Division: 26th Sunday of the Year

Homily for the 26th Sunday of the Year

Everywhere we look, anywhere we go,
we encounter differences.

Different cultures.
Different opinions.
Different religions.

In general, differences don’t bother us too much
until they come walking through our front door
and we’re forced to deal with them

For example:

Someone from another religion marries into your family.

The part-time minister at the factory where you work
invites you to join a Bible study on Wednesday mornings
in the break room.

The daughter in whom you invested 12 years of Catholic education
announces that she no longer believes in God.

Differences. Some are easier to accept than others.
This is especially true when it comes to matters of the heart.

When it comes to matters of the heart and soul,
simple differences can quickly turn into sharp divisions.

It even shows up in the gospel.
Today’s reading from the Gospel of Mark is a prime example:

“Lord, that man over there is not of our company,
tell him to quit using your name.
He’s not applied for use of the trademark.
He’s a stranger.
We question his credentials.”

Differences.
Some are hard to swallow.

Move from the gospel book to the history book
and you’ll see the tragic story of all the wars
fought in the name of religion.

Different religions.

Move from the history book to the nightly news
and you’ll hear stories about religious division
alive and lethal in our own day.

But don’t stop there.
Don’t stop with the bad news.
Go on to the good news…
the good news found in the words of Jesus who reminds us today that
differences are not the same as division.

Differences exist,
divisions are made.

Like most sins,
it feels good to make division,
to draw a line and bask in the pride
that convinces you
that you’ve staked your claim
on the right side of the divide.

But drawing a line is serious business.

In post 9/11 America,
we’re tragically aware of what happens
when lines are drawn in hatred and fear.

We recently commemorated the fifth anniversary of that terrible day.

I’m sure you watched some programs
and read some articles about on it.

The most striking article that I read
was written by Peggy Noonan.

The title of her article was, “I Just Called to Say I Love You.”1

Her words moved me.
They focused, not on the images from that day,
but the sounds.

She writes:

“I think about the phone calls and messages left on answering machines, all the last things said to whoever was home and picked up the phone. They awe me, those messages.”

Thirty-one-year-old Melissa Harrington,
a California-based trade consultant
attending a meeting in the Towers
called her father to say she loved him.
Minutes later she left a message on the answering machine
as her new husband slept in their San Francisco home,
“Sean, it’s me. I just wanted to let you know that I loved you.”

Captain Walter Hynes of the New York Fire Department dialed home
and left this message:
“I don’t know if we’ll make it out.
I want you to know that I love you and I love the kids.”

Something terrible had happened.
Time was short, life was reduced to its essentials.
Noonan reminds us that
there is no record of anyone calling to say,
“I never liked you,” or “You hurt my feelings.
Amazingly, or not, there is no record of anyone damning the terrorists
or saying, “I hate them.”

Differences are a reality in our world.
Divisions are a choice.

But so is love.
And love is of God.

The Competitive Edge: 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Friends,

It's been a tough week. I've had to make some tough administrative calls this week, there's a difficult situation in my family and I just finished a homily for the seminary's web site (their deadline is a week ahead of BlueCollarPreacher).

With my measly excuses now out of the way, all I have left to offer you is a rewrite of a homily from three years ago. I hope to have something new and fresh to deliver on Sunday. In the meantime, however, tak a look at this one and let me know how it could be improved.

Thanks,
JMS

“Then he took a child and stood the child in their midst… and said to them, ‘Whoever welcomes such a child in my name, welcomes me.’”

This is a touching scene from the Gospel of St. Mark.

I’m sure we’ve seen many depictions of Jesus with the children
throughout our life:
in prayer books,
children’s Bibles,
stained glass windows
classrooms and hospital corridors.

Regardless of how often we’ve seen a depiction
of Jesus with the children,
there is always something missing from the picture.

The visual representation
never includes the actual context
in which the words in today’s are spoken:

“What were you discussing along the way?” he asks.
But they remain silent
because they were arguing over who was more important.

So he informs them, in no uncertain terms,
that if anyone who follows him
and wishes to rank first, must be willing to be last of all
and servant of all.

Then, to make his point absolutely clear,
he places a child in their midst and says,
“Whosoever welcomes such a child,
welcomes me and whoso ever welcomes me
welcomes the One who sent me.”

So, you see, the passage is more about stiff competition
than it is about children;

The disciples, you see,
were trying
to elbow each other aside,
bragging about who was making the best impression.

So, when Jesus draws a child out of the crowd,
it is in response to their
jockeying for position and status,
he says,
“Those who receive a child in my name,
receive me.”

This is radical information!

He’s telling them to approach God
as they would approach a child.

What does this mean?

Well, ask yourself,
how do you go about
impressing a child?

Are they impressed with credentials
like diplomas and college degrees?

Are they impressed with
where we live,
what kind of vehicle we drive
or how much money we might have in the bank?

I don’t think so.

Rather, I heard once and then to believe this:

What children want to know is
will we accept them or reject them?

Will we help them or hurt them?

Can they believe us? Can they depend on us?

They’ll look at you and know whether or not
you can smile with your eyes as well as your mouth.

The message in today’s gospel is clear:

When that time comes to present ourselves to God,
what impresses a child impresses God.

Can we play a game without getting mad?

Can we forgive without getting even?

Can we smile with our heart as well as our lips?

Do we gaze in wonder at the stars?

Is each new day a miracle?

Do we take delight in flowers and like to run in the rain?

"Say What?" The 24th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Homily for the 24th Sunday in Ordinary Time

[Please send your comments and suggestions to jms48@fuse.net]

I was talking with Fr. Dressman, the pastor of St. Jude Parish,
our neighbor to the west,
just a couple of days ago.

We had lunch at Nick and Tom’s
and, as men tend to do,
we asked each other how “things” were going.

Notice, I used the term, “things.”

“Rick, how are things going?”

He told about their new parish center.

He looked at me and asked,
“Jim, how are things going?”

I told about the renovation of the church undercroft.

And that’s how the conversation got started.
But God had other plans
because, at a certain point, we started talking about how,
here on the west side, it’s easy to talk the “things” going on in our parishes,
but it’s hard for us to talk about the “faith” that’s going on inside our parishes.

That’s nothing new.
It applies to most Catholics, even us priests.

It’s a glaring indication of how easy it is
to be a Christian by culture.
And the challenge it is
to be a Christian of conviction.

It’s easy to float along as a Westside Catholic.
It’s easy to talk about Elder and LaSalle.
It’s easy to shake our head at problems in our church.

But it takes effort
to answer the question in today’s gospel
that Christ poses to each and everyone of us:

“Who do you say that I am?”

That question stops us in our tracks doesn’t it?

Yet, if we have ears to hear, that’s the line that the Lord
keeps whispering and whispering in our ear
throughout our life.

“Who do you say that I am?”

It’s like a gentle knock on the door,
that chime on the computer that let’s you know
someone just sent you an e-mail.

“Janice, who do you say that I am?”
“Todd, who do you say that I am?”

The journey of faith begins with Christ knocking on the door of your heart.

It shows up in a lot of different ways.

1. It might be a spiritual hunger in your soul.
2. It might be the call to love in a more courageous way
3. It might be the experience of upheaval in your life caused by
disappointment, illness or difficult transition.

If we open the door to God at such times,
if we have the courage to follow Christ into a place
we’ve never been before…

then, at some memorable moment,
God will surprise us and bless us beyond our wildest dream.

The lives of the saints tell us this over and over again.

So what can’t we do the same?

Let’s start talking about our faith,
it’s not hard to do.

You don’t believe me?
Well, let me give you an example.

The other day when Fr. Rick and I were having lunch,
we were talking about how our two parishes can get to know each other better.

And, as you might expect,
we right away slipped into the rut
of talking about “things.”
You know, programs, events, items on the calendar.

And I said,
“Rick, we need to talk about more than programs.
We need to talk about faith, hope and love.
How can we help our two communities
recognize the hand of God and the movement of the Spirit
within our two parishes?”

Now, when I put that out on the table,
it was a real conversation stopper.

It was like that question Jesus asked St. Peter,
“Who do you day that I am?”

Well, we struggled with the issue a bit.
Then Fr. Rick,
“You know, our parish is really concerned about a young boy in our school
who’s struggling with cancer right now.”

I look at Fr. Rick and said,
“You know, that’s something I’m going to share with my Pastoral Council
and we’ll pray for him and his family and for your parish.”

That’s my example
and I think it illustrates the point that it’s not that hard to talk about
faith, hope and love.

It’s simple a matter of making the effort
to talk about things that matter.

When you talk about things that lift your spirit
or weigh on your mind,
you’re talking about the things of God.

And, if you listen close, you’ll hear Christ
giving a gentle knock on the door of your heart.

Amazing!: 23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time

First Draft

Dear Friends,

This homily focuses more on the meaning of the Mass than it does the Scripture passages this weekend. In this sense, it's more of a "mystagogical" homily than a biblical one. For this reason, you might want to keep this homily in mind for use at a future RCIA session.

I'm open to your suggestions. Let me know what you think. Once again, I need to apologize for the late posting.

JMS

“They were exceedingly astonished.
‘He does all things well!
He makes the deaf hear and the mute speak!’”

When was the last time you were “exceedingly astonished?”

Occasionally we hear about seemingly ordinary individuals
doing extraordinary things.
Now and then,
we have the privilege of meeting such an individual.
Sometimes we know them personally.

Let me give an example of someone from my hometown.

His name is Tony
and when Tony was 18 years old,
he had a diving accident at a public pool,
an accident
which paralyzed him from the chest down.

I have no idea how devastating that experience must have been
for a healthy, strapping young man
who loved to hunt, fish and play every kind of sport.

The prospect of facing the rest of your life
in that kind of condition is,
for most of us, too terrible to contemplate.

Yet, back in my hometown,
shortly after the accident occurred,
we heard that Tony had learned to use a computer
even though he couldn’t move a single finger.
Later still, he was driving around town in a van
and eventually got himself a fulltime a job.

Those achievements alone be amazing enough but,
if you ever go up to Fort Loramie, Ohio
on almost any weekend in the summertime,
if the wind is calm, you’ll see ultra-light aircraft
flying over the village and fields of corn and soybeans.

And that’s Tony up there.
500 feet above ground.
Flying free.
Going wherever he wants.

Looking down on the town he loves
from an angle few get to enjoy.

Looking down on the runway
where his wheelchair sits empty,
without him in it.

What makes us admire such individuals so much?

What is it that draws us into their experience
and ends up giving us a better understanding
and a deeper appreciation
of what it means to be human?

If you ask me,
it has something to do
with getting close enough
to touch
someone’s deepest fear,
their deepest pain,
and know something of their darkest hour.

And, somehow, in the telling of their story,
we stand next to them the moment the light breaks in.

It’s not happening to us
but, for a fleeting moment,
we’re given the hope and inspiration that,
would such a thing happen to us,
we too would somehow break through and break free!

And that, my friends,
is exactly what is meant to happen
each time we experience the greatest prayer on earth
known as the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

Think of this way.
Just a minute ago were right next to a paralyzed man
flying in an ultra light air craft
over that small Ohio town.

We were there, right there with him.
And something of his spirit
touched our hearts and rejuvenated our spirits.

For just a moment, we entered into a young person’s greatest fear
and, for a fleeting second, felt a little something of his darkest night.

And, I don’t know about you,
but for a moment I thought myself,
“If I could just hang around someone like Tony long enough,
I’d learn to be a hero too.”

This is the spiritual dynamic that takes place at every Mass.

We take our place at the foot of Jesus’ cross
and we enter into the deepest, darkest moment of a human being’s life.
Except this particular human being also happens to be
the Hero and Savior of the Human Race.

We stand at the side of a man paralyzed from the chest down,
nailed to wood,
unable to move,
in excruciating pain.

But he won’t give up.
His spirit won’t fail.

He conquers!
He overcomes it all!

The power of his faith in God,
the power of his love for his Father
breaking through the barrier wall of death.

Soon, very soon,
he rises from the dead
and ascends into the heavens.

And he says,
“Come along, come join me.
See how beautiful it looks from up here!”

And someday, we’ll look down on our paralyzed lives
and know that because we admired a man named Jesus
and got to be friends with the Son of God,
we were able to conquer our fears, walk in the light,
and learn how to fly.

True Religion: 22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time

First Draft

Dear Readers,

I have a wedding rehearsal tonight, therefore no homily reflection group to give me advance input. So, I'm relying on you!

Please send your reactions and suggestion on the homily below to me ASAP at jms48@fuse.net.

Thanks for your help. JMS

Business is business.

We know that phrase.

It means that,
“at the end of the day,”
“all things being equal”
when you “get down to bras tacks,”

well, business is business.

In other words, when there’s a job to get,
there’s no time for “monkey business,”
because “business is business.”


Take the world of finance as an example.

When you go to the bank,
what you see on the paper matches the amount in the account.
There’s no room for variance.
What you see is what you have.

The same holds true in the world of medicine.
If you suspect that you have an illness,
you want the doctor’s diagnosis to be on the mark.
Medical practitioners strive for the highest level of accuracy.

We expect the same from the criminal justice system.
For the good of society and the protection of the innocent,
the punishment must fit the crime.

When push comes to shove,
business is business and there’s no monkeying around.

That’s true in the banks, in the courtrooms, in hospitals.

And it’s also true in the churches.

This is the reason why, Jesus Christ,
the founder of our religion
was so hard those practitioners of religion in his day,
who did not realize the devastating effect
of hypocrisy in the leaders of religion.

Like a corrupt judge,
an incompetent doctor
or a banker with his hand in the till…
it is essential that people like me
practice what they preach.

The message is reiterated in the passage from St. James:
“Be doers of the Word, not hearers only.”

We’re used to the phrase, “business is business.”

Maybe we should adop a new saying:
“Religion is religion.”

Meaning,
“Real religion is real religion.”

Have any of you seen the movie World Trade Center?

I’ve not seen the movie
but a review by Rod Dreher that indicates that it conveys an important message,
a message very similar to the spirit of today’s readings.

He points out that, in the movie, World Trade Center,
the two heroes lie buried alive under the rubble of the collapsed towers,
they – and their wives at home – reflect on their lives,
come to understand who and what they really love,
and what they wish they had done with their lives.

The burning towers illuminate the true character
of all the firemen, cops and rescue personnel
who ran into them to pull people out –
and men like Father Mychal Judge, the Catholic priest
who died that day ministering to the fallen.

They were the kind of people who conquered their fear
because they had a job to do.
And it's not something they decided to do on a lark:
the making of their character
began long before the time of their testing.
September 11 illuminated what was already inside.

They didn't become on that morning the kind of men
who would give their lives
to run into the burning towers;
they ran into those towers because long ago,
they became the sort of men who would do that sort of thing.

That's why they chose to be
cops, firefighters, rescue personnel, a priest:
the kind of people who run toward danger.

The kind of people
who live the Word, not just hear it!

So you see, true religion—the kind of religion that builds your character
and shapes your soul—has very little to do
with the clothes you wear on Sunday.

Nor is it found in the words I speak from the pulpit,

Rather, “at the end of the day, when push comes to shove,”
it’s how our love for God is put into practice day after day
that determines whether or not
the religion we profess
is the religion that we live.