"I feel seen"

6^th Week OT (T)

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Dominic Priory, NOLA

Kids these day have a saying, “I feel seen.” It means that someone has said something that “calls me out” or indirectly criticizes me. Mark's relentless skewering of the disciples for their lack of faith and their failure to understand Jesus' teachings...well, I feel seen. I feel skewered. And, of course, that's the point. Who am I supposed to be in the gospel story? Jesus?! No. That's the goal, sure. But it's not where I am right now. Right now, I'm not listening to Jesus b/c I'm hungry or crazy-busy or taking a nap or otherwise just putzing around, avoiding paperwork. Jesus is warning me about the dangers of falling into the vices of Herod and the Pharisees, and I'm just wondering if I can get away with adding another Diet Cheat Day to my weekly calendar. What's the problem here? One, Jesus' perspective is eternal. He sees it all at once. I don't. Two, he's w/o sin. I'm not. Three, he's the embodied Word of God. With baptism, I am too, but since I'm not eternal and remain sinful, I can't quite grasp what that means here and now. So, in between wondering what's for dinner and watching Korean candy making vids on Youtube, I manage to squeak out some prayer, some spiritual reading, a decade or two of the rosary, and maybe a little community time. Hardly the dangerous stuff of Herod and the Pharisees but also not exactly what Jesus is asking for. What is he asking? “Do you not remember. . .?” Honestly, no. When I'm whirling through another day of meetings and classes and NOLA traffic, I don't remember. I forget. If you “feel seen” by this Gospel, own it. Name it. And like any good habit, eventually the repetition of noting how you forgot will make you remember.    

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We are blessed right now

NB. The deacon is preaching this evening, but I thought I'd write a homily anyway. . .just to stay in shape. 

6^th Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Dominic Priory, NOLA

The promise of heaven for good behavior and the threat of hell for bad behavior is really all about social control. It's about using the promise/threat of an afterlife to keep us in line while we're still alive. Pie-in-the-sky, fire and brimstone – all that nonsense. I believed this lie when I was younger; that is, I believed the lie that heaven and hell were just fables told to keep us peasants under control. Back then, in my twenties, I thought everything was about power and control. Who has it? Who suffers b/c they don't? Who benefits from the system of religious myths and rituals? Now, have ecclesial and political authorities used religion as a means of social control? Sure. Anything humans touch can and will be twisted to an evil end. That a hammer can be used to murder doesn't mean that hammers are morally bad. That the Beatitudes can be used to pacify the angry masses into believing that things will be better in some fictitious heaven – well, that doesn't mean we are not blessed when we follow Christ and work toward being perfected in him. “Rejoice and leap for joy on that day! Behold, your reward will be great in heaven.” Better yet: rejoice and leap for joy for your reward is – right now – already great!

We make a big mistake when we assume that we must wait for heaven to receive our reward for being faithful followers of Christ. Sure, the fullness of our reward will be great then – no doubt! – but we start sharing in the Kingdom we've inherited even now. What is the Mass but a foretaste of the heavenly banquet? What is confession but a glimpse into the Father's mercy? What is baptism and confirmation but our first steps as heirs and members of the holy family? Marriage makes the married couple a sacrament of Christ's love for his Bride, the Church. And the sacrament of anointing brings us directly into the healing power of God. Jesus preaches the Beatitudes not to pacify us deprived peasants into a compliant citizenry but to show us that our suffering now shapes us into perfected vessels for his gifts. But. . .we must suffer well. We can suffer now with an eye on some distant reward. Or, we can suffer now, suffer well, and benefit immediately from how we choose to suffer. The sacraments help. Prayer certainly helps. Good works always increase merit. But nothing beats loving sacrifice in bringing us close and closer to our perfection in Christ.

There are two components of loving sacrifice: surrender and gratitude. Together these two result in obedience. Not mere compliance. But obedience – truly loving God, listening to His Word, and following His will. Surrender is about coming to know a simple truth: I am not in control. Never have been. Never will be. I was thrown into this world by my parents. I wasn't consulted. No one asked for my permission to be born. I didn't get a choice in my race or sex or anything else for that matter. Yet – here I am. At some point, I started making choices. And at that point, I started thinking (falsely) that I was in control. The sum total of my choices up until I surrendered proved to be...less than spectacular. MUCH less than spectacular, in fact. At death's door from an internal staph infection at 34yo, I chose surrender. I let go of the wheel. Did I occasionally snatch it back? Yes. Did I successfully drive my life toward Christ when I did? No. Ended up in a ditch every time. Age helps surrender b/c age helps you see the Real as it is...not as you want it to be. Think of surrender as your first sacrifice. Your intellect and will upon His altar, your contrite heart and mind raised up and given over to be made holy. A sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving.

Giving thanks is harder than we sometimes imagine. Saying “thank you” is an admission of dependence. It's a confession of needing help. Once you've surrendered, once you've offered your heart and mind in sacrifice, the help you need is abundant and freely given. Turning your prayer life toward gratitude deepens your humility, and you begin to understand what Jesus means when he preaches about being blessed. Blessed now, blessed then. Always blessed in thanksgiving. The deeper you grow in humility, the easier obedience becomes. You learn a new habit, or rather, you relearn an old habit in a new way: faith. It's not just trust anymore, or hope, but a still, grounded, rock-solid certainty that God's promises will not be fulfilled. BUT...they have already, always been fulfilled and you participate fully in them. That's blessedness this side of paradise. And with that blessedness comes the driving need to bear witness to the gift you have been given, the gift you have freely received. When you do, when you bear witness, you offer loving sacrifice. And you grow closer to Christ. Blessed are those who die to self in surrender and gratitude and become Christ for another. 

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Jesus goes hard

5^th Week OT (T)

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Dominic Priory, NOLA

Instead of reading the Pharisees' questions to Jesus as a Gotcha Moment, we can choose to read them “against the grain,” as legitimate. That is, we can assume that they are genuinely curious about why Jesus and his disciples aren't performing basic purification rites. This makes Jesus' response sound a bit harsh. But he's in a teaching moment and sometimes harsh lessons stick better than subtle ones. The not so subtle lesson here is simple: God wants a contrite heart. Not religiousy pantomime. Religious theater is all well and good. . .if the heart and mind performing the script is sincerely contrite and ready for genuine sacrifice. Maybe the Pharisees see in Jesus and his followers something missing from their own spiritual practice. Maybe they see the spots in their lives where the missing pieces go and want to know how Jesus and his disciples fill them. A subtle lesson on integrating word and deed, heart and mind might not overcome centuries of religious vice. So, Jesus goes hard, calling them hypocrites and accusing them of replacing God's law with mere human tradition. To the publicly popular Pharisees this must've been a wet smack in the face. But a necessary one. At the root of tradition is a long forgotten response to God. Only a sincerely contrite and sacrificial heart can retrieve from history what God was asking of us back then. Such a heart would know that He is always asking of us the same thing: come to me and be at peace. Tradition is always our answer. But it is never the source of our peace.   

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The Secret to a Big Haul

5^th Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

OLW/OLR, NOLA

While Simon Peter grouses about his empty nets, Jesus just points to the water and says, “Try again.” When the nets come up bursting at the seams with fish, Peter and his helpers are astonished. Peter is so astonished that he falls to his knees and confesses his sinfulness! He doesn't praise Jesus or thank him or pepper him with questions about how he worked this miracle. He confesses. And what exactly is he confessing? Laziness? Pride? Anger? Matthew doesn't name Peter's sin, but we can work it out that Peter is confessing to the sin of anxiety, the sin of faithlessness. He complies with Jesus' command to throw his nets once more, but he doesn't truly obey; that is, he doesn't throw his nets b/c he deeply loves his teacher. He does it more like “sure, whatever you say.” Peter's disobedience isn't apparent to his helpers, but it's sounding like a fog horn in his own heart and mind. So, he drops to his knees and confesses. Christ reveals to Peter and to us that when we, as Christians, work w/o Christ, we fail. Even if the work gets done, we fail. With Christ, however, our work is always complete and fruitful. Even if at first it appears we have failed.

We know this gospel scene is about Christ making his apostles “fishers of men,” those sent out to catch and haul in the souls of men and women who have seen and heard the Word. But underneath this scene, animating it from behind-the-scenes is a larger, deeper theological revelation, one the story itself both reveals and occludes. The story tells us that when we obey Christ – truly obey, not merely comply with – our work is abundantly blessed. The evidence is right there on the shore of the sea – nets bursting with fish when earlier there were no fish to be found. The story also tells us that our failures – in ministry, in marriage, in family life, at work – are almost always rooted in some sin, some species of disobedience. In Peter's case, his sin is a failure to fully trust the Lord's word. He complies, but he does so with a kind of despair. Peter believes that his next attempt to catch some fish will be exactly like all of his previous attempts – empty. He discounts Christ's presence and his commanding word. Lastly, the story tells us that we belong to Christ. When we remember him, when we work along side him, in his name and for his glory, our work is abundantly fruitful. Why? B/c it is Christ who does the real work.

And this is the truth the story hides. Not hides per se but blurs. Jesus doesn't cast out or haul in the nets. He doesn't row the boat or mend the nets. Or, if he does, Matthew leaves that part out! Christ's work isn't hands-on. In this scene, Jesus is a presence, a teaching presence. He's there to reveal and instruct. He is a physical reminder to the fishermen, a prompt that nudges these men to ask: the Lord is always with me – there he is right now! – but am I always with the Lord? NB. Peter and his fellow fishermen catch nothing before the Lord arrives. After he arrives and commands another attempt, they catch more fish than they can handle. Peter is repentant b/c he doubted the Lord's word. But he is also aware that he had forgotten the Lord's promise that he would always be his brothers and sisters. Even in his absence, he is present. Where two or more are gathered in my name, I am with you always. True. But am I always with the Lord? As followers of Christ, heirs to the Kingdom, brothers and sisters in the Spirit, every word we speak, every thought we think, every deed we do, is abundantly blessed when we speak, think, and do, knowing he is with us and we with him.

So, how do we always stay with the Lord? How do we remain always in his presence? First, we make it a foundational act of faith that he is always with us. Not just here in church. Not just when we call his name. Not just when we might need him. Always. Second, remember Scripture: we live, move, and have our being in Him. We are b/c He is. Practice noticing your being; that is, make a habit of noting that you are alive. Driving, working, exercising, eating – give Him thanks and praise for your existence. Third, give Him thanks and praise for the existence of others in your life. Start a circle: immediate family, then friends, then co-workers, and so on. Name them and give God thanks for them. Fourth, no work you and I can do is done outside Christ. We belong to Christ, so everything we do belongs to Christ. Dedicate your work to his glory. File papers in his name. Grade exams in his name. Deliver packages in his name. Stock shelves, teach kids, count money, bag groceries, collect garbage, nurse the sick, change sheets, wash the dishes in his name and for his glory. Christ never forgets us. He is with us always. The secret to hauling in nets bursting with fish is to discipline ourselves in the art of keeping ourselves always with him.   

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Fear is Control losing its power

4^th Week OT (T)

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Dominic Priory, NOLA

Fear can be constructive. It makes us cautious when there's a 2possibility of injury or death, nudging prudence when prudence needs nudging. Fear can also be destructive. Sometimes it can nudge prudence too aggressively and drive us into a panicked state of paranoia about our health and safety. An existential threat to our livelihood or social position can do this. So can being diagnosed with a fatal disease. Jesus offers a clear and simple choice here: fear or faith. “Do not be afraid; just have faith.” To 21^st c. over-educated, middle-class, professional religious ears this is neither clear nor simple. It's Black/White and simplistic. When my health and safety are on the line, I want more than bumper sticker slogans! But what is fear, and what is faith? Fear is Control losing its power. Panic and paranoia are its death-throes. Faith is Control being surrendered to God – an easy move since our Control is a illusion anyway. Fear is a tumor, a deadly lesion that can at once warn us that something is wrong, and kill us. But faith is always the proper cure. Trusting God to do the right thing for us is always the safest bet.    

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I'm no prophet!

4^th Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

OLR, NOLA

I've heard the following in one form or another a thousand times over the years: “But, Father, I'm just a housewife, a secretary, a teacher, a coach, a retired cop, etc. . .I'm not a priest or a prophet! I can't preach or teach the Good News!” This exclamation disavowing responsibility for being a priest and prophet usually comes after I've exhorted a congregation to go out into the world and be the priests and prophets they've promised to be. It boils down to saying that I can't be and do what I promised to be and do b/c I'm not who and what Christ says I am. What a strange thing for a Christian to say. I am not who and what Christ says I am. When someone says to me that he or she is “just a student or just a nurse or just a custodian,” I add, “You are not just anything. You are a priest, prophet, and king; dead, buried, and risen in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ Jesus; baptized into his mission and ministry, and charged with bearing witness to the coming of his Father's Kingdom! Now, go act like it.” Why the reluctance to be and do what we've promised to be and do in Christ? Jesus answers, “No prophet is accepted in his own native place.”

For example, last Sunday, we heard Jesus announce to the synagogue that he is the Messiah. Everyone is amazed by his graciousness. That amazement lasts about ten seconds. Then the questions, suspicions, and accusations start to fly: “Hey, wait a minute, isn't he just a local boy? That's Joseph the carpenter's son. Someone from this podunk town can't possibly be the Messiah. Who's he think he's foolin'?” If they can say that about Jesus the Christ, what are they going to say about me when I try to preach or teach the Good News? I remember her from Cabrini/Mt. Carmel/Dominican. I remember him from Brother Martin/Jesuit/Rummel. And then the memories start to flow and whatever credibility you had is washed away in your dodgy past. I get it. I do. I'm right there with you. My own past is a huge stumbling block for friends and family who knew me before I became a Dominican friar and priest 23yrs ago. But here's the hard truth of who you are now: in Christ Jesus you are a new creation, a renewed creature of grace and mercy. And you have been given all that you need to be preacher and teacher of the Good News right where you are, whatever you are doing.

No, it's not an easy path to walk. No, it's not a simple thing to bear witness to Christ. And no, it's not just a matter of being kind to others and smiling a lot. Jesus stood up in a synagogue and claimed to be the Son of God, the Messiah. They literally ran him out of town and tried to kill him! If you follow Christ, then you can expect nothing less when you bear witness to him. You can expect ridicule, opposition, indifference, and maybe even some violence. You might be canceled, fired, silenced, or even jailed. Or. . .you might be ignored altogether. Doesn't matter. Our mission is not to drag dirty sinners into the confessional and browbeat them until they convert. Our mission is to show in word and deed how the mercy of God has transformed our lives and how that transformation is freely offered to anyone with eyes to see and ears to hear. Our mission isn't about being right, or holier-than-them, or more socially respectable. It's about being as much like Christ as we possibly can so that his offer of mercy to sinners is heard and seen in us. And we cannot forget that we were once and probably still are sinners in need of his mercy. That's our motivation to preach and teach – we've been into the dark, and we've seen the light. This makes us humble and grateful. . .not self-righteous and prideful.

So, if you struggle to be a prophet at work or at school, why? What's stopping you? Are you afraid that your family and friends are going to remind you of your sins? If those sins are forgiven, who cares? That's the point! Your sins are forgiven. You are a new creation. Maybe you're reluctant to preach and teach the faith b/c it means living up to the standards you're preaching and teaching. Good! You should be reluctant. Following Christ is not an easy path to walk. But telling others about your life in Christ is a great way for you to hold yourself accountable. Maybe you're afraid that bearing witness will expose your faith to ridicule and opposition, and you're not sure you can fend off objections and answer hard questions. Fair enough. All you need to do is tell your story. If you can't answer objections and questions, fine. Don't. Just say, “I don't know. But here's what I do know. . .” And tell your story. Your story is Christ's story. Mercy, forgiveness; always doing the right thing; seeking the face of God in prayer; and being willing to sacrifice in love for another. That's what prophets do. That's what you've promised to do.

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The Word is alive!

3^rd Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

OLR, NOLA

I have been assured by more than one Baptist friend that Catholics do not “believe in the Bible.” We do not read the Bible nor do we teach the gospel as it's found in the Bible. Apparently, we believe in “the traditions of men” and just make stuff up as we go along. We believe all sorts of nonsense that's found nowhere in Scripture, like purgatory and worshiping Mary and that we can work our way into Heaven. Even former Catholics will tell me that they left the Church for a “Bible-believing” community, one where Scripture comes first and all the trappings of religiosity are set aside. At the root of this disastrous misunderstanding of the Church's relationship with Scripture is a modernist error, namely, nominalism. I'll spare you the philosophical lecture. Suffice it to say, that our Protestant brethren do not possess a sacramental imagination. They cannot think of their faith as anything other than the intellectual assent to a written text. We, on the other hand, understand that the Word of God – while expressed in Scripture – is not limited to Scripture. The Word of God is the living, breathing Holy Spirit of Love that exists between the Father and His Son. And that Holy Spirit of Love is the soul of the Church.

Now, when I say that the Holy Spirit is the soul of the Church, I mean it literally. Each one of us here is a body and a rational soul, making us each a human person. Through baptism we have been individually incorporated – embodied – into the Body of Christ, the Church. So, from the moment of Christ's baptism in the Jordan until this very second, the Body of Christ includes every human person who has ever been baptized with water in name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the HS. And we are all united in the Spirit of Love that the Father and Son share in the Trinity. All this means that while we read, revere, and obey Scripture, we also know that the Word of God is not merely history written with ink on paper. Just words to be agreed with. The Word of God is alive in us, working out our salvation with our cooperation; animating our mission and ministry; and giving us the life we need to be perfected in Christ Jesus. Scripture is a record of how our ancestors in faith encountered the Living God and struggled to be obedient to His Word. They succeed. They failed. They rejoiced. And sometimes they despaired. But they always knew: the Word is alive. And He is always with us. His Word is fulfilled in our hearing.

Jesus amazes the men of the synagogue that Sabbath morning. Here, he – to them a mere mortal – stands up, reads a passage from Isaiah – a passage prophesying the coming of the Messiah – and proclaims, “Today this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing.” He is saying to them, “I am the Messiah prophesied by Isaiah.” He is laying claim to the ancient title of Savior, claiming for himself the Sonship of the Father and the mantle of the Prince of Peace. Scripture tells us that they are amazed. I imagine that they are also shocked, dumbfounded, astonished, and maybe even scandalized. It's not an everyday thing to be a witness to the Word of God taking on human flesh! But this exactly what happens every time we hear the Word proclaimed. At Mass, the Word is given a human voice. We don't simply sit quietly in the pew and read the words on a page. We attend to the Word proclaimed. We incline our hearts and minds to the spoken Word. The Word comes alive through the air, and we receive it like the void received the first, creating Word. The Spirit of the Word speaks to the Spirit of the Church, the same Spirit speaking Himself to Himself.

If all of this isn't just going to end up sounding like a lot of esoteric theologizing, we need to answer the question, “So what?” Our Catholic understanding of the Word of God is meant to foreclose the error of using Scripture like a spiritual first aid manual – flip to the index, find the problem, look up the solution, and all is well. Scripture is not a collection of spiritual recipes, or a legal document for living correctly. Scripture records the faith-lives of those who came before us. They were called into an intimate relationship with their Creator. Being imperfect (as we are) they floundered; they ran away; they exhibited tremendous courage and cowardice; they listened and obeyed, and they ignored God and did their own thing. What their stories tell us is that no matter how far we run or how deep we dig, God always remains faithful. He never abandons us. Our failures do not and cannot turn Him away. Our victories are His first, and we share in the spoils of obedience. Scripture is essential, indispensable. And the Word of God is the breath of the Church. We live and move and have our very being in His Word. We compose new books every time we surrender and give Him thanks.  

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What has been made known?

Epiphany of the Lord

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

OLR, NOLA

What has been made known? That's what an epiphany is – the event, the moment when the unknown is made known. When the obscured is clarified. The Magi find the Christ Child in Bethlehem; pay him homage as their King; and gift him with treasures proper to his station. What do their visit and their gifts make known to us? Paul shares the Magi's revelation with the Ephesians: “...the Gentiles are coheirs, members of the same body, and copartners in the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel.” He adds, “[This mystery] was not made known to people in other generations as it has now been revealed...” For centuries, the Jews waited for the arrival of the Messiah. He was their Savior, their long-promised salvation from sin and death. Even after Christ's birth and the start of his public ministry, even after his sacrifice on the cross and resurrection from the dead, some still held to the cherished belief that the Messiah came to save the Jews and them alone. The Magi – priests and astrologers from the East, Gentiles to their bones – reveal a different mission for the Christ Child: he comes to save us all. Gentiles and Jews alike.

The Magi – knowing who and what the Christ Child is – prostrate themselves and open their treasures to him. Having submitted themselves to his kingly rule, they depart, leaving Herod to wonder where his potential rival for royal authority rests. Now, with Baby Jesus napping in Bethlehem and Herod fuming in Jerusalem, all of humanity is thrown into the daily existential drama of choosing a King. To whom do we submit? A prince of this world? Or the Prince of Peace? A temporary king in a temporary kingdom? Or the eternal King of the whole universe? Herod will go on to reveal the corruption at the heart of his kingdom. He will order the slaughter of all male children two years old and younger. He will sacrifice the lives of babies for his power but move not one inch to sacrifice himself for the sake of another. Christ too will go on to reveal the majesty and power of his Father's Kingdom. He will sacrifice himself for our sake, giving his life – human and divine – on the Cross for the salvation of his people. The epiphany shows us that Gentile and Jew alike can be saved by the Christ. It also shows us how to live in a world ruled by Herods. What must we do?

Remember who you are! You are members of the Body of Christ. You are coheirs to the Father's Kingdom. You are partners in the mission and ministry of Christ Jesus. Two thousand years ago, the Word became flesh and lived and moved among us. At your baptism, you too became the Word made flesh. You live and move and have your being in the Word. Who you are is the Word. Incorporated into the Body, you inherit a kingdom and become a partner in that kingdom's rule. You have chosen Christ as your King. Yet! Herod rules the world. And we know that we cannot serve two Masters. So, we live in the rule of a Herod but under the rule of Christ. To accomplish this exhausting task, we are given – weekly, even daily – the Body and Blood of our King to sustain us. We are given him who saves us, strengthens us, blesses us, and brings us to our perfection in him. Remember who you are. And remember what you have vowed to do. The Magi revealed the Christ to us. Now it's our turn to reveal the Christ to the world. With every thought, word, and deed, wherever you happen to be, whatever you happen to be doing – reveal Christ as your King. Show his mercy. Show his love. Repeat his offer of salvation from sin and death. Make him known. You are given the strength and courage to accomplish this. Do it!

This Mass will end like every other Mass you've ever attended – with a final blessing and a dismissal. These two small bits of liturgical action signal to most that it's almost time to head home for lunch/dinner and catch a football game on TV. But if you pay attention, you'll hear and experience something more profound than an ending. You'll hear and experience a beginning. The final blessing grants you God's favor and lifts you up in your pursuit of holiness. It sets you apart from the world, consecrating you to a specific purpose: to be Christ in the world. So consecrated, you are dismissed, sent out. You are given a charge, an order for your work as a Christ. The last words you hear exhort you take what you have received in this Mass and share it with the world. We find comfort in the regularity of the liturgy – the predictability of the responses; the order of the rites. We find strength and courage in the readings and in knowing that Christ is truly present on the altar. We may even enjoy the fellowship we find here. But we were not saved from sin and death to live comfortable lives in a church building. We were saved to be sent out. We were saved to be bearers of the Good News. 

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