"New Skin, Old Skin:" The Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Homily for the Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time

(Second Draft)

Old skin. New skin.
I was talking to my friend jake the other day.
Jake and his wife, Linda, live on a farm next to Jake’s parent’s farm.
They have a six-year-old boy named Isaac
who spends a lot of his free-time with his 80-year-old grandpa.

A close bond between Isaac and his grandfather.
A few weeks ago,
Isaac was having trouble on the school bus.
Some boys got into a squabble
and this resulted in Isaac losing a friend.

He didn’t tell his dad.
He didn’t mention it to his mom.
Rather, he confided in his grandfather.

He’s a lucky boy to have his grandfather live so close.
His grandfather, I’m sure, considers it a wonderful blessing.

It’s not often that “old skin” and “new skin”
function with such harmony.

In today’s gospel, in fact,
Jesus cautions his disciples
against trying to tie the old into the new.

“You don’t take new wine
and pour it into old wine skins,” he says.

“Like wise, you don’t sew a new patch
on an old pair of jeans.”

And that is true.
There is a tendency for the new to pull away from the old.

We all know this.

In family life, for instance, at a certain point,
children need to establish an identity and a life of their own.

So they move on and move away.
Often, the transition is not exactly smooth.

It’s the same in many work settings.
Middle managers, for instance, are encouraged to develop “new ideas.”
But if the boss is skeptical of the new ideas,
guess what happens?
The “new ideas” are shown the door.

So, how is it that a grandparent and a grandchild
usually manage to avoid the tug of war
between generations or conflict of ideas
that so often results in anger or separation or “moving on?”

Well, if you look closely at that example of Isaac and his grandfather,
you realize that Isaac wasn’t imposing new ideas on his grandpa
and his grandfather wasn’t pushing old ideas on the boy.

Rather, to a young boy like Isaac,
his grandpa’s wisdom is shiny and new and highly valued.

It was the first time Isaac had lost a friend at school.
His grandpa’s counsel was the first advice he ever
received on such an important matter.

It was, you see, a “new” situation.
The word “new” is very important.

It implies a situation open to new growth
new insight
new development.

If you it in terms of today’s gospel,
that day when Isaac trekked across the field
to talk to his grandpas,
there wasn’t an old wine skin
or a faded piece of cloth anywhere in sight.
Everything about that conversation was new,
that is, it was full of hope and oriented toward growth.

New growth requires openness to change.
New growth requires a willingness
to let go of the past.

And that is precisely the encouragement
that the Lord provides for us in today’s gospel!

Unfortunately, religion comes wrapped in tradition.
That’s part of the nature of religion,
it roots us in the past.
But that is only aspect of religion.
If over-emphasized,
this quality makes it hard for us to recognize
just how radical and new the teaching of Jesus was at the time he walked earth;
furthermore, it makes it difficult to realize how radical and new
is his teaching today.

In the Book of Revelation, Jesus says:
“Behold, I make all things new!”

And it’s true.
More true than many folks realize.
Just look to your own life.

When did God ever step in and get in the way
of positive possibilities?

Think back on your life:
When it came time for you to step out on your own,
when it came time for you reach a deeper level of love,
when it came time for you to welcome a new child
or make room in your heart for a new friend…
when you thought about getting a college degree…

When you found yourself in these situations,
did God ever discourage you to reach for new possibilities
or expand the frontiers of your life?

God in our creator, remember?
He loves new things!

It’s fear and rigidity that gets in His way.

Think it out:
Is it not a lack of confidence and a lack of nerve
that keeps us from doing the most important thing of all?
And that is: Living the Gospel as fully as we can?

Christ longs that we rise to every challenge
and take every risk necessary
to grasp the salvation he won for us!

If keeping to the old ways
means boxing yourself in,
dampening your sister’s creativity
or suffocating your brother’s spirit…
then away with the old!
Bring on the new!

“Behold, I make all things new,” says the Lord.

That means you.
That means me.
That means this Church of ours.
That means this city of ours.
That means this world of ours.

There comes a time to leave the old behind.

When you follow Christ
every day is a new opportunity to explore.

When you look to Christ
you don’t look back.

"Shake it Off:" The Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

Homily for the Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time
(Final Draft)

I was in the bleachers at a Little League game.
Next to me sat a mother
whose husband was the coach
of the team up to bat.
The kid standing at the plate was their son
and he had just struck out.

“Shake it off, Tom!”
the mother called to the boy.
“Just shake it off.”

The boy’s father, the coach, didn’t shake his head.
He didn’t throw his cap to the ground.
He didn’t say a word.

His attention was already on the next batter.

But then something different happened.
The next batter also struck out.
I don’t know if that boy’s parents were in the stands.
If they were, I didn’t hear them.

All I remember is that, when the second kid struck out,
he was completely crushed.
He started pounding himself in the head.
He then threw off his helmet
and stomped back to the dugout
shaking his head:
“I’m so stupid! I’m so stupid!”

No one told him to Shake it off
or Get over it
or Better luck next time, kid.

His response to his failure
was to berate himself
and no one tried to stop him.

* * *

This scene I witnessed from the bleachers
at a Little League game came to mind
when I read today’s passage from
the Book of the Prophet Isaiah:

“Thus says the Lord:
Remember not the events of the past….
It is I, I who wipe out,
for my own sake, your offenses;
your sins I remember no more.”

Sounds to me a bit like the words
of that mother in the stands
at that Little League game:
“Shake it off, Tom. Shake it off.”

Put yourself on that ball diamond for a minute.
Which kid would you rather be?

I think I know the answer.

Nobody wants to be the kid who can’t get over
striking out.

No one wants to be that kid in the dugout
pounding a mean message into his soul
with every slap of his fist into his hand:
“I’m no good. I’m no good. I’m no good.”

A boy like that needs someone to convince him
that life is more than a batting average.

And that’s a fact we all need to be reminded of
now and then.

Everyone of us here in this church needs to know
that our life is more than the sum total of our mistakes.

Like the kid in the dugout,
we need to hear God tell us,
“Shake it off!”

Never forget this:
In God’s eyes,
we are more than the list of our moral failures,
we are more than that tally of our sins,
we are more than destructive things we do…to ourselves or to others.

(Gosh, where would anyone of us be
without the hard and fast reality
of God’s forgiveness?)

* * *

This is at the heart of the message Christ came to preach.
In fact, it’s right at the center of today’s gospel passage:

“Which is easier to say,
‘Your sins are forgiven’ or ‘Stand up and walk?’”
So you might know the Son of Man
has authority to forgive sins…
he said to the paralytic…
“Stand up and walk!”

Sounds easy, this forgiveness stuff.
Actually, it sounds so easy
that some Christians think it’s too soft.

The too-good Christians say things like,
“No one goes to Confession anymore.”
Or:
“People just take God’s forgiveness is just taken for granted.”
Or:
“Nobody takes sin seriously.”

They have a point and, sometimes, as a pastor,
I find myself in their camp.

It seems as though no one worries about committing sins anymore.
The word sin hardly ever crosses our lips these days.

Sometimes I am amazed at the “so what?” attitude
that people have toward breaking the Ten Commandments.

As a pastor this concerns me.
Yet, as a sinner myself,
I depend on the assurance of God’s forgiveness.

Without such assurance,
we sinners would have no choice but to take a seat on the bench
next to the second boy there in the dugout
and join him in kicking the wall, saying,
“I’m no good. I’m so stupid. I’ll never amount to nothing.”

* * *

The Good News in today’s reading is telling us:
“Shake it off.”

God wouldn’t be telling us that
if we didn’t need to hear it.

And, in all honesty, we do need to hear it.

You see, when it comes to sin,
---and I’m talking here about the hard-hitting,
kind of sin that goes by the name
“deadly sin” or “mortal sin”---
well, the memory of that kind of sin
can haunt us for a long time.

For instance,
there are days…I have them
and I’m sure you have them too…
when the memory of past sins
barge right in and stare us in the face.

It might be a perfectly sunny day,
and you wake up in a good mood.
But then, you take a look into the mirror and,
from out of nowhere,
it hits you.

For just a second
you look yourself in the eye
and realize how far you’ve fallen
short of God’s expectations.

* * *

People don’t talk much about this,
but sin…and the residue of sin…is a part of life.

Of course, American society,
the American media,
the American entertainment industry
tends to make light of sin.

But the truth of the matter is that
committing sins is serious business.
It takes its toll.
It corrodes the soul.
In short, it drains the spirit out your life.

(Sometimes, the hardest part of forgiveness
isn’t accepting God’s forgiveness…
it’s accepting your forgiveness of yourself.)

When this happens,
today’s message that God
transmits to us through the Prophet Isaisah
has to somehow get through:

Thus says the Lord:
“I do not remember your sins
(so why should you?)”

So, on those days when clouds from the past
cast a shadow over your present…
you need to turn from the mirror
and toward the Lord,

And He, in turn, will turn toward you.

And this is what He’ll say:

“Shake it off.”

"Warts and All:" The Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Homily for the Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time
[Third draft]

Homily for the Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

It’s been many months since Hurricane Katrina
devastated large sections of the Gulf Coast.

Clean-up is underway and remains a work in progress.

I’ve sure many of you have you seen pictures in the news
of the mold growing on the walls of the houses
that were flooded by Hurricane Katrina.
(Residents who return to their homes
to pick up their belongings
have to wear masks over their faces
to protect themselves from all he mold.)

The reason I’m beginning this homily
with a reference to mold is this:
If we lived in First Century Palestine,
we would refer to mold…any kind of mold…
as “leprosy.”

This might seem like a trivial fact,
but it’s important to note. Why?
Well, if we want to position ourselves somewhere
within today’s gospel,
we need to know that when the Bible talks about lepers,
the term refers not only to people with a terrible disease.
In biblical times, “leprosy” referred to any type of mold or blemish.
It didn’t matter if the mold or blemish
was on a person’s skin or on a donkey’s saddle.

The condition referred to in the Bible
was that of any sort of visible defect,
whether on human skin, on the walls of houses,
or on fabrics and leather.

So, let’s be accurate about the historical reality
presented in today’s passage:
Biblical leprosy could mean something as life-threatening
as Hanson’s disease or melanoma
or as superficial as dandruff or a rash or a case of acne.

The term refers to any a disorder that shows up
on the surface, that is,
a place where it is obvious for all to see.

This means there is room in this passage for all of us
because we’ve all experience “surface disorders”
of one sort or another.

Today’s passage is asking us to take a look at what Christ can do for us
when our imperfections and defects and blemishes
suddenly appear in the public eye for everyone to see.

We are all profoundly blemished.
We might try to hide our imperfections,
but all the make-up in the world won’t cover them up.

Our public blemishes aren’t always physical, but they’re always embarrassing:

· You take a girl out on a date…and your car drops its muffler in her dad’s driveway.
· Fifteen minutes into the sales presentation…and you realize the profitability graph that you set on the easel…is upside down.
· You speak up at a meeting…and the chairperson dresses you down.
· Or do something stupid, really stupid, and your name ends up in the paper.


These are examples of our blemishes going public.

An internal response occurs when this happens:
it’s called embarrassment,
it’s called shame;

And there is an external reaction on the of others around you:
they begin to put distance between themselves and you.

And that experience called being discounted;
it’s called being “put in your place.”

It’s an old story and it happens in every society:
people draw lines,
build a wall,
shut others out.

Sometimes people are ostracized
because of something they’ve done.
Other times it has nothing to do with anything they’ve done…
as in the case with the leper in today’s gospel story.

Regardless of the circumstance,
the result is the same: alienation.

And it takes a concerted effort
to break to social barrier
and cross the divide that separates you from others.

Now, if you’ve ever experienced that sort of treatment,
you know that it takes hard work
to overcome those social barriers.
But once you do—once you rise above the judgments of others
knowing that only God’s opinion about you matters—
is an incredible experience of liberation.

Getting back to the gospel,
perhaps this “incredible liberation”
is the reason Jesus felt it necessary
to impress upon the leper the desire that the leper
not broadcast news about the miracle far and wide.

Today’s event occurred, you see, in the early part of Jesus’ ministry.
Jesus knew that people would likely misread his compassion for the sick
and mistake his mission as nothing more than that of a miracle worker.
But, in reality, Jesus mission was to save the world, not simply cure the sick.

I’m sure Jesus knew that this leper
would struggle to contain his exuberance
after so wonderful an event.
Not only was the physical symptom eradicated,
he was restored to the community.

Think of it,
he could talk to people!
He could give someone a hug!
He could drape his arm around the shoulder of his best friend…
and maybe it had been 3 years, 5 years, 10 years
since he was able to do so!

It must have been like coming out of prison so, yes,
it was hard, real hard for that person
to keep quiet.

This exuberance, it seems to me,
is an important part of God’s revelation to us this morning.
You see, the healing that Christ offers
is never just an eradication
of some surface blemish,
it’s a transformation of your spirit,
a transformation
that allows you to go back on the street,
back to work, back to church
and back to the family reunion
with your head held high.

Now that’s a lesson to take home with you today:
No outer blemish,
no embarrassing failure
no sinful mistake
no feeling of guilt or shame
is going to keep Christ from reaching out to you
and touching you;
nothing will keep him from forgiving you and restoring you...
retoring you to the community, your family and those you love.


[I wish to acknowledge a "debt of inspiration" to THE WORD ENCOUNTERED by John Kavenaugh, SJ (Orbis Books, 1996) as quoted on the web site of The Center for Liturgy at St. Louis University.]

"Peace and Quiet:" The Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

The Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Go ahead, grab something.

Just reach in and grab something!

That’s right, today’s gospel is a grab-bag.
And it’s stuffed full
of ordinary items
that clutter up our life:

What’s inside?

· head-aches
· in-laws
· unexpected dinner guests
· tight schedules
· high expectations
· unrelenting pressure
· a lack of privacy

Go ahead, reach right in and grab something!

NO THANKS?

Well, if you feel like passing up the offer,
I don’t blame you…so do I.
And with good reason:
This Sunday’s gospel passage sounds too much like
my weekday hassles to interest me.

But, having said that,
you need to know that there is one item in this grab bag
that we’d all like to have.

What is it?

Something simple: Peace and Quiet.

That’s all: Just a little Peace and Quiet.

Sometimes it’s hard to grab.

In today’s passage about headaches,
unexpected guests
and demanding clients,
the only way Jesus could grab some peace and quiet
was to get up early and go for a walk.

Listen to the tiny verse tucked away
amid all the pressure and stress:

“Rising very early before dawn,
Jesus left and went to a deserted place,
where he prayed.”

* * *
Did you hear that?
Sounds as though you’re not the only one
in need of some peace and quiet after all!

Is there anything we can learn from today’s passage?

Actually, there’s so much to learn,
it’s hard to know where to begin.

“Rising very early before dawn,
Jesus left and went to a deserted place,
where he prayed.”

What do you see when you apply your imagination
to this verse?

Does he awake with a start? As out of bad dream?
Perhaps his sleep was restless
and he awakes with a headache.

Does he feel his way around the darkened room
searching for the door?
Is the stone floor cold to the touch of his feet?

Is he careful not to wake the other disciples?
Does he stumble over Matthew or Judas or James
on his way out the door?

Once outside, how far must he walk?
Does he head for the dock where Peter’s boat is moored?
Or does he cut through a vineyard or an olive grove,
or a farmer’s field covered with a heavy dew?

Why does he do this?

Was it simply to find some peace and quiet?

I doubt it.
If that’s all he wanted,
he could have sat on the stoop
of that house and waited for dawn to come.

He wasn’t looking for peace and quiet.
He was looking for truth;
he was seeking the truth about his life;
the truth deep down inside of himself.

* * *
Put yourself in his sandals for a moment.

Isn’t this the same reality that you seek
when, on some morning, you rise early
before the others in the house begin to stir?

You feel the touch of linoleum on the soles of your feet.
You try not to wake the others…
you rub your eyes.
Maybe you sit at the kitchen table and, for a moment,
you stare at your daughter’s book bag
and your heart goes out to her
because you know how much she struggles to have a friend,
she needs a friend, but there is nothing you can do about it.
And the room around you is silent
but in its silence, you touch the truth…a truth about yourself
that is connected to your daughter and your love for her…
a truth about your life that only the silence of an early morning
can convey.

Maybe, at that point, you get up and go into the living room.
You run your hand across the mantle
and look at the pictures:
· Your wedding day.
· Your parents.
· A son in a football jersey.
And the pictures are silent but they speak a truth…
a gentle truth about that which is most important to you…
the truth of who you are and who you are yet to be;
an image of yourself
set within the frame of all the love and grace that you have received
and placed on the sturdy mantle
of the suffering and the sacrifice you have offered.

This is the truth that waits for you
on a weekday morning
in the silent prayer
of a suburban house.

The truth of who you are in this world
and truth of who you are in God.

It’s there in the solitude.
You can sense it in the beating of your heart;
feel it in the warmth of your skin.

The “you” you are to yourself.
The “you” you are to God.

* * *
Perhaps, at this point, you notice the sky beginning to lighten.
You make a cup of coffee
and carry it into the den.
There is a stack of bills at one corner of the desk,
a cell phone at the other and,
next to the desk chair, a broken printer.

The presence of the soul recedes
and you feel the work and concerns of the new day edge in.
Soon your family will be awake.
Soon the phone will ring
and someone will turn on the TV
and someone will be pulling a pair of jeans
out of the clothes dryer.

But you will have touched a truth about who you are,
a truth that is deep; deeper than
the work and the routine and the schedule and the hurry of your life.

We can’t live without this type of prayer.
Our lives turn crazy if we never practice this kind of prayer.

And the reason is simple:
We can’t live without knowing the truth
of who we are.