The Prayer called Fear: 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Dear Friends,

Here's two weeks worth! Below are drafts for both the 30th and 31st Sundays in Ordinary Time (I was on deadline to produce a homily for the Athenaeum of Ohio's web site this weekend). Please feel free to offer critiques on both. Your feedback is much appreciated. You can contact me at jms48@fuse.net.

Thanks for your interest,
JMS

Homily for the 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Son of Thunder. Son of Fear.

Just last week, we hard about two brothers
named James and John
asking if Jesus wouldn’t mind reserving two seats for them in heaven,
one at this right, the other at his left.

The request strikes us as a bit bold,
but it shouldn’t surprise us.

James and John were proud men, aggressive men
and that’s how they got name:
“Sons of Thunder.”

That’s what folks called them and I suspect they were proud of their nickname
and tried to live up it.

But today’s gospel is a different story.
We don’t have “son of thunder,”
we have a “son of fear.”

That’s what Bartimaeus means, “son of fear.”

How would you like to go through life being called
“Scaredy Cat?”

I wouldn’t be surprised if, as a kid in school,
Bartimaeus was one of those kids who prayed for rainy days
so he wouldn’t have to go out on the playground
for a daily dose of humiliation:

“Hey, Wobbly Knees, did you leave your backbone on the bus today?”

Bartimaeus. Son of Fear.
______

But there’s another way Bartimaeus might have his name.

True, it might have been his nickname.
Then again, it might have been his real name,
the name he inherited from his father.

For a young boy growing up,
I don’t know which would be worse.
To get called Chicken on the playground,
or know that everyone in town
called your father Chicken
all the time.

In know a guy back in Darke County called Hawkeye.
His real name’s Eugene but everyone called him Hawkeye
because he’s a real good hunter.

Hawkeye is a name that commands respect,
Chicken is not.

So maybe Bartimaeus tried to clear his name.
Maybe he rebelled
and tried throw off that name
and prove his manhood
by taking a dare, taking a risk…
tried to swim a river,
tried to fight a bully,
tried to put out a fire
but ended up failing…
losing his sight
losing his nerve.

And maybe that’s why, today,
Jesus finds him sitting in the ditch
alongside the road,
muttering a pathetic prayer
and everyone standing around telling him to just shut up.

Bartimaeus.

What’s you going to do with a guy like Bartimaeus?

Most people lack patience
when it comes to dealing people
like Bartimaeus.

Of course, people who liken themselves to Thunder
can wear on your nerves,
but not like the Chicken-little who wring their hands,
shake in their boots
and give up before the fight begins.

Somehow, we feel safe at the side of a son of thunder,
but get nervous at the side of a Bartimaeus, a son of fear.

Let me give you an example:

A woman gets a call from her brother in the middle of the night.
He’s in a terrible state.
He’s lost his job, he’s lost his home, he’s lost his will to live.

She’s heard it before, it’s nothing new.
Her brother struggles with an emotional illness
that blinds him to the goodness of life so, every now and then,
the world gets too heavy,
the world grows too dark
and he runs away…

and his fearful sobs over the phone
stir the feelings of fear in her
as she and her husband, once again,
travel the streets of the city
looking for the car that belongs to the man of fear.

They check the Wal-Mart parking lot,
they drive the boulevard,
they spend the night in fear looking for one who lives in fear.

What do you do on a night like that?

Better yet,
what do you do on a night
when you yourself can’t sleep
because you are overcome with fear over a son or daughter in Iraq
or the lump you discovered in your breast that morning
or the call from the collection agency that afternoon?

What do you do realize that, deep down,
your name isn’t Thunder, it’s Bartimaeus?

What you need to do is pray the prayer of Barimaeus:
“Son of David, have pity on me.”

It’s sorry kind of prayer.
It’s humble and it’s weary and it’s the prayer of last resort.

But at least it’s a prayer.

I’ve prayed that prayer more than I care to admit.

And I suspect just about everyone here has done the same.

“Lord, my life’s a mess, a pitiful mess.
Have pity on me. Son of David, have pity on me.”

Jesus heard that prayer.

Just as he heard the prayer of the thief on the cross.
He heard the sobs of Peter in the courtyard.
He saw the terror in the eyes of the woman about to be stoned.

He hears the prayers of those in fear.

He hears your prayers, all your prayers.
Even the one’s you’re too afraid to put into words.

_______________________________________________________


Homily for the 31st Sunday in Ordinary Time

A couple of weeks ago
I accepted an invitation from a retired parishioner
to join him on a tour of the power plant
where his son worked as director of operations.

Inside the plant, turbines roar with the sound of jet engines,
turning generators to produce electricity
for a university campus, neighboring homes,
local factories and research hospitals.

The complex is huge:
boilers, steam drums, condensers,
cooling towers, high voltage transmission lines.
I stand in awe at the power being generated just a few feet away
and in awe of the responsibility of those in charge of it.

The elderly gentleman at my side spent most his life in the industry.
He served as foreman of the substation switchyard
located next to the power plant that his son now operates.
The father maintains a keen interest in the field.
He and his son share the same interests
and speak the same language.
As I listen and observe,
the mutual admiration between this father and son
becomes as obvious as the turbines are loud.

The first and greatest commandment,
mentioned in today’s readings,
is to “to love God with one’s whole heart, mind and strength.”
and one’s neighbor as one’s self.

We’ve heard these words throughout our lives.
They churn like a mighty turbine at the heart of the spiritual life.
And yet, their direct influence on our everyday actions
seems indirect and far removed.

For instance, most days begin with commercials and commuter traffic.
In the hours that follow, we expend our energy on the things of this world
as opposed to those of the next.

Like the electricity on which so much of our life depends
--like the electricity that powers our computers at work
and our refrigerators at home--
we house the dangerous words about loving God “with all our power”
somewhere on the outskirts of our awareness
in the way we locate power plants on the outskirts of our cities.

When we acknowledge the fact that
we tend to give “side-line treatment”
to the greatest commandment of God’s commandments,
we wind up feeling spiritually inadequate;
despite the fact that we’re given
tremendous energy from God,
our day-to-day efforts pay scant attention to God.

In other words, we drop our envelope in the collection plate
in the way we mail the monthly check that pays the utility bill.

But God’s eyes (thank God!) are larger than ours.
Do you ever wonder what God observes at the beginning of each day
as we humans wake to houses filled with the noise of morning commercials?
Only to push our way out the door through traffic to yet another round
of research and development, factory production,
office management, sales promotion and industry quotas?

The French scientist and theologian,
Fr. Teilhard de Chardin, once wrote a fascinating essay called,
“The Mass on the World,”
In this reflection, he suggested that the offering of our daily work
and the sacrifice of our human labor
is infinitely pleasing to God;
nothing less than participation
in the divine and on-going development of creation.

From this cosmic perspective,
the command to “love God with all our heart, mind and strength”
expands to include everything we do.
For, truly, we are all children of God,
expending our energy and living our lives
in ways that, in the end, give glory to God our Creator.

How pleased must God be when,
like that father and son shouting their silent admiration
through the noise of turbines and condensers,
we find ourselves in a similar position to the son,
surprised at how much we’ve been molded in another’s image,
taking on the same line of work,
sharing the same vision,
speaking the same language!

So it is with all of us as, day after day,
as, with heart, mind and strength,
we expend our energy and bend our lives
to the shape of God.

A Good Kind of Suffering: 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Second Draft

Suffering is a tough topic to handle. Let me know what you think of this homily and its attempt to compare the experience of Christ's suffering with the experience of human love.

Send your comments to me at jms48@fuse.net.

Your feedback is appreciated.

Fr. Jim

PS: For readers interested in charting the development of this homily, the first draft immediately follows that of the second.

Homily for the 29th Sunday of the Year

Through his suffering, my servant shall justify many,
and their guilt he shall bear.

“Through his suffering…”

That’s a powerful statement.

No one likes to suffer,
we don’t even like to think about suffering.

It is ugly and horrible
and we avoid it as much as we can at every opportunity.

Or do we?

Is there a good kind of suffering?
Is there a kind of suffering that’s worth its cost?

Yes, there is.
And you don’t have to look very far to find it:

Parents sacrifice many things, countless things,
so their children might have a better life than they had.

People make financial sacrifices in order to ensure a financial future;
come collection time, we’ll make an offering to ensure the future of this parish
and all the good that’s accomplished here
by the grace of God and the love of Christ
who rescued you and rescued me from everlasting death
at the cost of his own life.

When we come to Mass,
we come to realize that grace isn’t cheap
and salvation is won at the cost of great pain.

That’s what Isaiah is getting at when, in today’s first reading he writes:

Through his suffering, my servant shall justify many,
and their guilt he shall bear.

That’s why, when we come to Mass,
we gather beneath a crucifix,
not a Bengals banner
or a Nike Sign…
or a big screen at the US Bank Arena.

We come to proclaim the death of Christ,
to give thanks for suffering he endured.

His is the good kind of suffering.
Which is to say that his suffering is redemptive.
Which is to say that his suffering is like that of a sister who undergoes surgery
to donate a kidney, a part of her body, so that her brother might live.

That’s the way it is with all us here today.
We come to Mass to receive the Body of Christ..
that we might live…
that we might have life and have it in abundance,
a life that is free…
free of sin,
free of addiction,
free of fear…

but, not free from the suffering that true love entails.

Nowhere in the Gospel does it promise
that our life in Christ will be free from suffering
with Christ
in Christ
and through Christ…

I’m talking here about the kind of suffering
that comes from living the kind of love that Jesus lived.

And that’s what Jesus means in today’s gospel
when he challenges John and James:

“Can you drink of the cup of suffering of which I am to drink?”

These are hard words for you to hear
and they are hard words for me to speak.

I don’t cotton to them anymore than any of you.

But they ring true…and you know they do.

I stood at the side of a husband this week
who cried as he stood beside the bed of his wife of nearly 60 years
knowing that her time is drawing short.
As his wife slept he tried to put into words
the agony he feels.
At that moment, his suffering was deep
but his love was far deeper.
The witness of his love overwhelmed me.

Suffering is bad, suffering is good.

“Can you drink the cup of which I am to drink?” asks the Lord?

It’s the same question that lies at the heart of every vow,
every promise,
every sacred oath
to give your all
in the name of love, duty, obedience to God.

The kind of love that counts no cost.
The kind of love that saved our souls.
The kind of love that saves the world.

__________

Frist Draft--Somebody, anybody. Help!

The emphasis on suffering in today's readings resonate with recent tragedies tha have struck close to home and far too close for comfort.

The draft that follows is unfinished and, unfortunately, a wedding rehearsal this evening precludes my usual Friday night gathering of parishioners to assist me in composing this weekend's homily.

Please let me know any insights or suggestions the Spirit might be sending your way.

As always, thanks for your consideration and input.

Fr. Schmitmeyer

Homily for the 29th Sunday of the Year

Through his suffering, my servant shall justify many,
and their guilt he shall bear.

“Through his suffering…”

That’s a powerful statement.

No one likes to suffer,
we don’t even like to think about suffering.

It is ugly and horrible
and we avoid it as much as we can at every opportunity.

Or do we?

Is there a good kind of suffering?
Is there a kind of suffering that saves, justifies, restores?

Yes, there is.
And you don’t have to look very far to find it:

Parents willingly forgo many things, countless things,
so their children might have a better life than they had.

Each one of us here makes financial sacrifices in order to ensure
a financial future;
come collection time, we make an offering
that ensures the future of this parish and all the good that’s accomplished here
by the grace and love of Christ who redeemed you and redeemed from our slavery to sin
at the cost of his own life.

That’s what Isaiah is getting at when, in today’s first reading he writes:

Through his suffering, my servant shall justify many,
and their guilt he shall bear.

When we come to Mass,
we gather beneath the crucifix
and expose ourselves to a good and beneficial kind of suffering.

Like a sister who undergoes surgery
in order to donate a kidney, a part of her body,
that her brother might live,
we come here to receive the Body of Christ that we might live…
free of sin, free of addiction, free of fear…

But nowhere in the Bible does it promise
that our life in Christ will be free from suffering or pain.

And that’s what Jesus is getting at in today’s gospel
when he challenges John and James:

“Can you drink of the cup of suffering of which I am to drink?”

The Eucharist: Heaven's Security Gate: 28th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Homily - Second Draft

Here's a cleaned-up version. My thanks to Steve for his suggestion to highlight something of what we receive back when we turn our lives over to Christ. This helped me in the conclusion of the homily. I'm still not satisfied, however, with the lack of a "Okay, now here's how we do this" segment.

Let me know what you think.

Fr. Jim (jms48@fuse.net)

Homily for 28th Sunday in Ordinary Time

If you commute to work…
if you listen to traffic reports…
about conditions on I-275
or slow downs at Lytle Tunnel
or the Cut-in-the-Hill
than can easily relate to today’s gospel reading.
Why?
Because it refers to a traffic snarl-up
for travelers to Jerusalem back in Jesus’ time.

Bible scholars, you see, tell us
that there was once a gate into the city of Jerusalem
that was low and narrow.

The transporters of the day had a name for it.
It wasn’t “the Cut-in-the-Hill,”
they called it “the Eye of the Needle”
because it was a pain in the neck.

Caravans and merchants
had to unload the camels of their cargo
in order to get them through “the Eye of the Needle.”

Now, in today’s gospel, Jesus refers to that bottleneck
to illustrate how hard it is
for people to let go of their insecurities
and put their trust in God.

“It is easier for a camel
to pass through “the eye of the needle,”
than it is for a rich man
to get into heaven.”

Now, as you all know,
I don’t have to commute to work.
But I do like to visit the work places
where my parishioners spend so much of their time.

A couple of weeks,
I joined a city building inspector whose current assignment
is to oversee the extensive road work taking place
on Martin Luther King, Jr. Drive
between University of Cincinnati and the Federal EPA Building.

Part of that project includes a new security gate
into the parking facilities at the EPA building.

Everyone on the job site is intrigued by this.gate.
In the course of one hour I heard two different discussions
about this mechanical gate which can stop
20 ton truck coming at it at 30 miles per hours.

I wonder if the Lord Jesus might find some similarity
between the gate called “the eye of the needle”
and the security gate at federal Building here in our own city?

And, instead of talking about unloading cargo from camel,
might he have something to say
about the difficulty we have when it comes
to unloading our security
and placing our trust in him?

I think he might. Why?
Because a rich man is a fearful man.

Jesus isn’t speaking about riches
as much as he is speaking about insecurity
that comes with having a lot of loot.

It’s hard to get into heaven
when you can’t put your trust in God.

And you and me, well, we live in a fearful society today.
Our insecurity makes it hard
to place our trust in God.

No matter how many bags are inspected at the airports.
No matter how many metal detectors are placed at the doors of our schools.
No matter what type of health insurance you might carry.
No matter how strong of a pension plan you think you might have…

if you can’t put your ultimate trust in God
then deep down you’re insecure, you're nervous, you live in fear.

Without trust in God,
without an abiding fiendship with Jesus Christ,
the foundation of your life...
and your reason for walking the face of the face of earth...
turns to sand.

You all know the story about the farmer who bought more land
and built more silos.
“Finally, I have security,” he says.
“I have wealth stored up for years to come.
Now, finally, I can sit back, eat, drink and be merry.”
But God says, “You fool! Tonight your life will required of you.”

No doubt, it’s hard to let go
of the things we work so hard to get.

But that’s why, on our way to God’s table today,
we find ourselves in line at a check point.

As Jesus himself said,
"Those who feed on me will live because of me."

This means that the Eucharist is the gateway to heaven.

It also means that Eucharist functions
as the security gate into heaven.

So today, as we stand in line for Holy Communion,
let's picture ouselves in line at a security check.
Make certain that we realize that,
to partake fully in the banquet,
we’re required to hand over, not only our belongings,
but our very lives.

Why?

The answer's easy.

It's so that,
with open hearts and open hands,
we might grasp as much of God ...as we can.


__________________


Dear Friends,

The first draft of this week's homily has a sore butt, that is, it's weak at the end. I think I did a good job of dressing the "the eye of the needle" in contemporary garb, but the ending seems predictable and undeveloped. Any ideas you might have would be appreciated. Post them on the discussion board or e-mail them directly to me at jms48@fuse.net.

Thanks!
JMS

Homily for 28th Sunday in Ordinary Time

It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle
than for one who is rich to enter the kingdom of God."
They were exceedingly astonished and said among themselves,
"Then who can be saved?"
Jesus looked at them and said,
"For human beings it is impossible, but not for God.
All things are possible for God."

Modern day commuters who listen to traffic reports
about road conditions on I-275 or slow downs at Lytle Tunnel or the Cut-in-the-Hill
can relate to today’s gospel reading
because travelers making their way into Jerusalem
also had traffic slow-downs and highway bottle-necks to deal with.

Bible scholars, for instance, tell us
that there was once a gate into the city of Jerusalem
that was low and narrow.
The truckers of their day had a name for it.
They didn’t call it the Cut-in-the-Hill,
they referred to it as The Eye of the Needle.
And it was a pain in the neck.
Caravans and merchants who approached the outskirts of the city
from that direction
had to unload the camels of their cargo
in order to get them through “the Eye of the Needle.”

Jesus used that narrow gate
to illustrate how hard it is
for people to let go of their insecurities
and put their trust in God.

You know, a couple of weeks,
I was on the job site with a parishioner
who’s overseeing the extensive road work taking place
on Martin Luther King, Jr. Drive
between University of Cincinnati and the Federal EPA Building.

Part of that project includes a new gate into the parking facilities at the EPA.

I got to listen in on a couple of discussions
about the strength of that gate which is engineered to stop
a 20 ton truck going 30 mph.

I wonder, if Jesus had engaged people in Cincinnati instead of Jerusalem,
if he might not point to a security gate
like the one outside the Federal EPA Building
and remind us that it’s not easy to break into heaven.

“It’s easier for a terrorist to ram a truck through a security barrier
than an frightened person to feel secure in today’s world or in the world to come.

I like the idea of a security gate at the EPA Building
as opposed to the city gate in the wall of Jerusalem
because the word that Jesus speaks today
is not simply about unloading cargo from a camel.
He’s really speaking about security
and how, no matter what we do,
no matter how many bags are inspected at the airports
no matter how many metal detectors are placed at the doors of our schools
no matter what type of health insurance you might carry
no matter how strong of a pension plan you think you might have…
if you can’t put your trust in God
you’re wasting your time,
you’re wasting your energy,
you’re wasting your life.

You all know the story about the farmer who bought more land
and built more silos.
“Finally, I have security,” he says.
“I have wealth stored up for years to come.
Now, finally, I can sit back, eat, drink and be merry.”
But God says, “You fool! Tonight your life will required of you.”

It’s hard to let go
of the things we work so hard to get.

And that’s why, on our way to God’s table today,
we find ourselves in line at a check point,
not an eye in the needle but a metal detector,
like those at an airport.

Call it God’s security barrier.
Guns and knives set off the alarm.
Laptops and cell phones must be discarded.

Like Moses before the burning bush,
we even take off our shoes.

We enter the outskirts of heaven
when we hand our life---every aspect of our life—over to God.

Out of Town

Sorry, folks. I'm out of town for a family wedding this weekend. I hope all is going well in your corner of the Vineyard. -JMS