• Abstract and Figures
• Public Full-text

September 2007 Sanchez Commentaries & Sample Homilies

TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME September 2, 2007 “Putting Others First” Patricia Datchuck Sánchez

Sir 3:17-18, 20, 28-29 Heb 12:18-19, 22-24 Luke 14:1, 7-14

World-renowned contralto Marian Anderson has been described as a magnificent woman with a magnificent voice. When her manager, Sol Hurok, was asked about Anderson, he said that she had not simply grown great, but rather she had grown great simply. During an interview at the height of her career, reporters asked Anderson to name the greatest moment of her life. Hurok remembers that exchange: “I was in her dressing room and I too was curious to hear her answer. After all, I knew that she had many, many great moments to choose from. There was the night, for example, that Toscanini told Anderson she had the greatest voice of the century. There was the private concert she gave at the White House for the Roosevelts. There was the time she received the famous $10,000 Bach award from her hometown of Philadelphia. Then, of course, there was that famous Easter Sunday in Washington D.C. when she stood at the Lincoln Memorial and sang for 75,000 people, including members of the Supreme Court, the president’s cabinet and most of the members of Congress.” Which of these moments did she choose? According to Hurok, she chose none of them. Marian Anderson told the reporters that the greatest moment of her life was the day she went home and told her mother she wouldn’t have to take in washing any more. Hers was a humble response that did not dwell upon herself but on the well being of another. With this reply, Anderson exhibited the same sort of quality that Jesus ben Sira and Jesus of Nazareth attempted to cultivate in their disciples. In today’s first reading and Gospel, both teachers will address the issue of humility with their own so as to move them further along in the process that is discipleship. Humility is essentially a truthfulness before God and others that Johannes Bauer described as a recognition of one’s total dependence on God and a readiness to serve God selflessly, together with one’s fellow human beings (Encyclopedia of Biblical Theology, Sheed and Ward, London: 1970). To learn humility, we look first to God, who, in Jesus, took on human flesh and assumed the totality of the human condition with all its weaknesses and dependencies. The Gospels that testify to him make it clear that Jesus came among us in surrender and service. Besides refusing to cling to his divine status, and in addition to emptying himself of every right and every shred of dignity, Jesus humbled himself to the point of washing the feet of his followers. That action preceded his even greater act of humility: his death on the cross. His humble death on the cross is remembered and celebrated at every gathering of those who believe in Jesus. Jesus’ own humility, insists Bauer (op. cit.), opened the minds of the disciples to the possibility of humility toward one another; indeed, Jesus’ humility demands of his disciples a response in kind. Ever the practical teacher, Jesus, in today’s Lucan Gospel, will explain how that response can be realized in very practical ways. Put others first in all things. This continues to be a dictum that is at odds with a worldly wisdom that encourages ambition and assertiveness. Jesus’ challenge is, as David Knight has said (Living God’s Word, St. Anthony Messenger Press, Cincinnati, Ohio: 2000), a call for us to say the world is in error. Jesus invites his disciples to accept and to proclaim by our actions that what most people seem to be admired for is not really very admirable, that what most people look to for satisfaction is not really very satisfying. What is truly admirable is to forego caring about being admired so as to serve others. What is truly satisfying is to forego one’s own satisfaction and try to satisfy the needs of others. As Stephen R. Covey has pointed out (Everyday Greatness, Rutledge Hill Press, Nashville, Tenn.: 2006), strong self-confidence and high self-esteem are considered admirable and satisfying healthy personality traits. However, there is a point when they cease to be virtues—the point at which one person feels more important than another, or above reproach and learning. To keep his own from falling into such selfishness, Jesus advocated seeking out the last place at social gatherings and forgoing the pleasure of reciprocity with regard to hospitality. Disarmingly simple, these actions are to demonstrate his followers’ conviction that others and their needs are more important to me than my own. But, who really takes Jesus seriously? When was the last time I sought out the lowest place and was satisfied to be there? When was the last time I put myself out for those who have no capability of returning the favor? If I cannot remember the last time I have answered Jesus’ call to surrender myself totally to God and to express that surrender in a practical, caring service of others, then how shall Jesus ever recognize and claim me as his own?

Sir 3:17-18, 20, 28-29 As news reached a long line of airline passengers that their flight had been cancelled, many were visibly annoyed. One passenger in particular grew increasingly impatient and suddenly pushed his way to the front of the line. Angrily, he demanded a first-class ticket on the next available flight. “I’m sorry,” said the ticket agent, “but you will have to wait your turn. All of these people were ahead of you in the line.” At that, the irate passenger pounded his fist on the counter. “Do you have any idea who I am?” he screamed. Calmly, the ticket agent picked up the public address microphone and said, “Attention please. There is a gentleman here at the ticket counter who does not know who he is. If there is anyone in the airport who can identify him, please come to the counter.” Sheepishly, the man retreated and those waiting in line burst into applause. This story, which ran in The Los Angeles Times, presents a scenario that is familiar worldwide. Sometimes an exaggerated sense of our own worth causes us to step on the toes of others, and sometimes it takes a dose of harsh reality to set us straight. In today’s first reading, Jesus ben Sira would have his readers serve up that dose of harsh reality for themselves by knowing their place before God and others. Jesus ben Sira, a Jerusalem sage from the second century B.C.E., proved to be a resource for his people for centuries. Ben Sira’s Hebrew wisdom was translated into Greek by his grandson for the benefit of Jews living in the Diaspora. Although his work was omitted from the Palestinian canon (and, for that reason, from Luther’s revised canon in the 16th century), the writings of ben Sira were used extensively by Jews and Christians, especially for instructing the youth and converts to the faith. His is a very sound advice that equates wisdom with knowing one’s place in life before God and others, and with finding contentment in that place. Ben Sira calls particularly on the great—who are regarded as such either by others or by themselves—to seek humility; that is, to live in truth. Truthfulness prevents people from putting on airs and deflates egos engorged with pride. Truthfulness sees things as they are and recognizes that the relationship between God and me is not egalitarian. Although humans are valued beyond pearls and cherished little less than the angels, human beings are, nevertheless, creatures dependent upon God for every waking and sleeping breath. Ben Sira was confident that with this knowledge foremost in their minds, his readers would live accordingly. This knowledge, as Charles E. Miller has written (Sunday Preaching, Alba House, New York: 1997), is celebrated at liturgy when the celebrant, praying the second Eucharistic Prayer, speaks these words on our behalf: “We thank you for counting us worthy to stand in your presence and serve you”—or, as the more literal Latin renders it, “We thank you for making us worthy to stand up straight before you, face to face.”

Heb 12: 18-19, 22-24 When hosting dignitaries at the White House, President Theodore Roosevelt was fond of taking them on evening walks. Invariably, at one point on their walk, he would point skyward and recite: “That is the Spiral Galaxy of Andromeda. It is as large as our Milky Way. It is one of a hundred million galaxies. It is 2,500,000 light years away. It consists of one hundred billion suns, many larger than our own sun.” Then, after a brief silence, Roosevelt would grin and say, “Now, I think we are small enough. Let’s go in” (from Harold E. Kohn’s Thoughts Afield, W.B. Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, Mich.: 1959). Evidently Roosevelt understood that a certain measure of awe can create a perspective within which an otherwise inflated sense of one’s self importance may diminish. Such a perspective brings about the humility that is necessary for healthy and helpful interaction. Perhaps this was also the intent of the author of Hebrews, who, in today’s excerpted pericope, sets before readers a comparison of the covenants through which God has chosen to relate to humankind. Through the first covenant and its accompanying signs of fire, storm and trumpet blasts, an awestruck people learned to fear and reverence God. Recall Moses’ demeanor at the burning bush and the several references to God’s fearsome, holy otherness. Even to touch Sinai would prove fatal, and any animal that ventured into its holy ground would be destroyed (Exod 19:12- 13). Sinai, as Thomas G. Long has pointed out (Hebrews, John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1997), is of course a blessed place, the site of the gift of the law—but the Hebrews author employs Sinai here as a negative sign, a symbol of everything that goes awry when religion is severed from the high priestly ministry of Jesus Christ (see 7:1-10:39). The good news is that we are no longer at Sinai; we have approached Mount Zion. One of the ancient author’s favorite terms, “approach,” signifies the bold and confident access to God made possible in Jesus Christ. Because of Jesus, fearful awe is replaced by awesome boldness, and full assurance in faith with God’s tender mercies and love (see 4:16; 7:25; 10:22). Perhaps the lesson for contemporary believers lies in striking a balance of awe somewhere between an undue fear and an undue familiarity. Fear can create distance, and an exaggerated familiarity can lapse into disrespect, however unintentional. God has become so near to us in Jesus, so touchable and palpable, that there may be a tendency to take the divine presence for granted or to behave in a manner that belies authentic awe. In all our dealings with God and with others, we may do well to remember Roosevelt’s words about how small we are.

Luke 14:1, 7-14 Often called the Gospel of the great reversal, Luke’s presentation of the person and mission of Jesus (as well as that of the church in Acts) continually enunciated the fact that the intention of Christ and Christianity was to turn the world upside down (Acts 17:6, RSV, NRSV, JB, NJB). This intention is affirmed in today’s Gospel, wherein the Lucan Jesus challenges conventional societal mores and invites the exalted to humble themselves. “Take the lowest place at table as regards social status,” challenged Jesus, “and invite to your own table those who cannot invite you to theirs.” When Jesus called his own to the lowest place, says Jean Vanier, founder of the L’Arche communities, he was not just inviting them to be humble and small so as to fight pride and self- importance (The Scandal of Service, Novalis, Ottawa: 1996). Rather, Jesus knew that by taking the lowest place, the disciples would meet there the poor, the weak, the crippled, the blind and the outcast, in whom they would also encounter the presence of God. Tending to the presence of God in those people is the essence of humble discipleship. While those who serve the poor may think that they have imparted a gift or a blessing on them, the Lucan Jesus invites his disciples to realize that they themselves are the blessed and gifted ones by virtue of their contact with God’s least ones. Contemporary readers of this Gospel, says Fred. B. Craddock (Luke, John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1990), should not miss its radical nature. What is being called for is not merely the care of the poor, disabled and disadvantaged. A check in the mail or participation in the occasional food drive are not sufficient to meet the demands of the Lucan Jesus. What is called for here is not just a handout but hospitality: Hold a banquet and invite the poor! This, insists Craddock, is the New Testament’s understanding of hospitality. Translated literally, “hospitality” means “love of a stranger.” Therefore, the stranger who cannot reciprocate is the one who is to be welcomed to the table, to food and fellowship. Sitting together at table is a sure sign of acceptance of another as an equal or, even better, as one greater than I, one whom it is my privilege to honor and to serve. Two rewards are in store for those who dare to offer such hospitality. They shall have thereby encountered God, and they shall also enjoy the resurrection of the righteous (v. 14). If this call of Jesus were truly to be taken seriously—if we were to take the lowest seats and invite the needy into our homes and hearts—how might our own little worlds be turned upside down? Are we ready and willing to take such a chance?

Sample Homily for September 2, 2007 “Are We Anesthetized?” Fr. James Smith

Jesus tells us to make friends among the poor. Some people say that I talk too much about poverty and wealth. My only excuse is that so does the Bible, so does Jesus. Some people think that I’m talking to the wrong people. They say, “We’re not rich.” And I answer, “Yes, you are.” Even with your second job and second mortgage, you are far richer than most people in the world. Some people think that because I am a priest I don’t live in the real world and therefore don’t know what I’m talking about. That may be true in many areas, but in this one I feel right at home. We all live in the same economic universe. Our universe is shaped by two ideologies, two basic attitudes: individualism and consumerism. Individualism is best understood by comparison with its opposite: group-ism, or society. For the first 19 centuries after Christ and for centuries before, society was the major fact of human existence. Every individual was embedded within several societies. First the family, then the clan, then the tribe, then the nation, then the world. Everyone ate, drank, enjoyed and hated exactly what the group did. Everyone had the same hopes, fears and prospects. If society was a boiling pot of stew, then individuals were little bubbles on the surface, quickly reabsorbed into the mix. But since the 19th century, individuals have come into their own. The world became balkanized, divided into smaller countries. The church disintegrated into different denominations. Families fractured into individual members. What was good for General Motors was no longer good for individuals. What was good for the individual was more likely bad for society. Individual rights conflicted with communal responsibility. And individual money choices made the rich richer and the poor poorer.

Consumerism has become a dirty word. But we have to speak it because it is the air we breathe, the water we swim in. And, like water that gradually heated until the lobsters are done and dead before they know it, so consumerism slowly anesthetizes us. Consider what things we choose to buy. We buy the kind of car, the kind of clothes, the kind of house, the kind of food that we can afford. As our income goes up, so does our taste. We don’t pay attention to the rest of the world, except maybe the Joneses; we spend according to our capacity — or slightly above it. That sounds reasonable as long as we don’t place our choices in the context of the rest of humankind. And when our attention is directed to how the other world lives, consumerism still weaves its spell. We see that most people in the world have no car, but we think it’s OK to have a Buick because we could have a Chrysler. Though most people go hungry, we allow ourselves good food because we could have steak. Most people wear shreds and tatters, but we allow ourselves faddish clothes because we could have designer clothes. To our credit, this makes sense. But notice this: The choices we make in this whole world context are the same choices we make in our own little world. We continue to live as if the rest of the world did not exist. Individualism and consumerism control our lives. It is they, and not the gospel, that set the standard for our money choices . That is why I must talk about it. And why we all must think about it.

TWENTY-THIRD SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME September 9, 2007 “Calculating Costs” Patricia Datchuck Sánchez

Wis 9:13-18 Philemon 9-10, 12-17 Luke 14:25-33

More than 2.5 million people travel to Barcelona, Spain, each year. Many take the opportunity to visit La Sagrada Familia, a church whose design and construction were supervised by artist Antoni Gaudí. Appointed to the task in 1883, Gaudí died in 1926 and was buried in the crypt of the still unfinished church. Through the years, and despite many interruptions, different artists have contributed their efforts toward the continuing construction of the church, but Gaudí’s concept has yet to be fully realized. La Sagrada Familia is projected to be completed in 2041, but as of now, it continues to be a work in progress. While many of us may not have the opportunity to see Gaudí’s famed church, we have all seen similarly unfinished works—building sites where an initial effort has been made, as in the pouring of a slab and the laying in of pipes. Then, all of a sudden, the site is idle. No workers are present and the project is at a standstill, either because of a lack of materials, insufficient funds, a labor strike or some other instance of poor planning. Travelers driving cross country in the United States can see a variety of similar projects, from bridges to barns to shops and houses that were well begun but left undone for whatever reason. Some of us might even have a similar “site” nearer to home, a project well underway but not finished, such as a master’s degree or Ph.D. that lacks a thesis, a garden that is planted but not tended, a half-painted room, a hand-sewn quilt still needing the final touches. Probably all of us have had the experience of beginning something with the best intentions and then not being able or willing to see it through to the end. Certain detours to our efforts may prove inevitable, and some impasses might be unavoidable, but the Lucan Jesus makes it clear in today’s Gospel that in the “project” of discipleship, such detours and impasses should be faced head-on and carefully handled as challenges to a more profound and committed following of Jesus Christ. In today’s first reading, the author of Wisdom seems to intimate that determination in seeing a plan through to the end lies in trusting in God’s good counsel and in relying on the Holy Spirit, whom God sends from on high. Even when the “deliberations of mortals are timid” and “our plans are unsure,” the ancient writer suggests “the wisdom of God can make straight the paths of those on earth” and see their projects to fulfillment. In some instances, as today’s second reading affirms, the “project” of discipleship and the cost of following Jesus will require of us a willingness to change our minds about something or someone. In the case of Philemon, the “something” was the impact that his faith might have upon the institution of slavery, and the “someone” was his runaway slave Onesimus. The rule of the empire gave Philemon power over the life and death of Onesimus, who in Rome’s intimation was no more than a living tool. Rather than conform to that rule, however, Philemon was called by Paul to something greater. By virtue of his faith in Jesus and because of his relationship to Jesus as his disciple, Philemon was challenged to look beyond the accepted custom and to look beyond Onesimus’ transgression so as to accept the slave as his brother. Legally, Philemon was not required to do this, and could have argued that point with Paul. But as Paul knew, faith in Jesus and the cost of discipleship often require the believer to adhere to a truer, higher, more just and more moral norm than the law of the land. This may involve leaving behind one “project” to work on one more fitting for a disciple of Jesus. As Roland Faley has suggested (Footprints on the Mountain, Paulist Press, New York: 1994), calculating the cost of discipleship may mean that we choose to be less consumerist and more simple in our tastes. Prayer might become more real and practical in my life, such that there is less concentration on me and more on God, less on what I want and more on what the poor need from me. Just as Philemon was called to calculate the cost of his discipleship with Onesimus’ best interests in mind, so does each of us have an Onesimus given to us by God to warm our hearts, to broaden the scope of our concerns and to keep us on task until the work of our discipleship has been fully realized.

Wis 9:13-18 Unitarian minister, author and activist Marilyn Sewell once asked, “Who can order the Holy? It is like a rain forest, dripping, lush, fecund, wild. We enter its abundance at our peril, for here we are called to the wholeness for which we long, but which requires all we are and hope to be.” Alongside this sublime conception of God stands that of American author Annie Dillard, who wrote, “It is madness to wear ladies’ hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should use life preservers and signal flares, they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping God may wake someday and take offense, or the waking God may draw us out to where we can never return” (from Quotations for the Soul, compiled by Rosalie Maggio, Prentice Hall, Paramus, N.J.: 1997). In their own way, each of these descriptions affirms the otherness and omnipotence of God in a manner not unlike that of the first-century B.C.E. author of Wisdom. Each affirms, as well, the ancient sage’s insight that God can be known by human beings only because God chooses to be known. This God does by sending the holy spirit of Wisdom, who enables mortals to search out the things of heaven and to comprehend the counsel of God. The Wisdom author’s contemporaries were being attracted by systems of thought that claimed it was within humankind’s power to probe the mysteries of life and of the gods. Wisdom’s author presented an alternative view. This view served as a polemic against the prevailing philosophies as well as a defense of Hebrew tradition, which is so eloquently expressed in this pericope. Placed on the lips of Solomon, this text is part of a prayer attributed by the Wisdom author to Israel’s famed king. Earlier versions of this prayer can be found in 1 Kgs 3:6-9, where Solomon asked God for “understanding,” and in Chr 1:9-10, where he requested wisdom to aid him in exercising his royal responsibilities. As Reginald Fuller has pointed out (Worship, Vols. 45-48, St. John’s Abbey, Collegeville, Minn.: 1976), the author of Wisdom expanded on this point in order to enunciate the conviction that the will of God can only be discerned with God’s aid. Solomon knew this, and so should seekers of wisdom in all ages and places—from Jews living in first-century B.C.E. Alexandria to 21st-century believers living in every corner of the world. Scholars have suggested that Wisdom’s author appears to be referencing the wisdom of Plato’s Phaedo in verse 15; recall that this last dialogue featured Socrates’ final days and deliberation about his impending death. Of the four arguments Socrates presented concerning the soul’s immortality, the one referenced here is probably the Affinity Argument. In the Affinity Argument, the ancient sage argued that invisible, immortal and incorporeal things are different from mortal, visible and corporeal realities. Since the soul is the former and the body is the latter, the body will decay but the soul will live on. While Plato and Socrates regarded corporeality as evil, the Wisdom author disagreed and affirmed his belief that God’s spirit and God’s wisdom are gifts that empower human beings, body and soul.

Phlm 9-10, 12-17 Onesimus belonged completely to Philemon in body and soul. A slave in his household, Onesimus was one of what William Barclay has estimated to be 60 million slaves who were held throughout the Roman empire in the first Christian century (“The Letters to Timothy, Titus and Philemon,” The Daily Study Bible, The Saint Andrew Press, Edinburgh, U.K.: 1975). Their lot was to serve. Slaves played a vital role in maintaining the empire’s infrastructure, economy and individual households, yet they were considered living tools and not persons, and their treatment depended solely upon the whim of their masters and mistresses. Roman literature is full of examples of the tortures slaves endured. Pliny tells of how Vedius Pollio punished a slave who dropped a glass goblet by having him thrown into a pond where savage lampreys tore him to pieces. While we cannot know the whole of Onesimus’ story, we can appreciate the seriousness of his situation. From what can be reconstructed of Onesimus’ situation from Paul’s letter, the slave, whose name means “useful” or “profitable,” had run away and may also have stolen something (see vv. 18-19). Somehow, Onesimus found his way from Philemon’s home in Colossae to where Paul was imprisoned (probably either in Ephesus around the year 55 or Rome around 61-63). Through Paul, he also found Jesus, to whom he became committed through baptism and by faith. Onesimus, whom Paul called him “my child” (v. 10) and “my own heart” (v. 12), had been true to his name and had become indispensable to Paul (v. 13). How he helped the imprisoned Paul is not entirely clear, but we accept Paul’s word in this regard. Nevertheless, Onesimus was not Paul’s to keep, and in accord with the law of the empire, he sent him back to Philemon with an unusual and challenging request. While acknowledging the rights of Philemon, and without questioning the practice of enslaving another human being, Paul asked that Philemon welcome Onesimus as he would have welcomed Paul himself (v. 17). This request, as Ralph P. Martin has explained, is actually a teaching about how the Christian life is to be lived in a social context (Ephesians, Colossians and Philemon, John Knox Press, Atlanta: 1991). Belief in Christ constructs a network of new situations and relationships. As fellow believers, Philemon, Onesimus and Paul shared a new life together, a life that would find its roots in Jesus and its fullest expression in mutual love, selfless service and forgiveness. For his part, Paul willingly deprived himself of his beloved Onesimus; for Onesimus, his faith in Christ required him to right whatever wrong he had done to Philemon. From Philemon would be demanded a depth of forgiveness that each of us is called to admire and emulate. We may not know for certain on this side of the grave whether the Onesimus who is the subject of this letter is the same person who went on to become bishop of Ephesus, as mentioned in the letters of Ignatius of Antioch. But without the loving mediation of Paul and the loving forgiveness of Philemon, such a possibility could not have existed.

Luke 14:25-33 From parents (v. 25) to possessions (v. 33), the Lucan Jesus covers all the bases so that his disciples will be well prepared to meet the cost of their commitment to him and to the Gospel. Naiveté can play no role in the life of the disciple, who is expected to meet the challenge head-on and with eyes wide open. American poet laureate Robert Frost once said, “Life is tons of discipline.” At the time, Frost was speaking of poetry, but the same adage could be applied to those who agree to be Jesus’ disciples. In a comment on Frost’s statement, Stephen Covey noted that the key to discipline lies in realizing that it becomes much easier to say “no” to temptations or easier, less meaningful options when we have a deeper “yes” burning within (Everyday Greatness, Rutledge Hill Press, Nashville, Tenn.: 2006). It was this “yes” that Jesus wished to spark in his own. We, for our part, are to stir that spark of “yes” into a flame that daily fires all our words and works. Today’s Gospel represents a pause of sorts in the ongoing training of the disciples making their way with Jesus toward Jerusalem. As Luke indicates (v. 25), Jesus turned to address the crowds of people who were also Jerusalem-bound. Were all traveling there to celebrate one of the pilgrimage feasts, or were they simply attracted by Jesus? Either way, Jesus used the opportunity to enlighten them as to the rigors of discipleship. Repeating the call to bear one’s cross (v. 26) that he had previously issued in Luke 9:23, Jesus compounded the challenge with a harsh saying about hating family and even one’s own life. What is demanded here is not self-loathing or the negation of familial ties. Rather, as Fred B. Craddock has said (Luke, John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1990), Jesus is demanding that in the network of many loyalties in which all of us live, the claim of Christ and the Gospel should not only take precedence but in fact redefine all the others. Such a reordering and redefinition will require a certain degree of detachment but does not free one from responsibilities. Striking the proper balance will always be part of the cost of discipleship. With the accompanying parables about the builder and the warrior king, Jesus affirmed the costliness of being his follower. A considerable investment is required of someone attempting to construct an edifice. An even greater investment is required of one about to march into battle. In the first situation, one may lose all one’s monetary assets; in the second, the cost may be one’s very life. By using these examples, Jesus was asking whether or not those who crowded around him were willing to be similarly invested in him. Calculate the cost and decide one way or another, Jesus said. Today, through the living words of this Gospel, Jesus issues a similar challenge to you and me.

Sample Homily for September 9, 2007 “God’s Plan and Our Freedom” Fr. James Smith

Although by nature divine, the Son purposely chose to become human. And by taking on flesh and blood, he also took on the inherited baggage of all humankind. He had to learn from mistakes, he had to grow in wisdom and grace, he had to deal with love and hate, kindness and ingratitude; he had to suffer; he had to choose this or that in the darkness of ignorance. Along with every other human, Jesus had to live with unfathomable mystery. Now, human history replicates individual human existence. Just as everything that enters the individual soul must pass through the body, so everything that occurs in history must be filtered through the human situation. That is ideally how God’s heavenly plan plays out on earth as Providence. God’s plan was to form a perfect people by guiding them with his perfect law so that when God sent his perfect Son, they would welcome him and become the heavenly Kingdom of God on earth. But all things human often go wrong. The gift of freedom allowed humans to reject God’s goodness. The law contained loopholes that could be further enlarged. The law became an end in itself. That which was supposed to lead the heart to holiness detoured into a thicket of regulations. An Innocent Lamb could easily be caught and die in the brambles. The strangulation of God’s Son on the cross is the one crime that defies absolution. But God can finish what God started. A TV God in little Arcadia resolves dilemmas in one-hour episodes. We must allow the God of the universe a longer time to tether cosmic chaos. Especially since God is committed to respecting human freedom and human law. And God must trust the ingenuity of his human Son. At the heart of Christianity is a cross. And at the core of that heart is a bundle of squirming contradictions. We need to try to unravel them if we are to appreciate what we really believe. The basic questions are these: What kind of God would attach himself to unfaithful, incompetent people? What kind of people would not obey the God who saved them from death in the desert? What kind of law, with God as senior partner, could not justify anyone? What kind of a divine Son could not overcome mere earthlings? The answer to all these questions is one word: Human. Our God is a human God. Not in essence, as if there were no more to God than a super-human, but in the sense that God is for us, on our side, has a personal interest in us. God could have been self-sufficient in timeless eternity, but we would not have known that because we would not have existed. But since God chose to create us, then God is responsible for us; God now has a human dimension. It’s nice to be especially chosen by God from centuries past, but everyday life looms larger than an invisible deity. And, along with God’s promise of always being there for them, there were lingering doubts for the People of God. What about that slavery in Egypt and the exile in Babylon and the sequence of crushing defeats by Persia, Assyria and Rome? It is only human to stray from God when the relationship disappoints. However clear and precise law might be in the pure realms of heaven, when it is written on stone, it rapidly erodes. Life is complicated, situations are complex, people are free.

TWENTY-FOURTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME September 16, 2007 “Where Are You Going? When Are You Coming Home?” Patricia Datchuck Sánchez

Exod 32:7-11, 13-14 1 Tim 1:12-17 Luke 15:1-32 If life can be compared to a journey, then it is a journey in two directions—one going toward God, the other taking us farther and farther away. In today’s scriptural texts, the praying assembly is invited to look in upon the journeys of those who have gone before us in faith and to trace their straight paths, as well as their meanderings, until at last we all find our way back to God. Moses and the desert trekkers are featured in the first reading from Exodus. Due to God’s care and intervention on their behalf, they were able to embark on their journey away from slavery in Egypt to freedom in a land of their own. En route, they would experience God’s guidance, providence and presence; they would become a people related to God in truth and in justice; they would learn to live by a law intended to bind them ever closer to God and to one another. Yet, as is reflected in today’s first reading, their itinerary became skewed when they began to drift away from the demands of fidelity to God to find their comfort zone in a god of their own making. The molten calf represents their curiosities and dalliances with false and impotent idols who could be easily kept at arm’s length and away from their consciences, and who were thought to be readily appeased with impersonal offerings. Molten calves make no demands, nor do they become invested in every aspect of one’s life. One can take or leave a molten calf, but not the God of Israel. When the Israelites did come to their senses and retrace their path to God, they found not reproach but renewed promises, loving reconciliation and forgiveness. The second reading notes that Paul’s journey through life changed course. Part of the disputed Pauline corpus, 1 Timothy tells Paul’s story and shares the great apostle’s convictions about Christ and the Gospel with an evolving and growing church. In this text, the early Christian writer uses Paul’s experience to encourage readers whose lives may have taken a wrong direction that they are not bound to continue down that road. Whether their detour took place on purpose or accidentally, or, like Paul’s, because of ignorance, a new direction is always possible. Moreover, when that new direction leads toward God, every step of the way, however difficult, will be graced and blessed. Such was the experience of the younger son featured in today’s Gospel. His journey had begun with a deliberate parting of the ways. Wanting to be on his own, away from the demands of home and family, he severed his ties and headed out in search of adventure and freedom. Although the elder brother hadn’t traveled anywhere geographically, he was, in a spiritual and emotional sense, quite distant from his father’s heart and mind. His journey homeward may have proven even more challenging than his brother’s, since he had yet to realize where he was and how far he had traveled in the wrong direction. We are left to wonder if he actually made the trip and to ask ourselves with which brother we are traveling through life. Our familiarity with this story should not keep us from realizing that in the son’s journey home to his father and to forgiveness, a map of sorts has been drawn, a path has been struck that each of us is invited to follow. His journey, his path can indeed be our own, as can the loving welcome he received. In a reflection on these readings and the journey that is life, Roland Faley reminds believers that today, many have journeyed far—not necessarily from God, but from the church (Footprints on the Mountain, Paulist Press, New York: 1994). Their journeys have been prompted by any number of reasons: divorce and remarriage, alleged or real insensitivity on the part of church authorities, scandal caused by church leaders, disagreements over moral issues such as abortion, euthanasia, stem cell research, cloning, capital punishment, war and so on. These, insists Faley, are the people for whom Luke 15 is intended, and it is important that they hear it—but even more importantly, they should be able to see these values and truths of our faith lived by caring Christians. Three years will have passed before the liturgical cycle returns us once again to the story of the two sons, their father and their respective journeys. Faley suggests that most of us should not wait that long, but should resolve to read this Gospel monthly. Even more important is our resolve to live it now, so that we can hear when God calls out to us, “Where are you going and when are you coming home?”

Exod. 32:7-11, 13-14 Some of us may think of idols as something primitive from far away and long ago. Idols are for barefoot people whose fashion statement depends on animal hide and whose next meal is still on the hoof in the wild. Some of us may read this narrative and decide that Israel’s lapse was simply that—Israel’s, ancient people dabbling in a cult not unlike that of the god Mnevis, whom the Egyptians worshiped in the guise of a golden calf. But idols are not relegated to the past; idols live wherever and whenever we breathe life into them by our undue attachment to something or someone or our desire to manipulate it as a god. Author Drew J. Gunnells, Jr. has suggested that some of us even make idols out of religious things that are meant to point us to God (The Abingdon Preaching Manual, David N. Mosser, ed., Abingdon Press, Nashville, Tenn.: 2004). For example, some worship their particular church rather than the Lord in whom all churches are to be one. Some worship a particular pastor instead of the Shepherd of all. Some even worship the scriptures that are meant to reveal God to human beings and human beings to themselves. To prevent the spiritual disability that is idolatry, believers are to follow Israel’s lead and keep their toes turning homeward to the one true God. For several reasons, a consensus of scholars agrees that this incident was actually from a later period in Israel’s history. One reason is the unlikelihood that the escapees from Egypt, who had been living as slaves, would have had the wherewithal to fashion a golden idol. Also, during the reign of Jeroboam (922-901 B.C.E.) and by his orders, golden calves were erected in the northern shrine so as to entice worshipers to pray there rather than travel to Jerusalem (1 Kgs 12:26-32). A holy place of their own would have consolidated the northern kingdom and strengthened the king’s authority over the people. No doubt this was part of David’s strategy in wanting to build the temple in Jerusalem. By anachronizing this later event into a Sinai context, the authors of Exodus related this lesson regarding idolatry to Moses and to the law. In that context, it enlarged upon the commandment to worship one God only. A second lesson in this pericope reminds believers of the mercies of God, which continue to be greater than human sin. Notice that Moses does not defend Israel’s sin, for there is no defense possible. Rather, Moses reminds God of all that has been invested in the stiff-necked Israelites, beginning with their redemption from slavery. It was a bold move for Moses to ask God to remember the promises made to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Nevertheless, such boldness was warranted because Moses knew that unlike any idol, the God to whom he spoke and whose will he mediated would be true to every word, every promise. Contemporary readers of this text are to come away from it with more than a history lesson. Israel’s experiences teach us to look at our own dalliances with powers and passing attractions, and whenever necessary to turn humbly toward God, who awaits our return with merciful forgiveness.

1 Tim 1:12-17 As one whose life’s journey had taken a 180-degree change of direction, Paul was ever eager to share his experience with others. His sharing was preserved and passed on to the community of believers by someone who knew him well, admired him greatly and held Paul forth as an example to be emulated. Paul had “been there, done that,” and thus could help others who were seeking to turn their lives around in the same way. Never one to credit himself for his conversion to Christ, Paul humbly and gratefully (v. 12) acknowledged that all that had transpired in his life, except for the sinning, was God’s work. God strengthened me, he attested; God trusted me; God appointed me (v. 12); God had mercy on me (v. 13); God graced me (v. 14). Paul’s litany of God’s action in his life invites a similar reflection on the part of all who minister for the sake of the Gospel, but particularly for pastors. Some, wearied by many responsibilities, may not always remember that they did not choose the job but were chosen for it, and with the divine choice of a man or woman for service comes the grace for realizing one’s call and for serving well. Although the Jesuits made it famous, Paul was already living their motto—AMDG (Ad Mayorem Dei Gloria)—in the first Christian century, as was Timothy, to whom this letter is addressed. Timothy, from Lystra in southeast Asia Minor, was the son of a Gentile father and a Jewish mother and was converted as a result of Paul’s efforts around the year 46. When Paul retraced his journey to Lystra circa 50, Timothy, who also was appointed by God, joined Paul as his aide in mission. Timothy was with Paul for years and through many journeys for the sake of the Gospel, and Paul mentions his name as co-author of 1 Thessalonians, Philippians, Philemon and 1 Corinthians. Paul referred to him as “brother” (1 Thess 3:2) and said, “I have no one like him” (Phil 2:19-23). By the time the letter addressed to Timothy was written, ca 80-90 CE, Paul had been dead for twenty to thirty years but his teachings and insights lived on and were being adapted and applied to a church that was ordaining its ministers and distinguishing them and their role from the laity. Faith was beginning to be described not only as a relationship to God but also as “the faith,” i.e., a body of doctrine (1 Tim 3:9; 4:1; 2 Tim 4:7), to be defended at all costs against heresy and false teaching. Because of their special role, pastors were to be leaders in defending and preserving the faith and, to that end, the ancient author encouraged them to concentrate on righteousness, devotion, faith, love, patience and gentleness (6:11). Above all, they were to remember Paul and his example. Contemporary pastors and ministers in every capacity are also invited to find in Paul both inspiration and incentive for their continuing efforts for the Church. He continues to teach if we are willing to learn…to lead if we will follow.

Luke 15:1-32 “Hitting the wall” is a term used by runners for having reached that point beyond which it seems impossible to continue. “Hitting bottom” is a similar expression that describes the lowest point experienced by someone in an untenable situation, such as an addict who can sink no further into the pit of addiction. Some runners who hit the wall attempt to run through it. Those who hit bottom have a similar choice to make. Will they work through the struggle and change their circumstances or will they remain where they are? If Luke had been narrating the parable of the lost son and his forgiving father in contemporary terms, he might have used one of those expressions. As it is, the Lucan Jesus describes the wayward son as “coming to his senses” (v.17). In Jewish thought, this terminology signifies repentance. The essence of repentance, explains Herman Hendrickx, consists in homecoming (The Third Gospel for the Third World, Claretian Publications, Quezon City, Philippines: 2000). Home, says Hendrickx, is not just a geographical place, but rather a place on the mythic map of spirituality to which we must return when we weary of wallowing with pigs. Having wearied of his lot, the son did indeed turn his feet toward his father’s house, but it was his father who created a homecoming for him. A symbol of God, the father represents the ground of freedom, compassion, forgiveness, grace and joy in which the prodigal will once again find himself restored and reconciled as beloved son. It is all the father’s doing; the son had only to “hit bottom,” or come to his senses, and begin the journey home. In this regard, the parable of the wayward son resembles the parables that preceded and prepared for it—those of the lost sheep and the lost coin. Both sheep and coin were retrieved by their owners, who went in search of them. Believers are invited to see in these parables a metaphor for God’s searching love that draws the sinners and the lost back to the fold, back home, back to God’s loving heart. Unwilling to share in the joy of reconciliation and homecoming, the elder son alienated himself from his father and brother. Hendrickx calls his objection to the homecoming celebration essentially selfish, though it is couched in terms of normative morality. To the degree that he represents the views of established religion and morality, his role in the parable and his seething resentment at the happiness of another illustrate the underside of rigid, legalistic religion: childish selfishness. This attitude stands out in sharp contrast to the father’s, who has given both sons not only life and the blessings of family but all his earthly possessions as well (“everything I have is yours,” v. 31). While the younger son in the Lucan Jesus’ parable challenges us to come to our senses, and the elder brother warns us against the rigidity and resentment that can be the downfall of the righteous, the father waits and watches for our return. Can’t you hear him asking, “Where are you going? When are you coming home?”

Sample Homily for September 16, 2007 “A Father’s Love” Fr. James Smith

This story is popularly called “The Prodigal Son.” We think of it as the adventure of a likable young man who fritters his life away but finally sees the light. That is why we don’t pay much attention to the end of the story about the hard-working son. We are too busy partying with the lazy son. But this story is not about a frivolous son, nor is it about a loyal son. It’s about the father. Both sons are just props, supporting roles to highlight the dilemma of the central character. This is a story about God and the delicate balancing of justice and mercy. The young son is the symbol of all those who live life a day at a time. They act as though their actions have no consequences, that each decision is independent of succeeding decisions, that they will always be young and healthy and independent, that they can pull life out of the fire before it is totally consumed. Or someone else will save them in spite of themselves. We all know someone like that, thre boy who is addicted to alcohol or drugs or excitement, the girl who thinks her looks and personality will get her by, the child who works as little as necessary to keep a job or is convinced that everyone will always forgive them. The father is happy that the boy is eager and lively and hopeful and full of promise. The problem is that he is not accounting for the blind alleys and hard corners of life. The father hopes and prays that his son of his will not make any irreparable mistakes before he gets his life together and settles in for the long haul. And in this sober frame of mind, the father turns to look at his older son. The older son is likewise a symbol of all the other people we know who think saving is better than spending, who let tomorrow eat up today, who trade present pleasure for delayed happiness, who do not trust that the future will bring its own rewards without present drudgery, who are convinced that hard work assures success. The father loves this son, respects his work ethic, honors his loyalty to the farm, appreciates his fidelity to himself. But the father worries that this son will let life leak away in work and worry, that he will never enjoy the benefits of his labor, that he will grow accustomed to boredom, that he will be satisfied with too little. The father broods. One son is out of sight, possibly ruining his body, while the son in plain view is dying in mind and spirit. Then one day the traveler returns, and the father’s crisis is brought to a head. How can he welcome the wastrel son without seeming to approve of his sins? How can he make the older son appreciate the worth of his brother without denying his own value? Like his sons, the father is divided between justice and mercy. There is no theoretical solution — mysteries have to be lived into being. So, he calls a party and invites both sons. Then, God-like, he watches both of their lives unfold. He wants to tell one, “Happiness is pure gift — you cannot earn it.” He wants to tell the other, “Love is not free. It comes of itself, but you live it or lose it.” But he can’t tell them these things. Because reality cannot be taught; it must be learned. So, the father— and God — are reduced to watching and hoping, wishing to protect and save the people whom their love brought into this world.

TWENTY-FIFTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME September 23, 2007 “Just or Unjust Stewards” Patricia Datchuck Sánchez

Amos 8:4-7 1 Tim 2:1-8 Luke 16:1-13 In the documentary “An Inconvenient Truth,” director Davis Guggenheim and presenter Al Gore collaborate to inform the public about the consequences of abusing the earth and its resources. A combination of human ignorance, greed and indifference has resulted in an excess of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, or what scientists call global warming. As a result of this preventable phenomenon, glaciers are melting, plants and animals are losing their natural habitats, severe storms and droughts are much more frequent and the resulting damage is much more catastrophic. The number of Category 4 and Category 5 hurricanes has doubled in the last 30 years. Global warming has also caused malaria to spread well beyond the tropics to higher altitudes, such as the Colombian Andes, 7,000 feet above sea level. Unless this warming is checked, scientists predict that deaths from its effects will double in 25 years to 30,000 people a year. Sea levels could rise more than 20 feet, devastating coastal areas worldwide, and more than a million species could be driven to extinction by 2050. If these statistics seem staggering, the underlying cause of global warming is even more disturbing: the cooling of the human heart. What else can account for the improper stewardship of an environment that belongs to every living being? What else can account for an attitude of seeming apathy toward the well-being of others? Even scientists, whose main bent is an empirical one, speak of our moral obligation to care for this earth. If scientists are concerned with the morality of human decisions and behaviors, then so much more should the disciples of Jesus be concerned with practicing responsible stewardship—not only of the earth and its resources but also of one another and every living being. Today’s liturgy, especially in the first reading and Gospel, makes it clear that such a sense of stewardship is expected of believers. Amos was convinced that such stewardship was inseparable from justice—not mere legal or ethical or retributive justice, but biblical justice, that is, fidelity to the demands of a relationship. For believers, this relationship binds each to God, and, in God, to all others. Owing his own sense of biblical justice to his colleague and scripture scholar John R. Donahue (“Biblical Perspectives on Justice,” in The Faith that Does Justice, John C. Haughey, ed., Paulist Press, New York: 1977), author and preacher extraordinaire Walter Burghardt affirms that justice and the stewardship it dictates concerns relationships to God, to people and to the earth (Justice, A Global Adventure, Orbis Books, Maryknoll, N.Y.: 2004). Love God, says Burghardt; love every human person, enemy as well as friend, as a child of God, fashioned in God’s image. Touch things—God’s material creation—with respect and reverence, as gifts to be shared generously, not clutched possessively. God’s is a justice that does not exclude the ethical and the legal but rises above them. Given these stipulations regarding justice, stewardship and sharing, shouldn’t these biblical principles challenge the narrow, non-Christian view that would deny the rights and freedoms of the immigrants who try to live and work among us? Is it not the Christian’s responsibility and privilege to reach out, as Jesus did, to the foreigner, the minority, the displaced, the downtrodden, the disadvantaged—the immigrant? Jesus himself lived like an immigrant, as did those who followed him from town to town, relying on the welcome of strangers. How justly might Jesus and his own be treated in our towns and cities today? Amos was convinced that such justice was to govern all interpersonal dealings, especially between the rich and the poor. As just stewards of this earth’s goods, it becomes the responsibility for those who have to notice and attend to the needs of those who have not; justice demands a stewardship that cares and shares. This Amos knew, and when his demand went unmet, he was harsh in his criticisms and chastisements. Whenever Amos’ words are read in our hearing, let us have the courage to hear them and to take them to heart, for we are the fortunate “haves” in a vast population of “have-nots.” When the steward featured in today’s Gospel found himself among the “have-nots” of his society, he took means to assure his survival. Despite the fact that his dishonesty resulted in the loss of his job, he is praised by Jesus for taking the initiative to save himself and secure his future. Similarly imaginative and even risky measures are required of Jesus’ disciples today. We are stewards of the earth and upholders of justice, and so we are thereby responsible for one another and all others in Christ. In the end, we shall be held accountable for the manner in which we have answered the demands of justice and tended to the earth so as to meet the needs and uphold the dignity of every living creature.

Amos 8:4-7 Included among one-time Random House publisher Bennett Cerf’s (1898-1971) extensive collection of anecdotes is this one about Fiorello LaGuardia (1882-1947), who served as New York’s mayor from 1934-1945. Those were hard times; the poverty of the Great Depression was compounded by the sacrifices made necessary by World War II. One bitterly cold night, LaGuardia took advantage of a rare New York law that empowered the mayor to temporarily replace the city’s magistrates. Dismissing the judge of the night court in the poorest ward of the city, LaGuardia listened as the charges were read against an old man who had stolen a loaf of bread. The accused told the mayor that hunger and a need to provide for his family had driven him to steal. But the shopkeeper refused to drop the charges. He argued that it would set a bad precedent if thieves were let off so easily. LaGuardia sighed and said to the man, “I’ve got to punish you—$10 or 10 days in jail.” While he was still speaking, he took a $10 bill from his wallet and paid his fine. Then LaGuardia said, “I’m going to fine everyone in the courtroom 50 cents for living in a city where a person has to steal in order to eat!” The next day, the New York newspapers ran the story, reporting that $47.50 had been turned over to a bewildered old man, 50 cents of which was contributed by the red-faced grocery store owner while the entire court gave the mayor a standing ovation. Amos, too, would probably have applauded LaGuardia’s efforts, as the mayor’s actions were a fine example of what the prophet was trying to evoke in his contemporaries: a sense of justice that would express itself in practical caring for the needy and the poor. From Tekoa in Judah, Amos, an eighth-century B.C.E. shepherd and migrant worker (dresser of sycamore trees, 7:14, 1:1), was called by God to travel to the northern kingdom of Israel to prophesy. His message was simple and straightforward: Unless the Israelites repented of their sins, punishment would come upon them in the form of military defeat and exile. Most grievous among Israel’s sins were the many instances of social injustice, which the prophet regarded not only as an affront to the poor but also one against God, for whom the poor were a special concern. Cited in this text is the dishonest practice of tipping the scales to cheat the poor. An ephah was a dry measure equivalent to a bushel; the shekel was a unit of stone weights that eventually became a monetary unit. Both ephah and shekel were being manipulated in order to make a bigger profit for the merchant at the expense of the needy. While these practices may be familiar to 21st-century readers, another injustice cited by Amos may need further explanation. His condemnation of “buying the lowly for silver and the poor for a pair of sandals” (v. 6) appears to be a reference to slavery or to the practice of having debtors jailed until their debt was paid, even if that debt were as paltry as the price of a pair of sandals (but not Prada sandals). These injustices were exacerbated by a lack of authentic reverence for holy days (such as the new moon) and Sabbaths. As these were special times set aside for worship, no work was to be conducted so that all might remember to keep holy the Lord’s Day. Evidently, some of Israel’s merchants were so greedy that they wished those days of rest would pass quickly so they might get on with the business of filling their coffers. For such a lack of integrity between their professed faith and their lived faith, Amos condemned the Israelites. What might he have to say about us and our lives today?

1 Tim 2:1-8 “How it improves people for us when we begin to love them.” This observation by author and journalist Ray Stannard Baker (1870-1946), also known under the pen name David Grayson, set the tone for September’s serving of the Word (see Spanish/English Lectionary themes). In this Sunday’s second reading, the author of 1 Timothy applies the same principle to prayer, insisting that praying for everyone, including kings and all in authority, will greatly improve not only those for whom we pray but also the circumstances of our lives together. Earlier letters to other Christian communities reflected the belief that Jesus would be returning very soon, and because of that belief little attention was paid to those who were soon to be replaced by the Lord of Lords. However, 1 Timothy offers a different perspective. Christians had already endured one major persecution in the 60s under Nero, and if the consensus of scholars is correct, the author and his contemporaries were still in the throes of an even harsher and more widespread persecution during Domitian’s reign (81-96). To survive such trying circumstances, and in order to be able to “live quiet, tranquil lives in all devotion and dignity” (v. 2), the author of this pastoral letter called for his readers to pray for everyone, “without anger or argument” (v. 8). The New Testament includes other ideas about how to deal with what was no doubt an untenable situation for believers near the end of the first Christian century. Readers of Revelation will detect anger and resentment underlying its joyous promises that soon the empire and its leaders will lie in ruins while the persecuted will triumph. John the Seer seems to be promising the persecuted they will have the satisfaction of dancing on their enemies’ graves. A similar attitude is reflected elsewhere in Jewish apocalyptic literature, as in Maccabees and Daniel. The author of 1 Timothy, on the other hand, seems to be saying, “Can’t we all just get along?” Both responses to empire—that of 1 Timothy as well as that of the apocalyptic writers—can only be balanced against one another in prayer. This Paul knew, and this is what 1 Timothy’s author recommended to his fellow believers. Perhaps we can find a clue for cultivating a proper attitude toward the powers that be in the ancient author’s insistence that “God wills everyone to be saved” (v. 4). If this aspect of God’s will were wholeheartedly embraced, then believers would necessarily have to include everyone in their prayers to God. For the late first-century Christians, “everyone” would include Domitian, the Roman army and anyone else who continued to militate against the church. In the 21st century, the names of the tyrants have changed and their methods may be different, but the evils they perpetrate continue to threaten peace, justice and goodness. Therefore, while we continue to resist and to pray, let us also resolve to be more responsible and respectful stewards of the rights and dignity of others.

Luke 16:1-12 Author Herman Hendrickx suggests that the parable of the unjust steward presents more than a lesson in shrewd stewardship for disciples (The Third Gospel for the Third World, Claretian Publications, Quezon City, Philippines: 2000). This parable also enunciates the heart of the Gospel: the roguery of divine grace. It is not only about how we should respond, but about Jesus and what he is doing. Christological in nature, this parable reveals Jesus’ response to those who attacked him for breaking the law and for claiming to represent the will of God by declaring a reduction of debts and release from sins. Against the accusations of his critics, Jesus, through this and many other parables, reiterated the message of grace, grace and more grace for those whom others deem least lovable and least worthy. Although his parable features a rogue who is praised by his master, the irony of the story is that Jesus is no rogue at all, and for his declaration of grace, Jesus receives God’s blessing and approval. Attached to this Christological parable are a series of related sayings about wealth, strung together here by the Lucan evangelist. The dishonest steward was wily enough to use his share of his master’s wealth to secure his future, and Jesus’ disciples are urged to do likewise. Charles Cousar suggests that the exhortation to “make friends” (v. 9) be taken as a symbol for almsgiving and the establishment of a new relationship with the recipients of our charity (Texts for Preaching, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1994). Cousar would have believers understand that the Lucan Jesus is saying, “Give your wealth to the poor as to friends, and do so in such a way that they are not your debtors but your peers. Then will you be welcomed by God into a blessed and eternal dwelling.” Jesus’ challenge is to make friends rather than use money to cultivate a group of debtors who will trade favors. Friendship involves sharing, not payback, and equality rather than indebtedness. Making friends with the use of one’s worldly goods is the opposite of enslaving the needy, says Halvor Moxnes (The Economy of the Kingdom: Social Conflict and Economic Relations in Luke’s Gospel, Fortress Press, Philadelphia: 1998). To make friends by giving freely puts givers and receivers on the same footing. There is no upper hand here, only a generous hand outstretched to raise up the other. As the praying assembly considers the challenge of this Gospel, Cousar would have each of us ask ourselves: Does our stewardship create communities of indebtedness, or does it make friends? To put it another way: Are we just or unjust stewards of this world’s resources? Is the Gospel only an “inconvenient truth” for us, or is it the framework of all we say and do?

Sample Homily for September 23, 2007 “Ordinary Prayer” Fr. James Smith

The reason why Jesus was such a good pray-er is that his own Spirit was the mode of communication. Through their Spirit, the Father and Son spoke to each other in the same language, on the same wavelength, on equal terms, with no static or chance of miscommunication. Our own prayer is as amazing: That same Holy Spirit sweeps us in the internal dialogue of the blessed Trinity. Jesus was not embarrassed to ask his Father for anything — for help in choosing disciples, for the cure of a blind man, for the possibility of avoiding pain. Unlike Jesus, some people consider the prayer of petition to be beneath their dignity. We would rather suffer some small inconvenience than ask for help. And some more sophisticated people don’t ask God for anything because they figure God knows better than we, so we let God decide without our advice. That is a very mature approach to life with God, if it is sincere. The beauty of the prayer of petition is that it respects reality. It states the terms of the most basic relationship between Creator and creature, the One who has everything and the one who has nothing. Asking for things reminds us that all things, whether specifically requested or not, are sheer gifts of the good God. Another valuable aspect of petition is that it helps us sort out what we really want. As we talk over our wish list with God, we may be inspired to reconsider. If our spiritual life is basically the organization and discipline of our desires, then the prayer of petition is a great help, since our desires have to pass God’s inspection. For that reason it is permissible to ask for anything in prayer, no matter how silly it may seem to someone else. There is no such thing as a bad petition. Just keep asking, and God will straighten out any request into something valuable for both of you. As important as petition is, there are so-called “higher forms” of prayer, as you know. Contemplation is the highest, which we usually think is reserved to the great saints. But in essence, contemplation is just looking at God. It is a gift of God, but so is your little request. Anyone can contemplate. Just settle yourself in quiet and be with God. Meditation is simply thinking about God, usually a gospel scene. It is a good way to become familiar with the life of Jesus. Various other kinds of meditation, such as yoga and transcendental meditation, are not really Christian prayer, since they do not directly address God. But they can be useful ways to settle our restlessness so we can be free for divine communication. Paul said that we ought to pray all the time. Whatever that means, a good way to pray a lot of the time is by aspirations: a quick word to God. You can attach them to some ordinary activity — when the phone rings or when you change tasks. Besides being a call to prayer, an aspiration reminds us that God is involved in everyday things, and this transforms our secular life into a spiritual life. Because prayer is the most basic indicator of who we are, we can say anything to God. We can talk about the mystery of iniquity or exchange lasagna recipes. We cannot hide anything from God, which is why prayer is so freeing. Nowhere else can we be our outrageous self than in the safety of God’s company.

TWENTY-SIXTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME September 30, 2007 “Lazarus Lives” Patricia Datchuck Sánchez

Amos 6:1, 4-7 1 Tim 6: 11-16 Luke 16: 19-31

If we are to learn anything from today’s portion of the Word, it is that the poor are always with us, and, like Lazarus, are as near as our doorway. The poor live on our city streets and in our neighborhoods, as well as on the fringes of society. They can either call forth the best part of us or they can be ignored; the choice is ours, as are the consequences of our choosing. In order to attend properly to the poor, to ease their struggle and improve their lot, we are required not merely to practice charity but to exercise justice. Charity, however generous, is a temporary band-aid, a stopgap effort that quiets hunger pangs with an occasional handout. Justice, on the other hand, is a purposeful, well-planned effort that tackles the problem at its root rather than merely relieving its symptoms. What the Lazaruses in our midst need, therefore, are frequent doses of charity followed by a long-term prophylactic of justice. But who are the Lazaruses among us? Walter Burghardt insists that we need not look far to find them (Justice: A Global Adventure, Orbis Books, Maryknoll, N.Y.: 2004). Lazarus lives in the children of this world who are dying each day from war, hunger, abuse, neglect and diseases that could be easily prevented if their parents had the pennies needed to immunize them. Lazarus lives in the immigrants, refugees and otherwise displaced persons on this earth for whom the lack of appropriate documents or a valid address subjects them to immoral treatment that is unconscionable for Christians. Lazarus lives in the homeless, many of whom are mentally ill or emotionally scarred by their ordeal. Lazarus also lives in the homeless veterans of so many wars. According to the Veterans Administration, on any given night, more than 275,000 veterans sleep on the streets of cities. Lazarus also lives in those who languish in hospitals, convalescent and nursing homes where no one visits. Lazarus lives in those who suffer from Alzheimer’s, dementia and all those other diseases that rob people of their personalities, memories and dignity. Lazarus lives in people everywhere who are victims of torture and genocide. Lazarus lives and cries out, with what seems to be an unheard scream, in Darfur, the Congo, Uganda, Brazil, South Africa. Lazarus still lives in FEMA trailers throughout the American South, waiting for the government and the insurance companies to settle claims that will enable the reconstruction of lives and livelihoods. Lazarus still lives in the hundreds of thousands of AIDS orphans throughout the world who have no one to care for them. Lazarus lives and suffers in so many people, in so many places, from so many causes, but Lazarus is also dying, and those lives and deaths that continue to be ignored bear powerful testimony against us all. Before we find ourselves in a place of no return, like the rich man in today’s Lucan Gospel, what steps are we to take, today, to become attuned to the Lazaruses among us? Burghardt (op. cit.) offers a sound plan that begins with our remembrance that every Lazarus is a child of God, created in God’s image. For that very reason, and despite whatever disguise may dim that reflection, every Lazarus deserves my respect, my concern, my proactive care. What we may not do, insists Burghardt, is turn our individual or collective backs upon our Lazaruses. We may not hide behind the excuse that they are illegal, inconvenient or too far away and too far gone to warrant our help. Jesus took the initiative in reaching out to the foreigners, the sick, the sinners, the criminals and the otherwise disenfranchised of his society. If we who call ourselves his own do not do likewise, then our Christianity is a sham; our faith is a lie. To keep our commitment to Christ real and practical, we are to revive the quality of caring that Jesus showed to all others. Nor should any of us forget that in that caring, and in all our sharing, God’s grace is at work. The welcome that I give to a stranger, to an immigrant, says Burghardt, may well be the prelude to God’s grace. It may be God’s way of using my ordinary humanness to bring forth light, strength, peace and courage from another struggling human frame. If God cannot act through you and me to recognize the Lazaruses who live among us, then through whom will their needs be met? And if God cannot act through you and me today, then when? Who knows whether you or I or Lazarus will be here tomorrow?

Amos 6:1, 4-7 You may remember an old Jack Benny skit that illustrates the same point that Amos and the Lucan Jesus hold out for our consideration in today’s liturgy. Benny was walking along when suddenly he was approached by an armed robber, who demanded, “Your money or your life!” There followed a long pause and Benny did nothing. Impatient, the robber asked, “Well?” To that, Benny replied, “Don’t rush me, I’m thinking about it.” The eighth-century B.C.E. prophet Amos was accosting the rich members of Israelite society in a similar way. Without using the same ultimatum as Benny’s would-be robber, Amos was demanding that those whose wealth could afford them a luxurious lifestyle ought also to be concerned with the lives of those less fortunate. Moreover, he warned that a lack of concern and caring by the rich for the poor would result in a radical reversal of their lot; they would lose all, prophesied Amos, and be first to be driven into exile. Just as Jesus never said that money is the root of all evil, but that the inordinate love of money will bring one down, neither did Amos condemn riches in and of themselves. Nor did Amos decry eating well and living well, except when those attitudes and actions resulted in complacency (v. 1) and a lack of caring (“they are not made ill by the collapse of Joseph,” v. 6) for the plight of the poor. Amos was convinced that if others were in need and professed believers in God went on with their lives as if they did not exist, then they would find themselves condemned by their very inaction. Amos’ conviction is aptly illustrated in Jesus’ parable of Lazarus and the rich man (Gospel). As a remedy to such aberrations, Amos, elsewhere in his prophesying, called for “justice to roll down like a torrent and goodness like an unfailing stream” (5:24). Abraham J. Heschel (The Prophets, Hendrickson Publishers, Peabody, Mass.: 2001) called this a bold image that combines several ideas: a surging movement, a life-bringing substance, an indomitable power. A mighty torrent is expressive of a pulsing, charging, fighting movement, as if obstacles had to be washed away for justice to be done. These obstacles, as Amos has pointed out in today’s first reading, are human greed and apathy; these must yield to God’s ways and be swept away by justice. But how does one learn justice, and where is it cultivated? The late, great patristic theologian and liturgical scholar Godfrey Diekman (1908-2002) was convinced that the preeminent school of justice is the liturgy. At liturgy, lay believers are empowered to realize and assume their proper position as leaders in the church and in the world. Burghardt affirmed this insight, insisting, as did Diekman, that the liturgy enables the Body of Christ to move more effectively from church to world, from altar to people, from Christ crucified on Calvary to Christ crucified at the crossroads of our earth. Amos understood the clear connection between liturgy and life; he also understood that Israel’s worship was hateful and unacceptable to God (see 5: 21- 24) because it did not translate into justice. What might Amos think of us, our liturgies, our commitment to justice?

1 Tim 6: 11-16 When Tom Monaghan, the founder and CEO of Domino’s Pizza, Inc., was asked once to account for the phenomenal growth of the company, he replied, “I programmed everything for growth. Every day, we develop people because the key to growth is developing people. It’s not a special sauce, crispy crust or speedy delivery; it’s people.”

What Monaghan learned with regard to his business, the early believers in Jesus also learned with regard to the church. In this pericope from 1 Timothy, the author of that letter, purporting to be Paul, was advising the young church leader that any growth and development that would take place within the community should begin with people, the first of whom would be Timothy himself. By pursuing righteousness, patience, justice and so on, he would be offering an example and setting the tone for those whom he served. By keeping the commandments, Timothy would encourage others to do likewise. Like Jesus, like Paul, the author of 1 Timothy knew the importance of an integrated life, such that what one professes should be consistent with how one lives. To do otherwise is to be grouped with those of whom Jesus said, “Do and observe whatever they tell you but do not follow their example, for they preach but they do not practice” (Matt 23:3). The verses in this letter regarding false teachers (vv. 3-10), which come right before the section we heard today, should have been included in the second reading in order for this selected pericope to be more illustrative of the author’s thought, and so that it would be more closely aligned with the theme set forth in Amos and Luke. Those who were preaching a false gospel were castigated by the ancient author not only for perverting and diluting the deposit of the faith, but also for charging hefty fees for their dubious services. To support his criticism of such greed, the author of 1 Timothy quoted the popular moral maxim: “For the love of money is the root of all evils” (v. 10). It is within that context that the advice for Timothy should be considered. Obviously, the false teachers, with their desire for remuneration, stood out as poor examples; Timothy, on the other hand, was to offer his contemporaries an ideal to which to aspire. The “But you, man of God” (v. 11) with which today’s second reading begins sets Timothy apart from the false teachers while affirming the fact that those who exact money for their services have already received their reward, such as it is. Timothy, however, and all who follow his example, will be rewarded with eternal life (v. 12) and a share in the very life of God. Had the verses that follow this text (vv. 17-19) been included, as well, an additional message about the proper use of riches would have rounded out its message and, again, created a better harmony among all three scripture selections. In the omitted verses, the early Christian author affirmed the proper use of wealth as an opportunity for doing good works, thereby enabling one’s generosity to accumulate lasting treasure in heaven. In today’s Gospel, the rich man learned this lesson too late. His experience challenges contemporary disciples of Jesus to take his words to heart today.

Luke 16:19-31 “We have been cautious during our life to shield ourselves with bank accounts, credit cards and investments, and to protect our future with health plans, life insurance, social security and retirement plans. Yet, there comes a moment when neither cash nor ‘plastic’ works. No human support goes with one to the grave, and human companionship stops at the tomb.” There is no little irony in the fact that this statement by Raymond E. Brown was included in his final literary effort, A Retreat with John the Evangelist. St. Anthony Messenger Press published this book August 7, 1998, the day before Brown died suddenly of a heart attack. Those who knew him, and all who continue to benefit from his unwrapping of the Word, have no doubt that Brown rejoices with the Lazarus featured in today’s Gospel and with the many Lazaruses of the world who have traded poverty and struggle for eternal life. Brown’s words, like those of the Gospel, live on and continue to speak directly to the human penchant for seeking a base of security in material wealth. For it is in the accumulation of material wealth that one may lose sight of the opportunity for using it to better the lot of the less fortunate. Today’s Gospel makes it clear that the rich man wasted this opportunity; it is also clear that when he finally came to his senses, it was too late. His dilemma continues to provide a powerful teachable moment for Jesus’ disciples in every age. Addressed initially to the Pharisees (v. 16), this parable is not only a lesson about the responsibility of the rich for the poor and the reversal of their fortunes. It also references those resources through which the Pharisees, had they been willing, could have come to accept the message of Jesus. Experts in the Mosaic law and the prophets (v. 29), the Pharisees were well versed in the knowledge that the law required sharing with the poor (Lev 19:9-10) and specified, “If any of your kinsmen is in need … you shall not harden your heart nor close your hand … the needy will never be lacking in the land; that is why I command you to open your hand to your poor and needy kinsmen” (Deut 15:7-11). The prophets were also quite insistent that pious fasting should be accompanied by “sharing bread with the hungry, sheltering the oppressed and homeless, clothing the naked … and not turning our back on your own” (Isa 58:6-7). All this the Pharisees knew, but they did not always put into practice. They were being challenged to rethink their own behavior based on the experience of the parable’s rich man. This point is well made in the conversation between Abraham and Lazarus, and a further point addresses the post-resurrection community. In the law and prophets, the humble are to find a guide to lead them through a holy life. That same law and those same prophets prepare those who are open to God’s will to accept Jesus, who was crucified for sin and is now risen to life (v. 31).

Sample Homily for September 30, 2007 “Rich Man, Poor Man” Fr. James Smith

“There was a rich man ...” Let’s stop there for a minute. Jesus did not say, “There was a man who made lots of money” or “There was a man who started with nothing and made a fortune.” No, Jesus summarized the man’s whole life by describing him as a rich man. I have buried many people, and have started the homily by saying, “He was a good husband and father” or “He was a valued parishioner.” But the congregation would be rightly shocked if I had started, “He was a rich man.” Who would want that mercenary tribute as their epitaph? Jesus then says, “There was a beggar ...” He did not say that Lazarus lost his money in the market or that he was too lazy to earn a living. Jesus just said he was a beggar. Again, I have never begun a funeral homily with those words. Who would want their entire life-effort reduced to poverty? Which gives us a clue that this is not about a particular rich and poor man, but about the general state of being rich or poor. Money itself is not the point. Take away all of the rich man’s money and what is left? A man who still acts rich: He goes to the front of the line and looks down on others. He thinks like a rich man: He considers himself better and deserving of respect. He feels like a rich man He is confidenct that we will earn his money back again. Take a rich man’s money and you have a rich man without money. Give the rich man’s money to the poor man and what is left? A man who still acts like he is poor: He feels like a poor man: He feels like he deserves his lot. Give a poor man money and you have a poor man with money. Rich people tend to have everything they need and therefore lack that feeling of dependency on others. Even God. Poor people tend not to have what they want or even need, and therefore tend to depend on others. Especially God. But this parable is not just about riches and poverty, or even about the balance being corrected in another life. If that were the point, then the parable would have ended when Lazarus and Dives arrived in heaven and hell. But the parable continues. Dives is used to being listened to and making deals. And when he cannot save himself, he tries to keep the money in the family by using Lazarus as a servant-messenger to warn his brothers. Abraham replies that the words of Moses and the prophets should be enough for anyone. Dives counters, “Those are just words, but if someone actually reported from the dead, they would surely believe!” But Abraham is adamant: “People who don’t believe the word of God would not believe resurrection either.” Jesus meant that for the Pharisees who did not believe in resurrection from the dead. Luke meant it for the Jews who did not believe him when he preached that Jesus had risen from the dead. And the same message is meant for us, who are the five brothers of that rich man. You and I do not believe in God because Jesus rose from death. We believe that Jesus rose because we believe in God. When we die, Jesus will say either, “Here comes a rich person. I do not condemn him; I simply recognize that he has all he needs, so I can do nothing for him.” Or: “Here comes a poor person. I do not praise her; I simply see that she is in great need, so I am able to give her a rich life.”

Load more

  25

Copy Link