Trading Places

The 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Today’s Readings: [Click here]

In the gospel today, Jesus tells his famous parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus. The story shocks us because its logic is so direct. One person enjoys wealth and pleasure in this life, while another suffers poverty and disease. In the next life they find their fortunes reversed. They’ve switched roles. Can it be true? Does God really reverse the fortunes of the haves and the have-nots? Is the truth really so direct, so stark, so simplistic?

This business of switching places has always made for an interesting literary device. Mark Twain used it in The Prince and the Pauper. In that story, Tom Canty is a pauper who trades lives with Prince Edward, the son of King Henry VIII. By the end of the novel, the two can’t wait to get back to their “real” lives.

Then there was that wonderful movie, The Parent Trap. Haley Mills played identical twin sisters, Sharon and Susan, who switch places and scheme to get their divorced parents back together. The girls also grew to miss their true identities.

And that TV show that makes me cringe—Wife Swap—where families with completely different values and lifestyles trade wife and mother for two grueling weeks. The contestants may learn something along the way, but they too can’t wait to get back to their own lives where they belong.

If we can generalize from these examples, it appears that most of us like our lives. We’ve created the kinds of relationships and attitudes and ways of doing things that we prefer. So wouldn’t it be a terrible, horrible loss if all that had to disappear when we cross the threshold into eternal life?

Now, what if we imagined the story of the Rich Man and Lazarus in a contemporary context with new characters? Let’s pretend that the role of the rich man in our own version is played by a person who tries to live a “by-the-book” Christian life. Then let’s picture Lazarus’ part is played by someone who is considered by the Christian to be disordered, evil, unworthy of God’s love and salvation. This person, for example, might be a politician who wants to keep abortion legal. It might be somebody who’s divorced and remarried outside the church. It could be someone who’s gay and who wants his love recognized and respected. It might be an infertile couple so desperate to have a baby that they conceive by in vitro fertilization or even use a surrogate mother. It could be someone who supports stem cell research or women’s ordination or giving communion to Presbyterians. You get the idea. Well, the “good Christian,” trying to be a very good Christian, uses the Bible and Church teachings against this other person and in fact condemns everyone in the same boat. Wouldn’t it be ironic if that good Christian, upon death, wound up in Hades… while the other one was escorted to heaven by the angels?

Or, this scenario could be reversed. Maybe any of those Lazarus types in my list of characters, knowing that they aren’t so hot in the eyes of the good Christians, don’t treat the good Christians very well. Instead, they vilify them as their “enemies” every chance they get. But just think: if those “enemies” sat outside our gate wounded and in need of help, and we walked past them and ignored them and did nothing, wouldn’t we be just as guilty as the rich man in the parable?

Hmmm. It appears that whether we’re a saint or a sinner in our own eyes or in the eyes of other people, it’s clear that our lives in Christ are meant for doing good, for being generous, for sharing, for taking care of one another. So the moral of the parable is not that the outcasts will be lifted up in the next life while the in crowd gets trampled. Rather, the lesson is that all of us must use our hearts, our voices, and our purses to support our neighbor in need… and equally important, we better check our moral superiority at the door. In the last analysis, we are no more than a human being—one of God’s children—who must be there for our brother or sister human being.

As Paul reminds us in his letter to Timothy, the key to a faithful life is righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness. If we’ve got something to give, Christ obliges us to give it or else we can meet the same fate as the rich man.

On this Lord’s Day, we’d all do well to take a peek into our heart and our conscience and consider how Jesus Christ would regard the quality of our love and generosity. If death were to come for you today, would you be happily snuggling in paradise with Abraham and the angels… or might you be in torment with the rich man? Thank God, it’s not too late to fix things.

Power!

The 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Today’s Readings: [Click here]

Everybody knows that we live in a world with a definite pecking order. We’ve got to kowtow to our parents… the boss… the teacher… the team captain or coach… the military brass, the bishop, any law enforcement officer and various others. Sometimes, people get us to do what they want just because they’re rich or famous—like a movie star, or politician, or sports icon. I guess we can sum up these kinds of social relations with a single word: Power.

Power is a funny thing. When you use it to manipulate or coerce people, it can be very tenuous. You may have seen the TV show, Prison Break. One character was a tough prison guard who got in trouble with the law and actually wound up incarcerated in the same jail that he previously guarded. Needless to say, his former power was completely gone—and then some! Everybody he ever stepped on was now out to get him.

Some people try to project an illusion of power by external things—like the car they drive or house they live in or clothes they wear. You’ve all heard the expression, “power clothes.” Last Sunday, I was looking at The New York Times website. This was the week they had their semi-annual men’s fashion edition. I had to laugh. One model was wearing a rather plain, lightweight, fall jacket. The price was $1,655. His shirt was $843, and his necktie—leather, no less—was $283. I wouldn’t pay those prices for clothes made out of gold! I guess I better get my power someplace else!

The dishonest manager in the gospel parable today used to have a lot of power, too—until he got caught and fired by his rich boss. But this guy was shrewd—and Jesus praises him for it. He used a couple of last-ditch maneuvers to make some key people like him. So instead of being completely backed into a corner and stripped of his power, now he’d have some allies and maybe some options for his future.

All of these examples of power—the kind of power that most people want but very few want to admit wanting!—might be called “aggrandized power.” This is the kind that gains its strength by taking power away from other people. In the context of friendships and relationships, aggrandized power is the driving force behind cliques, the A-list, the “in” crowd, the haves (as opposed to the have-nots). A person in pursuit of aggrandized power says, “I have power because you don’t have power, and I am threatened if you feel powerful.” Aggrandized power also works its way through our culture in many ways: sexism, racism, ageism, classism. You can only be an insider as long as you make someone else feel like an outsider. And, as we’ve seen in the examples I gave you, a person’s power fortunes can get reversed in the blink of an eye. So you can see that it’s kind of risky to base our lives on this kind of foundation.

Now, Jesus doesn’t praise the ousted supervisor because the man figured out another devious way to make a power grab. The parable is actually a bit more subtle. Jesus commends him because the man comes to realize that there’s another kind of power that’s much more durable and safer than aggrandized power.

This other kind of power might be called “inherent power.” This is the strength that comes from within us. It’s based on our faith, our actions, our treating other people the way we’d like to be treated ourselves. Inherent power doesn’t take anything away from others, but actually gives them something: support, encouragement, acknowledgement of their self-worth and lovability. People with inherent power truly want others to feel good about themselves. It’s very Christ-like. This kind of power doesn’t depend on any external factors such as people liking you or having to obey you, so there’s no need to struggle to assert yourself. And perhaps best of all, inherent power can’t be taken away from you, since it comes from you.

Think about the people you regularly come into contact with. Sometimes, no matter what you do, you walk away from a particular person feeling diminished or weakened or less confident than before. It could be an aunt who always compares you to your cousin, or a boss who can’t praise you without bringing up some little thing you did wrong, or even some friend who always manages to get in some dig. But then there are people who have a knack at making you feel better about yourself—supported, full of strength, uplifted: your grandfather who taught you how to fish or hunt… a math teacher who took the time to explain a difficult theorem to you… a boss who gently points out how you made a mistake, but who isn’t insulting when correcting you.

Jesus is a master at inherent power. Wow, he is God! He has all the power he wants in the whole universe. Yet he is kind and merciful and forgiving. He goes out of his way to build up the people who don’t have the aggrandized power that the world gives: the poor, the sick, the uneducated, the dirty, the suffering, the homeless, the outcasts. These are the ones who are considered powerful in the kingdom of God. He wants them to come to know that their power is inherent. It comes from within themselves, and it can’t be taken away. What an amazing discovery!

What about us? Jesus would no doubt be very happy if we gave some thought to our own concept of power—and if it’s of the kind that lords it over others, we probably should shift gears in our thinking. Isn’t it better to say I have power because I am a beloved child of God and am seeking to do his will by loving him and building up my neighbor—rather than thinking I’m powerful because I wear a crisply-ironed, $843 shirt. What do you want the foundation of your power to be?

Our psalm today says: The Lord raises up the lowly from the dust; from the dunghill he lifts up the poor to seat them with princes. I pray that’s the kind of power the Lord will bestow on all of us.

“I Miz-able, Mommy”

The 24th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Today’s Readings: [Click here]

One time when my little brother was very young, he was being quite obstreperous. Don’t you love that word? It means noisy and difficult to control. That summed him up to a T. He was running around, throwing things, screaming, grabbing my stuff, and just being a little monster. My poor mother was totally exhausted and exasperated. She finally grabbed him and said, “Why are you acting this way?” He looked up at her with pathetic, soulful eyes, stuck out his lower lip and said, “Because I miz-able, Mommy.” And the little twerp was instantly forgiven and covered with kisses.

Big brothers don’t usually like to see the younger ones getting away with this kind of con job. We much prefer our own concept of justice: “if you do the crime, you do the time.” No cheap grace.

Even when we grow up, I’m afraid that we don’t completely lose this sense of eye-for-an-eye justice… despite the fact that we know that this isn’t the value that God wants us to have. We’re supposed to love even our enemies. I guess that’s why one of the most difficult Christian teachings to get across is the idea of God’s extravagant and immeasurable forgiveness.

Listening to today’s gospel, it seems that Jesus was probably also having a hard time getting this idea across. Because we live in a “quid pro quo” world, we can’t understand how God constantly provides the quid without first having received our quo. That’s why Jesus hammers away at this mystery, first telling two short parables about a lost sheep and a lost coin, then ending with the famous story of the Prodigal Son.

Both the shepherd with the lost sheep and the woman with the lost coin resort to outrageous, totally impractical measures to find them. Once they do find them, they put on celebrations that seem excessive and illogical. That, Jesus claims, is how God responds to repentant sinners. The parables themselves don’t speak of sinners. The sheep and the coin are lost, but their owners are the ones who lost them. The sheep and the coin are unrepentant. The extravagance of God’s love is not contingent on our response. It remains limitless.

Then, in the Prodigal Son story, the older brother sums up the situation well: All these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders; yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends. But when your son returns, who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf. How does one show mercy without alienating those who don’t need mercy?

We all know people who seem to get away with murder: kids in school who cheat on tests and never get caught… people who fudge on their tax returns… folks who seem to be living a lifestyle that we find repulsive but can’t do much about… in short: all those people who are forever stealing, swearing, coveting, committing adultery and breaking every commandment in the book. Are all these to be shown mercy and forgiven? Is there no justice?

Consider for a moment the words of our psalm today: Have mercy on me, O God… my sin is always before me… The author speaks for every human being. None of us is perfect; we are all “fallen.” So to answer my question—how does one show mercy without alienating those who don’t need mercy?—actually, all of us need God’s mercy for one thing or another. And if we ever doubt that we sin on a daily basis, that’s when we really find ourselves in spiritual trouble.

The older brother in the parable was wrong when he thought that his brother hadn’t done anything to warrant forgiveness. You see, what the prodigal son did was to admit his mistake and express his sorrow for it—first in his heart, and then to his father. It was like going to confession.

One of the greatest theologians the Church has ever known is St. Thomas Aquinas. Probably his most famous work is the Summa Theologica, all written in question and answer format. One question asks, “At what point in the sacrament of reconciliation does God forgive our sins?” St. Thomas replied: “The instant we’re sorry for them.” In other words, we are forgiven before we even step into the church, make our confession, receive absolution or perform our penance! God is so extravagant with his mercy that it boggles the mind.

And that brings us to our first reading today about the golden calf. As Moses hurried down Mount Sinai, he must have thought for sure that God’s wrath was going to flare up like an air-to-ground missile and burn up those ungrateful people who made themselves this idol. After all, God’s very first commandment to the human race was that we mustn’t have any gods before him—and here they were, doing just that!

This commandment was probably first in the list because it’s the one that has such significant consequences when we break it. Why? Because living as though something else is more important than God disconnects us from God’s divine power, just the way unplugging an electric cord from an outlet makes it impossible to reach the electricity. When we say that God is not God, we are in effect refusing his mercy, his generosity, his healing, his blessing, and all the other gifts of grace that he constantly wants to offer us.

And yet, God forgave even these people! He didn’t wipe them out and start over with the human race. What extravagance and loving mercy.

And what a beautiful lesson of hope for all of us. No matter how much other people may have a problem with us for who we are or what we’ve done or how we live our lives… no matter how depressed we may feel because of our own bad choices in the past… no matter how much we may think we’re “trapped” in a cycle of sin… God is willing—make that: anxious—to forgive us, lift us up, and show us tender and merciful love… if only we’re the least bit sorry.

Now that’s real, divine mercy.

Training Wheels

The 23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time
Today’s Readings: [Click here]

I can’t remember exactly how old I was when I learned how to ride a bike, but I do remember the thrill when the training wheels came off for good and I had my freedom! My bike was a metallic green Schwinn, and it was a beauty. My best friend, Doug, and I rode our bikes everywhere. We went through the countryside… raced down steep hills… out to the beach to watch the sailboats or dig for clams… we sometimes rode the 18 miles or so to a subway station where we could lock up our bikes and take the train into the city. Yes, when a kid learns to ride a bike, the world can really open up. It’s like a bird learning to fly!

In lots of ways, it’s the same with our life of faith. The writer of the Book of Wisdom asks in our first reading today: Who can know God’s counsel, or who can conceive what the Lord intends? It sounds like a rhetorical question—a question not meant to have an answer—but to a large extent, there is an answer. Who can know God’s counsel or conceive what the Lord intends? You can!

Some people in this congregation have sat out in those pews for 80 years or more. They’ve listened to the words of 8 or 9 popes… 7 or 8 bishops of Peoria… countless priests, nuns, religious education teachers and Catholic authors. They’ve heard the words of Jesus in gospel readings thousands of times. They’ve memorized Catechism questions and answers.

Some of us haven’t been around quite that long, but we’ve also been well immersed in the teachings of Jesus Christ. We know the most important lesson that the Lord wants us to know: that we are to love one another and build each other up every way we can.

So who can know God’s counsel or conceive what the Lord intends? We all can. I guess to some extent we can take the “training wheels” off and ride like the wind to live out our liberating faith!

In some of the gospel readings we’ve heard over the past few weeks, Jesus has reminded us that money and possessions can interfere with God’s grand design for human life. When greed or selfishness obsess us, it’s easy to put making money or buying things above other people. It’s easy to get caught up in our own little world.

Today, Christ says to us: “And another thing. Not only should we not let money and possessions interfere with the Christian life, we can’t let people interfere either.” So when Jesus tells us we should hate our mother and father, our spouse and children, our brothers and sisters, what he means is that we can’t let anyone—including the people nearest and dearest to us—pull us away from the attitudes we’re supposed to have and the loving virtues we’re supposed to practice.

Dirt Devil, the vacuum cleaner maker, ran an ad campaign with a tag line that went: “Life is messy. Clean it up.” Well, life is messy. Sometimes we’re not sure how we’re supposed to respond to a situation. We’re not always sure how we’re even supposed to feel about things.

Your grandchild or your sister is getting married outside the church. Should you go to the wedding? Should you give a gift? Should you say congratulations or express your concern? The relatives have lots to say on the subject and are pulling you in both directions. Life is messy.

Most people like nice, clean, neat answers to life’s dilemmas. Yes, you should do this. No, you shouldn’t do that. But those kinds of answers aren’t always possible. Shunning a relative for marrying outside the church or living a life you don’t approve of doesn’t sound like a good plan. On the other hand, simply ignoring a troublesome situation isn’t ideal either. How do you deal with issues in life that are not black or white but some shade of gray?

Jesus was fantastic at working through the dilemmas of messy life. He had his eye so much on the “big picture” of loving God and people that he could sidestep the conflicts we often get embroiled in. Maybe it’s worth reviewing his approach.

The first thing Jesus always did was listen, even when his apostles tried to pull him away. I can’t think of a single gospel where he came bursting on the scene with his mind made up ahead of time or where he gave a pat, absolute answer. No way. He looked around, he observed, he really listened to what someone had to say first to see where they were coming from. That’s a good rule for us, too: the first step in reaching out to anyone is to listen to them with an open mind.

Jesus also broke down walls by taking the initiative to respect and value people and show them empathy. People know when they’re in a tough spot. They don’t need us to tell them that. If we put them on the defensive with our superior attitude or hostility, there’s not going to be any connection.

Another thing Jesus did was to try to find a common ground. Maybe he asked their opinion on something or requested a small favor. Maybe he showed his own neediness—like saying that he was tired and thirsty. When we show a little vulnerability and humanness, people are more likely to open up.

Jesus also didn’t mind spending whatever time was necessary with someone in need. He didn’t keep checking his watch or his PDA for his next appointment. People sense when you’re entirely present to them and it makes a big difference. In fact, the experience is so positive that they’re likely to go out and do the same for somebody else! So you’ve won a convert.

And lastly, Jesus was a big believer in planting seeds. He didn’t demand an immediate answer. He didn’t make anybody cry uncle. He gave people something to think about. He planted the seed, blessed it, and gave it time to take root and grow. When people acted, it was then their conscience, their freedom of choice. He changed many hearts with his patience and respect. So can we.

So who can know God’s counsel or conceive what the Lord intends? Yes, you can. Don’t let people or things get in your way of doing the Lord’s work that he has planted in your heart. Your training wheels are off and you know how to ride! And now, in the words of today’s psalm, may God prosper the work of your hands.

On Humility

The 22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time
Today’s Readings: [Click here]

OK, I want you to picture this episode we just heard about in the gospel today. You’re a rather important person—maybe a politician, a successful businessperson, a movie star, a community leader—and you’re throwing a dinner party. All these fabulous people start arriving, and they’re probably pretty important, too. And then here comes Jesus, who starts to tell the guests that they shouldn’t take the seats of honor, because maybe they’re not quite as important as they think they are! It makes you wonder if Jesus ever got invited back a second time!

But actually he’s right. Nobody likes it when somebody else is conceited and all full of themselves and think they’re entitled to special honors and privileges. Then again, when we do it, we like to think that the whole world thinks we are as wonderful as we imagine ourselves to be. But sigh… they don’t, and that is Jesus’ lesson.

Of course, most of us aren’t like Jesus. We don’t say anything to people’s faces when they start bragging and tooting their own horns… but boy-oh-boy, do we ever talk about them when they leave!

When I was in college, I had a friend named Todd. Todd had a good heart and was a loyal friend and had many good qualities—but he was an impossible blowhard. Looking back, I can see that he was abandoned by his father and suffered from low self-esteem, and I guess he compensated by talking big and bragging quite a bit. One time, he insisted on treating my parents and me to dinner. My father felt a little embarrassed that this young guy wanted to take us all to dinner at a fancy New York restaurant, but Todd insisted, so we went. Well, in the restaurant, Todd played the big man and ordered all kinds of expensive appetizers and even a pricey bottle of wine. When the check came, my Dad paid. I was surprised. I asked Todd about it, and he said that he offered my father money under the table, but my Dad refused it and pushed his hand away. When I asked my father about it, he laughed and said he did no such thing. I guess bragging is especially annoying when there’s no substance behind it.

Kids have a special knack when it comes to taking their parents down a peg. My mother used to tell a story that when I was in Kindergarten or first grade, she got a call from the teacher asking her to come in for a conference. The teacher asked my mom, “What does your husband do for a living?” She said, “He’s a book publisher. Why do you ask?” “Well,” my teacher said, “Jeffrey told the class that his father is a bookie.” Hey, I was 5 or 6 years old. I didn’t know what you called what he did.

Then a friend of mine named Rick was married with a couple of children. His wife got into this interesting hobby of making porcelain dolls, and she went to some evening classes offered at a nearby college to learn how to do it. Rick stayed home to watch the kids. One night, Rick was standing on the front porch chatting with a neighbor when the phone rang. His 5-year-old son, Craig, answered the phone right away and very politely. Rick heard his son tell the caller, “No, my mom’s not here right now. She’s out making a baby. But my dad is here if you want to talk to him.”

Maybe God sends us children to teach us the fine art of humility! Because so many times in life, our pride and arrogance, our stubbornness and self-love can backfire on us. That’s when we really learn that these are defects in character that can hurt us and alienate us from people who are supposed to love us—which is precisely why Jesus tries to teach us to be humble instead. That’s how we better love each other. I really like this little quote from Thomas Merton, the famous Trappist monk: “Give me humility, in which alone is rest, and deliver me from pride, which is the heaviest of burdens.”

Learning this can be a hard lesson. We all like positive reinforcement and a pat on the back, but a lot of times the good that we do is not recognized by the people around us. Jesus is telling us two things today well worth remembering: First, trust that God does see what we do and know that he appreciates it. As the author of Sirach wrote in our first reading: Humble yourself the more, the greater you are, and you will find favor with God. And second, realize that singing your own praises is just going to turn people off and cause resentment and nasty gossip. It’s also going to cause people to look for ways to find fault with you—and the world definitely does not need more of that! Rather, again heed Sirach’s wise advice: Conduct your affairs with humility, and you will be loved more than a giver of gifts.

That famous gag t-shirt says, “It’s hard to be humble when you’re as great as I am”—but we really should try. Let’s all ask God for an extra measure of this special virtue.