29th Sunday OT: Is 45.1, 4-6; I Thes 1.1-5; Matt 22.15-21
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
Church of the Incarnation
First, what belongs to Caesar? Nothing. Second, what belongs to God? Everything else. So, give to Caesar everything that is his. And give to God everything else.
Jesus is teaching nothing new or surprising here. Taking the gold coin he points out that the coin is stamped with the image of Caesar. The gold is molded into a likeness of the Roman emperor. It is an image and likeness that tells the world that this coin is legitmate tender, legal currency, and worth exactly the amount stamped on it. The gold, for all practical purposes, is Caesar at that moment—it represents Roman rule, Roman culture, Roman economic concerns, and Roman military strength. That coin is Rome. So give it back to Caesar in payment of your debt to Caesar. It is his coin to begin with. Jesus, you, I, we all know that though the coin is Caesar’s, Caesar is God’s. And so is everything else.
One way to tell this gospel story is to tell it as a story about how Jesus makes it possible for us to live IN the world w/o being OF the world, that is, how we Christians can do our daily business with the world but avoid becoming entangled in the sinful traps that world lays for us. The way we do this is to distinguish carefully btw our duty to Caesar and our duty to God. This is a fine way to tell this gospel story except it gives us no way to deal with the inevitable problem of conflicting goods—what do we do when our duty to the state and our duty to God conflict? Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s is simple enough if it’s perfectly clear to you what belongs to whom. If that clarity gets muddied then this way of telling this gospel story is useless.
Another way to tell this gospel is to tell it with a certain modern American flair. Jesus’ teaching makes sense if you think of what belongs to Caesar as a public duty and what belongs to God as a private duty. This is how we get the story about how it is possible for us to behave publicly in a way that contradicts our private beliefs. So, as a Catholic, I can support an overtly racist political agenda and at the same time claim that I find racism morally repugnant. You’re to think of me as a morally good person b/c, despite my actual public behavior, my private belief is a good one. For you to claim that my private beliefs should be acted out publicly is a failure on your part to understand that I must give to Caesar what is Caesar’s—public duty—and to God what is God’s—private duty. You may recognize this as a very American move to privatize religious belief in such a way that it is completely irrelevant in shaping the civic soul. Obviously, this way of telling the gospel story is also very problematic.
I started this homily by pointing out that Jesus makes an obvious claim about the gold coin: it is stamped with image and likeness of Caesar, and it is, therefore, Casear’s. But Caesar himself is made in the image and likeness of God, so he himself is God’s. What belongs to Caesar? Nothing. What belongs to God? Everything else. Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and give to God everything else.
The Pharisees and the Herodians are trying to entrap Jesus by asking him a very provocative political question. The question, at its root, is this: to whom do we owe our allegiance: our Roman occupiers or our God? They want him to say either Caesar alone or God alone. If he says Caesar alone, then they can claim he is a heretic and discredit him. If he says God alone, then they can claim he is a rebel and discredit him. The question is a trap. And Jesus answers, “knowing their malice,” and neatly springs the trap with the trappers’ heads caught inside.
So, how do we tell this gospel story so that it makes sense to us now? The two worlds story of Church and State makes no sense. The public duty/private duty story makes even less sense, so what are we left with? Jesus has taught his disciples that they cannot serve two masters. They serve God or they don’t. He’s taught them over and over again that they either line up with the blessed, the righteous or they burn with the damned. They serve the poor, the naked, the hungry, the oppressed or they serve selfishness, avarice, despair, and oppression. The prophet Isaiah says it rather nicely: “I have called you by your name…I am the LORD and there is no other, there is no god but me.”
This gospel story is about knowing who your God is. It is about who and what you are in relationship to Him. It is about how we, as bapitzed sons and daughters of the Father, walk and work and play in the world as living images and liknesses of the Father. We can only give to God what is God’s b/c there nothing that isn’t God’s in the first place. This is the answer under the answer that Jesus gives his malicious questioners. It is the answer that they will not understand b/c they cannot see and cannot hear the truth. They are consumed with political intrigue and the need to beat Jesus at an argument. It is a partisan fight. Jesus’ answer takes the fight out of the question and teaches us again a truth we have known from Genesis onward: there are no creatures w/o I AM THAT I AM. No earth, no sky, no ocean, no man or woman, nothing w/o the breath of God, the Word breathed over the void, and the telling description of our Creator, “It is very good.”
Everything we have and everything we are is owed to God. Not Caesar. In the waters of baptism, the chrism of confirmation, and the Body and Blood of the Eucharist, we are indelibly stamped with the image and likeness of Christ. We are washed, stamped, and fed with Christ. We are taken up, anointed, and healed by the Spirit. We owe to God our creation, our redemption, and our daily lives. Though we dutifully pay taxes, obey the law, participate in civil elections, we are not Caesar’s. There is a prior claim on us, a divine first dibs. Though we are citizens of a state and subject to secular power, we do not belong to any secular power. We cannot. Caesar changes names over time and takes on different forms. Whatever his name, whatever his form, his claim on us is secondary at best.
Of course, pay your taxes, obey the law, vote. But do these knowing that you belong to God alone. We owe Him our lives, our allegiance, and we owe Him first everything we could ever possibly owe Caesar.
What belongs to Caesar? Nothing. What belongs to God? Everything else. So, give to Caesar everything that is his. And give to God everything else.
10 November 2005
28th Sunday OT: Isa 25.6-10; Phil 4.12-14, 19-20; Matt 22.1-14
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
Church of the Incarnation
Another parable of the kingdom and another warning that those unprepared for the heavenly feast will find themselves cast into darkness where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth. Jesus has been on a roll these last few weeks, preaching a gospel message that Catholics aren’t quite used to hearing! Maybe I’m wrong, but my sense is that most of us don’t often hear many homilies about the goats, the weeds, the bad fish, the lazy virgins, or the ill-dressed wedding guest. We hear a lot about the sheep, the wheat, the good fish, the well-prepared virgins, and the festively dressed wedding guests. These images better fit a comfortable, American vision of who we hope Jesus was back then, and who we want him to be now. I don’t intend to blast you with a Hellfire and Brimstone sermon! But I can’t claim to be a preacher of the gospel, and then fail to preach the gospel right in front of me. This is not a comfortable, American Jesus.
So, let’s get something straight from the start: you do not have to spend eternity with God. You do not have to make use of the grace you’ve been given. You do not have to repent, confess, or enjoy freedom from sin. You don’t have to go to confession, come to Mass, take communion, say your prayers, do good works, live charitably with one another, or even forgive a single offense against you. You can ignore the grace you’ve been given. You can stride along the path of rebellion and disobedience. You can remain a slave to sin and do the bidding of your lowest passions as much as you want. You can skip confession, blow off Mass, forget your prayers, ignore the needy among us, hate one another and wallow in self-pitying angry and regret.
You can be, if you choose, a goat, a bundle of weeds, a bad fish, a lazy virgin, or a badly dressed wedding guest. God will honor your choice out of His limitless love, and you can live your afterlife as you lived in this life: without Him. And that’s the Catholic definition of Hell: “[a] state of definitive self-exclusion from communion with God and the blessed […]” (CCC n.1033).
In the parable of the Wedding Feast, the guest who arrives ill-dressed is thrown out into the darkness b/c he has refused to put on the garments of repentance. He wears his slave clothes. These rags are a gift from the Liar who has convinced him that he’s wearing Gucci! In fact, his rags identify him as a willful servant of disobedience. The master of the house invites good and bad alike, but everyone allowed in—good and bad—have on the garments of repentance. Not the garments of absolute moral perfection. Not the garments of spotless holiness. But the garments that identified them as willing—if imperfect for now—servants of the Master Himself.
The poorly dressed guest, the unrepentant one, is not tossed out b/c he comes to the feast for the free food, the free liquor, the good company—the Party! No, he’s tossed out b/c he comes seeking all the benefits of the Master’s Truth and Goodness and Beauty, but he himself is unwilling to take on truth, goodness, and beauty in return. In other words, he wants to feast at the Master’s banquet table, but he’s unwilling to abide by the Master’s Party Rules. “Many are invited, but few are chosen.”
Paul gives us the secret of the Wedding Feast: “I have the strength for everything through him who empowers me…My God will fully supply whatever you need, in accord with his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.” God will provide the party dress, the tux for the feast. There is no reason for any of us to show up at the feast improperly dressed. From the limitless riches of Christ Jesus we are provided with everything we need to celebrate the feast when we are and where we are right now. Just ask. Paul says that he is able to live with scarcity, live in abundance, live well-fed and hungry, in every circumstance b/c his strength, his purpose, his drive comes through the Father. Not through his willpower. Not through his mighty character. Not through his education or his social standing. But through Him who empowers us.
The Good News this evening is that you don’t have to be a goat, a bundle of weeds, a bad fish, a lazy virgin, or an ill-dressed weeding guest. You can be. But you don’t have to be. Jesus died to give you the option of coming to the Wedding Feast decked out in the spiritual equivalent of Prada, Gucci, DKNY, and Burberry. Just ask. Just ask. “[Our] God will fully supply whatever you need.”
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
Church of the Incarnation
Another parable of the kingdom and another warning that those unprepared for the heavenly feast will find themselves cast into darkness where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth. Jesus has been on a roll these last few weeks, preaching a gospel message that Catholics aren’t quite used to hearing! Maybe I’m wrong, but my sense is that most of us don’t often hear many homilies about the goats, the weeds, the bad fish, the lazy virgins, or the ill-dressed wedding guest. We hear a lot about the sheep, the wheat, the good fish, the well-prepared virgins, and the festively dressed wedding guests. These images better fit a comfortable, American vision of who we hope Jesus was back then, and who we want him to be now. I don’t intend to blast you with a Hellfire and Brimstone sermon! But I can’t claim to be a preacher of the gospel, and then fail to preach the gospel right in front of me. This is not a comfortable, American Jesus.
So, let’s get something straight from the start: you do not have to spend eternity with God. You do not have to make use of the grace you’ve been given. You do not have to repent, confess, or enjoy freedom from sin. You don’t have to go to confession, come to Mass, take communion, say your prayers, do good works, live charitably with one another, or even forgive a single offense against you. You can ignore the grace you’ve been given. You can stride along the path of rebellion and disobedience. You can remain a slave to sin and do the bidding of your lowest passions as much as you want. You can skip confession, blow off Mass, forget your prayers, ignore the needy among us, hate one another and wallow in self-pitying angry and regret.
You can be, if you choose, a goat, a bundle of weeds, a bad fish, a lazy virgin, or a badly dressed wedding guest. God will honor your choice out of His limitless love, and you can live your afterlife as you lived in this life: without Him. And that’s the Catholic definition of Hell: “[a] state of definitive self-exclusion from communion with God and the blessed […]” (CCC n.1033).
In the parable of the Wedding Feast, the guest who arrives ill-dressed is thrown out into the darkness b/c he has refused to put on the garments of repentance. He wears his slave clothes. These rags are a gift from the Liar who has convinced him that he’s wearing Gucci! In fact, his rags identify him as a willful servant of disobedience. The master of the house invites good and bad alike, but everyone allowed in—good and bad—have on the garments of repentance. Not the garments of absolute moral perfection. Not the garments of spotless holiness. But the garments that identified them as willing—if imperfect for now—servants of the Master Himself.
The poorly dressed guest, the unrepentant one, is not tossed out b/c he comes to the feast for the free food, the free liquor, the good company—the Party! No, he’s tossed out b/c he comes seeking all the benefits of the Master’s Truth and Goodness and Beauty, but he himself is unwilling to take on truth, goodness, and beauty in return. In other words, he wants to feast at the Master’s banquet table, but he’s unwilling to abide by the Master’s Party Rules. “Many are invited, but few are chosen.”
Paul gives us the secret of the Wedding Feast: “I have the strength for everything through him who empowers me…My God will fully supply whatever you need, in accord with his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.” God will provide the party dress, the tux for the feast. There is no reason for any of us to show up at the feast improperly dressed. From the limitless riches of Christ Jesus we are provided with everything we need to celebrate the feast when we are and where we are right now. Just ask. Paul says that he is able to live with scarcity, live in abundance, live well-fed and hungry, in every circumstance b/c his strength, his purpose, his drive comes through the Father. Not through his willpower. Not through his mighty character. Not through his education or his social standing. But through Him who empowers us.
The Good News this evening is that you don’t have to be a goat, a bundle of weeds, a bad fish, a lazy virgin, or an ill-dressed weeding guest. You can be. But you don’t have to be. Jesus died to give you the option of coming to the Wedding Feast decked out in the spiritual equivalent of Prada, Gucci, DKNY, and Burberry. Just ask. Just ask. “[Our] God will fully supply whatever you need.”
27th Sunday OT (Is 5.1-7; Phil 4.6-9; Matt 21.33-43
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
Church of the Incarnation, Irving, TX
What is the greatest spiritual problem facing the church right now? Would you say: Heretical clergy? Dissident theologians? Homosexual priests? Lack of faith in the Real Presence? Failure to attend Mass? Vatican Two? Liberalism? Traditionalism? I wonder how many of you would say, “anxiety.” I don’t mean the psychiatric term denoting a nervous physiological and psychological response to enviromental stimuli. I mean “anxiety,” as in “protect us from all anxiety as we await with joyful hope the coming of our Lord, Jesus Christ.” I mean anxiety as in “Brothers and sisters, Have no anxiety at all…” I mean anxiety as in a failure to trust God, a failure to hold firm to faith, and to know that the promise of the Father is completed; it is done. What could be more of a spiritual problem than a failure to trust the One who created us, made convenant with us, redeemed us from our sin, and dwells among us even now?
The Spirit of this world trembles. Not with fear. Not with pain. But with anticipation. The Spirit of this world delights. Not in triumph. Not in victory…not yet. But in self-congratulation and pleasure for a job well-done. There is nothing for him to do now but relax and watch the well-fed virus of anxiety unravel the careful work of faith, unwind the intricate morality of charity, and attack all the defenses of those best equipped to do the Father’s will in the world.
This virus of anxiety is simply and elegantly coded to attach itself to the one thing that Christians most need to survive and thrive—anxiety hits prayer; it attacks our life-line to God, our means of communication with the Divine, stranding us in a silence so profound that despair is inevitable and the work we are called to do goes undone for lack of trust in God.
The Devil doesn’t really have to tempt us into sin. He only has to convince us that the Father isn’t listening. He doesn’t have to fill our lives with violence, pornography, or death. He only has to lead us to believe that we can do this Christian-thing on our own—that we don’t really need a healthy prayer life. That we are strong enough, smart enough to take charge of our holiness and do this thing by the numbers so that nothing goes wrong, nothing falls outside the lines, nothing ever looks crooked, smells fishy, or feels twitchy.
Once we’re convinced that we can color this Christian coloring book without slipping outside the lines, that we can seek and attain perfection on our own, once we’re cruising along comfy and satisifed in the quality of our spiritual work, the Devil throws us a curve, he tosses a grenade, and watches with a smirk as we panic, crash, and flop around, thrashing in the mess we’ve made. Then he waits with angelic patience for the moment of his greatest joy, his sharpest glee. It is the moment we look to heaven, spread our hands over the devastation we’ve created in our arrogance and pride and cry out in anguish, “Where were you, Lord?” Ah, Despair! Can’t beat Despair with a stick.
Jesus instructs the chief priests and elders with a parable about the salvation history of the Jewish people and the advent of the long-awaited Messiah. The Father sent the Law to forge a covenant with His people. The stones were broken in disobedience. He sent the Prophets. And they were beaten, killed, exiled, or just plain ignored. Finally, he sends his Only-Begotten Son, the long-awaited Messiah, to bring them back to righteousness, and they kill Him—a death He freely accepts for our sake. The parable makes it clear that those who refuse the salvific effects of the Messiah’s vicarious death will themselves die a wretched and permanent death. Those who come to the Lord, take on his death as the death of their own sin, and place themselves in trust to Him, they will be given the Kingdom of God, and they will cultivate its fruit. Those who would build the kingdom of heavem on their own reject Jesus Christ as a cornerstone. Those who would seek and attempt to attain perfection on their own reject Jesus Christ as a cornerstone and delight the Devil in his work.
And so Paul tells the Philippians, “Have no anxiety at all, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. THEN the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” Trust God always and in everything that you do make what you need known to God through prayer, ask and say “Thank You,” and the result will be that your anxiety—your lack of trust—will be silenced with a peace that outshines everything you have ever known and this unsurpassing peace will shield your relationship with God and settle your mind into the lordship of Jesus Christ.
If the peace of the Lord is to remain with you, if it is to remain as a shield against the wily arguments of the Devil you must dwell on what is true not what is false, what is just and not unjust, what is lovely and not ugly, what is gracious and not crude, what is excellent and not vile, what is worthy of your praise and not what is worthy of your rebuke. And do not be afraid b/c this is not a job you can do alone. If you would build the kingdom of heaven in your heart and mind, you must do so with the grace of the Father under the Lordship of the Son and in the Spirit, and you will think and pray what is true, pure, gracious and excellent with God’s sure help.
We could make a list a several hundred feet long, a list of the problems of the Church, a list of the ways that the kingdom of God is defied on earth, in the church herself, and in the hearts and minds of individual Christians. No list, no matter how long, will make any sense at all if it does not include at the very top this name: “A List of Ways that Anxiety Makes Itself Known in the Church.” Heretical teachings. Dissident theologians. Unfaithful priests and religious. Usurpers of legitmate ecclesial authority on the left and the right. All of these are insidious manifestations, instances of our anxiety when we try to control, examples of our fear to risk trust in God, our need, our deeply planted need to make the church, all of creation in our own image and likeness.
Jesus’ parable tonight is really very simple. He says, “Make the cornerstone the builders rejected the cornerstone of your spiritual castle. No other stone. No other god. No self-help guru or alien philosophy. Entertain no anxiety. Ask for what you need, say thank you, and know my peace.”
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
Church of the Incarnation, Irving, TX
What is the greatest spiritual problem facing the church right now? Would you say: Heretical clergy? Dissident theologians? Homosexual priests? Lack of faith in the Real Presence? Failure to attend Mass? Vatican Two? Liberalism? Traditionalism? I wonder how many of you would say, “anxiety.” I don’t mean the psychiatric term denoting a nervous physiological and psychological response to enviromental stimuli. I mean “anxiety,” as in “protect us from all anxiety as we await with joyful hope the coming of our Lord, Jesus Christ.” I mean anxiety as in “Brothers and sisters, Have no anxiety at all…” I mean anxiety as in a failure to trust God, a failure to hold firm to faith, and to know that the promise of the Father is completed; it is done. What could be more of a spiritual problem than a failure to trust the One who created us, made convenant with us, redeemed us from our sin, and dwells among us even now?
The Spirit of this world trembles. Not with fear. Not with pain. But with anticipation. The Spirit of this world delights. Not in triumph. Not in victory…not yet. But in self-congratulation and pleasure for a job well-done. There is nothing for him to do now but relax and watch the well-fed virus of anxiety unravel the careful work of faith, unwind the intricate morality of charity, and attack all the defenses of those best equipped to do the Father’s will in the world.
This virus of anxiety is simply and elegantly coded to attach itself to the one thing that Christians most need to survive and thrive—anxiety hits prayer; it attacks our life-line to God, our means of communication with the Divine, stranding us in a silence so profound that despair is inevitable and the work we are called to do goes undone for lack of trust in God.
The Devil doesn’t really have to tempt us into sin. He only has to convince us that the Father isn’t listening. He doesn’t have to fill our lives with violence, pornography, or death. He only has to lead us to believe that we can do this Christian-thing on our own—that we don’t really need a healthy prayer life. That we are strong enough, smart enough to take charge of our holiness and do this thing by the numbers so that nothing goes wrong, nothing falls outside the lines, nothing ever looks crooked, smells fishy, or feels twitchy.
Once we’re convinced that we can color this Christian coloring book without slipping outside the lines, that we can seek and attain perfection on our own, once we’re cruising along comfy and satisifed in the quality of our spiritual work, the Devil throws us a curve, he tosses a grenade, and watches with a smirk as we panic, crash, and flop around, thrashing in the mess we’ve made. Then he waits with angelic patience for the moment of his greatest joy, his sharpest glee. It is the moment we look to heaven, spread our hands over the devastation we’ve created in our arrogance and pride and cry out in anguish, “Where were you, Lord?” Ah, Despair! Can’t beat Despair with a stick.
Jesus instructs the chief priests and elders with a parable about the salvation history of the Jewish people and the advent of the long-awaited Messiah. The Father sent the Law to forge a covenant with His people. The stones were broken in disobedience. He sent the Prophets. And they were beaten, killed, exiled, or just plain ignored. Finally, he sends his Only-Begotten Son, the long-awaited Messiah, to bring them back to righteousness, and they kill Him—a death He freely accepts for our sake. The parable makes it clear that those who refuse the salvific effects of the Messiah’s vicarious death will themselves die a wretched and permanent death. Those who come to the Lord, take on his death as the death of their own sin, and place themselves in trust to Him, they will be given the Kingdom of God, and they will cultivate its fruit. Those who would build the kingdom of heavem on their own reject Jesus Christ as a cornerstone. Those who would seek and attempt to attain perfection on their own reject Jesus Christ as a cornerstone and delight the Devil in his work.
And so Paul tells the Philippians, “Have no anxiety at all, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. THEN the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” Trust God always and in everything that you do make what you need known to God through prayer, ask and say “Thank You,” and the result will be that your anxiety—your lack of trust—will be silenced with a peace that outshines everything you have ever known and this unsurpassing peace will shield your relationship with God and settle your mind into the lordship of Jesus Christ.
If the peace of the Lord is to remain with you, if it is to remain as a shield against the wily arguments of the Devil you must dwell on what is true not what is false, what is just and not unjust, what is lovely and not ugly, what is gracious and not crude, what is excellent and not vile, what is worthy of your praise and not what is worthy of your rebuke. And do not be afraid b/c this is not a job you can do alone. If you would build the kingdom of heaven in your heart and mind, you must do so with the grace of the Father under the Lordship of the Son and in the Spirit, and you will think and pray what is true, pure, gracious and excellent with God’s sure help.
We could make a list a several hundred feet long, a list of the problems of the Church, a list of the ways that the kingdom of God is defied on earth, in the church herself, and in the hearts and minds of individual Christians. No list, no matter how long, will make any sense at all if it does not include at the very top this name: “A List of Ways that Anxiety Makes Itself Known in the Church.” Heretical teachings. Dissident theologians. Unfaithful priests and religious. Usurpers of legitmate ecclesial authority on the left and the right. All of these are insidious manifestations, instances of our anxiety when we try to control, examples of our fear to risk trust in God, our need, our deeply planted need to make the church, all of creation in our own image and likeness.
Jesus’ parable tonight is really very simple. He says, “Make the cornerstone the builders rejected the cornerstone of your spiritual castle. No other stone. No other god. No self-help guru or alien philosophy. Entertain no anxiety. Ask for what you need, say thank you, and know my peace.”
26th Sunday OT: Ez 18.25-28; Phil 2.1-11; Matt 21.28-32
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
Church of the Incarnation, Irving, TX
What do you hear when the call for repentance from sin goes out? What words enter your hearing? And what do you do about it?
I can tell you what I heard and what I did. I was 10 years old and finishing out the week at Freameux Ave. Baptist Church’s Vacation Bible School. Br. Oscar, the preacher, came to our classroom and gave a ringing message on the necessity of repentance and the joys of accepting Jesus Christ into one’s heart as Lord and Savior. Now, glancing around the classroom, I quickly realized that I was the only one not so saved. I did not know Jesus in the way that Br. Oscar insisted that I know him. That afternoon, after the big empty pretzel jar full of pennies made its round in the pews collecting new pennies, I decided that I had better walk the aisle to the prayer rail and make Br. Oscar—and for good measure, Jesus—happy. And I did. Later, one of my older friends asked me if I had been saved or had I just joined the Church. I said I didn’t know. He scoffed and said, “Well, you aren’t saved. ‘Cause if you were, you’d know it.” I had fooled no one.
When the call for repentance of sin went out, I heard the voice of social pressure to conform, the call of Baptist culture to align myself with the dominant religious “type” or model of salvation. I heard the snickers of my fellow Bible school vacationers when it became evident that I was the only heathen left on the playground. I heard the teachers wonder about the condition of my family life. I heard just about any and everything BUT the voice of God calling me to forsake my sinful ways and come to Jesus. I walked the aisle to relieve an embarrassing social problem, but true repentance was far, far away.
What do you hear when the call for the repentance from sin goes out? Do you look around and wonder who Father is talking to? Do you snicker inside knowing who Father is talking about? Do you wonder if you’re the target? Or is this repentance from sin stuff just for the grubby crowd—ya know: the unwashed, the uneducated, the not properly theologized herd, those people over there? You know, the tax collectors, the prostitutes…those people.
Well, those people heard the call from John the Baptizer before the chief priests and the elders. Or, more precisely, the tax collectors and prostitutes listened to the call and actually repented while the chief priests and elders heard, but failed to listen and failed to believe. Even before those trained to hear, to listen, and to obey the voice of God, before these, the worse sinners, the grubbiest of the grubby of the nation, heard, listened, and obeyed. And because of this failure, Jesus says to the priests and elders, “Amen, I say to you, tax collectors and prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God before you.”
Now, this parable isn’t about how tax collectors and prostitutes are holier than priests and elder. Nor is it about how tax collecting and prostitution aren’t really sinful after all. It is a parable about the difference between hearing the Word and doing nothing about it AND hearing the Word and doing the Work it requires. The sons in the parable are distinguished not by a difference in their agreement to do their father’s will—the second agrees immediately do his father’s will, the first agrees eventually—no, they are distinguished by a difference in what they DO with their father’s will. Both hear, both listen, both agree—one instantly, one later; however, one does the work, the other doesn’t.
The point of the parable is this: the difference that makes the difference for our salvation is doing the will of the father, not just hearing, not just listening, not just agreeing—but doing, doing that which the Father has asked us to do. Earlier, Jesus had taught his disciples this hard lesson: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven” (Mt 7.21).
What do you hear when the call for repentance from sin goes out? Do you hear religiously sounding rhetoric? Sad attempts at clerical control? Do you hear the preacher speaking over your head to your neighbors? To your enemies? To your well-meaning but terribly immoral friends? What do you hear? Do you hear the gospel message of conversion, confession, repentance, forgiveness, and eternal life? Do you hear it? Listen to it? Agree with it? And then do it?
Jesus has spent the last two months teaching us how to live as a Church, how to be a body of witnesses for his passion, death, and resurrection. We forgive one another as many times as it takes. We correct one another in charity for the sake of the other’s salvation. We work the Father’s will in the world, not just agree to it and do nothing. We repent from our sins and turn back to God, knowing that we share with Christ an inheritance beyond this world.
Paul begs the Philippians, “…complete my joy, [brothers and sisters], by being of the same mind, with the same love, united in heart, thinking one thing.”
In Christ we stretch our intellects to one end, our wills for the good of the other to one end; in that place where we meet God most intimately—our hearts—we find one another at rest; and we believe with single-mindedness a single thing: that Jesus Christ is Lord! It is here, in this single will, this single mind, this single purpose and belief, here that we participate in the Spirit; here that we find solace in love, complete compassion, willing mercy; and it is here that we do nothing out of selfishness or out of vanity seeking false glory. Here we are the Church.
What do you hear when the call for repentance from sin goes out? With the encouragement of Christ, hear the Father’s voice calling you—calling all of us—back to Him for forgiveness. Calling all of us back to the work of the Word in the world, the work our baptism requires of us, the work order we heard, listened to, and agreed to complete.
Walk this aisle tonight, receive Him with thanksgiving and praise. And walk out of those doors fully loaded, ready and willing to be His witness, to be Christ for others…not out of social pressure or b/c of the Catholic culture of U.D., but b/c you have heard His Word, listened to it, agreed to do His will, and, most importantly, b/c you find yourself impatient to be about your Father’s work!
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
Church of the Incarnation, Irving, TX
What do you hear when the call for repentance from sin goes out? What words enter your hearing? And what do you do about it?
I can tell you what I heard and what I did. I was 10 years old and finishing out the week at Freameux Ave. Baptist Church’s Vacation Bible School. Br. Oscar, the preacher, came to our classroom and gave a ringing message on the necessity of repentance and the joys of accepting Jesus Christ into one’s heart as Lord and Savior. Now, glancing around the classroom, I quickly realized that I was the only one not so saved. I did not know Jesus in the way that Br. Oscar insisted that I know him. That afternoon, after the big empty pretzel jar full of pennies made its round in the pews collecting new pennies, I decided that I had better walk the aisle to the prayer rail and make Br. Oscar—and for good measure, Jesus—happy. And I did. Later, one of my older friends asked me if I had been saved or had I just joined the Church. I said I didn’t know. He scoffed and said, “Well, you aren’t saved. ‘Cause if you were, you’d know it.” I had fooled no one.
When the call for repentance of sin went out, I heard the voice of social pressure to conform, the call of Baptist culture to align myself with the dominant religious “type” or model of salvation. I heard the snickers of my fellow Bible school vacationers when it became evident that I was the only heathen left on the playground. I heard the teachers wonder about the condition of my family life. I heard just about any and everything BUT the voice of God calling me to forsake my sinful ways and come to Jesus. I walked the aisle to relieve an embarrassing social problem, but true repentance was far, far away.
What do you hear when the call for the repentance from sin goes out? Do you look around and wonder who Father is talking to? Do you snicker inside knowing who Father is talking about? Do you wonder if you’re the target? Or is this repentance from sin stuff just for the grubby crowd—ya know: the unwashed, the uneducated, the not properly theologized herd, those people over there? You know, the tax collectors, the prostitutes…those people.
Well, those people heard the call from John the Baptizer before the chief priests and the elders. Or, more precisely, the tax collectors and prostitutes listened to the call and actually repented while the chief priests and elders heard, but failed to listen and failed to believe. Even before those trained to hear, to listen, and to obey the voice of God, before these, the worse sinners, the grubbiest of the grubby of the nation, heard, listened, and obeyed. And because of this failure, Jesus says to the priests and elders, “Amen, I say to you, tax collectors and prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God before you.”
Now, this parable isn’t about how tax collectors and prostitutes are holier than priests and elder. Nor is it about how tax collecting and prostitution aren’t really sinful after all. It is a parable about the difference between hearing the Word and doing nothing about it AND hearing the Word and doing the Work it requires. The sons in the parable are distinguished not by a difference in their agreement to do their father’s will—the second agrees immediately do his father’s will, the first agrees eventually—no, they are distinguished by a difference in what they DO with their father’s will. Both hear, both listen, both agree—one instantly, one later; however, one does the work, the other doesn’t.
The point of the parable is this: the difference that makes the difference for our salvation is doing the will of the father, not just hearing, not just listening, not just agreeing—but doing, doing that which the Father has asked us to do. Earlier, Jesus had taught his disciples this hard lesson: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven” (Mt 7.21).
What do you hear when the call for repentance from sin goes out? Do you hear religiously sounding rhetoric? Sad attempts at clerical control? Do you hear the preacher speaking over your head to your neighbors? To your enemies? To your well-meaning but terribly immoral friends? What do you hear? Do you hear the gospel message of conversion, confession, repentance, forgiveness, and eternal life? Do you hear it? Listen to it? Agree with it? And then do it?
Jesus has spent the last two months teaching us how to live as a Church, how to be a body of witnesses for his passion, death, and resurrection. We forgive one another as many times as it takes. We correct one another in charity for the sake of the other’s salvation. We work the Father’s will in the world, not just agree to it and do nothing. We repent from our sins and turn back to God, knowing that we share with Christ an inheritance beyond this world.
Paul begs the Philippians, “…complete my joy, [brothers and sisters], by being of the same mind, with the same love, united in heart, thinking one thing.”
In Christ we stretch our intellects to one end, our wills for the good of the other to one end; in that place where we meet God most intimately—our hearts—we find one another at rest; and we believe with single-mindedness a single thing: that Jesus Christ is Lord! It is here, in this single will, this single mind, this single purpose and belief, here that we participate in the Spirit; here that we find solace in love, complete compassion, willing mercy; and it is here that we do nothing out of selfishness or out of vanity seeking false glory. Here we are the Church.
What do you hear when the call for repentance from sin goes out? With the encouragement of Christ, hear the Father’s voice calling you—calling all of us—back to Him for forgiveness. Calling all of us back to the work of the Word in the world, the work our baptism requires of us, the work order we heard, listened to, and agreed to complete.
Walk this aisle tonight, receive Him with thanksgiving and praise. And walk out of those doors fully loaded, ready and willing to be His witness, to be Christ for others…not out of social pressure or b/c of the Catholic culture of U.D., but b/c you have heard His Word, listened to it, agreed to do His will, and, most importantly, b/c you find yourself impatient to be about your Father’s work!
25th Sunday OT: Is 55.6-9; Phil 1.20-24, 27; Matt 20.1-16
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
Church of the Incarnation, Irving, TX
Sounding very much like Mary saying YES to the Lord’s angel at the Annunication, Paul proclaims without pride: “Christ will be magnified in my body…” Christ will be made larger, brighter, sharper, denser, louder, and more skilled in Paul’s body. Paul adds without fear, “…whether by life or by death.” Christ will be magnified in his body, whether by life or by death. Like Mary at the feet of the angel, Paul turns his life and his death over the Lord—and the work of the Lord—and confesses to his brothers and sisters that his life as a worker for the Lord will be larger, brighter, sharper, and more skilled precisely b/c the work he does will be done for the greater glory of the Lord. And this is just the work of his life! Death is no obstacle for Paul b/c “life is Christ, and death is gain.” So choose! Live in Christ and magnify His work on earth. Die in Christ, be with Him eternally, and still magnify His work in His presence. Now that’s commitment.
But here’s what I want you to notice: Paul does not donate his time, talent, and treasure out of his excess. He doesn’t give over to the work of the Lord the overflow of his riches. The leftovers. Paul does not say “Christ will be magnified in my checkbook.” “Christ will be magnified in my volunteer hours.” “Christ will be magnified in my talent.” He says that Christ will be magnified in his BODY. His very flesh. And whether he lives or dies the work he does for the Lord will bear abundant fruit for others. Paul does not parcel his life (or his death!) into neat packages addressed to different and equally worthy receipents: his family, his career, his friends, and, oh, one for the Lord too here on the bottom somewhere. Paul’s whole life—the first fruits, the abundant works, the failures and misgivings, and, finally, his last breath—all, his whole life is given to Christ for the enlargement of Christ.
What does it mean for Christ to be magnified in the body? The idea, I think, is to pull us out of the very human habit of abstraction, the very human temptation to loft our religious obligations to one another into the heavens where we can keep them safe from our duty to perform them on earth. So long as the obligation to clothe the naked, feed the hungry, visit the imprisoned remain abstracted moral imperatives far, far away, we are tempted to honor them in the abstract, neglect to perform them, and remain confident that the work of the Lord is getting done. Paul’s insistence that Christ will be magnified in his body is the clearest indication we have that the work of the Lord is to be DONE. Not just thought about. Not just written about. Not just preached about. And certainly not abstracted and lofted onto some kind of spiritualized “to do” list. The work is to be done. And done first for God’s greater glory.
Now. I know what you’re thinking! “Wow, Father is wound up tonight. He must think we’re all lazy bums laying around thinking about the good works of mercy, but watching Wheel of Fortune instead!” Not quite. I’ve seen the generosity of this community, and I know what motivates this community to be tools of the Lord in the world. There is a hunger here for others to see and hear what the Lord has done in your lives. There is an eagerness here, a tangible need to draw others to the Lord and to witness to them the power of Christ’s mercy—to forgive, to heal, to bless. I’m not wagging my finger at you tonight, but merely reminding you where you came from, where you are, and where you are going. You came from Christ. You are with Christ. And you will be with Christ.
But there is a temptation waiting for us. An eager little devil waiting to pounce on our witness to the Lord. It is an opportunity for us to sin and delight the Liar. What is this temptation? It is the temptation to believe that we work for the Lord out of our own generosity, out of our own time, out of our own resources, and we are therefore entitled to a greater reward when we outwork our neighbors.
This is exactly the parable of the whiny workers from Matthew, a parable about our salvation and our sanctification.
The whiny workers begrudge the landowner’s generosity in paying full wages to the latecomer laborers. Why? For some reason they feel that their own labor and their own wages are diminished by the largese of the vineyard owner. Somehow their day’s labor is dirtied. Their dollar is devalued. They worked harder and longer under the fiery sun, so they deserve more than those who sauntered in at the last hour and barely broke a sweat!
These guys are upset b/c they are working out of a very human notion of justice, a temptation, I think, to believe that compensation is earned; to get what is owed you, what you deserve. But remember, this is a parable about salvation and holiness not a lesson on capitalist economics.
Is it a human notion of justice you want applied to your eternal life? Do you want forever what you deserve? What you’ve earned in this life? Do you want the Father to give you a just compensation for your life’s work? The whole point of the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Jesus Christ is that we won’t be given what we deserve; we won’t receive from the Father what is owed to us. As I have said to you many times: we don’t want God’s justice! We want His mercy! And Christ has bought that mercy for us.
Our Final Wage was offered on the Altar of the Cross once for all. Unearned. Free. Whether you came to your salvation as an infant sixty years ago or as a teenager ten years ago or as an adult three hours ago, your Final Wage comes from the bottomless cache of the Father’s generosity. Salvation is free. Holiness—the living out of that salvation morning, afternoon, and night—is work. But even that labor is graced by a loving God Who would see us with Him for eternity. That grace is sufficient to help us magnify the Lord.
Make Christ larger, brighter, louder, sharper, sweeter, stronger, kinder, truer, better, more beautiful, more loving, more faithful, more humble, more generous, and make Christ bigger, and bigger, and bigger in your life. Magnify the Lord til your knees buckle. Magnify the Lord til your back hurts. Magnify the Lord in your body til there is no room for sin. And when the Lord asks, “Are you envious b/c I am generous?” Be able to say, “No, Lord! I am grateful in life and death, and I live and die to magnify you.”
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
Church of the Incarnation, Irving, TX
Sounding very much like Mary saying YES to the Lord’s angel at the Annunication, Paul proclaims without pride: “Christ will be magnified in my body…” Christ will be made larger, brighter, sharper, denser, louder, and more skilled in Paul’s body. Paul adds without fear, “…whether by life or by death.” Christ will be magnified in his body, whether by life or by death. Like Mary at the feet of the angel, Paul turns his life and his death over the Lord—and the work of the Lord—and confesses to his brothers and sisters that his life as a worker for the Lord will be larger, brighter, sharper, and more skilled precisely b/c the work he does will be done for the greater glory of the Lord. And this is just the work of his life! Death is no obstacle for Paul b/c “life is Christ, and death is gain.” So choose! Live in Christ and magnify His work on earth. Die in Christ, be with Him eternally, and still magnify His work in His presence. Now that’s commitment.
But here’s what I want you to notice: Paul does not donate his time, talent, and treasure out of his excess. He doesn’t give over to the work of the Lord the overflow of his riches. The leftovers. Paul does not say “Christ will be magnified in my checkbook.” “Christ will be magnified in my volunteer hours.” “Christ will be magnified in my talent.” He says that Christ will be magnified in his BODY. His very flesh. And whether he lives or dies the work he does for the Lord will bear abundant fruit for others. Paul does not parcel his life (or his death!) into neat packages addressed to different and equally worthy receipents: his family, his career, his friends, and, oh, one for the Lord too here on the bottom somewhere. Paul’s whole life—the first fruits, the abundant works, the failures and misgivings, and, finally, his last breath—all, his whole life is given to Christ for the enlargement of Christ.
What does it mean for Christ to be magnified in the body? The idea, I think, is to pull us out of the very human habit of abstraction, the very human temptation to loft our religious obligations to one another into the heavens where we can keep them safe from our duty to perform them on earth. So long as the obligation to clothe the naked, feed the hungry, visit the imprisoned remain abstracted moral imperatives far, far away, we are tempted to honor them in the abstract, neglect to perform them, and remain confident that the work of the Lord is getting done. Paul’s insistence that Christ will be magnified in his body is the clearest indication we have that the work of the Lord is to be DONE. Not just thought about. Not just written about. Not just preached about. And certainly not abstracted and lofted onto some kind of spiritualized “to do” list. The work is to be done. And done first for God’s greater glory.
Now. I know what you’re thinking! “Wow, Father is wound up tonight. He must think we’re all lazy bums laying around thinking about the good works of mercy, but watching Wheel of Fortune instead!” Not quite. I’ve seen the generosity of this community, and I know what motivates this community to be tools of the Lord in the world. There is a hunger here for others to see and hear what the Lord has done in your lives. There is an eagerness here, a tangible need to draw others to the Lord and to witness to them the power of Christ’s mercy—to forgive, to heal, to bless. I’m not wagging my finger at you tonight, but merely reminding you where you came from, where you are, and where you are going. You came from Christ. You are with Christ. And you will be with Christ.
But there is a temptation waiting for us. An eager little devil waiting to pounce on our witness to the Lord. It is an opportunity for us to sin and delight the Liar. What is this temptation? It is the temptation to believe that we work for the Lord out of our own generosity, out of our own time, out of our own resources, and we are therefore entitled to a greater reward when we outwork our neighbors.
This is exactly the parable of the whiny workers from Matthew, a parable about our salvation and our sanctification.
The whiny workers begrudge the landowner’s generosity in paying full wages to the latecomer laborers. Why? For some reason they feel that their own labor and their own wages are diminished by the largese of the vineyard owner. Somehow their day’s labor is dirtied. Their dollar is devalued. They worked harder and longer under the fiery sun, so they deserve more than those who sauntered in at the last hour and barely broke a sweat!
These guys are upset b/c they are working out of a very human notion of justice, a temptation, I think, to believe that compensation is earned; to get what is owed you, what you deserve. But remember, this is a parable about salvation and holiness not a lesson on capitalist economics.
Is it a human notion of justice you want applied to your eternal life? Do you want forever what you deserve? What you’ve earned in this life? Do you want the Father to give you a just compensation for your life’s work? The whole point of the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Jesus Christ is that we won’t be given what we deserve; we won’t receive from the Father what is owed to us. As I have said to you many times: we don’t want God’s justice! We want His mercy! And Christ has bought that mercy for us.
Our Final Wage was offered on the Altar of the Cross once for all. Unearned. Free. Whether you came to your salvation as an infant sixty years ago or as a teenager ten years ago or as an adult three hours ago, your Final Wage comes from the bottomless cache of the Father’s generosity. Salvation is free. Holiness—the living out of that salvation morning, afternoon, and night—is work. But even that labor is graced by a loving God Who would see us with Him for eternity. That grace is sufficient to help us magnify the Lord.
Make Christ larger, brighter, louder, sharper, sweeter, stronger, kinder, truer, better, more beautiful, more loving, more faithful, more humble, more generous, and make Christ bigger, and bigger, and bigger in your life. Magnify the Lord til your knees buckle. Magnify the Lord til your back hurts. Magnify the Lord in your body til there is no room for sin. And when the Lord asks, “Are you envious b/c I am generous?” Be able to say, “No, Lord! I am grateful in life and death, and I live and die to magnify you.”
24th Sunday in OT: Sir 27.30-28.7; Rom 14.7-9; Matt 18.21-35
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
Church of the Incarnation, University of Dallas
Fraternal correction. Love one another. Spend more time looking in a mirror and less time looking through binoculars. Serve God by serving one another. Be fresh wineskins for the New Wine of the Lord. And on and on and on. It’s getting to where here lately it is difficult to hold a decent grudge, point fingers at other peoples’ sins, or justify a little self-righteous anger. Or just plain ole wallow in some sticky self-pity! Don’t be vengeful. Let go of rebukes. Do not hate your neighbor. Overlook faults. Be merciful. Do not cherish wrath. It’s too much! Perhaps we are right to complain that the Lord is too demanding of our faith, too demanding of our obedience. It is easier to find refuge in the ruins than to help build a new city.
And here today we come to Mass to hear another string of demands, perhaps the most demanding of demands: Forgive seven times seventy those who offend against you. We must forgive. This is not an encouragement. Jesus doesn’t say, “I urge you to consider forgiving them.” He doesn’t say, “Ya know, wouldn’t it be better if you just forgave them?” He, in fact, says, “You wicked servant! Unless you forgive your brothers from your heart your heavenly Father will give you over to the Torturers.” That’t not a suggestion or hint, folks. That’s a threat. Plain and simple.
In our dumbed-down, inoffensive, consumerist American religion, we’re not used to hearing about threats from God. But there it is. “The kingdom of heaven may be likened to a king who decided to settle accounts with his servants.” Ouch. The admonition, no, the demand that we forgive seems odd given that forgiveness is generally thought of as something that must be given freely, willingly. Isn’t forgiveness that sort of religiously thing that we’re told to do but often fail to do precisely b/c we know Other People are supposed to do it too. I mean, of course, I know I’m supposed to forgive, but aren’t you supposed to forgive my refusal to forgive you? Of course you are! But you don’t b/c I won’t forgive you and on and on and on, round and round we go, spinning into Hell clinging to one another, teeth embedded, claws deep in the flesh, we fall, forever, together.
Forgive one another. How easily said. Forgive one another. Not so easily done. I wonder why? Why is it so hard for us to forgive? What problems do we run into when struggling with forgiving those who have hurt us?
No doubt these problems are Legion. There is fear. Are we condoning the sin if we forgive? Are we saying that the forgiven sin won’t be a sin in the future. THAT sin is OK now? Maybe we fear becoming prey to bullies, becoming a victim to others’ wrath. To deny forgiveness to the bully is a sure way to guard our dignity, to be diligent against abuse. Along with fear, there is also wrathful anger. Maybe we like being indignant, the feeling of resentment, the grudge, the rancor of spitefully stroking every slight, every wound, counting up the injustices and hurts. We become the Devil’s Accountant and our denial of forgiveness, our disobedience, becomes a way of playing a very perverse version of God—refusing forgiveness to feel superior, righteous, holier than the offender. Here we are tempted to imitate Satan, the angel who went from being the glorious Morning Star to the Lord of the Damned b/c his envy of God, his need to be God, killed his love for God. If the Morning Star can fall, we must ask with Ben Sira, son of Eleazar, who wrote the Book of Sirach: “If one who is but flesh cherishes wrath, who will forgive his sins?”
Perhaps we can look at this another way. The contemporary American poet, Eric Pankey, in a poem titled, “Prayer,” asks this question: “What do you love better: the ruin or its repair/Desire’s affliction or fire’s harsh sacrament?” The question of whether or not to forgive can be about whether or not to relinguish hurt and reach for healing. It can be about forgetting. It can also be about obedience and meeting the demands of your faith. But finally forgiveness is about figuring out what you love more: the ruin of sin or the repair of forgiveness, self-destructive suffering or the hard, hard choice of burning away the slights, the injuries in the “fire’s harsh sacrament”?
Paul writes to the Romans: “None of us lives for oneself, and no one dies for oneself. For if we live, we live for the Lord, and if we die, we die for the Lord; so then whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s.” Surely this is what we love best: that we are the Lord’s, we belong wholly—body, soul, spirit—to a loving God who has saved us from the need to be spiteful in the face of hurts, from the need to hold grudges, from the need to wallow in pity, wrath, and self-righteous anger. We are freed from the slavery of enmity, vengence, death, and decay. Put the chains back on if you will, but consider:
What do you love better: sin’s ruin or Christ’s repair?
What do you love better: the Father’s mercy or His justice?
What do you love better: your freedom or the nursed hurt?
Don’t be vengeful. Let go of rebukes. Do not hate your neighbor. Overlook faults. Be merciful. Do not cherish wrath. It is too much. It is too much if we go alone into the wilderness of holiness. Though it is easier to find refuge in the ruins than help to build a new city, we are promised to a God Who makes demands, Who wants our obedience, and expects us to live up to our end of the Covenant. Building His kingdom, the holy city, one soul at a time begins with the movement of love toward forgiveness. We can survive in the ruins. But we will flourish in the work of repair. And we will flourish more beautifully together than alone.
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
Church of the Incarnation, University of Dallas
Fraternal correction. Love one another. Spend more time looking in a mirror and less time looking through binoculars. Serve God by serving one another. Be fresh wineskins for the New Wine of the Lord. And on and on and on. It’s getting to where here lately it is difficult to hold a decent grudge, point fingers at other peoples’ sins, or justify a little self-righteous anger. Or just plain ole wallow in some sticky self-pity! Don’t be vengeful. Let go of rebukes. Do not hate your neighbor. Overlook faults. Be merciful. Do not cherish wrath. It’s too much! Perhaps we are right to complain that the Lord is too demanding of our faith, too demanding of our obedience. It is easier to find refuge in the ruins than to help build a new city.
And here today we come to Mass to hear another string of demands, perhaps the most demanding of demands: Forgive seven times seventy those who offend against you. We must forgive. This is not an encouragement. Jesus doesn’t say, “I urge you to consider forgiving them.” He doesn’t say, “Ya know, wouldn’t it be better if you just forgave them?” He, in fact, says, “You wicked servant! Unless you forgive your brothers from your heart your heavenly Father will give you over to the Torturers.” That’t not a suggestion or hint, folks. That’s a threat. Plain and simple.
In our dumbed-down, inoffensive, consumerist American religion, we’re not used to hearing about threats from God. But there it is. “The kingdom of heaven may be likened to a king who decided to settle accounts with his servants.” Ouch. The admonition, no, the demand that we forgive seems odd given that forgiveness is generally thought of as something that must be given freely, willingly. Isn’t forgiveness that sort of religiously thing that we’re told to do but often fail to do precisely b/c we know Other People are supposed to do it too. I mean, of course, I know I’m supposed to forgive, but aren’t you supposed to forgive my refusal to forgive you? Of course you are! But you don’t b/c I won’t forgive you and on and on and on, round and round we go, spinning into Hell clinging to one another, teeth embedded, claws deep in the flesh, we fall, forever, together.
Forgive one another. How easily said. Forgive one another. Not so easily done. I wonder why? Why is it so hard for us to forgive? What problems do we run into when struggling with forgiving those who have hurt us?
No doubt these problems are Legion. There is fear. Are we condoning the sin if we forgive? Are we saying that the forgiven sin won’t be a sin in the future. THAT sin is OK now? Maybe we fear becoming prey to bullies, becoming a victim to others’ wrath. To deny forgiveness to the bully is a sure way to guard our dignity, to be diligent against abuse. Along with fear, there is also wrathful anger. Maybe we like being indignant, the feeling of resentment, the grudge, the rancor of spitefully stroking every slight, every wound, counting up the injustices and hurts. We become the Devil’s Accountant and our denial of forgiveness, our disobedience, becomes a way of playing a very perverse version of God—refusing forgiveness to feel superior, righteous, holier than the offender. Here we are tempted to imitate Satan, the angel who went from being the glorious Morning Star to the Lord of the Damned b/c his envy of God, his need to be God, killed his love for God. If the Morning Star can fall, we must ask with Ben Sira, son of Eleazar, who wrote the Book of Sirach: “If one who is but flesh cherishes wrath, who will forgive his sins?”
Perhaps we can look at this another way. The contemporary American poet, Eric Pankey, in a poem titled, “Prayer,” asks this question: “What do you love better: the ruin or its repair/Desire’s affliction or fire’s harsh sacrament?” The question of whether or not to forgive can be about whether or not to relinguish hurt and reach for healing. It can be about forgetting. It can also be about obedience and meeting the demands of your faith. But finally forgiveness is about figuring out what you love more: the ruin of sin or the repair of forgiveness, self-destructive suffering or the hard, hard choice of burning away the slights, the injuries in the “fire’s harsh sacrament”?
Paul writes to the Romans: “None of us lives for oneself, and no one dies for oneself. For if we live, we live for the Lord, and if we die, we die for the Lord; so then whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s.” Surely this is what we love best: that we are the Lord’s, we belong wholly—body, soul, spirit—to a loving God who has saved us from the need to be spiteful in the face of hurts, from the need to hold grudges, from the need to wallow in pity, wrath, and self-righteous anger. We are freed from the slavery of enmity, vengence, death, and decay. Put the chains back on if you will, but consider:
What do you love better: sin’s ruin or Christ’s repair?
What do you love better: the Father’s mercy or His justice?
What do you love better: your freedom or the nursed hurt?
Don’t be vengeful. Let go of rebukes. Do not hate your neighbor. Overlook faults. Be merciful. Do not cherish wrath. It is too much. It is too much if we go alone into the wilderness of holiness. Though it is easier to find refuge in the ruins than help to build a new city, we are promised to a God Who makes demands, Who wants our obedience, and expects us to live up to our end of the Covenant. Building His kingdom, the holy city, one soul at a time begins with the movement of love toward forgiveness. We can survive in the ruins. But we will flourish in the work of repair. And we will flourish more beautifully together than alone.
23rd Sunday in OT: Rom 13.8-10, Matt 18.15-20
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
Church of the Incarnation
Early in the school year, Brother Jim, an itinerant street preacher, would appear on campus, stand in front of the Student Union, and rant and rave at the passing students. He swung around a big KJV of the bible like a club. He was particularly fond of attacking the young women who were dressed in his words, “like prostitutes”—make-up, open-toed shoes, and styled hair.
He condemned with equal fervor communism, smoking, alcohol consumption, nearly every form of sexual behavior, and the Catholic Church. His rantings drew large crowds and a few brave students would argue with him about his theological positions. I never went up against Br. Jim. I wasn’t much of a Christian at the time. I thought he was joke. And I realized pretty quickly that Br. Jim was less interested in converting sinners than he was in reassuring himself that his half-baked prejudices were, in fact, fully baked. The crowd’s opposition only served to strengthen his resolve and affirm in his own mind the correctness of his preaching. Br. Jim was a self-declared martyr, someone who has put himself in the pagan arena and dared God to protect him as evidence of God’s presence, power, and love.
It was far too easy, far too simple for him to point the finger, make the accusation, and move on to the next campus, leaving in his wake an image of the laughable Christian obsessed with everyone else’s sex life. His was self-righteous ecclesiastical theater.
This is not what Jesus had in mind when he told his disciples to correct one another when necessary. Nor is this how brothers and sister in Christ now should be correcting one another. Fraternal correction is about willing the good and not competition in piety. It is about hoping for the best from one another and not expecting the worst. It is about bringing salvation, not condemnation; it is about helping one another in the arduous work of perfecting our natures and sharing the good fruits of an abundant prayer life. Fraternal correction can never be about playing “gotcha” games or pulling down theological or ecclesial opponents. It can never be about undermining someone’s reputation for political gain. Or undermining their confidence in who they are as a child of the Father.
I’m not telling you all of this b/c I believe that you are abusing fraternal correction. Hardly. I’m telling you this b/c in teaching us how to correct one another in the content and practice of our faith, Jesus is also teaching us what his true church looks like. Paul puts it succinctly, “Love does no evil to the neighbor; hence, love is the fulfillment of the law.” If fraternal correction is to do what it is supposed to do—bring the sinner back to Christ—it must be practiced out of a church that understands itself as a fulfillment of the law, a body of believers who hold the apostolic faith, teach the apostolic faith, and practice among themselves abiding charity, ready trust, and eager forgiveness.
Matthew’s gospel couldn’t be clearer on this point: go to the sinner yourself first. If he or she doesn’t listen, then bring in another member of the church along and bear witness to the sin and call for repentance. If that doesn’t work, then the larger church is to be called and the sinner treated like one cast out—not permanently cast out, but medicinally cast out, that is, removed from the community for his or her own good, an encouragement to repent and return—Jesus said that even the tax collectors and prostitutes can repent to come to him!
We know that this scenario can work b/c Jesus empowers the church to make it work. To the apostles he gives the authority to bind and loose, to tie up and free, to license and limit. The church must have the authority to welcome back the repentant sinner, otherwise, fraternal correction is just psychobabble and passive-aggressive control games. Real conversion, real reunion can be achieved through the grace of God working in the church.
How we do avoid allowing fraternal correction to become something like a crude political tool or self-righteous weapon? Look carefully at the reading from Romans: “Owe nothing to anyone, except to love one another.” Have no debt to each other but the debt of love—the obligation to will the good for all the members of the body of Christ. If fraternal correction comes out of love, then it cannot be political or self-righteousness. The question to ask is: am I being motivated by a will that wills the good for this sinner? If your motivation is anything but love, then stop right there!
Another way to avoid allowing fraternal correction to become something other than an expression of love is to pay careful attention to the sequence of events in Jesus’ description of how to correct a sinner: one-on-one, first; then a smaller group; and then the larger church. Why this sequence? Why not go straight to the church and be done with it? The idea here is to allow the sinner an opportunity to admit his or her error and come back to the church w/o causing greater scandal to the community. If his or her heart can be moved to conversion w/o the pressure of the whole community knowing about his or her transgression, then this is by far the better way. It is, in other words, the more loving thing to do.
What is most astonishing to me about this reading from Matthew is the very familiar saying of Jesus, “Where two or more are gathered in my name, I am with them.” Is there a more powerful statement of the presence of Christ among us than this? And it comes at the end of his instruction on fraternal correction and his conferral of binding and loosening authority on the apostles. Christ has not abandoned the church to it own devices. He has not left us to fend for ourselves alone in a world packed with ravening wolves. He has given us a powerful tool for conversion, the authority to use it, AND he has promised to be with us when we come together in his name.
How we call one another back into God’s righteousness reveals the nature of the church. If the one correcting is turning himself/herself into a martyr for the cause, then the church is revealed as a weapon against ecclesial criminals. If the one correcting is correcting for political points or advantage, then the church is revealed as a club for powerbrokers. However, if the one correcting is doing so out of a genuine will for the good of the sinner, then the church is revealed to be what Christ left it to be: an apostolic witness to his teachings, an instrument of grace, and the hope of every sinner who has ears to hear and eyes to see.
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
Church of the Incarnation
Early in the school year, Brother Jim, an itinerant street preacher, would appear on campus, stand in front of the Student Union, and rant and rave at the passing students. He swung around a big KJV of the bible like a club. He was particularly fond of attacking the young women who were dressed in his words, “like prostitutes”—make-up, open-toed shoes, and styled hair.
He condemned with equal fervor communism, smoking, alcohol consumption, nearly every form of sexual behavior, and the Catholic Church. His rantings drew large crowds and a few brave students would argue with him about his theological positions. I never went up against Br. Jim. I wasn’t much of a Christian at the time. I thought he was joke. And I realized pretty quickly that Br. Jim was less interested in converting sinners than he was in reassuring himself that his half-baked prejudices were, in fact, fully baked. The crowd’s opposition only served to strengthen his resolve and affirm in his own mind the correctness of his preaching. Br. Jim was a self-declared martyr, someone who has put himself in the pagan arena and dared God to protect him as evidence of God’s presence, power, and love.
It was far too easy, far too simple for him to point the finger, make the accusation, and move on to the next campus, leaving in his wake an image of the laughable Christian obsessed with everyone else’s sex life. His was self-righteous ecclesiastical theater.
This is not what Jesus had in mind when he told his disciples to correct one another when necessary. Nor is this how brothers and sister in Christ now should be correcting one another. Fraternal correction is about willing the good and not competition in piety. It is about hoping for the best from one another and not expecting the worst. It is about bringing salvation, not condemnation; it is about helping one another in the arduous work of perfecting our natures and sharing the good fruits of an abundant prayer life. Fraternal correction can never be about playing “gotcha” games or pulling down theological or ecclesial opponents. It can never be about undermining someone’s reputation for political gain. Or undermining their confidence in who they are as a child of the Father.
I’m not telling you all of this b/c I believe that you are abusing fraternal correction. Hardly. I’m telling you this b/c in teaching us how to correct one another in the content and practice of our faith, Jesus is also teaching us what his true church looks like. Paul puts it succinctly, “Love does no evil to the neighbor; hence, love is the fulfillment of the law.” If fraternal correction is to do what it is supposed to do—bring the sinner back to Christ—it must be practiced out of a church that understands itself as a fulfillment of the law, a body of believers who hold the apostolic faith, teach the apostolic faith, and practice among themselves abiding charity, ready trust, and eager forgiveness.
Matthew’s gospel couldn’t be clearer on this point: go to the sinner yourself first. If he or she doesn’t listen, then bring in another member of the church along and bear witness to the sin and call for repentance. If that doesn’t work, then the larger church is to be called and the sinner treated like one cast out—not permanently cast out, but medicinally cast out, that is, removed from the community for his or her own good, an encouragement to repent and return—Jesus said that even the tax collectors and prostitutes can repent to come to him!
We know that this scenario can work b/c Jesus empowers the church to make it work. To the apostles he gives the authority to bind and loose, to tie up and free, to license and limit. The church must have the authority to welcome back the repentant sinner, otherwise, fraternal correction is just psychobabble and passive-aggressive control games. Real conversion, real reunion can be achieved through the grace of God working in the church.
How we do avoid allowing fraternal correction to become something like a crude political tool or self-righteous weapon? Look carefully at the reading from Romans: “Owe nothing to anyone, except to love one another.” Have no debt to each other but the debt of love—the obligation to will the good for all the members of the body of Christ. If fraternal correction comes out of love, then it cannot be political or self-righteousness. The question to ask is: am I being motivated by a will that wills the good for this sinner? If your motivation is anything but love, then stop right there!
Another way to avoid allowing fraternal correction to become something other than an expression of love is to pay careful attention to the sequence of events in Jesus’ description of how to correct a sinner: one-on-one, first; then a smaller group; and then the larger church. Why this sequence? Why not go straight to the church and be done with it? The idea here is to allow the sinner an opportunity to admit his or her error and come back to the church w/o causing greater scandal to the community. If his or her heart can be moved to conversion w/o the pressure of the whole community knowing about his or her transgression, then this is by far the better way. It is, in other words, the more loving thing to do.
What is most astonishing to me about this reading from Matthew is the very familiar saying of Jesus, “Where two or more are gathered in my name, I am with them.” Is there a more powerful statement of the presence of Christ among us than this? And it comes at the end of his instruction on fraternal correction and his conferral of binding and loosening authority on the apostles. Christ has not abandoned the church to it own devices. He has not left us to fend for ourselves alone in a world packed with ravening wolves. He has given us a powerful tool for conversion, the authority to use it, AND he has promised to be with us when we come together in his name.
How we call one another back into God’s righteousness reveals the nature of the church. If the one correcting is turning himself/herself into a martyr for the cause, then the church is revealed as a weapon against ecclesial criminals. If the one correcting is correcting for political points or advantage, then the church is revealed as a club for powerbrokers. However, if the one correcting is doing so out of a genuine will for the good of the sinner, then the church is revealed to be what Christ left it to be: an apostolic witness to his teachings, an instrument of grace, and the hope of every sinner who has ears to hear and eyes to see.
Just starting...
Hello everyone...
This is Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP. I started this blog so that I would have a place to post my homilies. Please feel free to critique, question, comment upon, or even damn my efforts. I preach on a regular basis at St. Albert the Great Priory in Irving, TX and at the Church of the Incarnation at the University of Dallas.
Pax,
Fr. Philip Neri, OP
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