Praiseworthy Self-abasement [Audio Link added]

22^nd Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP

OLR, NOLA

Audio Link

I know a lot about humility. I know the definition of the word. I know how to distinguish it from its many synonyms. And I know how to work with it intellectually as a theological concept and virtue. In other words, I can massage just about every aspect of humility into a homily, a paper, a lecture, or a spiritual direction session. Good for me! The hard question though is: am I humble? Do I actually exhibit the virtue of humility as a spiritual good for my growth in holiness? If I say yes, am I boasting? If I say no, am I being falsely modest? Perhaps humility is a virtue best practiced in secret. . .with great courage. St Thomas tells us that humility “conveys the notion of a praiseworthy self-abasement to the lowest place” (ST II-II.161.1.ad.2). St Gregory of Nyssa tells us that “[t]he Word speaks of voluntary humility as 'poverty in spirit'”(De beatitudinibus 1). And Our Lord implies that humility opposes self-exaltation, “For every one who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.” What humility is is a reality check on our self-appraisal, a speed-bump on our high-speed chase to perfection: “Go and take the lowest place.”

Take the lowest place. When St. Thomas tells us that humility “conveys the notion of a praiseworthy self-abasement to the lowest place,” he's being very careful to make some crucial distinctions. Probably the most important one: the distinction btw self-abasement and praiseworthy self-abasement. Humility is not about self-abasement, a groveling, hatred of the self that leaves you debased and cringing. Humility is about abasing oneself in a praiseworthy manner. Simply put, praiseworthy self-abasement is nothing more than the recognition and acceptance of one's Christian reality: I am both a sinner and a redeemed child of God. I am capable of both great holiness and great evil. I am unworthy of heaven but made worthy in Christ Jesus. Recognizing and accepting this reality – the both/and of being a sinner made worthy – is what it is to abase myself in a praiseworthy manner. I cannot deceive myself into thinking that I am already a saint. Nor can I deceive myself into thinking that I am an unholy worm deserving death. The reality is much more complicated and much more difficult than those easy extremes. The truth is: we are being perfected. Not yet there but on our way. And while on our way, we recognize and accept that our failures and flaws prevent us from raising ourselves above our brothers and sisters.

Jesus' parable of the banquet gives us a window into this thinking about the proper place of humility in the kingdom. Notice in the parable that we are not always relegated to the lowest position. The host might ask us to move up to a higher position. But we can only be moved up if we have first chosen a lower position for ourselves. When we presume – in our pride – to take the highest place, the only direction for us to move when ordered to do so is down. Rather than humble ourselves by recognizing and accepting our unworthiness for the honor, we instead jump pridefully to the place of honor and find ourselves humbled by the host. At the core of this parable is the authority of the Host. He determines who sits where in the order of honor not the guests. If the wedding banquet in the parable is heaven in reality, then it is God Who decides who sits in the places of honor. . .not His guests at the table. If you exalt yourself now, you will be humbled later. However, if you humble yourself now, you will be exalted in heaven. 

 

So, how do we humble ourselves now? Jesus gives us a clue in the parable: “. . .when you hold a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind; blessed indeed will you be because of their inability to repay you.” In other words, doing something good for someone who can repay you is less humbling than doing something good for those who can never repay you. Spending your wealth – time, talent, and treasure – freely on those who cannot repay you is the sort of sacrifice that leads to greater humility. Wanting to be “paid back” indicates that you believe that what you have given is truly yours. And that you want your depleted wealth restored. However, spending wealth on those who cannot repay you indicates that you know that all that you have truly belongs to God and that you are merely the steward of His wealth. The sacrifice is not in the “giving over” but in the recognition and acceptance that you are steward of God's wealth not the true owner of the wealth. That sacrifice helps perfect your humility and draws you closer to God. You pull more deeply on the truth that saves: I am wholly dependent on God for everything I have and for everything I am. I am but His instrument.

We could spend hours going over the many ways that we are encouraged by the powers of this world to exalt ourselves above others: class, race, education, martial status, parenthood, economic status, etc. The ways we have of degrading others for our own exaltation are as numerous as the fallen angels. And just as evil. There is but one way to fight and defeat the temptations of self-exaltation: embrace the humility of Christ on the Cross. Scripture tells us that the Son of God emptied himself out to become one of us so that he could die as one of us on the Cross. Theologians sometimes refer to this emptying out as the Son of God “condescending” to become like us. We could just as easily say that he “humbled himself” in order to make our own humility possible. How do we make use of the humility he made possible? We receive into our own hearts and minds his motivation for humbling himself – he loved us as his own and died for us so that we might live. That's sacrificial love. Love that sacrifices self for another. And there is no greater humility to be found. When the powers of this world tempt us to exalt ourselves at the expense of our rich/poor, black/white, Republican/Democrat, educated/uneducated neighbors, bring to your heart and mind the image of Christ on his Cross. Remember that he – the Son of God, the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity – humbled himself to become one of us and to die as one of us so that we might live. That WE – all of us – might live. 

 

It is Devil's work to divide us into rich and poor, white and black, upper and lower classes. It's Christ's work to save us all in his one act of sacrificial love on the Cross. And it's our work to be his instruments in this fallen world. Give when you cannot be repaid. Choose the lowest place.

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Losing your mind to Christ

18th Sunday OT
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
Church of the Incarnation, Univ of Dallas

Have you ever lost your mind and wondered where you put it? Have you ever changed your mind and wondered if you are now another person? Ever have something on your mind and wondered if the weight of it was showing up on the bathroom scale? According to Plato, the human mind is a reflection of the Nous, the One Mind, corrupted by the body. Aristotle argued that the mind is that faculty of the soul that reasons. Aquinas and most of the scholastics propose that the mind apprehends reality as it is and understands that reality according to the nature of the divinely informed human intellect. Empiricists tell us that our minds are sensation collectors, blank slates that scoop up impressions from the world; Rationalists that the mind is best understood as a repository for those innate ideas that make it possible for us to think. Kant puts these two theories together and concludes that the mind orders sense experience using ideas that already exist in the mind. Most contemporary philosophers have more or less accepted that the mind is simply the work of the brain and that when we use “mind-terms” to describe mental activities and states (happiness, confusion, insight), we are really just talking about neuro-chemical activity in the brain. All of these theories tell us what the mind is; how it works with memory, perception, learning, and will; how we use it, and how we lose it. So when Paul writes to the Ephesians, “I declare and testify in the Lord that you must no longer live as the Gentiles do, in the futility of their minds; that is not how you learned Christ...,” we much ask: have we learned Christ, or do we live as the Gentiles do in the “futility of their minds”?

By the third time I attempted college algebra—having dropped it twice out of abject fear—I concluded that my brain was not wired to comprehend the occult lore of math. To my mind, geometry is an ancient magical system for plotting an eternity of suffering. Calculus is a demonic wisdom that tricks us into giving our souls to the Devil. Confronted by the squiggly gibberish of numbers in formulas, my mind freezes in fear and then flees to poetry where nothing can hurt me, or make me hurt myself or others. I failed to learn math as a kid, and now, as an adult, I will not put on the mind of math because such a renovation project seems to me be utterly futile, hopelessly empty of promise or prize. So, along with all the number-challenged souls in the world I rejoice to hear Paul say, “...truth is in Jesus...” Alleluia! This truth is the one truth I do not fear. Though I seek this truth, there is some question about whether or not I have learned it. This is a judgment to be made at the conclusion of this world, the Mother of All Final Exams. I hope Professor Jesus allows us all a crib sheet!

Desperate to witness signs of wonder and learn the mysteries of salvation, crowds follow Jesus around throwing questions at him like paparazzi after Britney Spears. On occasion, Jesus obliges the crowds by healing the blind, the demonically possessed, and even the dead. He teaches his Father's mercy and calls all to repentance and a new way of living life toward a glorious end in heaven. He even demonstrates his command of math by multiplying five loaves of bread and two fish into enough food for five thousand. Impressed but unfulfilled, the crowds demand more and wait on the next miracle to confirm their faith. Jesus tells them that they are asking him to teach the wrong lesson: “...you are looking for me not because you saw signs but because you ate the loaves and were filled.” They are lead by the stomach not the mind; hunger-pains brings them to Christ not the pains of ignorance. Though the bread they eat fills the belly, it does not fill the soul. Therefore, Professor Jesus concludes, “Do not work for food that perishes but for the food that endures for eternal life...”

What do you hunger for, thirst for? What do you need to see, to learn, to feel before you can say that you are filled-up, completely satisfied? If you were in one of those crowds following Jesus around, what one gift would you beg him for; what one question would you ask him? You might say, “I only desire to do the work of God!” Do you know what that work is for you? Have you read the job description for being a good Christian? Have you learned Jesus as your one truth, putting “away the old self of your former way of life, corrupted through deceitful desires, and [been renewed] in the spirit of your minds”? If you have, then you have done the work of God. Jesus says, “ This is the work of God, that you believe in the one he sent.” First, believe; then think, feel, act, be always out of this belief in Christ and your life will be a sign to others that you have “put on the new self, [and have been] created in God’s way in righteousness and holiness of truth.” You will be a sign of hope to all those who seek the truth that Christ is the truth they seek.

Though we have a long, long history of exploring the philosophical, scientific, and theological nature of the human mind, we do not need an empiricist or rationalist or materialist theory of consciousness in order to comprehend and live the mind of Christ. We do not need a clear and distinct idea about the structure of memory or perception, or a fulsome argument for the nature of thinking or the workings of emotion and will. If mind is simply the neuro-chemical activity of the brain, fine. Do your dopamine, serotonin, and norepinephrine belong to Christ? If mind is the rational faculty of the soul that allows us to abstract ideas from sense experience, fine. Does your reason belong to Christ? Do you see and hear and touch Christ first? And if mind is a reflection of the One Mind corrupted by the body, so be it. Are you receiving God's graces to perfect your body and elevate your mind? If not, Paul reminds you, “...you must no longer live as the Gentiles do, in the futility of their minds.” For Paul, the Gentile mind reaches for knowledge and understanding without first having grasped Christ. This is utterly futile because “truth is in Jesus.”

You might be the one in the crowd who yells out to Jesus, “OK! The truth is in you. What sign can you do, that we may see and believe in you?” Jesus says to you, to all of us, “What can you do? Our ancestors ate manna in the desert...it was not Moses who gave the bread from heaven; my Father gives you the true bread from heaven.” You look to the sky. Glance around at the ground. Your stomach rumbles a bit. “Well, sir, give us this bread always.” Jesus smiles. This is the perfect set-up, the best of all segues. He takes the moment in hand, pauses just long enough to build an arc of anticipation, and then teaches the crowd, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.” Never hunger. Never thirst. First, believe; then think, feel, act, be always out of this belief in Christ and your life here and now will be a reflection of your promised life at the foot of the throne. You will be the only sign any of us will need to believe, the only miracle any of us will ask for.

Have you learned Christ? If so, then be Christ for us! If not, then let the Body and Blood you take this morning be your food and drink for the pilgrimage to heaven. Receive him as you would a rescuer come to take you from the wilderness. He will bring you to a far holier land.

Because Christ was first. . .

Dominican Martyrs: Haggai 2.1-9 and Luke 9.18-22
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
St Albert the Great Priory & Church of the Incarnation

The disciples could have said anything. Anything at all, really. They could have said, “You are a king come to save us from the political oppression of the Roman pigs.” Or, “You are this age’s particular, historical enfleshment of divine-human healing; a cosmic sign in flesh and blood, portending the eschatological consummation of the community of the divine.” Or, more simply, “You are John the Baptist, Elijah, or some other ancient prophet.” They could have said most anything. But what do they say when Jesus asks them, “…who do you say that I am?” Peter answers, “The Christ of God.” And Jesus smiles and congratulates his student. The other disciples whoop-it-up in celebration that the secret is known, and Jesus, finally relieved of the burden of his identity, relaxes and prepares for a kinder, gentler ministry among The Knowing. Yea, not quite. Jesus rebukes them and orders them not to tell anyone what they know. Then, having mastered the art of cold water surprises to the face, Jesus Buzzkill predicts his passion, death, and resurrection. Party over with. Again, not quite.

Notice that the Crowds say that Jesus is just some ancient prophet risen again. And, despite the fact that Jesus asks all of the disciples the question at hand—who do you say that I am?—it is Peter alone who answers, “The Christ of God.” But for this correct answer Jesus rebukes them all and silences them! Why? At the exact point where his less than brilliant students finally get that he is who he says he is—the Messiah, the Christ—Jesus not only orders them to silence but chastises them for knowing the truth. Again, why?

Jesus knows that the Party is long from over. In fact, he knows how the whole thing ends and says so: betrayal, arrest, trial, rejection by the chief priests, execution, and resurrection—third-day-dead. He knows all of this. And he knows that Peter, the one with all the correct answers, will deny him over and over and over again. And he knows that he will go to his execution alone. That he must go alone—without his friends, without his fans, without his family. No crowding followers. No mobs of zealous converts trying to rescue him. No bloody riots in his name. Just a shameful death on a cross. The Christ of God dying—beaten and abandoned—on a cross.

Why couldn’t that be John on that cross, or Elijah, or Peter himself? Why didn’t the Romans and temple authorities arrest Jesus’ students and hang them up as well? His family? Why didn’t the whole lot of them meet their gruesome end as theological subversives, or liberating guerillas fighting against Rome? Why was it Christ alone that died on that cross? Jesus asks his students, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter answers, “The Christ of God.” Jesus rebuked them and ordered them not to tell no one. And no one knew that Peter knew. And no one knew that the Jesus’ disciples knew. No one knew. And Jesus knew that no one would know until he rose again and came again in a roaring wind with fire and then, and then, everybody to eyes to see and ears to hear was gonna know: Jesus is the Christ of God!

Jesus is the Christ of God. He is the only one who could die on the cross for us. We cannot say that Jesus is only one Christ among many. Though we can say that we are all Christs in the world because he was Christ first. We cannot say that Jesus is one incarnation of divinity among many. Though we can say that we are all being perfected in divinity because the Son became flesh first. We cannot say that Jesus is just one man among many, dead on a cross, and risen again for our eternal lives. Though we can say that we have all died with him, and we will rise with him because he died for us and rose for us first.

The crowds still say that he is a prophet, a teacher, an avatar, a buddha of sorts. Peter says, even now, and we say with him still, “Jesus is the Christ of God!”

The spirit of the Lord God is upon US. . .

3rd Sunday of Advent

Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP

St. Dominic Church, New Orleans

Audio

On a Delta flight from Rome to Atlanta a few days ago, I overheard one of the flight attendants talking to a woman waiting to use the restroom. I couldn't make out what she was saying exactly, but there was no mistaking her accent, Deep Southern. When she came back up the aisle I asked where she was from. She smiled and said, “Memphis!” I told her my family lives right outside Memphis in north MS. Her smile got a lot bigger. Being good southerners, we immediately launched into the southerner's favorite game of “Who's your family?” Who's your mama's people? Who'd she marry? Are we cousins? Turns out that we aren't related but that hardly matters. We know where we're from and b/c we know where we're from, we know who we are and what we are about. Catholics play a similar game: what's your parish? Who's your pastor? Where did you go to school? All good questions. But do the answers to these questions tell us what it is to be Catholic? What it means to be a follower of Christ, to be a child of God? When you come to face the Lord at last, he will ask, “Who are you?” How will you answer? 

The Jews in Jerusalem have their version of our Southern and Catholic games. They send priests to question John the Baptist. They ask him, “Who are you?” He answers, "I am not the Christ." A bit baffled, they continue, “What are you then? Are you Elijah?” No. “Are you the Prophet?” No. “Who are you? What do you have to say for yourself?” You can hear the frustration in their voices; you can hear their confusion and fear. They need to know who this desert freak is before they can decide whether or not to take him seriously; before they can decide what—if anything—to do with him! Is he dangerous? Crazy? Possessed? Who is this guy and what is he up to? So, what does John the Baptist have to say for himself? He says this: "I am the voice of one crying out in the desert, 'make straight the way of the Lord. . .'" Well, that's certainly. . .um, helpful. You're a voice. . .a voice crying out in the desert. . .and you are crying out. . .“make straight the way of the Lord”? OK. Can you tell us what that means exactly? What does it mean to be “a voice in the desert crying out 'make straight the way of the Lord'”? John answers, “. . .there is one among you whom you do not recognize, the one who is coming after me, whose sandal strap I am not worthy to untie." Who is John the Baptist? He is the one who comes before the Christ to announce to God's people the advent of the Lord.

Now, who are you? You, all of you. Sitting here in St Dominic's Church, New Orleans. Who are you? We know that John is the herald of the Lord. He's not the Christ. He's not a prophet. He's a forerunner, a harbinger. Christ has yet to be born, and John is his living, breathing birth announcement. So, who are we? We can't be heralds or harbingers of Christ's advent in 2011. Christ has come; he's arrived; he is here! We can be forerunners of his coming again, his second coming. We can be the announcers of his return to us. Even better: we can be the Christs and the prophets that John could not be. Christ's own baptist, his death, and resurrection have made it possible for us—each of us—to be not only priests, prophets, and kings but Christs as well. Not simply followers of Christ, not merely members of the Church, not just pew warmers on a chilly Sunday morning/evening. We can and are made and remade to be Christs. Christs for one another. Christs for the poor, the sick, the hungry, the oppressed. Christs for those who do not know God's mercy. Christs for those who persecute us. Christs for anyone and everyone who feels the nearly irresistible tug of the Father's love. That's who are we and that's what we do.

Listen to this slightly edited version of Isiah's proclamation: “The spirit of the Lord God is upon US, because the Lord has anointed US; he has sent US to bring glad tidings to the poor, to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives. . .to announce a year of favor from the Lord and a day of vindication by our God.” We are the temples of the Lord's spirit. We are the anointed of God. We are the heralds of abundance, comfort, freedom. And we are the clarion voices of His favor and the prophets of His forgiveness. How is this possible? It was made possible by life, death, and resurrection of the Christ. When we were baptized, who we were died, the life we lived before vanished, and we were reborn in the image of the one who lived and died for us. That makes us Christs. . .as yet imperfect. . .but men and women nonetheless gifted with all we need to be made perfect. Our task now is to receive what God has given us and use these gifts to love the unlovable; to forgive the unforgivable; to suffer the insufferable; to pray in thanksgiving, to pray in gladness and joy, to pray always and most especially for those we most despise. Christ died once for all; as Christs we can work for nothing less.

How do we grow in this necessary holiness? How do we use God's gifts to come to Christ's perfection? Our brother, Paul, writes to the Church in Thessalonica, “Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances give thanks, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus. Do not quench the Spirit. . .” Do not quench the Spirit. . .of gratitude, of rejoicing; the Spirit of Truth and Goodness and Beauty that created from nothing all that there is; do not quench the Holy Spirit who gave Mary a son; who graced Christ's baptism and named him Son of God; who set upon the dejected apostles and set them on fire for preaching the Good News; the one who possesses us even now, shaking us out of our dull complacency and demanding of us that we get on with the work of living day-to-day as the well-loved children of a ever-loving Father. Do you carry God's Word like a child in the womb? Do you call yourself a son or a daughter of the Most High? Do you burn with the Spirit's fire to proclaim the Good News? Do you reject this world's narcotic lure and keep your heart and mind pure in the faith? When you fail—and we all fail—do you seek God's forgiveness and receive His mercy? If you answer No to any of these questions, let me ask you another: who are you then? Who are you pretending to be? 

John the Baptist called his people to attention and baptized them in repentance. While they waited on the advent of the Lord, they turned themselves around to face his coming. They turned from disobedience toward obedience; from sin toward holiness. As we wait on the advent of the Lord, his coming again, we too hear John's call to attention, his message of repentance: turn from sin and receive our Father's love. The Lord comes. The day of our rebirth is close to hand!

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Looking for a What, or a Who?

January 4^th (A): I John 3.7-10 and Luke 1.35-42
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
Serra Club Mass, Church of the Incarnation

Exhausted though we may be of anticipating and now celebrating the birth of our Lord, we find ourselves still in need of remembering exactly why the second Person of the Blessed Trinity became Man. Why did the Son of God take on human flesh? John, writing in his first letter, argues that “…the Son of God was revealed to destroy the works of the Devil.” No doubt Macy’s, the wrapping paper industry, the candy makers, and the reindeers’ union are disappointed to hear that this joyful season is not about them! Sorry to disappoint. But this little chunk of the church calendar is set aside to help us answer a question so fundamental to our human nature that our scientists may one day find its gene and name it “Telos,” or “Purpose.” So, time to store the glazed ham recipes, the shopping lists, the gift receipts, that torn plastic bag of worn discount bows and ribbon, and pick up a nice clean sheet of paper and write across the top in permanent Magic Marker: “What am I looking for?” Like Joseph and Mary in Bethlehem, like the shepherds obeying the angel, like the Three Kings coming from the east, and like billions of souls since Jesus lay in his manger, we are all looking for something, and that something is, in fact, a Someone.

So, John the Baptist is standing around with a couple of his disciples and Jesus walks by. John says for all to hear, “Look! The Lamb of God!” John’s disciples start following Jesus around. After awhile, Jesus stops and turns to them. He asks, “What are you looking for?” The disciples’ strange answer comes in two parts: 1) they address Jesus as “Teacher,” and 2) they answer Jesus’ question with a question—“where are you staying?” This question is not a request for a street address or an apartment number. They want to know where Jesus abides; basically, in what truth or peace or justice does this Teacher rest? Jesus answers them, “Come, and you will see.” The invitation, “come and see,” is gospel-speak for “there is no explanation I can give you that surpasses the excellence of simply experiencing the Christ first-hand, so come on!” And they do.

Now that you have written “what am I looking for?” in big letters across the top of your page, what will you write in answer? You can be practical and write something like: financial security, lots of friends, a good marriage. You can be spiritual and write: peace, wisdom, mercy. Or maybe you want to be philosophical and write: truth, clarity, goodness. Or psychological and write: integrated, actualized, self-possessed. Or maybe, just maybe, you want to be Christian and write: “I am looking for Christ, the Lamb of God.” All those other things you might write can be had in varying degrees without Christ. You can be practical, spiritual, philosophical, psychological all day, everyday and never once think of Christ. Let me ask you another question then: where are you staying? On whom do you live? From whom do you derive your life, your love, your beauty? If John’s disciples walked past you today and someone said of you: “Look! A follower of Christ” and then the disciples asked you—“where are you staying?”—could you say to them with the confidence and assurance of Jesus himself, “Come, and you will see”? What would you show them of Christ in your life? Could you say with Andrew and the shepherds and the Three Kings, “We have found the Messiah”? Can Jesus look at you and change your name to “The Rock”?

The Son took on human flesh to destroy the works of the Devil. One such work is the filtering edifices of abstractions, -ologies and –ism’s, theories and speculations, all the gunk we set up between our desire for God and the satisfaction of that desire. Jesus said, “Come and see.” Follow and see; do and see; walk with me and see. Dissolve the gunk in hearing Jesus ask you: “what are you looking for”? Then glory in triumph to hear him say, “Here I am.”

Anti-Christ, Vocations, Magic vs. Prayer

A few more questions before I hit the hay. . .

1). Lots of talk on the blogsphere these days about the "end times." What say you?

Along with speculation about the identity of the Anti-Christ, predicting the date of the Second Coming is a favorite Christian past time. Catholic art, literature, music, theology, etc. have all been directly inspired by the Book of Revelation's graphic depictions of the Last Battle, the rise of the Beast, his "666" mark, and the Woman Clothed in the Sun. For the most part, this sort of thing doesn't much interest me. As a fundie Protestant way-back-when I fretted and sweated about it because I believed that we were heading into the End Times as a matter of historical fact; that is, I knew that we were all playing out our parts in the scripted drama of the Apocalypse to come. Now, however, I realize something more important: when it comes, it comes. Jesus said to be ready for his return "like a thief in the night." When asked directly about the coming end of the age, Jesus shrugged and said, "I dunno. Only the Father knows." So, if Jesus himself doesn't know when this thing's gonna blow, I'm not going to lose much sleep worrying about it either.

2). What basic questions should those discerning a religious vocation ask themselves?

I get a lot of questions from younger readers about vocation discernment. For the most part, they want to know how they know whether or not they have a religious vocation. I wish it were as easy as drawing blooding, testing it, and announcing the result. If horse had wings, etc. Here are three cautions and a few questions to ask yourself:

Three Cautions

Suspend any romantic or idealistic notions you might have about religious life. Religious orders are made up of sinful men and women. There is no perfect Order; no perfect monastery; no perfect charism. You WILL be disappointed at some point if you enter religious life. You are going to find folks in religious life who are angry, wounded, bitter, mean-spirited, disobedient, secretive, and just plain hateful. You will also find living saints.

Do your homework. There is no perfect Order, etc. but there is an Order out there that will best use your gifts, strengthen your weaknesses, and challenge you to grow in holiness. Learn everything you can about the Order or monastery you are considering. Use the internet, libraries, "people on the inside," and ask lots and lots of questions. Vocation directors are not salesmen. For the most part, they will not pressure you into a decision. They are looking at you as hard as you are looking them.

Be prepared to do some hard soul-searching. Before you apply to any Order or monastery, be ready to spend a great deal of time in prayer. You will have to go through interviews, psychological evaluations, physicals, credit checks, reference checks, transcript reviews, retreats, and just about anything else the vocations director can think of to make sure he/she knows as much about you as possible. Think of it as penance.

Practical Advice

If you are considering religious life right out of undergraduate school, consider again and again. Get a job. Spend two or three years doing some unpaid volunteer work for one of your favorite Orders. These help you to mature spiritually and will make you a better religious. Most communities these days need folks with practical life-skills like managing money, maintaining cars and equipment, etc.

If you have school loans, start paying them back ASAP! For men, this is not such a huge problem b/c most men's communities will assume loans on a case by case basis when you take solemn vows. For some reason, women's communities do not do this as much. Regardless, paying back your loans shows maturity. I was extremely fortunate and had my grad school loans cancelled after I was ordained! Long story. Don't ask.

Don't make any large, credit-based purchases before joining a community. Cars, houses, boats, etc. will have to be disposed of once you are in vows. Of course, if you are 22 and not thinking of joining an Order until you are 32, well, that's different story. But be aware that you cannot "take it with you" when you come into a community.

Tell family, friends, professors, employers that you thinking about religious life. It helps to hear from others what they think of you becoming a religious. Their perceptions cannot be determinitative, but they can be insightful.

Be very open and honest with anyone you may become involve with romantically that you are thinking of religious life. One of the saddest things I have ever seen was a young woman in my office suffering because her fiance broke off their three year engagement to become a monk. She had no idea he was even thinking about it. There is no alternative here: you must tell. Hedging your bet with a boyfriend or girlfriend on the odds that you might not join up is fraudlent and shows a deep immaturity.

Be prepared for denial, scorn, ridicule, and outright opposition from family and friends. I can't tell you how many young men and women I have counseled who have decided not to follow their religious vocations b/c family and friends thought it was a waste of their lives. It's sad to say, but families are often the primary source of opposition. The potential loss of grandchildren is a deep sorrow for many moms and dads. Be ready to hear about it.

Questions to ask yourself

What is it precisely that makes me think I have a religious vocation?

What gifts do I have that point me to this end?

Can I live continent chaste celibacy for the rest of my life?

Can I be completely dependent on this group of men/women for all my physical needs? For most, if not all, of my emotional and spiritual needs?

Am I willing to work in order to provide resources for my Order/community? Even if my work seems to be more difficult, demanding, time-consuming, etc. than any other member of the community?

Am I willing to surrender my plans for my life and rely on my religious superiors to use my gifts for the mission of the Order? In other words, can I be obedient. . .even and especially when I think my superiors are cracked?

Am I willing to go where I am needed? Anywhere in the world?

Can I listen to those who disagree with me in the community and still live in fraternity? (A hard one!)

Am I willing join the Order/community and learn what I need to learn to be a good friar, monk, or nun? Or, do I see my admission as an opportunity to "straighten these guys out"?

How do I understand "failure" in religious life? I mean, how do I see and cope with brothers/sisters who do not seem to be doing what they vowed to do as religious?

What would count as success for me as a religious? Failure?

How patient am I with others as they grow in holiness? With myself?

I can personally attest to having "failed" to answer just about every single one of these before I became a Dominican. I was extremely fortunate to fall in with a community that has a high tolerance for friars who need to fumble around and start over. In the four years before I took solemn vows, there were three times when I had decided to leave the Order and a few more times when the prospects of becoming an "OP" didn't look too good. I hung on. They hung on. And here I am. For better or worse. Here I am.

3). I don't get what you are saying about prayer. Don't we pray to God for what we need? Why not ask St Joseph for help in selling a house?

My objection to the use of St Joseph statues to sell a house hinges on the superstitious use of a sacramental. If God does not will your house to be sold, it will not be sold. . .you can bury hundreds of St Joseph's statues, and it won't make a bit of difference. Burying statues will not change God's mind. Magic is the belief that we can alter reality by using willing it to be altered. Prayer is not magic. What we do in prayer is train our hearts and minds to receive as gifts all the blessings God has already given us. Every blessing you will ever receive has already been given to you. Prayer is your way of receiving those blessings in thanksgiving. The best prayer is: "Lord, I receive today all the blessings you have given me and give you thanks for them." Petitions are designed to keep us constantly aware that everything we have and everything we are is a direct gift from God. We ask for food, shelter, clothing so that we are reminded that food, shelter, clothing are God's gifts to us for our use. The "claim it and get it" school of prayer is a fraud. When Jesus says, "Ask and you shall receive," he means "You have been given, now ask for it." This is a spirituality of humity and gratitude. Think of it this way: God, from eternity, has willed that you get a new job. He has also willed that you will actually get that job when you ask for it with thanksgiving. Don't ask, don't get. So, the best thing to do is to assume that God always wills the absolute best for you; align yourself with His will for you; ask for what you need, according to His will, and give thanks BEFORE and after you get it.

Let's say that you are dead. . .

5^th Sunday of Lent (A): Eze 37.12-14; Rom 8.8-11; John 11.3-45 (revised)
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
St Paul Hospital and Church of the Incarnation

[NB. My thanks to my regulars who pointed out lots of errors. I’ll do what everyone else is doing today: blame Daylight Savings Time!]

Let’s say that you are dead. Have been for some time now. It’s hard to tell that you are dead b/c you are still up and walking around. Talking, working, eating, sleeping. But you are dead. Though your heart pumps blood, it is empty—holding in a terrifying vacuum. Where your purpose should be, where your animating love should be, where your freedom should be—there is nothing. Dead quiet. Icy stillness. Nothing. . .nothing at all. Your bones dry. Your muscles wither. Your strength drains away. And you either cry in anger at the loss, or you die a little more b/c there is nothing to do. Let’s say that you are dead. Have been for some time now. But it is hard to tell b/c the circus of your life is choreographed to ballet-perfection, and your smile sparkles like a dead winter’s sky. Careful! Be very careful. Does that dead smile mean that you have strangled hope? If so, listen: “O my people, I will open your graves and raise you from them. . .you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves and raise you from them, O my people!. . .I will put my spirit in you that you may live. . .”

This is who we are, People of God! We are those who live in the spirit of the Lord. We are not made to live with dry bones or poisoned blood; we are not made to rot in the ground or to be scattered like dust to the wind. The grave is a temporary place, a moment’s rest, just a quick stop on the way to a new heaven and a new earth. Our hope rests in the promise of the Lord to breathe into us again the first breath of creation, His Word of over the void, and to re-create us anew; from the drying bones and rotting flesh of death, we are made to rise, to be refreshed, to be brought up again so that we might dwell with Him, body and soul, whole persons with Christ. And this promise of re-creation in the Word is not a promissory note that we must wait on to mature, an account that we sit patiently by waiting to balance: we are raised up now, lifted up now, brought to new life in the resurrection right now!

We have spent four weeks allowing the desert heat of Lent to reveal our temptations. Once uncovered, we know our weakness, we know how we can fall, how our hearts are emptied. But if your heart—that is, the very root of your link with God—if our heart is dead and still, an icy void—no revelation, no divine showing will move you to live again. That link to the Father must remain alive, whole, undefiled, and free. So, what do we do when we feel the spirit in us failing? Think of Mary and Martha and Lazarus—those loved by Jesus. Lazarus is sick and dying. Martha and Mary send word to Jesus that “the one he loves is ill.” Jesus calms their anxiety: “This illness is not to end in death, but is for the glory of God, that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” Jesus waits two days and then tells his friends that they must all go back to Judea. They protest: the Jewish authorities are trying to kill you! He says, “Our friend Lazarus is asleep, but I am going to awaken him.”

If we walk in the darkness, we are blind. But since we walk in the light, we see: Jesus is going to Judea to lift Lazarus out of his grave, to bring him out of his tomb, and he does so so that his Father’s promise will be kept. Over his friends’ objections and despite their doubts, Jesus goes to the tomb and cries aloud: “Lazarus, come out!” And John reports to us: “The dead man came out. . .” The dead man walked out of his grave and lived. Because of “what he had done [many of the Jews] began to believe in him.” And because we too believe, there is no death for us, no grave to hold us, no tomb to jail us. Our ears are always open to hear the Lord cry: “Come out of your grave and live!”

Even so, how often do you feel the spirit failing you? How often do you feel the disbelief scratching at your heart? What is it that tells you to welcome the void? More often than not our faith in the Lord’s promises is challenged by sickness and loss. The very fact of our mortality, the reality that we will die, stands against His promise of life. There is nothing for us to do but die. And because our eyes are open and because we walk in the light, we see that this stumbling block litters our path. My death, your death is no death at all if we live and move and have our being in the Spirit. Paul writes to the Romans, “If the Spirit of the One who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, the One who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also, through his Spirit dwelling in you.” Is this a wish? A fantasy? A dangerous gamble? No! It is our most precious hope, His most gracious gift—we live, and we live with Him forever.

Listen again to Ezekiel: “O my people, [you people here, right here, right now] I will open your graves and raise you from them. . .you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves and raise you from them, O my people!. . .I will put my spirit in you that you may live. . .” That promise is made good here this morning/evening in the Eucharist, right here in this celebration of the Lord’s last supper with his friends. Gathering together in his name, repenting of our disobediences, listening to His word spoken and preached, we are offer on the altar of sacrifice not only our first fruits, our material goods, we offer ourselves; we make of ourselves a true and living sacrifice, an offering made acceptable to the Father by His Son through the Spirit. We are the Body and Blood of Christ offering Christ to Christ through Christ for Christ so that we might be Christ in the world for others! And when we do this, our opened ears hear loud and clear the voice of God say, “Untie them and let them go.”

Though the Enemy throws scandal in our way, we are our own worst enemy. How hard do you work against your own eternal life? How often do you create—from thin air and dust—obstacles for yourself? How many burdens do you pile on your back? On the backs of your family and friends? Do you bind yourself with the minutiae of the Law that Christ himself fulfilled for you? Do you properly credit yourself as freed from the necessity of sin and death? How much do you labor to untie yourself, to find your own way out of the prison of sin? You cannot free yourself. You cannot bring yourself back to life. You cannot lift your tombstone and walk out of the grave. Why not? You cannot do for yourself what the Lord Himself has already done for you. When Jesus tells Martha that he will raise Lazarus from the dead, Martha accuses him of being too late, too slow to arrive to help Lazarus. Jesus says to her, “Your brother will rise.” Martha, ever practical, ever sensible, says, “I know he will rise in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus corrects her saying, “I am the resurrection and the life, whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live. . .” He says, “I AM the resurrection” not “I will be the resurrection” or “I was the resurrection.” He says, “I AM the resurrection. . .” Present tense. Right now, he is life for believers.

Let’s say that you are dead. Have been for some time now. But it’s hard to tell that you are dead b/c you are still up and walking around. It is time for you to get angry with death, time for you to get angry with your hardened heart; it’s time for you, looking at the Cross and hoping on the resurrection, it’s time for you to join Christ, get angry and cry out: “Take away the stone!” And it is time for you to walk out of your grave, let your bonds be untied, and walk freely in the Spirit of a Father who gave His only Son for you. It is time for you to show the glory of the Lord!

You must die for love

9^th Week OT (Th)

Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Thinking about your daily life as a follower of Christ, what is one thing you have the most difficulty doing consistently? Personal prayer? Forgiving your neighbor? Suffering well? If you are like me, you will say “loving God, self, and neighbor.” It takes a lot of rile me up, and I don't hold grudges. Over the years, I've developed a Stoical philosophical approach to disaster, disease, and the general chaos of the world. Living with other friars has also helped me better handle the temptations of self-righteous anger and cynicism. As the brothers here can tell you, I'm still working on it! Practice makes perfect. But the one area where I struggle mightily is caritas, love. And the reason for this is pretty simple: I am not yet a saint. Thanks be to God, Jesus provides everything necessary for the Saint Becoming Process. He orders each one of us, “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. . .You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Then, dying on the Cross, he shows us how it's done.

“You SHALL love the Lord, your God. . .You SHALL love your neighbor as yourself.” Singular, second-person imperative. An order. Not a suggestion, or a plea – a command. And a strange command at that. Usually, we think of commands in connection with actions. March! Sit! Wear a mask! Pay taxes! So, when our Lord commands us to love, what is he commanding us to do? How are we supposed to act? I mean, isn't love a feeling, an emotion? Isn't it a passion that either just is or isn't there? I love my family and friends, but I know them well. How do I love a stranger? An enemy? How do I love God Who is not a being but Being Itself? How do I love Being Itself??? Jesus commands us, You shall love. You shall always and everywhere prefer and will the highest possible Good for God, neighbor, and self. . .in that order. You obey the Lord's command by converting, by turning your intellect to the Truth and your will to the Good, always and everywhere doing the greatest possible Good Thing for God, neighbor, and self. This is the foundation for the Law of Moses and the whole of the Law of Love. This is how you and I become saints: sacrificial love, a love expressed perfectly from the Cross.

What keeps us from that Cross? That is, what or who in this world tempts you away from loving perfectly? More often than not it is the Self who lures us away. My needs. My feelings. My hurt. My wants. My reputation. My fears. My prejudices. My work. Me as an idol whom I worship b/c I am – obviously – the source and summit of My universe, right? Not quite. You and I belong to Christ. We are his Body in this world. His hands and feet and eyes and ears and voice. We are his flesh and bone sent to do his work and accomplish his mission. Anything that stands in the way, anyone who stands in the way, stands in the way of our Lord's command to love perfectly, sacrificially. If you yourself stand in your own way, then there is nothing to do but turn around and come back to Christ. Turn around and run back to the only one who can give you what you need to be perfected in love. Health, wealth, reputation, career, stuff – all of these crumble to dust when you do. Sic transit gloria mundi! Thus passes the glory of the world! You and I must die in this world before we can live forever in the next.

And this is why “you shall love” is so difficult to obey. I have to die to love you perfectly. To will the greatest possible love for God, for you, and myself, I must die in sacrifice. I must sacre facere – make holy – everything I am and have. All of my thoughts; all of my words; all of my deeds; my heart, my mind, my soul, my body. All of it must be oriented toward understanding the Truth and willing the Good so that I become a living sacrifice, another Christ on the Cross for the salvation of the world. If this sounds narcissistic – I must become another Christ! – remember you and I were baptized into the life, death, and resurrection of Christ, living, dying, and rising with him. You and I were strengthened by the Holy Spirit. At every Mass we celebrate, you and I make of ourselves an offering to the Father through Christ. You and I eat his flesh and drink his blood, becoming him whom we eat and drink. The only way any of us can ever come close to loving perfectly in this life is to lose ourselves in the life and death of Christ, allowing him to love perfectly through us, hoping, that on that Last Day, standing before the Just Judge, it is his face he sees in ours. Wear the face of Christ now. so that you might wear it forever.

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Just standing here looking at the sky

The Ascension of the Lord: Acts 1.1-11; Eph 1.17-23; Matthew 28.16-20
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
St Paul Hospital and Church of the Incarnation

Why are you standing there looking at the sky?

The Eleven go to Galilee. On the mountain there they meet Jesus—again—and he gives them their final orders. Having lost him in the garden, having betrayed him by fleeing in fear, the disciples find themselves again and again in the company of Jesus. After his resurrection, our Lord stays with his students, instructing them, comforting them, promising them his constant company. And yet, they doubt. They obey, but they doubt. They worship, but they doubt. Jesus lays out for them their mission as apostles, their duties as men who will receive from him his Holy Spirit. And he gives them these final instructions just before he departs to sit at the Father’s right hand in heaven. Fully God and fully man, Jesus rises to the Father, body and soul, and leaves his friends to do what he has ordered. Even as they stand there, hearing his words, watching him with worshipful hearts, they doubt. Nothing he has done has moved them to fully believe, to accept, completely, with whole hearts who and what he is. They worship, but they doubt. And so, they stand there looking at the sky.

On this side of Pentecost’s history, we know that that doubt is burned away by the fire of the Holy Spirit. We know that whatever hesitations, whatever reservations they might have had about Christ and his mission are set on fire and turned to ash with the coming of the Spirit at Pentecost. But we are on this side of history, looking back. We read in Acts, Jesus says to the disciples, “…you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, throughout Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” We read in Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, “…[God] put all things beneath [Christ’s] feet and gave him as head over all things to the Church, which is his body, the fullness of the one who fills all things in every way.” This is not the witness of timid men, men who doubt yet worship. These are men who worship in spirit and in truth! We can easily understand how such faith and passion is possible, looking back as we do, standing here after the coming of the Holy Spirit. But then, way back then, as they stand on that mountain in Galilee, looking at the sky, they doubt.

And how does Jesus treat their doubt? How does he answer their vacillation, their dithering? Before this moment he indulges their need for evidence, presenting his glorified body for their inspection. Before this moment he chastises them, “Do you still not believe!?” Before this moment he teaches them again where to find him in the prophecies of scripture. And they still doubt. Do we find this doubt so difficult to understand? Probably not. How often do we find ourselves in the throes of questioning our faith, struggling with answers to questions we barely understand? How often, when evil seems to defeat us, do we question God’s promises? Question His love for us? More often than we would like admit? And yet, we worship. We pray. We come to praise His name and Him thanks. We do what they did and will likely do so again. How does Jesus handle this all-too-human distrust, our misgivings about his witness? He gives them, his Church, he gives us, his Church a monumental job to do.

It makes no sense at all for you to give a job to someone you do not trust, a job, which left undone, undoes everything you hold dear. And it makes no sense for you to be given a job, which left undone, leaves you and the one who has given you the job wholly defeated. We entrust important jobs to those we know will do what needs to be done. We are given jobs because we are trusted. And yet, there Jesus stands, on the mountain in Galilee, in front of his doubting disciples, saying to them, “Go…and make disciples of the nations, baptizing them…teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.” Why does he trust them? Why, knowing their hearts to be brimming over with fear and hesitation, why does he give them this monumental task? Because he knows that the work he is giving them to do is his work and that because he is ascending to the Father, he will send them the Holy Spirit, thus fulfilling his final promise to them: “And, behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.”

The ascension of our Lord is the fulfillment of his promise to be with us always. By leaving us, he remains with us. By going to the Father, he sends his Spirit, who abides, even now, always, forever with us. This solemnity is not about celebrating another miracle or recalling another sign of his heavenly power. Do we really need such a thing? This solemnity is about teaching us again that Christ’s work is our work and the job we have to do, we do not do alone. Even together, as the body the Church, we cannot witness, cannot teach, cannot preach, cannot do justice, cannot pray without his company. Without his company, we are nothing. And Nothing cannot do what needs to be done. With him, we are Christ, baptizing, teaching, observing his commandments. With him, we are his heirs among the holy ones; we are the very revelation of the Father to the world; we are this world’s hope, this world’s sacrament, this world’s salvation. Without him, we are nothing. With all of our doubts on full display—our faults, our failures, our sad little sins—we are everything with him. And everything we are is Christ.

I am firmly convinced that the Devil’s greatest power is his ability to convince us that we cannot preach or teach or do God’s work in this world because we are not yet good enough to do so. When he shows us our sins and points out our failures, we humbly confess that we are not worthy and flee into the desert of a crippling doubt. Though ultimately temporary, he triumph over the Church is complete when we accept the lie that we must be perfect in order to witness. The Devil shames us into bending our necks to stare humbly at our bellybuttons and we let the world pass by untaught, unevangelized, unloved. We say, what good am I as a witness when I remain so vulnerable to sin? What good am I as a sign of God’s love when I cannot love as He does? I have done nothing to be worthy of this task. I am nothing in my sin and Nothing cannot do what needs to be done. But Nothing can stand there looking at the sky!

Are we sinful? Yes. Are we unworthy to do Christ’s work? Yes. Will we fail? Yes. On these counts the Devil is absolutely correct! We can’t baptize. We can’t teach or preach? We can’t show the world God’s by doing good works. The Church is powerless, faithless, utterly without hope or love. To believe anything else is prideful! But to believe that we are forgiven in Christ, made worthy by Christ, successful with Christ; to believe that we work for the Good because of Christ, to accept, believe, and exercise these truths is humility itself. To see and love the Church as powerful with Christ, faithful with Christ, hopeful with Christ is to see a bald-faced reality so clear, so distinct that all doubt is burned away, all fear is swept away, all hesitation, all of our dithering is killed, dead, and buried.

So, standing there on the mountain in Galilee with his anxious disciples, our Lord charges his friends to complete his work despite their doubts; he gives them the greatest commission found in scripture in order to spite their false pride. Who says you will do these things without me? Who is telling you that I am relying on your good will and human strength? I am with you always. You will not do my work without me. And so, immediately after Jesus is taken up, two men in white appear and ask the dumbfounded disciples, “Men of Galilee, ummmm, why are you standing there looking at the sky?” What are you waiting for?

That’s an excellent question for the Church! What are we waiting for? We have our mission statement—“Go, baptize, teach, observe God’s commandments.” We have the leadership. We have the personnel. We have the training. All the resources we need are at hand—scripture, tradition, magisterium, sacraments, the communion of saints in heaven, one another. We have Christ. So, why are we standing here looking at the sky? If you are paralyzed in your faith, unable to move, grow, to do what needs doing for the gospel, remember Jesus’ promise to his friends, to us: “…you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you and you will be my witnesses…I am with you always, until the end of the age.”

I am with you always.

No Garden, No Cross

Fifth Sunday of Lent: Jer 31:31-34; Heb 5:7-9; John 12:20-33
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
Convento SS Domenico e Sisto, Roma

Jesus is troubled. What should he say? “Father, save me from this hour” or “Father, glorify your name”? He chooses to glorify God’s name. Why? He says, “…it was for this purpose [to glorify God’s name] that I came to this hour.” By glorifying God’s name he fulfills his purpose. Does this glorification of God’s name accomplish any vital tasks other than praising the Father? Yes. Jesus says to the crowd at that time of judgment, “. . .the ruler of this world will be driven out. And when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself." What Jesus says and does is the engine of our salvation; his word and deed makes us sons of the Father. What does he say? “Father, glorify your name.” What does he do? He dies. And then he rises from death to take us with him. So, why is Jesus troubled? To rise with him, we must die with him and our deaths must be in service to him. We cannot hope to escape the betrayal of Judas, the passion in Jerusalem, the nails and wood of the cross, and then expect to be part of a glorious Easter harvest. If we will follow Jesus up from the earth, we must follow him on the earth. This is what troubles our Lord: “. . .unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.” To rise, we must fall; to produce much fruit, we must die.

Are you ready to die? I mean, are you ready to follow Christ and produce the fruit he produced by dying on the cross? Most of us hope to avoid the kind of death that Christ died. And most of us will. At least in the particulars. Few of us will be scourged. Or forced-marched to a burning landfill and nailed to a cross. Few of us will be subjected to public ridicule and executed to spare the nation the wrath of its foreign military governors. Few of us will be accused of blasphemy, religious sedition. If we are killed for the faith, it will be incrementally. Slowly. Almost invisibly. The proverbial frog boiled by degrees of increasing heat. The Enemy’s strategy this time around is far more subtle. More understated and restrained. This time we will be accused of hating ourselves, our neighbors, our God; we will be accused of standing against truth, against the beauty of creation, against the goodness of our human natures. This time, we will be charged with being insufficiently humane, unremarkably merciful. And like all the other times, we will die. . .for preaching the simple truth of the gospel.

God’s will be done; therefore, we are troubled. So, what do we say: “Father, save us from this hour” or “Father, glorify your name”? We could ask our Lord to save us from this hour. We could. But why should we? Can we honestly claim we didn’t know what was in store for us? Can we look God in the eye and say, “Hey, this wasn’t in the brochure!”? No, to claim such a thing would be a lie. If you know what it means to be baptized into his death, then you know what it means to be resurrected into his life. If you will rise, you will die. Why would you beg God to save you from the very thing you signed on for? Yes, you were promised a garden. . .and you will have it! Look for the path marked “Gethsemane.” Ask yourself: why do I deserve a better life and death than Christ? You might say, “Didn’t Christ die so we wouldn’t have to?” No. No, he died so that we might have eternal life and have it most abundantly! That path—the Way to an abundant life, an eternal life—cuts straight through Gethsemane. There is no detour.

No detour, for sure. But there is hope; here it is: “…when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself." Though we may understandably fear the death we have signed up for, part and parcel of that death is the promise—the guarantee—the death is not the end; that is, death is not our end, our purpose. We were not created to die. We do not live to die. Though our bodies fail us, and we cease to live, we do not stop being exactly who God made and remade us to Be. In fact, in Christ, we are made perfectly who were first made to be. And only in Christ—perfect God, perfect Man—can we be perfectly who we are made to be for all time. When Christ dies on the cross, humanity dies with him. When Christ rises from the tomb—dead for three days, three nights—humanity rises with him. If you and I will be among those who rise with Christ, we must be among those who die with Christ. As Christ himself teaches us: “Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there also will my servant be.” If you see a detour here, you need to have your eyes checked.

Where are you? Whose path do you follow? Which Way do you go? You, like every man and woman ever created, will be offered a bag of thirty silver coins. The Powers of this world want one thing for this price: a simple, easy compromise; an answer from one who has chosen to follow the Way of Truth and Life—“So that the many may avoid persecution/pain/inconvenience/anxiety, tell us what we want to hear; tell us that this Christ is a fraud; tell us that his good news is simply one message among many equally valuable options; tell us that we do not have to suffer the cross in order to rise again; tell us that we can disobey and still reap the harvest!” At this moment, who are you? Where are you?

Before you answer. . .before you commit. . .hear again: “[Jesus] learned obedience from what he suffered; and when he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.” If you will learn, if we will be saved. . .we will first suffer. We will obey. And in obedience, we will glorify the name of God our Father!


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The surest way to ruin your life. . .

28^th Sunday OT
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
St Anthony of Padua/Our Lady of the Rosary

Here’s the surest way to ruin your life: never say “thank you.” Live as if you are entitled to everything you have, everything you receive. Live as if you are responsible for your successes, your moments of greatness (large or small). Live as if you are self-sufficient, independent, in need of no help, in need of no one else. Clench you fist when a hand is offered. Close your heart when a hand reaches out. Recoil in horror when someone suggests that you could use assistance. Believe that you can do it all by yourself. When you fail there is no one else to blame. When you succeed there is no one else to credit. And when you die, you die alone. Never say “thank you” and watch your days unravel behind you like an ugly scarf snagged on a barbed-wire fence. A life of ingratitude is a life without grace, without gifts and it is a life unworthy of holiness. It is better to be a leper willing to ask God for healing than a well man who cannot/will not come to God with thanksgiving. Therefore, “in all circumstances, give thanks, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.”

Paul writes to Timothy that he, Paul, is a criminal for the gospel, a man put in chains for preaching the Good News to Jews and Gentiles alike. And though he is suffering in chains for the sake of Christ and Christ’s body, “the word of God is not chained.” We can add here: “…and the word of God will never be chained.” Though courts, kings, governors, and states may strive to whip the Word with judicial rulings or bury it in paper prisons or poison it with the deadliest medicines, the Word will not be whipped, buried, or poisoned. In fact, Paul, noting the persistence of the Word for him, says, that because the word is not chained, “I bear with everything for the sake of those who are chosen, so that they too may obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus…” The Word endures, carries on, lives always. And for this, we must give thanks. You must be the one healed leper in ten who returns to give God thanks, or Christ will wonder about you, “Where are the other nine?” 

 

Before asking how gratitude works for us spiritually, let’s take a moment to explore the possible reasons for being ungrateful. Why do we sometimes fail to give God thanks? First, we may not understand the “giftedness” or “givenness” of our lives, that is, we may not understand the fundamental animating principle of human life. My life, your life is a gift, meaning that that we exist at all is a present from God. God did not need us at the beginning of all thing. He does not need us now. And will never need us. Reality’s creation from nothing was a gratuitous, singular event, a wholly unnecessary one-time occurrence. The on-going presence of Something rather than Nothing is gratuitous as well. That we are still here is a gift. Second, the psychological motivations we need to accomplish anything often rely on the notion that we achieve our successes and that we fail in our failures. In other words, it seems that in order for us to do anything good at all we must believe that anything we do well results from personal talent and hard work. Why give thanks to someone not directly involved in the work of my success? Of course, this denies the first principle of creation: everything I am and everything I have is a gift from God. My talent, my drive to work hard, my need to succeed—all are gifts. Third, so delighted are we in our successes we often need to claim total credit in order to feel worthy of the success. If I am to succeed again, I have to come to the conclusion that I am solely responsible for that success. To do anything less is to risk a future failure. Finally, since the first bite of the apple in the garden we have been tempted to believe that we can become god w/o God. One god has no need to thank another god for anything. Our declaration of independence from the engines of divine perfection means that we think we are capable of saving ourselves. All we need for salvation is determination, the right doctrines, sufficient work, and a heart cold enough to reject any outside help offered—human or divine. We fail to give God thanks out of ignorance, pride, a cold heart, and vanity. 

 

Why should we give God thanks? Given what we already know about our creation—that we were created gratuitously—we can see that acknowledging our existence is first and foremost a matter of justice: we owe God our gratitude. Our thanks is due. Our thanks to God is also a matter of acknowledging the most basic truth of our lives: we are creatures created by a Creator. We are not random collections of chemical and electrical processes. We are not genetic productions accidentally generated by ideal cosmic and climatic conditions. We are beloved creatures, loved by our Creator. And as creatures loved first by God, we love back and give thanks for that love. The spiritual benefit, that is, the advantage that accrues to us when we are grateful to God is an increase in humility, an increase in our appreciation of our givenness, our total dependence on God as our Creator and Sustainer. Humility is the measure we use to determine the degree to which we are radically aware of our dependence on God. Your humility means that you know you are a gift given for no other reason than to love and be loved.

Here then is the surest way to ruin your life: fail daily to give thanks to God. Get up in the morning and go to bed at night as if you are entitled to everything you have, as if you were owed everything you have received. Get up in the morning and go to bed at night as if you alone achieved all of your successes, as if you orchestrated all your moments of greatness. Go day to day through your life utterly alone, in need of no one, in need of nothing but your own ingenuity and hard work. Grit your teeth when help is offered and say, “No, thank you.” Lock up your heart when a hand reaches out and say, “No thanks.” Shrink back in disgust at yourself and everyone around you when you fall and refuse help. Know in your ungrateful heart that you can do it all by yourself. 

 

Or, you can be trustworthy. You can be grateful and flourish in blessing. You can be the one healed leper who returns to thanks to God. You can be Naaman, who is healed in the Jordan, his flesh like the flesh of a little child. And you will be the one to hear Christ say, “Stand up and go; your faith has saved you.” Our Lord has revealed his saving power to the nations. Whatever you do, do not be among the nine ungrateful hearts who think that their healing is an accident. There is nothing accidental about the Cross, or Christ’s death for us on the Cross. He died on purpose, with a purpose. For us, he died knowingly, freely. And because of his love for us, we are free. Give thanks to God and make your life, this life right now, a living sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving!

Pray Like the Widow Gives

32^nd Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP

Our Lady of the Rosary, NOLA

What if instead of teaching us about how to give alms, the story of the Widow's Mite teaches us something about prayer? We know the lesson of the widow who gives her last two pennies to the temple. Jesus pretty much tells us the moral of the story outright: the widow has given much, much more than all the wealthy alms-givers b/c the wealthy “have all contributed from their surplus wealth, but she, from her poverty, has contributed all she had, her whole livelihood.” Who sacrifices more? Who is made holier in giving away what they have? The Widow, of course. However, what if we think of the two coins she gives to the temple as prayers given to God? And what if we think of the thousands and millions of coins given by the wealthy as their prayers to God? The moral of the story doesn't change. Because the Widow prayed all she had to pray in loving sacrifice, her prayers far outweigh the thousands and millions of prayers offered out of surplus by the wealthy. They banked their graces, save them up, and now they expect a dividend, a cash-out. The Widow gives herself totally to pray, throws herself completely on the mercy of God's providence. When we pray well, we pray with everything we have, everything we are, holding nothing back for later, trusting (knowing) that God will provide.

So, how does this all work? First, the first beneficiary of prayer is the pray-er, the one praying. Even if you are praying for someone else, you benefit first b/c God's response to your prayer conditions you to better receive His graces. Second, the whole point of prayer is make it possible for you to better receive God's graces. Our prayers do not and cannot change God. They can and do change us. Third, what we put into prayer is made holy (i.e., sacrificed) and given back to God. If I put nothing more than my surplus time and energy into prayer, then I am making holy only what's left over of my time and energy. I spend most of my time and my energy on me. And then I give the leftovers to God. However, if I put everything I have and everything I am into my prayer, then everything I have and everything I am is made holy in sacrifice. Even one small prayer, prayed with my whole livelihood is worth more than a thousand or a million prayers prayed as leftovers. The logic is inescapable: if I am the first beneficiary of my prayers, and I put everything I have and am into my prayer – no matter how small – then my sacrifice can outweigh the leftovered prayers of millions!

Now, of course, the goal here isn't to Win the Prayer Race, or Out-pray the Spiritually Wealthy. The goal is to improve my prayer life so that I might grow closer to Christ, becoming more and more like him. To be more like Christ we must pray like Christ. How did Christ pray? Often and intensely. In fact, his whole life was a single prayer, one thirty-three year long prayer of sacrifice. From the moment of his conception in Mary's virginal womb to his ascension into heaven, Christ offered his life and death as an on-going sacrifice. Sure, his sacrifice culminated on the cross, and the effects of his sacrifice boomed out into the world at his resurrection, but every step, every breath, every act he performed while he was among us was a prayer. Everything he had, everything he was – wholly given over to the Father as a witness to His mercy. If we will pray like Christ, in order to become more like him, we will make every step, every breath, every act, thought, word, everything, a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving, bearing open and courageous witness to the Good News that he lived and died to bring us. 

 

Does this sound like an enormous task to you? Well, it is. . .and it isn't. If you see your work in Christ as a burden or a duty or as something to just get done so you can get on with all the stuff you really want to do, then bearing witness to God's mercy will be an enormous task. You will likely store up your graces and pray your leftovers. Who's hurt by your Leftover Prayer Life? You are! You might be giving huge amounts of time, treasure, and talent to the Church. . .but praying out of your leftovers. Thousands could be benefiting from your material generosity. . .but you could be starving to death spiritually b/c you give God your surplus time and energy in prayer. However, if you see your work in Christ as a means of working out your holiness, as a way to grow into his likeness, then bearing witness to the Father's mercy will be anything but a burden; it will be a joy, a bonus. You will immediately give away (sacrifice) your God-given graces and pray with everything you have and are, and soon find yourself swimming in blessings. Remember: the more you share God's gifts to you, the more gifts He gives you to share. Holiness is polished into us by the act of exchanging of gifts: from God → me → you, from you → me → God, and so on. Each exchange shines our perfection a little brighter. 

 

When you leave here tonight, take some time to consider your prayer life. Not just which prayers you pray, or how long you spend in prayer. Consider the quality of the time and energy you devote to prayer. Ask yourself: am I like the wealthy who pray a lot out of my leftover time and energy, or am I like the poor widow who prays a little but prays her entire livelihood every time? If your prayer life is dull, rusted, kinda broken down, consider a refurbishment: for a couple of months limit your prayers to giving God thanks and praise for who and what you already have in your life. Don't ask for anything. Just say “thank you” for what you've got. If you have stopped praying alone with God altogether. . .well, you may now know why nothing is working out for you and why everything seems to be so pointless. Reintroduce yourself to the Father and welcome Him back into your life. Remember: it's not the size or shape of the prayer but what you put into it that tips the scale. You don't have to give a room to despair, anger, disappointment, or any other dark spirit. Turn them over to God in prayer, and let Him make them holy. 

 

The Widow gives everything she has. And everything she has – two small coins – outweighs the alms of millions. Her enormous sacrifice deepens her humility and brings her closer to God. In her poverty and in ours, where would we rather be?

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