Fear Not

Fear is a terrible thing.  Of course, it is.  Terrible things, by definition, are those things which terrorize us, which cause us to fear.  One of our greatest fears is fear of loss – the loss of people or possessions we hold dear, the loss of respect and honor, the loss of our life, the loss of love.

In our fear of loss, we desperately cling to what we wish to keep.  We zealously protect it and guard it, lest it be taken away from us.  We anxiously seek more and more, always fearing that some loss is unavoidable.

Our fears make sense in a finite world, where gains and losses are commonplace, where one person’s gain may be another person’s loss, where value is equated with price, where more is always better and less is always worse.

This is the world in which the unfortunate third servant lived. (Lk 19:11-28)  He so feared the loss of his master’s coin – and the subsequent loss of prestige that this would entail – that he could not see his true purpose.

This, also quite unfortunately, is the world in which I often live.  When I assume that my value lies only in that which can be counted, that which can be banked, that which can be summarized on a balance sheet or a list of Facebook friends, I have utterly lost any sense of true purpose, any sense of what I am intended for.

For I, like you, have been created by God and have been created for God.  I have not been created to dwell in the finiteness of this world, but in the divinity, the grace, the eternity, the faithfulness, and the infinity of God.  For this purpose, God has gifted me – as he has gifted you – with infinite and unconditional love.  It is infinite; it cannot be counted.  It is unconditional; it cannot be lost. 

And all that God asks of me – God’s purpose for me – is to give His love away in the same fashion as it was given to me.  For it is giving it away, that I become more aware of its presence.  It is in giving it away, that I live in the economy of grace, where giving multiplies that which is given, where fear of loss is banished and the gratitude of what has been given is plenteous, where more is unnecessary since what has been given – God’s love – is always enough.

Next Thursday, we have set aside a special day to give thanks to God for his great and bountiful gift of love, his gift of life.  Do not fear.  It cannot be lost.  It is enough.  We need nothing more.

A Gilded Heart

When the Romans destroyed the Temple in 70 A.D, they expected the Jewish religion to just fade away, but they failed to reckon with the faithfulness of God to his people.  Today, we celebrate the dedication of St. John Lateran, the mother church of our faith, the episcopal seat of the Bishop of Rome.  It is our only archbasilica!  Yet, if some disaster destroyed St. John Lateran, would anyone think the Catholic faith would crumble?

But it made sense for the Romans to think as they did, for it is almost impossible for us to comprehend how important and vital the temple was to the Jewish people of Jesus’ time.

It was the heart and soul of the faith.  It housed the holiest of holies, the Ark of the Covenant, and was where Yahweh chose to dwell with his people.  It was the only place where a Jew could offer sacrifice to Yahweh and properly atone for his sins.  Tens of thousands of Jews descended on Jerusalem on each of the major feast days to worship and sacrifice at the temple.

Ezekiel, writing during the Babylonian exile with Solomon’s temple destroyed, envisions the new temple with streams flowing from it, making the salt water fresh, and giving life to all creatures. (Ez 47:1-12) The vision evokes for us the streams flowing from the Garden of Eden.  (Gn 2:10-14) The temple, in Ezekiel’s vision restores the peace and original justice of the Garden itself.

With Herod’s extensive renovations, the temple in Jesus’ day had surpassed the magnificence of Solomon’s original.  Outside of Rome, it was perhaps the most impressive and imposing building in the Mediterranean world.  Thus, it was also a point of pride for the Jewish people, who were, at best, only bit players on the world stage.

The Jewish prophets often proclaimed the Messiah would restore and perfect the purity of the Temple.   Jesus’ prophetic cleansing of the Temple that we read about this morning (Jn 2:13-22), echoing Jeremiah’s denunciations of the desecration of the Temple in his day, would have addressed this particular mission.  But Jesus knows that the Jerusalem Temple, as all things on earth, could not last.  It was just stones on stones that, one day, would crumble.  Rather, the temple on which his followers will depend is the temple of his body, which even death itself cannot destroy, which he gives to us anew at each and every celebration of the Mass.

St. Paul extends this metaphor to make us aware that, by virtue of our baptisms, God dwells in each of us, and each of our own bodies is now a temple of the Holy Spirit.  Considering my own meager body, that’s a pretty staggering thought!

How can this poor body of mine possibly house the glory of God?  How can I hold this temple of the Holy Spirit – and the temples of all those around me – with the same reverence and awe as the Jewish people had for the temple in Jerusalem.  What can or should I do to make my body and my life holy enough to justify such an honor?  Well, that’s a really long, long talk.  It’s our call to holiness – be perfect as your heavenly father is perfect.  Spiritual masters have written thousands of books, billions of words, on this pursuit of holiness. 

But this time of year, I think of one insight that many of these masters have in common.  One wise man said it like this, “God dwells in two places – in heaven and in a grateful heart.”

Do I see everything about me as gift, the fruits of God’s unconditional and infinite love?  Do I live always in a world of gift? 

Or do I jealously cling to all those things I claim as “mine,” the well-earned fruits of my hard work, my pious acts, or even my goodness?

St. Ignatius understood that we all find ourselves in this trap.  He saw that gratitude was an important early step on the road to holiness.  The first stage of the daily examen was to thank God for all that He had done that day, perhaps even reaching back and thanking God for all those times he directed and prodded me, provided for and protected me.  You don’t move forward in the examen until you’ve truly expressed your thanks to God for his unconditional and infinite love and providence.

Each November, before Thanksgiving, or whenever I lapse and believe that I am grateful enough, I re-read Radical Gratitude, by Mary Jo Leddy.  It’s a small book, easy to read and re-read often.  It reminds of the transformational gratitude that should always gild the temple in my heart.  It also reminds me that being happy will not lead to gratitude.  Gratitude makes me happy.

From the temple of a grateful heart, warmed by the appreciation of God’s infinite, unconditional and eternal love and providence, streams of love, streams of compassion, streams of generosity, peace and mercy flow out to the world.  And like streams flowing from the temple in Ezekiel’s vision, like the streams flowing from Jesus’ side on the cross, these streams bring life to the world.

Thanks be to God!

To Vote or Not To Vote

Famously, Jesus tells us to give to Caesar what is Caesar's, give to God what is God's. (Mt 22:15-21)  Many people have used that passage to justify separating church from state.  For most of my life, I certainly stood with those people.  I felt that this world was Caesar's, the next was God's.  How I lived my secular life was more or less unconnected to how I lived my spiritual life.  They were separate lives.

However, Jesus quickly corrects this interpretation (Mt 22:34-40).  For Jesus offers us a radical change in lifestyle.  Not so much in the laws that he cites.  The Shema, "you shall love the Lord, your God, with your whole heart, your whole soul, your whole mind" would have drawn no argument from most devout Jews.  As Deuteromomy states, it was drilled into their heads as children, they could easily agree that it held special place in the catalogue of laws.

Yet Jesus doesn't stop there.  He is asked for the single greatest commandment, yet he seems to give us two.  But listen more closely.  For Jesus says the "second is like the first."  They are as one.  We cannot love God without loving our neighbors as well.  And we cannot withhold love of neighbor without also withholding love of God.  Our secular lives, our relationships with each other on earth, are not unconnected at all to our spiritual lives, they are exact reflections of one another.

As we approach this election season, those of us of a certain age or with long political memories are reminded of Ronald Reagan's political home run in 1980.  Then, he asked "are you better off now than you were four years ago?"  As we also may remember, very few of us in 1980 could answer that question positively – and Reagan was swept to victory.  Even today, candidates are still using this line to highlight an incumbent’s failures.

Yet if we take the Jesus’ greatest law seriously, the question is not apt.  The real issue is: "are WE better off now than we were four years ago."  And the “WE” is not just our family, our parish, our town, our political party or even, for that matter, our country.  It is WE as the body of Christ, WE as fellow sons and daughters of God, WE as fellow human beings.

When we desire world peace yet continue to hoard the world’s largest supply of nuclear and chemical weapons, when we continue to be the world's largest merchant of war material and weapons of mass destruction - WE are not better off.

When we claim to be pro-life but stay silent on the daily assaults on God's precious gift of life - euthanasia, capital punishment, abortion, gun violence, poverty - WE are not better off.

When we vote to deny fellow humans access to education, basic health services and nutrition simply because they cannot document their legal existence in our country - WE are not better off.

And when we vote to cling tightly to God's gifts to preserve our own comfortable lives, while denying fellow sons and daughters of God the chance to afford decent housing for their families - WE are not better off.

In a democracy like the United States, voting is a vital part of our civic life.  But for followers of Jesus in the United States, voting is also a vital part of our spiritual life.  If we deny our neighbor in our vote, we deny our God in our hearts.  But if we affirm our neighbor with our votes, we affirm our love of God - and WE are certainly better off for that!

A Purgatory Parable

In the Gospels, we hear many parables about the kingdom of heaven, and throughout Scripture, we are presented with many images used to describe heaven and hell.  Yet, there is very little to be heard of Purgatory. 

I once heard a parable of Purgatory – I don’t remember where or from whom, and it is certainly not part of the Bible – but it gave me some insights into the mystery of Purgatory.  As best I recall, it goes like this…

The state of Purgatory is like a woman who decided to have a dinner party.  Not just any dinner party, but a very special, holiday party.  She brought out her Irish lace tablecloth, the wedding china, solid sterling silverware, crystal glassware, and her most exquisite linen napkins.  In the middle of the table sat a rather ordinary-looking cut glass bowl. While it was filled with orchids as the centerpiece, the bowl itself looked somewhat out of place among the luxurious trappings of the table. 

Yet as out of place it may have looked on the table, it held a special place in the woman’s heart.  It had been her great-grandmother’s bowl, and the woman had seen it prominently displayed and used at her grandmother’s house when she visited on holidays.  It was a fixture at every family gathering, and the woman was so pleased that it was now hers to use and to pass on to the next generation.

The dinner is a great success, with everyone enjoying the lively company and delicious food.  At the end, one of the guests, being a good friend of the hostess, stays behind to help clean up.  As she takes the centerpiece bowl into the kitchen so as to clear the table, it slips from her hands and crashes to the tile floor, shattering into countless pieces.

Knowing its great sentimental value, the guest is as shattered as the bowl, struck dumb with horror.  Before the words of apology can come of her mouth, the hostess runs over, embraces her and says, “Are you hurt?  Do not worry about the bowl, it was just an accident.  We can clean this up in no time.” 

Despite the gracious and genuine forgiveness offered by the hostess, the guest remains shattered.  She knew she could not undo what had been done; she could not replace the irreplaceable.  For some time, she avoids the hostess completely, for it pains her to be reminded of her mistakes; to be reminded of her powerlessness to right what she had done wrong.

We are all called by God to holiness, called to be one with Him who is all holy.  When we answer this call, we begin a journey towards God.  Down through the ages, spiritual masters have described this journey in many different ways.  While the images and process may differ from sage to sage, one common element is the need for purgation, the need to purge ourselves from our ego, our pride, our drive for self-reliance, so that we can accept the mercy of God.  Jesus himself often refers to this purgation when he says we must die to ourselves and be born again in Spirit and light.

But for most of us, this purgation takes a long, long time, and the journey is fraught with failure.  Even as we make some progress along the journey, we often stray from the path and when we find ourselves back to the path, we are often further back than we had been before.  The process is so long it doesn’t necessarily end when we physically die.  Surely at our deaths, we leave behind the toils and travails of an earthly life, but even though God offers us complete forgiveness of our sins, most of us – I dare say virtually all of us – probably won’t be ready to face God.  Our pride, our reluctance to accept that which we don’t deserve, keeps us from the ultimate peace and joy that is God’s gracious, undeserved, unconditional love.  We are like the guest in the parable who cannot face her friend as the friend’s face simply reminds her of her failings and her inadequacies.

Yet, when we have completely purged ourselves of pride and ego – and Jesus is confident that we will since he will ultimately draw all those who believe in him to himself (Jn 6:36-40) – we become clean of heart!  Blessed are the clean of heart, for they shall see God – and live! 

Today, we gather to commemorate and to pray for those who have left the womb of Mother Earth, but who are perhaps still on the journey to holiness, still purging the dross so as to be free to accept God in all his glory, grace, and goodness. 

But we do more than just pray for them.  We also ask them to pray for us, to pray with us, for we are in this journey together – we are a communion of saints.  I know that my dad and my father-in-law, both of whom prayed for my family and me mightily when they were here on earth, continue to pray for us as Mary and I continue to pray for them, that all of us may ultimately be free to be with God and with one another in eternal joy and eternal peace.