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.
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.
posted by BlueCollarPreacher at 4:24 PM
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