Receive a Child, Offer Christ’s Love

The 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Today’s Readings: Wis 2: 12, 17-20; Ps 54; Jas 3: 16 – 4: 3; Mk 9: 30-37

In the gospel today, Jesus’ apostles—who have now been with him for three years—were stroking their egos as they argued which of them was the greatest. Christ took a seat, called them over, and explained how greatness is measured in God’s eyes. He brought over a young child and taught them that according to the kingdom of heaven, spiritual greatness is found in those who trust in the Lord with childlike humility. Woe to anyone who places stumbling blocks before these little ones. Woe to anyone who causes them to lose their faith in Jesus.

It may sound like a simple principle—and maybe even an obvious one—but this can be a very demanding teaching. That’s because it is all too easy to inadvertently put a stumbling block in front of someone that might even push them to lose their faith in Christ.

The sad irony is, it’s often people who are religious and trying to live a good life who are the worst offenders!

Sometimes you’ll hear it said that we are supposed to hate the sin but love the sinner. The idea, of course, is that sinfulness is a bad thing and displeasing to God… but every person, including a sinner, is precious to him and is savable.

Actually, “hate the sin, love the sinner” is not a teaching of Christ. It is not a teaching of the Church. Just the opposite.

Surprised? Well, here’s why: it’s almost impossible to separate a person from his behaviors and attitudes without collateral damage. Think of our Lord’s parable of the wheat and the weeds. He said that the farmer should let them grow side by side until the harvest, because there was a danger if you tried to pluck out the weeds, you’d also hurt some of the wheat.

Let me give you a first-hand example. About ten years ago, I was sent to St. Paul’s in Danville to be the assistant pastor. I was a fairly new priest and very zealous.

As I got to learn about the community, I found out that divorce was rather prevalent. I wanted to address this issue and try to impress on people the sacredness and permanence of marriage.

So I preached a very tough sermon. If I recall my words, I think I made the comment that in God’s eyes, divorce and remarriage was one of the worst sins—ranking right up there with murder. I went on to explain the reasoning behind marriage… and even encouraged people to look into an annulment if they found themselves in that situation.

I thought I was preaching something hopeful and encouraging… but I learned that I got it wrong. Some people never heard anything I said after my initial salvo that divorce and remarriage is as evil as murder. Their ears closed, because they immediately felt that I was condemning them. The damage was so bad that I know a few people left the parish—and maybe even the Catholic Church—because of my remarks. And when I went back to St. Paul’s as pastor several years later, there were some people who still had no use or trust for me because of that sermon.

I can justify my good and holy motives until I’m blue in the face, but the fact of the matter is, me and my big mouth put a stumbling block in front of some people and possibly caused them to lose their faith in Jesus Christ. I pray that God, who knows our hearts, will have mercy on me.

All through society, there are people who are trying their best to live decent lives but who feel judged and condemned by others because of past mistakes—or worse, because of who they are. This is especially sad when it’s people in the church who do the condemning. Read some of the comments made by Pat Robertson, or James Dobson of Focus on the Family, or Don Wildmon of the American Family Association. Maybe they mean well, but to a lot of people they come across as judgmental, hateful and evil.

And perhaps even worse, think about some of the things that we folks say to each other.

A friend of mine was telling me last week about how a young Catholic fellow—the son of one of his good friends—was planning to marry a non-Catholic outside the church. His godfather was upset over it and was trying to persuade him to change his mind. So he told him, “If you do this, you’re going to hell.” Wow. We don’t have an official declaration that Adolf Hitler is in hell, but that’s where this boy is going. Hate the sin but love the sinner? No… woe to anyone who places a stumbling block before these little ones.

A gay friend told me that his grandmother told him how much Jesus hated homosexuals... AIDS was the proof. After years of self-loathing and struggling, he finally worked up the courage to ask a priest just where in the gospels did Jesus preach such condemnation. Nowhere! exclaimed the priest. That was a profound moment of revelation and hope. Hate the sin but love the sinner? No… woe to anyone who causes one of these little ones to lose their faith in Jesus.

The point is, pointing out what we call the sins or weaknesses in others is not going to draw them closer to Christ’s truth or Christ’s heart. It’s not going to (quote) “save them.” Rather, it’s likely to put the blame on you for driving a wedge between them and Jesus.

So what are we supposed to do? How do we genuinely help people do better in their lives?

What Jesus did was spend time with people that the rest of the world condemned: tax collectors, prostitutes, lepers, alcoholics, thieves, the poor, and lots of others. He made them his friends first… he showed them he cared… that he loved them… only then conversion followed. Quite a few.

That’s a pretty good model. We’ve got to give our time, our prayers, our heart, our patience, our good example. We’ve got to bite our tongue a lot. Maybe we’ll discover small openings and opportunities to gently and compassionately draw people to God. Remember, God wants people to make good choices even more than we do—and in his good time, he can give them the graces to make it happen. We should trust him and simply be his vehicle!

May we all take to heart Christ’s beautiful words: Whoever receives one child such as this in my name, receives me. We are all that child in need of love and affirmation. May we always receive it—and offer it.

Take off the Mask

The 24th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Today’s Readings: Isa 50: 5-9; Ps 116; Jas 2: 14-18; Mk 8: 27-35

Four months ago, Apple Computer opened a glitzy new retail store on Fifth Avenue in New York. At street level, this building is a cube made entirely of clear glass—you know, the kind of place that if you live in it, you’re not supposed to throw stones. The pictures are amazing.

This building is so unusual, of course, because we’re used to solid, opaque structures. Walk up and down the streets of our town, and all the houses and buildings are made of materials that you can’t see through: brick and wood and stone and even steel. Not only do these materials make our homes and offices sturdy, but they also give us privacy. The solid walls mask what goes on inside.

Maybe that’s a good thing. Who wants to see us brushing our teeth while wearing those awful fuzzy slippers shaped like bunny rabbits… or having a shouting match with our kids… or doing anything else that we’d just as soon not let anyone in the outside world see!

The idea of covering up our private lives with presentable façades doesn’t just apply to homes and buildings. We also wear masks on our persons as a way to trick or maybe even manipulate others, and to protect ourselves. Put on a bright smile to disguise your fear or anger. Use flattering tones to get what you want. Act real pious when you come into church so people will think you’re holy. Pretend you’re real macho so nobody knows you’re really in the closet. Act like you know what you’re doing at work when you actually don’t have a clue. Hey, all the world’s a stage.

So: Jesus asks the disciples today, “Who do people say that I am?” What do they think of me? Do they look at me as somebody honest and real… or do they think it’s all an act? Do they think I’m a fraud? Do they think I’m wearing a mask?

The disciples answer by rattling off a list of holy men and prophets. “They think you’re like one of those.”

“Oh. But what about you? Who do you say that I am?”

Before considering the answer, imagine that this was a conversation with someone you know very, very well: your mother or father, your husband, your sister, your best friend… Pretend they ask you what people outside in the world say about them: neighbors and classmates and customers and casual acquaintances and relatives of their ex-boyfriend. You can answer: they think you’re a great teacher… a kind and fair business person… a lunatic and a drama queen… a cheat… the world’s best cook… whatever. But you, who know me inside and out… from whom I have no secrets… who do you say that I am?

That’s the question that our Lord laid before the apostles.

And Peter, speaking for the group, answers: “We think you are the Christ.”

Jesus had to have been pleased that they got it. In Matthew’s version of this gospel, the Lord adds: “Blessed are you, Simon. For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my heavenly Father.”

Fantastic! Now that the twelve members of Christ’s inner circle know that he’s the messiah, he can bring them even more into loop. So he begins to tell them about his mission and what lies ahead: suffering, rejection, death and resurrection.

Obviously, this is not what they expected; they thought that the messiah was going to be a king—and they would have places of honor in his court. Clearly, Christ’s revelation told way more than they wanted to hear! Peter, trying to be a friend, pulls Jesus aside and tells him, “Don’t talk crazy like that!”

Did Jesus say, “Gee, thanks, Peter. You’re right. What was I thinking? Thanks for reminding me that I’m really OK and everything’s going to be fine”? Not exactly. He turns on Peter and snaps, “Get behind me, Satan! You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do.”

Poor Peter. He was always begging Jesus to say things plainly—not tell riddles and parables, but just put it out there. But now that Christ did just that, Peter didn’t like it much. Who would?

Without a doubt, God’s ways are not our ways. God knows our hearts and secrets and vulnerabilities, but how can we cope with knowing God’s heart and secrets? How can we cope with knowing each other’s?

It takes a lot of love.

I read a very provocative comment by a spiritual writer last week. He said that our greatest delusion is thinking everything is just fine when we create for ourselves a righteous exterior or when we outwardly obey laws. All this apparent goodness and morality is worth nothing, because God sees into the human heart. Ruthlessly, his eye penetrates into the deepest recess of the soul. With God, nothing can be kept in darkness.

Yet he loves us anyway! Jesus said: they can reject me and hurt me, but they’ll never win because my love is too strong. God’s loving power within me is an impenetrable shield.

The more I love, the more transparent and vulnerable I may become, but the stronger and safer I am! What a great paradox!

You might take a little time this week and think about what masks you wear and what parts of your life you’re covering up… because showing more of the “real you” may just be a path to deeper holiness. Pray that Christ our Messiah will show you the way.

Playing Favorites

The 23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time
Today’s Readings: Isa 35: 4-7; Ps 146; Jas 2: 1-5; Mk 7: 31-37


When I was pastor of St. Stephen’s in Streator, one of the special days I looked forward to each year was giving a retreat to the graduating class of 8th graders at our school. During one of my talks, I would take a crisp $20 bill out of my pocket and hold it up. “Who would like this brand-new $20 bill?” I’d ask the group. Naturally, every hand went up.

“Just a second,” I’d say. Then I’d crumple up the bill. I’d smooth it back out and ask, “Who still wants it?” The same hands went up in the air.

“Well, what if I do this?” Then I dropped the bill on the ground and started to grind it with my shoe. I picked it up, all crumpled and dirty and asked, “Now who still wants it?” Again, all the hands went into the air.

Then I’d smile and tell the kids, “You’ve all just learned a valuable lesson. No matter what I did to the money, you still wanted it because it didn’t go down in value at all. It was still worth $20. Many times in our lives, we get dropped, crumpled and ground into the dirt by the circumstances of life—sometimes because we made bad decisions. Maybe we even feel like we’re worthless. But no matter what happened to you in the past or what happens to you in the future, you will never ever lose your value in God’s eyes. Dirty or clean, crumpled or beautifully crisp, you are priceless to him.”

If only we could see each other that way!

In his letter today, James reminds us: My brothers and sisters, show no partiality as you adhere to the faith in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ. Show no partiality. Don’t play favorites.

James gives the example of not treating rich or well-dressed people better than poor or shabby-looking people. But that’s just one tiny aspect of this very broad teaching. We shouldn’t show favoritism to healthy people over sick or disabled people… to well-educated people over those with less schooling… to genteel and polished folks over those who curse like stevedores… to straight people over gay or lesbian or even transgendered people… to accomplished surgeons over back-alley abortionists… to political allies over political foes… to humanitarians over tyrants… to friends over enemies… to family over outsiders…

Why? Because each and every person who lives and breathes is infinitely precious to God—dirty or clean, crumpled or beautifully crisp, whether you like them or can’t stand them—not because of what they do, but because of who they are: children of God made in his image and likeness. And we—the Lord’s other kids—have absolutely no right or business to judge or despise anyone who is beloved to God.

Are you squirming yet?

Human nature, being what it is, encourages us to laugh nervously and pass over this Scripture teaching after a rapid and shallow reading. It’s a bit uncomfortable, isn’t it? Maybe we tell ourselves: This doesn’t apply to me. But truthfully, we all harbor the potential of being a bit of a religious hypocrite by showing favoritism. It is so easy to do.

A priest friend of mine was kind of proud of a program he had started several years back. Every Wednesday morning, he taught catechism to a group of homeless people—and they served a hot meal and had an open clothes closet. He and his group of volunteer helpers treated all the people who came with respect and real concern.

The only thing was, it was held in the church basement, and none of those people ever got to go into the beautiful church upstairs! Not to pray, not to look around…

One Wednesday, the usual group of homeless people started arriving only to find that the church parking lot was full of nice cars and well-dressed people. An important member of the parish had died and they were having her funeral. No class or food for the homeless that day. But were any of these precious children of God invited to attend the funeral? What do you think? James has a point.

We must beware when other people’s oppressions seem less important than our own or when they make us feel superior. We’ve got to struggle mightily with ourselves. And as always, we have to keep our eye on the Lord Jesus. He shows us how we should think and feel and act. As James tells us: Did not God choose those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom that he promised to those who love him?

We mustn’t be demoralized by our failure to love as we should. But we should feel challenged and energized and inspired to do better out of our love for God who loves us totally, even with our many flaws. Let this be our prayer today for ourselves and for one another.

Tradition & The Love of God

The 22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time
Today’s Readings: Dt 4: 1-2, 6-8; Ps 15; Jas 1: 17-18, 21-22, 27; Mk 7: 1-8, 14-15, 21-23

I think it’s most appropriate that this Labor Day weekend when we have our big, annual chicken dinner, our gospel reading is about eating without washing your hands. Jesus gives us the OK today to pick up our chicken and eat it with our hands—and maybe even lick our fingers! Thank you, Lord!

Actually, today’s Scripture story about the Pharisees purifying their hands before a meal always brings a smile to my lips. Years ago, I was the co-owner of an advertising agency back east. My partner Greg and I would frequently go on the road to make new business presentations. One day we found ourselves on the Jersey shore in a small town called Ocean, which is near Asbury Park. Ocean, NJ, has a sizable Jewish population. After our meeting, Greg and I decided to grab a bite at one of the local kosher delis.

Now Greg is of Greek stock. In those days, he had a full head of dark hair—(sigh) so did I!—and dark eyes and a real Mediterranean complexion. He also had a full beard.

We walked into the deli and sat down. Greg wanted to clean up before lunch, so he asked the waiter, “Do you have a place I can wash my hands?”

The waiter snapped to and said, “Yes, yes, of course! Follow me.”

He led Greg into the kitchen. People started scurrying around, and the restaurant owner came over and barked orders at his kitchen staff who began to bring things over: a big bowl, a pitcher filled with water, some towels. They all stood around him expectantly, while Greg looked at them in disbelief. He just wanted a restroom. Finally the owner realized that Greg wasn’t doing anything, so he asked, “Is everything all right? Is there something else you need?”

“Well, yes,” said Greg. “Do you have a bar of soap?”

The poor restaurant man nearly had apoplexy. He thought that Greg was an Orthodox rabbi who wanted to do the purifications and blessings before the meal… not some crazy Gentile looking for the bathroom! True story!

For the Jews of Jesus’ day—and even today for observant Jews—hand washing wasn’t done for reasons of hygiene or to show good manners. It was a custom of religious significance, a rite of purification.

In the Jewish tradition, the rite of washing was performed to symbolize the moral purity a person should have before approaching God. We carry over the same idea into the mass when the priest purifies his hands during the offertory rite, just before consecrating the bread and wine. He quietly prays, “Lord, wash away my iniquities and cleanse me from my sins.” In other words, make me morally pure to turn this bread and wine into your Son’s body and blood, and then to offer this perfect sacrifice to you.

If you read the gospel carefully, you’ll see that Jesus doesn’t condemn the Pharisees for their purification rituals. He has no problem with their doing this. He’s just saddened that these religious leaders focus only on the external rite of hand-washing but not on the real meaning behind this custom. So they wind up preaching a very deficient view of God to the flock that depends on them.

In all charity, I think we can assume that the Pharisees loved God deeply. In their desire to prove it, they tried to follow every tiny bit of their religious law. But somewhere along the way, in their zeal, they lost sight of what really pleases God: not sacrifice, not traditions, not performing some action or saying some prayer—but basic human kindness. By becoming such zealots for their religious formalities, they wound up honoring those religious practices more than God himself! They forgot that loving God and loving neighbor are always to be our #1 priorities.

In the English language, we have a lovely little expression for customs and traditions that we cling to unquestioningly, like the Pharisees did. We call these “sacred cows.” For those Jewish leaders, it would have been unthinkable to ever eat without purifying your hands—not even at our parish chicken fry. That’s the same mindset that caused them to be fanatical about the Sabbath rest or fasting or tithing even on the tiniest pots of herbs. Yes, their cherished traditions may have been well-intentioned, but they prevented them from obeying the spirit of God.

Well, as the saying goes, “Sacred cows make the tastiest hamburgers.” Jesus tries to show them that human traditions are not all that important. Sure, they may help us grow closer to God—and if they do, fantastic! But if they just become empty rituals or burdensome, then we should grind them up and toss them out.

That’s one of the reasons why the Church takes such an easy-going attitude about a lot of popular devotions. Some folks can’t imagine not praying their rosary every day. But the Church says, if you want to pray the rosary or a chaplet, or if you want to visit a shrine or a cemetery—well, wonderful. But if those things don’t inspire you to grow closer to God or to love people more, than don’t bother. You can be a great Catholic with them or without them.

You might find it worthwhile to take some time this week to think about your own religious practices and attitudes. What inspires you to do the things you do? And the customs you follow—coming to mass, fasting before communion, giving church support every week, trying to live out the Church’s moral teachings, and so on—are you like the Pharisees and just following them because they are “laws” or do you see in them a way to love God and your neighbor more?

Because, as the Master would say, if you can do that, then you’re not far from the kingdom of heaven.