Patient Loving-Kindness

The 5th Sunday of Lent
Today’s Readings: Isa 43:16-21; Ps 126; Phil 3:8-14; Jn 8:1-11

If you’ve been over to the parish office, you may have noticed that we have a very fancy copier there. Besides just making ordinary photocopies, it also collates, staples, punches holes and much more. I think there may even be a button for it to write my weekly sermon.

The problem, though, is that this machine is now coming up to five years in service. It’s got more than 400,000 copies on it. And just like an old car with a lot of mileage, that’s when troubles can start.

A few weeks ago, I went to make copies of my weekly homily, and the machine wasn’t working right. So I called our maintenance company, and a technician came out right away. He determined that something called the “RAM Pack” was shot. I guess this is a memory storage module that keeps track of certain settings. In any case, the repairman said he’d have to order a new one and install it.

Well, I didn’t hear from him in almost three weeks, so I phoned the technician to check on the progress of this repair. He told me they were having trouble locating the part, but they were still working on it. I thanked him for his efforts, and he promised that we’d get everything resolved very soon.

Now, the remarkable part of this story is not the copier or the elusive part—but moi. I was so impressed with my patience in this matter. Normally, when mechanical things go haywire, I will have what my family typically calls one of my famous “twit fits.” I think we all have our individual hot buttons, and for me, mechanical failures can really set me off: a computer problem, a car breakdown, a power outage, that kind of thing. But this time, I didn’t react! That’s why I was greatly impressed with my very mild and peaceful acceptance of the situation.

Even so, I am much more impressed with Jesus’ patience. Of course, we’ve talked about this many times. But I think the gospel today really illustrates the Lord’s patience in an extraordinary way.

Today, we see Jesus having a run-in with the scribes and Pharisees. We all know that from the moment Christ came out in his ministry, the scribes and Pharisees were riding him. They attacked him for healing on the Sabbath, when his disciples didn’t fast when everyone else was fasting, for not paying his Temple tax, for fraternizing with tax collectors and sinners, for being kind to Gentiles… for a million different things.

Today, we have this notable story about the young woman taken in adultery. I love the way the story starts. Here was Jesus in the Temple. It was early in the morning, and obviously he had come to pray. As always, he drew a crowd who were fascinated with him and were asking questions. And then here come this group of scribes and Pharisees with this poor girl in tow.

I think this is the part of the story that we normally gloss over so we can get to the meat of the lesson, where Jesus doesn’t condemn the woman but bends down and writes with his finger on the ground. But think about that little opening remark that the scribes and Pharisees brought in the woman they caught in adultery. What does that mean? What does it mean that “they caught her in adultery”? Were they sneaking around and snooping in people’s tents or their bedrooms? How did they find her? Did some nosy neighbor with an ax to grind tip them off? Then they dragged her in to the Temple—the poor thing!

And the thing about adultery, the last time I checked, was that it takes two to tango. Where’s the guy? There was definitely a double standard in the culture of the day.

So here’s this woman, accused all alone, and obviously had had her privacy invaded—here she stands before these prigs who are now condemning her.

The pretext, of course, for these little fingers-of-God, these ayatollahs, is that adultery was greatly condemned by the Law of Moses, by the Ten Commandments. As far as traditional sins go, it’s one of the biggies. So these scribes and Pharisees are proud of themselves. They got themselves a big fish on the line… and now they want to see what Jesus is going to do. He has two choices here. If he’s going to live up to his reputation of being forgiving and merciful, then he has to let her go—which means that he’s breaking God’s law and not being a faithful Jew. On the other hand, if he condemns her to be stoned to death as the law seems to require, then where’s his compassion and forgiveness?

It looks like Jesus is caught in a bind, but our Lord is considerably more clever than the scribes and Pharisees. What does he do? He says nothing. He simply bends down and starts to draw on the ground with his finger. Did you ever wonder, what that’s all about? Was he doodling? I never knew what it meant. Then they taught us in the seminary—and I love this—that what Jesus was writing was the individual sins of those scribes and Pharisees. They’re watching him, and they realize to their horror what he’s writing. So when Jesus says, “Let the one among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her”—they know they’re caught and have no choice but to walk away… which they do, one by one.

When they’ve all left, Jesus looks up at the young woman. “Where are they? Has no one condemned you?” She says, “No one, sir.” Then Jesus says, “Neither do I condemn you. Go on your way, and from now on, sin no more.”

What a powerful lesson in many ways—especially in Christ’s incredible patience with those judgmental and hypocritical scribes and Pharisees!

Had the woman done wrong? Absolutely. Our Lord never says that what she did was not sinful. But he knows that if he condemns her—judges her—then she would be put to death and die in a state of sin, consigning her to eternal damnation. Does God want to lose a soul? Heavens, no! The parable says that the Good Shepherd would leave the 99 sheep to go off and rescue the single one who wandered off.

Christ knows well that the way to save souls is with kindness and love. That’s why he tells us that over and over. You’ve heard St. Francis de Sales’ famous saying: “You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

Very nicely, Jesus says to us: “Don’t you dare put other people down for their sins and weaknesses, because you’re sinful yourself! Shall I make a list of all your sins?”

Now there’s something to make you gulp hard!

Once you’ve drawn someone in with compassion and warmth, then you can look and pray for opportunities to lift them up to God… to teach them and show them how God wants them to live. But if you condemn them off the bat, you forever lose your opportunity—and indeed, you’ll have to answer to God for that when one day you stand before him to be judged.

Lent is really about these two main points: first, going and sinning no more, yourself; and second, not judging or condemning others for their faults and weaknesses, but instead being patient and loving them and helping them do better.

Every day we have a chance—maybe a number of chances—to build people up rather than tear them down. Let Our Lord’s words touch your heart today and give you a good measure of Christ’s patient loving-kindness.

Behold, New Things Have Come

The 4th Sunday of Lent
Today’s Readings: Jos 5:9-12; Ps 34; 2 Cor 5:17-21; Lk 15:1-3, 11-32

Our first reading today from the Book of Joshua talks about the people of Israel celebrating the Passover. The Passover seder is an occasion to thank and bless God for liberating the Hebrew people from their bondage in Egypt. This was a life-changing event in the history of the Jewish race. Once they were slaves, and now they were free. As St. Paul put it so succinctly in Second Corinthians: The old things have passed away; behold, new things have come (2 Cor 5:17).

Having grown up in a Jewish family, we celebrated the Passover at my grandparents’ home every year, with seders on two consecutive nights. In fact, my mother went into labor with me on the second night many moons ago. She and my Dad had to leave the family in Brooklyn and drive to the hospital in the city—where I graciously arrived at 11:07 pm.

As most new parents will tell you, having a child is definitely a life-altering event. The old things have passed away; behold, new things have come.

I know that I absolutely turned my parents’ lives upside-down. I kept them up with my bouts of colic. Then my crazy Uncle Louie who babysat for me and didn’t know what to do with the dirty diapers—so he tossed them out of the 14th floor window. Who says New York isn’t a friendly town? As I continued to grow up, there were the trips to the emergency room to set various broken bones. The complaints from the next-door neighbors when I turned the garden hose on them. The non-stop expenses of food and clothes and school and toys and travel. And much more. Much more. I know my parents were proud of me in many ways… but I also know that I caused them a lot of heartache for things that I just don’t know you well enough yet to confess publicly! But no matter how you slice it, it was abundantly clear that with my arrival, the old things have passed away; behold, new things have come.

If you think about it, it’s pretty evident that life for each and every one of us is filled with endless twists and turns and decision points. Some of these junctures can be pretty radical: to take one path over another means an end to your old life. Behold, new things have come.

Maybe it’s choosing a career option that eliminates all others. Or choosing a spouse that commits you forevermore to just one person. Or having or adopting a child.

Maybe this momentous point in time comes not with something you’ve chosen, but with something that’s thrust upon you: like having a stroke or heart attack, or winding up in a bad accident, or losing a parent or dear friend—or on a happier note, winning the lottery. Life can be forever changed.

Our faith celebrates these key moments as new beginnings. The passage in Joshua tells us that after the Passover, the manna stopped—after 40 years. Why? Because the children of Israel finally crossed over into the Promised Land—and now they could feast off the bounty of this land of milk and honey, just as God promised.

Now that I’m Catholic, I no longer celebrate the Passover. Why? Because it has been supplanted by the mass. Instead of eating mere symbols, now I actually receive the body and blood of the Lord. In fact, the sacred elements are sacramental signs of a more profound reality yet to come: sharing a proverbial seder with Christ himself in heaven, face to face.

As creatures of genuinely free will and choice, it is up to us how to respond to opportunities that present themselves, and how to respond to whatever life deals us. We can see the glass as half-empty or half-full.

The beautiful gospel story of the prodigal son describes how a young man who made some poor choices came to his senses and decided to come home. His dad was overjoyed beyond words to have his beloved boy back. His older brother, though, was angry and ticked off that their father was so quick to forgive him and celebrate his return. In this fellow’s mind, his younger brother was bad news and a sinner.

At this point in Lent, we’ve got to make a choice. Will we be like the father: merciful and forgiving—or like the brother: harsh and unmoved and holding a grudge?

Before you cast your vote, I urge you to consider that the word “sinner” is a terrible social label. It’s a means of excluding some people by marking them as deviant or morally inferior. Isn’t this just what big brother did? Listen again: But when your son returns who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf (Lk 15:30).

You know, so-called sinners don’t have to actually be morally inferior. To earn their label, all they have to do is be queer in particular ways. Single mothers, homeless people, the mentally ill, the disabled, gay people who want to be soldiers—all carry social stigma, regardless of their piety or moral heroism. But St. Paul tells us clearly today to get rid of these labels, and more importantly, these attitudes: God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting their trespasses against them and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. So we are ambassadors for Christ, as if God were appealing through us (2 Cor 5:19-20).

You may be surprised that all the “sinner” stories in the gospel of Luke have one thing in common: in none of them does Jesus correct the sinners or call them to change their behavior. Rather, Jesus simply enters company with them.

We, too, have to sit with sinners and learn to identify as one. Why? Because every one of us desperately needs God’s mercy, too. Do you want to be judged as God judges… or as you judge? For me, the answer is very, very clear!

Let us stop being condescending friends or intolerant relatives or unforgiving critics of other people because of who they are or what they’ve done. Instead, let us just sit with them—exactly the way Jesus did.

For most of us, to stop judging takes a pretty radical change in who we are and how we view the world. But that’s how we stretch and grow in our faith.

The old things have passed away; behold, new things have come.

The Power of Blessing

The 3rd Sunday of Lent
Today’s Readings: Ex 3: 1-8, 13-15; Ps 103; 1 Cor 10: 1-6, 10-12; Lk 13: 1-9

When I was a kid, my grandfather got me interested in coin collecting. He was a professional numismatist. One of the favorite parts of my collection was proof sets. These are coins that are specially made for collectors. They are flawless and have a mirror finish. If you’ve ever seen a proof set, you know how beautiful the coins are—like jewels.

Unless you’re a collector yourself, you probably never gave a thought to how a bunch of silver ore from some dusty mine eventually becomes a magnificent proof coin. The short version of the story is that the ore is smelted under extreme heat and then refined to take out the impurities. The metal is then cooled and molded into bullion—plain bricks or bars. The next step is to heat the silver again and force it through rollers with terrific pressure, like a giant pasta machine, to turn it into sheets or rolls of a uniform thickness.

The mint then runs the sheet stock through punching machines to create the round blanks, or planchets, that become the coins. These are heated once again to anneal them. Then they’re washed, dried, milled to put the edge on, and finally stamped with great pressure with dies.

I guess you could say that the beautiful, shiny coin has been through quite a bit of battering and a really rough ordeal to become so perfect.

Many things of great beauty undergo a similar process—including us human beings. Everybody knows that it’s our losses and sufferings and mistakes and persistence that mold us into good and holy and beautiful people.

Our Lenten journey is all about remembering this and voluntarily putting ourselves through the spiritual smelting or annealing or stamping process so we, too, eventually, will be flawless proof coin specimens in God’s holy kingdom.

So far this Lent, we’ve talked about rediscovering our sense of gratitude to God and our belief in Christ’s lordship. Last week, we focused on how to retreat into the sanctuary of our heart in solitude as a way to reenergize ourselves and discover our divinely-inspired mission to serve God and neighbor.

Today, I’d like to speak about beginning to live out our mission—whatever it may be—with the power of blessing.

In a famous passage, St. James speaks about the human tongue. He writes:

But no one can tame the tongue; it is a restless evil and full of deadly poison. With it we bless our Lord and Father; and with it we curse men, who have been made in the likeness of God; from the same mouth come both blessing and cursing (Jas 3: 9-10). How would you like the same pipe in your house to bring you fresh drinking water and also take away the waste when you flush the toilet?

Cursing is destructive. It causes a lot of harm and creates deep spiritual injuries. Cursing ridicules, demeans and rejects people. It limits their potential. It makes people doubt their worth. It often makes a person seek revenge. You might say that cursing begets more cursing. That’s why cursing is the exact opposite of the love that God wants.

Blessing, on the other hand, helps people find inner strength and empowerment. It encourages them to achieve their fullest potential. It draws out a person’s understanding that they’re precious and beloved. And blessing, too, begets more blessing.

We have the power to choose which path we will take. And it will define our legacy.

I have to caution you, though. This blessing/cursing business isn’t always as black-and-white as you might think.

Sure, some things are obvious. It’s bad to tell people that they’re worthless. It’s bad to wish people death or tragedy. It’s bad to believe somebody deserves hell and wish they go there. Very bad.

But it is also bad when you’re quick to use God or church as a brickbat.

I can’t count how many religious-looking people I’ve met through the years who believe that they are God’s anointed truth-teachers. They hold up the bible or the catechism, and in their zealotry and fanaticism they wind up cursing, rather than blessing… pushing people away from God and church, rather than drawing them in.

It’s easy to be smug and point out other people’s sins and moral failings—it’s always other people’s, isn’t it? But I’ll tell you something: that approach will probably alienate them and drive them away. And which one of them do you think will have to answer to God causing a soul to be lost?

Our Lord models holy patience for us. He didn’t condemn the woman at the well for all her boyfriends and live-in lovers; he simply told her to sin no more. He didn’t rake Matthew over the coals for betraying his people or cheating folks on their tax revenues; in fact, he brought him into his inner circle and made him an apostle! Read through the gospels. They are filled with examples of the Lord’s patience and use of blessing instead of cursing.

We can bless people when we pray for them or sacrifice for them, but the real power of blessing comes when we interact with them face to face. Smile sincerely. Tell them, “God bless you!”—and not just when they sneeze. A gentle touch on the arm. Words of encouragement and hope, like: “I know you’re in a tough spot, but I’m here for you if you ever want to talk. God bless you.”

I like to kid sometimes that as a priest, I’m still in the advertising business—but I have a better product to sell! You might think of a blessing as selling someone on the idea that God is there for them, no matter what. What would someone have to do to convince you of that? Very simply, that’s what you need to do!

During this week’s leg of the Lenten journey, try your loving skills at building people up and giving them God’s blessing. Pray for this beautiful gift. In the words of today’s psalm:

Bless the Lord, O my soul; / and all my being, bless his holy name.
Bless the Lord, O my soul, / and forget not all his benefits.

Solitude

The 2nd Sunday of Lent
Today’s Readings: Gen 15: 5-12, 17-18; Ps 27; Phil 3: 17 – 4: 1; Lk 9: 28-36

The other day, I was listening to WGCY on the radio. That’s the station out of Gibson City that plays music from the Big Band era and a lot of “easy listening” music—what I sometimes call “elevator music.”

I had to laugh. All my generation’s “radical” music from the 60’s and 70’s is elevator music: the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, the Doors, the Grateful Dead. All played softly and sweetly on violins!

Just you wait, you young ones! In 30 or 40 years, all your favorite music of today that you’re growing up with—your Gwen Stefani, Justin Timberlake, Beyoncé, Scissor Sisters—it’s going to be elevator music… and your kids and grandkids will be laughing at you, too!

Anyway, one of the oldie-goldie songs I heard was John Denver’s Leaving On A Jet Plane. One of the lines in the lyrics goes: “The taxi’s waitin’, he’s blowin’ his horn / Already I’m so lonesome I could die.”

Loneliness.

Many people feel lonely and empty inside. Maybe they’re elderly or homebound. Maybe they’ve been laid off from work or they’re new arrivals in the community. Or maybe they’re depressed or too scared to go out and meet people and do things. Maybe it’s you.

Some may be suffering quietly, trying to fill up their days with TV, crocheting, solitaire games and frequent naps. Others may take to riskier pursuits to try to numb the pain: drinking, pornography, on-line gambling, endless video games…

There’s a big difference between this kind of loneliness and solitude—the kind of alone-time that Jesus practiced and recommends.

Luke opens his gospel text today by telling us that Jesus took Peter, John and James and went up the mountain to pray. The gospels are full of passages describing how the Lord spent days fasting and praying in the wilderness, or how he went to the mountains or other lonely places for meditation and prayer—sometimes all by himself, other times with some of his disciples.

Obviously, Christ was a big believer in the power of solitude. It was an important way for him to connect with the Father. While loneliness is an inner emptiness, solitude is the opposite. It is an inner attentiveness and fulfillment.

The beauty of solitude is that it is more a state of mind and heart than it is a place or physical condition. In other words, you can find solitude in a quiet room… or in the midst of a crowd. One spiritual writer calls it our “portable sanctuary of the heart.”

When Jesus came back from his times of solitude, it was always with a renewed sense of mission and purpose. It was always with more energy and passion. For instance, some of Christ’s most memorable and dramatic actions came about right after times of contemplation and solitude: his summoning of the twelve apostles… knocking over the moneychangers’ tables in the temple… making his triumphant Palm Sunday entrance into Jerusalem… and many others.

Thomas Merton, the famous Trappist monk, wrote: “It is in deep solitude and silence that I find the gentleness with which I can truly love my brother and sister.” It was also his experience that solitude helped him discover his need and desire to contribute something to his community. So solitude is not an end in itself. It is not a way just to relax or stop worrying or escape. On the contrary, it is a means to recharge your spiritual batteries to give you a clearer vision, renewed purpose and energy, a zeal and enthusiasm to go out and make a difference in the world—all in the name and power of Jesus Christ.

That’s why this gospel story of the Transfiguration is read early in Lent. It’s a special invitation and call for all of us to retreat into our heart—however we need to do it—to re-energize ourselves for Christ and to be a better neighbor.

So… how do we do it? Most of us live busy, even frantic-paced, lives. How can we practice the kind of solitude our Lord recommends? How can it be squeezed in to modern life?

Well, let me give you a 90-second mini-course.

First, commit yourself to try it every day. It would be wonderful to carve out 15 or 20 minutes… but even two minutes is a promising start. Don’t feel discouraged if that’s all you start with.

Second, sit comfortably and as you start, put yourself consciously in God’s hands. I once had a spiritual director who began our sessions by simply saying, “Let us remember that we are in the presence of God.” That’s enough to focus you.

Third, close your eyes and breathe deeply and slowly. One neat way is to say “love” as you breathe in… and “Jesus” as you breathe out. Simply focus on your breath. Don’t try to think or force anything. Just rest in the moment. Remember, the purpose is not to accomplish anything concrete, but merely to give the Holy Spirit a convenient opening to inspire you in some way if he chooses to.

Lastly, reopen your eyes. Before you go back to whatever you were doing, pause for a moment. Were you inspired? Did God whisper a blessing or a little task for you? If he did, give a word of thanks and promise to comply.

You can see that this kind of solitude is not hard—and it’s completely different from being lonely or bored or empty. It is a time of joyful attentiveness and expectation, but also a time of deep peacefulness with God.

Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my chosen Son; listen to him.”