his life for us on the Cross, an act of holy abandon, a complete surrender to death so that we might live. If we draw near to him and confess our imperfections, we too are welcomed home to the Father. Made perfect by Love Himself. Thus, there is nothing else for us to do than to spend our lives in grateful celebration, giving thanks and praise, lifting up our burdens and seeing them taken away. Long or short, dull or exciting, the life of a faithful follower of Christ is a life lived in rejoicing, in grateful celebration. For us, if we turn to God for mercy, everyday warrants a fattened calf.

As the Lenten season slowly draws to a close, we have this Laetare Sunday, Rejoicing Sunday, to celebrate the Father's abundant and always freely offered mercy to sinners. Remember: our disobedience does not hurt God. Sin hurts the sinner. Sin hurts the Church. And only by answering the desire for mercy and reconciliation with the Father through the Church can the sins of a vicious life be cleared. Take the time remaining in Lent to examine your conscience, turn around, confess your sins, and return to your Father's home. There may not be a fattened calf waiting on the grill when we get there. . .but – like the Prodigal Son – you will know the happiness and abundant forgiveness of Love Himself.

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Stop. Turn around. Come home.

3rd Sunday of Lent

Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP

Our Lady of the Rosary, NOLA

Men do not like to stop and ask directions. Husbands, fathers, brothers – all men would rather wander lost in the wilds than stop at a 7-11 and ask the clerk how to get to where they are going. It's probably a primal fear of showing weakness during the hunt, a fear of admitting that our testosterone-enhanced ability to sense true north is defective. Given enough time, the Man assures his Woman, the Right Way will be revealed, and he will follow it to the promised destination. For her to nag him about stopping for directions, he insists, is a sign of mistrust, an admission that she doesn't trust him. But even scarier than the prospect of asking for directions is the possibility of having to turn around and start over. Turning around means that his inability to find the way has been made worse by a mistake, a mistake that can only be fixed with a new beginning. As sensible as this sounds, you must remember that turning around and starting over raises the chances that the worst possible outcome might come to pass: he gets lost again. Isn't it better to wander lost, endure a little embarrassment, and eventually find the way than it is to start over and risk losing the path all over again? Jesus answers, “No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will perish.” Turn around and start over. If you are lost, it is better to go home and set out again.

Why is repentance hard? Most of us would say that actually giving up our favorite sin is the most difficult part. But before we can give up our favored sin, we have to admit that this sin is a sin, a deliberate act of disobedience against God – otherwise, there is no good reason to give it up! We know that lying, stealing, cheating on a spouse is wrong, but we can be quick to rationalize the sin if it has a “good outcome.” It was small lie to help a friend. I stole from a greedy insurance company. My spouse really doesn't care if I cheat. If the harm caused by our sin is less than the imagined good that results from it, we might consider it wrong but not Really Wrong. This sort of moral reasoning makes sense in a world where we measure good and bad as a delicate balance between pleasure and pain, harm and help. If more people are helped than harmed then we judge an act good. If not, we say our actions were bad. In this world, our goal is to cause more pleasure than pain. Starting over makes no sense because any pain we might cause is easily balanced by causing an equal amount of pleasure. Steal from the insurance company and give the money to a charity. Cheat on a spouse and then volunteer to cook dinner for a month. The idea of true repentance never enters the equation because there is no Right Way from which we might stray.

In a world where there are no objective moral standards, no gods to offend, no eternal consequences for good or a bad behavior, weighing harm against help is undoubtedly an excellent method of moral reasoning. For Christians, no such world exists. Our world, the world created by a loving Father, redeemed by His Son, and infused with the Holy Spirit, is a world of objective moral law and eternal consequences. And there is most certainly a god to offend. For us, the reality of sin and necessity of repentance is as real as trees, rocks, and the air we breath. There is no escaping the possibility, if not the probability, that we will get lost on the Way, that we will falter in the work we have vowed to complete. If sin looms large in the Christian heart so does the opportunity for repentance and the assurance of forgiveness. There is no shame in admitting defeat, turning around, doing penance, and making a fresh start. Even so, we are sometimes inclined to resist the call to repentance and persist in failure. Like the husband, brother, father who will not admit that he is lost and refuses to ask for directions, we stubbornly hold out hope that we will find the Way on our own. This is a lonely, frustrating, and ultimately futile means of finding our way back to God.

When Jesus is told about the Galileans murdered by Pilate, he asks the crowd, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were greater sinners than all other Galileans? By no means! . .Or those eighteen people who were killed when the tower at Siloam fell on them – do you think they were more guilty than everyone else who lived in Jerusalem? By no means!” Then he makes his point: “But I tell you, if you do not repent, you will all perish as they did!” So, we're to think that b/c these people failed to repent, God allowed them to be murdered by Pilate and crushed by a tower? No. Jesus point is that they died suddenly, unprepared. Who imagines being killed in a riot or flattened by a collapsing building? Death comes for us all. . .so, turn around and get back to God. It's better to admit defeat in your stubborn refusal to ask for directions than it is to find yourself dead and unrepentant.

Fortunately for us, while we live, God waits for us to return. Our Father is patient. Death is not. Jesus bears this truth out in the parable of the barren fig tree. Ordered to chop down the tree that bears no fruit, the good Gardener asks the Owner for a reprieve. Give me and the tree one more tree to bear fruit. I'll cultivate the ground, fertilize it, and take care of it. If – in one year – it bears no fruit, then I will chop it down. The natural end of the barren fig tree is postponed by the intervention of the Good Gardener. He looks at the poor tree and sees hope. Hope for a harvest brought about through his loving-care. So Christ – our Good Gardener – sees us. We are given the years, days, months we have left to bear good fruit. If – in the end – we fail to produce, fail to repent and return to God, we go into death the way we went through life: without God. As I said, fortunately for us, while we live, He waits for us to return. Three weeks into Lent, are you bearing the good fruit of repentance? Are you going out into the world and being Christ wherever you find yourself? Are you fasting, praying, sharing your talents and treasures with those who need them most? Are you bearing witness to and giving God thanks for His great mercy? Don't let yourself fall to the Gardener's ax b/c you failed to bear good fruit. Don't be too stubborn to turn around and come home again. It is better to admit defeat in your pride than it is to find yourself dead and unrepentant.

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Love and Truth Cannot be Parted

2nd Sunday of Lent 2016
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
Our Lady of the Rosary, NOLA

You have heard it said – by pastors, preachers, confessors, teachers, the Pope, and even your mama – you have heard it said that God loves you. And indeed He does. He can do nothing else for He is Love. Our heavenly Father is not a being that loves us most of the time, or on occasion, or only when we deserve it. Love is Who He is and What He does – eternally, without conditions, and for a single all-encompassing purpose: to change those who will receive His love into a holy people. The question – does God love me? – should never cross your mind. Why? Do the logic: God is Love. You live and move and have your being in God. Only existing creatures are capable of asking questions. “Does God love me?” is a question, therefore you exist. Therefore, God loves you. To put that a bit more succinctly: that you (an existing creature) can ask the question at all means that God loves you. So, please retire the question of whether or not God loves us. If He didn't, He would not exist and neither would any of us. There is a question about God and love that we must ask, and ask daily: do I love God? If so, what purpose does my love for God serve? On Mt. Tabor – in the presence of Peter, James, and John – the transfigured Christ gives us the answer. We love God for the same reason He loves us: so that we may be made holy.

Since we've retired the question of whether or not God loves us (He does and can do nothing less), and we already know why He loves us (so that we may be made holy), and we've answered the question about why we love God in turn (so that we may help God make us holy), let's ask a more practical question: how do we help God make us holy? That is, what do we do/think/say/feel on a day to day basis that assists God's love for us so that we are actually growing in holiness? Loving God, yourself, your family and friends, your neighbors, and even loving your enemies is easy in the abstract. It's easy to sit back and radiate an aura of loving care; it's easy to say, “I love my neighbors and all my enemies;” it's easy to think sweet thoughts about the poor, the persecuted, and the sick. It is far more difficult to get out there and perform loving acts; to perform forgiveness; to show mercy; to treat everyone you meet – at church, at the bank, at the office, in traffic – to treat everyone you meet as another soul deeply in love with God and eternally loved by God. This is why the Church has always bound faith and works together: our loving works demonstrate our trust in God and our trust in God is made real in our loving works. When we fail to love, we confess these failures as sins in thought, word, and deed. So, how do we help God make us holy? Well, first, we understand that loving God and those He loves is not simply an abstract, intellectual exercise; next, we understand that love is a behavior – like driving or walking or getting dressed. To love is to see, hear, think about, and treat yourself and everyone else the way God Himself treats us all. With kindness, compassion, dignity, patience, and forgiveness. Do this and you grow in holiness. You become more like Christ. You are transfigured.

Becoming more like Christ is we have vowed to do. But we need to hear this: loving God, self, and everyone else – becoming more like Christ – is dangerous. Dangerous how? Besides Jesus' promises of persecution, trial, and death for those who follow him, we can point to the forty days he spent in the desert being tempted by Satan. We too are tempted to play the Devil's Games with sin and death. The Devil always takes God's gifts and tweaks them ever-so-slightly and then presents them to us infected with his poison. God's love and His command to us to love is no different. With God's love and His command to love comes His truth and His command to obey the truth. Love and truth cannot be separated. When we love intensely, we dwell intensely in the truth. And when we tell the Truth we always express love. The Devil plays on our desire to love by pointing out all the ways we appear to fail at love. He accuses the Church of not loving women b/c we truthfully name artificial contraception, abortion, and sterilization evil. He accuses us of hatred b/c we truthfully call sex outside of a sacramental marriage evil. He accuses us of not loving orphans b/c we cannot place them in homes with two fathers or two mothers. He accuses us of not loving non-Christians b/c we truthfully teach that Christ is the only name under heaven through which all are saved. What Satan is tempting us to do, want us to do, is sever truth from love and love without truth. This we cannot do b/c our Christ is the way, the truth, and the life. We follow him so that we may be transfigured, made holy in love and truth.

Satan and the world he rules teaches that “Love” is to be practiced without Truth. Love w/o truth is nothing more than poor-mouthed tolerance or indifference, an emotion that feels good to emote but ultimately leaves those who live it living a lie. Godly love is always true. Never a lie. True love is always gives the glory to God. Never to man. Love always carries us to goodness; never to evil. Love always binds us in obedience; it never frees us to be disobedient. Godly love always heals, always cleans, sometimes hurts, sometimes cuts away. Love never winks at sin, shrugs at injustice, or ignores the poor. Love always looks to Christ, his church, and his Mother. Love never uses the bottom-line, the convenient, the practical, or the efficient to destroy God’s creatures, especially His unborn children. Love always encourages spiritual growth from faithful experience. Love never gives license to novelty for novelty’s sake nor does love trust innovation for the sake of excitement. Love can be a terrible whirlwind, a bone-shattering blow, a heart-ripping loss. But love always builds up in perfection, grows in wisdom and kindness; love attracts questions about eternal things, and discourages attachment to impermanent things. The love that Satan and the world he rules wants to settle for is a passion for indifference, permissiveness, choice w/o consequence, and, ultimately, death.

Will you be made holy? Let's ask that differently: do you will to be made holy? If you will to become a well-oiled, surgical tool for God’s Word, you will love as He loves you. You will speak the truth and only the truth; you will spread goodness and only goodness; you will honor beauty and only beauty; you will correct error, confront sin, expose lies, forgive all offenses; and you will build up his Body with works of mercy and open the doors of your faith to the stranger. And you will remember – if you will to be made holy – that you are not alone. God is with us, and who can stand against Him?

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