Let us pray

Why do I pray?  In many ways, it seems so unnecessary.

If God is all-knowing, God is all-powerful, and God is all-loving, then he knows everything I need, has the power to give me everything I need, and loves me enough to want to give everything I need.  Why are my prayers of petition necessary?

If God is secure in his being - and who could be more secure than the one who created the heavens and the earth, before whom nothing came into being - then why are my prayers of praise necessary?

If God loves me unconditionally, no matter what I say or do, simply because I am, then what do my prayers of thanksgiving or even contrition man?  God still loves me.

Yet Jesus insists that I pray.  And he leads by example.  The evangelists often write of Jesus at prayer.  In today’s passage (Lk 11:1-13), the disciples see Jesus praying and ask Jesus to teach them how to pray.

And in teaching them how to pray, Jesus gives us insight into why we should pray.

Jesus begins the prayer with “Abba”, an Aramaic term of endearment for father.  In English, it would be more properly translated as daddy or papa or pops or some other term of endearment young children would use for their father.  Of course, since every person is created by God, every person, whether Christian or not, is a child of God.  But by using the intimate term “abba,” Jesus teaches us that, as his followers, our relationship to God, our status as children of God, is much deeper and more intimate than that of creator and creature.  Instead, it is the relationship of a loving parent and a loved child. Our anxiety is replaced by comfort and peace. 

Jesus then teaches that “when we pray,” we begin with praising God, for hallowed – or holy – is his name.  In ancient thinking, a reference to one’s “name” implied the entire essence of the person.  God is the holy one, the source of all that is holy and all that is good.  Our pride is replaced by humility.

As Christians, Jesus has us pray for the entire world, for God’s kingdom to come – a kingdom of peace, a kingdom of justice, a kingdom of love.  In Matthew’s more elaborate version, we connect the coming of the kingdom with doing of God’s will.  Jesus places prayer for God’s will and prayer for others ahead of our own desires.  Our selfishness and greed is turned to selflessness and generosity.

Jesus has us pray for “daily” bread, that which sustains us, that which is necessary for our survival.  This reminds us that our sustenance is an every day affair.  At the very end we still depend on God to protect us from temptation, the final test.   Our self-righteousness is turned to gratitude.

Next, we pray for forgiveness, for we forgive all who do wrong to us.  We are reminded of our call to emulate Christ who demonstrated forgiveness to the point of forgiving even those tortured and killed him.  Our vengeance is transformed to mercy.

C. S. Lewis had it right.  When a skeptic once asked him why he thought his meager prayers could change the almighty and immutable God whom he professed, his answer was simple.  He said that his prayers did not change God, they changed him.

Whether in praise, petition, thanksgiving, contrition, or contemplation, the essence of prayer is placing us in the transforming presence of God, making us the peaceful, humble, generous, grateful, merciful servants whom God created us to be, whom Jesus calls us to be, whom the Spirit gives us the strength and courage to be.

With confidence, let us pray.

Love Them Still

Since I was a young boy, and throughout my adult life, I have been intrigued by the concept of efficiency.  I saw elegance in the execution of any task in the minimal number of steps with the least amount of wasted energy, materials and time.  Sometimes, I’d drive family members or co-workers crazy with my frequent suggestions that perhaps it could be done better this way, or maybe you could save a step here if you just did this.

As an efficiency aficionado – say that five times fast – I might have had some thoughts for the sower in today’s passage.  Couldn’t you figure out how to keep that seed on the good ground?  Why waste it on the road or among the rocks and the thorns?  Of course, he didn’t have today’s technology and placing seeds by hand one-by-one in neat little furrows may have saved some seeds, but would have taken forever.  The field may never have gotten planted, and how would that have fed the family?  I guess I would have made a pretty poor farmer in Jesus’ day, sacrificing effectiveness on the altar of efficiency.

In a sense, this is what Jesus is telling me today.  He gives me an infinite and endless supply of his love, seeds for the world.  I am to spread this love as he loves me – unconditionally and extravagantly.  I am not to worry about wasting his love – after all it’s an infinite, endless supply.  I will never run out.

 

Certainly, he tells me, at times when you love another, it will seem to have no impact at all.  The person you loved will not love you in return, may even hate you, scorn you, or persecute you for your love.  Love them still.

Other times, your love may cause someone to stop and reconsider, perhaps even smile or at otherwise appreciate your love in some small way.  Yet the following day, nothing has changed, they’ve even forgotten your name.  Love them still.

Still other times, your love may seem to affect someone deeply.  They sense that something is different about this selfless, service-love.  They may even try it themselves.  Things go well for a time, but time or distance takes its toll and draws them away from love.  Little has changed.  Love them still.

Finally, there will be times, Jesus tells me, perhaps not often, but there will be times when your love transforms another.  They recognize your love as God’s great love working through you.  They give glory to God and eagerly share that same love with others, who, in turn, share their enthusiasm and pay it forward.  Hundreds, if not thousands, of lives are changed.

Rejoice, and be glad…and love them still.

Martha and Me

One of my mom’s favorite expressions was “cleanliness is next to godliness.”  Usually, I heard this line as she was standing in the doorway of my room.  While it sounds Biblical, you can’t find it there.  However, it appears that this must have been a go-to line for Jewish moms in Jesus’ time, at least based on the many ritual cleansing rules in the Law of Moses.

But there was another virtue that the Jewish people considered even closer to godliness – hospitality.  Living in a land surrounded by rocky deserts and mountains, being a welcoming host was a paramount virtue.  In today’s reading from Genesis 18, we see Abraham and Sarah bustling about to provide a welcoming meal for the three men who wander by their tent.   Often, we hear the prophets call on the people to welcome the stranger and take care of the widows and orphans.

In the New Testament, the virtuous nature of hospitality sheds light in several ways.  At the wedding feast at Cana, we see why Mary considered it so important to tell Jesus that the host was running out of wine.  It would have been unconscionable and unforgivable to have breached hospitality in such a way.  In Matthew 25, Jesus tells us that one of the hallmarks of those who will be blessed by his Father is hospitality – “I was a stranger and you welcomed me” (Mt 25:35).  Next Sunday, we’ll hear Jesus tell a story of a man who banged on his neighbor’s door after everyone was already asleep!  (Lk 11:5-8) Why would he do such a thing?  It turns a friend of his had unexpectedly dropped by and he had nothing to feed them.  Desperate times called for desperate measures.

So what’s the deal with poor Martha in today’s passage (Lk 10:38-42)?  Here she is doing her hospitable best, working her fingers to the bone to provide for Jesus and the rest of the family.  When she points out to Jesus that Mary isn’t doing her share, Jesus seems completely unsympathetic.  He doesn’t thank Martha for being so hospitable; he doesn’t reprimand Mary to help her sister.  Instead, you can almost see Jesus with a wry smile on his face, shaking his head and saying, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things…”

As Jesus reminds Martha, so he reminds me.  Often, like Martha, I am so wrapped up in my busy-ness – even my supposedly virtuous busy-ness – that I lose the whole point of virtue.  Instead of living virtuously out of love, I live virtuously out of duty and obligation.  Instead of virtue filling me with peace, it fills me with anxiety – am I doing enough; why isn’t anyone helping me; is anybody out there noticing how darn hard I’m working, how darn good I’m being?  Instead of virtue leading me to God, virtue turns me into myself and away from God.  It seems I’ve done a miracle, but not a good miracle – I’ve turned virtue into vice.

Jesus tells Martha, as he tells me: take a breath, come to quiet, come to me.  By stilling myself and putting myself in the presence of Jesus – even if for only ten or fifteen minutes every day – I can put my busy-ness in the proper perspective.  I can keep the love that Christ has for me at top of mind, such that this love becomes my impetus and my motivation to love others as He loves me.

This is the better part that Jesus points out to Martha and me.  Only in this way, can my busy-ness make any sense.  Only in this way, can I stop being anxious and worried about many things.  Only in this way, can I realize the peace that Jesus offers.

Moses and me

Moses has a problem.  Things are going well for him, but God has another plan and Moses cannot stop telling God how nonsensical, silly, and fruitless this plan is bound to be.  “Who am I,” he exclaims, to ask the Pharaoh to free the Israelites.  He goes on complaining that nobody will believe that he was sent by God, he doesn’t even know God’s name.  Once God tells him, Moses still says they still won’t believe him.  God gives him the stick/snake trick, yet Moses remains unhappy.  He complains that he just isn’t a very good speaker, slow of speech, and all that.

But God continues to reassure Moses, insisting that all will be well, and the rest is history.

Just as God called Moses to a particular vocation, He has called each of us to a particular, individual vocation.  Yet, even though we each have this particular vocation, there is one element of vocation that each of us shares.  It is a universal vocation for every Christian.  It is a call to holiness; it is a call to be one with Jesus; it a call to be a perfect as our heavenly Father is perfect; it is a call to be a saint.  And all we have to do is to form our self-centered wills to the other-centered will of God, pick up our cross and follow Jesus.

For most of my life, I’ve operated in Moses-mode.  I’ve got lots of objections, issues and fears.

First, pride kicks in.  After all, I’m doing pretty well on my own.  People think I’m a nice guy.  I work hard.   I give my share to charities, and help out whenever I can.  Do I really have to change much?  Can’t I do finish this up on my own?  God has one answer for me – the crucifix.  If I could do this on my own, if I could just go my own way, why would Jesus have had to suffer this for me?

Okay, if I have to change, how am I supposed to know what to do or where to go?  God has three answers for me – the Bible, the Catechism, and the lives of the saints.  The word of God, the wisdom of the Church’s teachings, and the examples of those who have gone ahead of me, what better map do I need?

Yeah, but isn’t this a lifelong journey?  That’s scary.  Do I have the strength or discipline to do this?   God has seven answers for me – the Sacraments, where His Spirit fills me with his grace and courage, feeds me with his body and blood, and heals me with his mercy.

I have one last fear, and it’s a big one.  I’m easily distracted.  Satan keeps telling me there are a lot more attractive options that God’s offer of holiness.  These options offer the three p’s that can turn anyone’s head – pleasure, possessions and power.  God offers another p as a counter to these distractions – prayer, not simply my own prayer, but the thousands of pray-ers who have prayed for me – my mom and His mom figure high on this list – and who continue to pray for me today.

You are called, as I am called, to walk the same road.  Pray for me, as I pray for you, that we see what God has provided to overcome our deepest objections and greatest fears; that we persevere in following Jesus - to our destiny, to holiness, to sainthood.

The Good Samaritan

The parable of the Good Samaritan is the most popular and referenced parable in the Gospels.  I searched for “Good Samaritan” on Google and got over 11 million hits, few or which actually refer to the Bible story itself.  They don’t have to, everyone knows the story.  Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of hospitals, roadside service organizations and others have taken the name “Good Samaritan.”

Yet, in some sense, by doing this, we have “tamed” the parable, laying aside its power and depth.  We see the Good Samaritan as just a nice guy who helps out people in trouble as best he can.  The lesson we learn is simple – be nice like the Samaritan, particularly when you see that others that need your help.   There is so much more.

Like most of the parables in Luke’s gospel – stories which go beyond the simple parable and become rich, allegorical lessons – the setting of the story is a key to understanding its purpose and its teaching.      

A scribe – an expert in the Jewish law – asks Jesus what he must do inherit eternal life.  Rightly, Jesus turns the question back to the law itself, asking the scribe how he reads the law.  This was a standard exercise is Jewish teaching, for the Law was considered God’s divine word, and following it was considered the path to righteousness.  Yet often the Law would need to be interpreted to meet changing conditions.  Compromises would have to be drawn when parts of the law would conflict with other parts in a particular situation, with priority given to those laws which ranked higher in importance.  The scribe answers well.  He cites the Shema – love God with you whole heart, your whole soul and your whole strength, and connects this love of God with love of neighbor and love of self.  Jesus agrees with the scribe, yet the scribe insists on further definition, further parsing of what is necessary for eternal life.  Who is this neighbor I am to love as I love myself, as I love God?

Jesus sees that a simple discussion of semantics will not do – the scribe needs a story to truly understand the depth of what is required to fulfill the law, to realize the eternal life which Jesus – the incarnate Word of God – offers to each of us.

Jesus shocks the scribe by using a Samaritan as the hero of his story, for the Jews and the Samaritans hated each other.  Though they shared much history, they considered each other as apostates to true faith in God, as blood enemies.  They jealously protected their “turf” much as modern day gangs do today.  Jews and Samaritans were the Crips and the Bloods, the Jets and the Sharks of their day.  The scribe’s discomfort can be seen in his reply when asked to identify the “neighbor.”  He cannot even mouth the word “Samaritan,” simply stating that the one who showed mercy was the neighbor.

But there is more.  Why did the Samaritan come to the man’s aid?  After all, he had plenty of reasons to pass by.  For some reason, he was in enemy territory and had to be wary of attacks himself.  If someone saw him tending to the man, they would have assumed he was the attacker.  What good would that do?  And how much could he possibly do anyways?  The man will probably die no matter what.

I can easily picture this conversation in the Samaritan’s head for that same conversation has often coursed through my own mind.  I have often rationalized why I should not help some beggar in the street, or some poor soul that looks like they could use my help.  I’m really busy now.  I’ll be late if I stop.  If I give him something, he’ll just waste it.  I can’t give much anyways.  What good would my little bit do? What if this is just a trick to cheat me of my money?  Shouldn’t he try harder to get a job?  What if I try to help and something goes wrong?  Can I be sued?  And the rationalization goes on and on.

Yet for the Samaritan, my rationalization is meaningless, for he is “moved with compassion” at the sight of the wounded man.  The Greek work that Luke uses here is the same word he uses to describe Jesus’ reaction at the sight of the funeral procession for the only son of the widow of Nain.  The Samaritan doesn’t act like me, he acts like Jesus.  He is driven to act by love in his heart.  Moses tells us today (Dt 30:10-14) that God’s law is not something esoteric, inaccessible or far removed from us – it is in our hearts. 

That is why, when faced with one who desperately needs my help, my mind has to work overtime to rationalize away the demands of my heart.

But there is more.  Before the Samaritan comes on the scene, a priest and a Levite come across the man.  They don’t help.  In fact, they both “cross on the opposite side” to avoid the man.  Why this detail?  Is Jesus just taking a cheap shot at the pretentiousness or hypocrisy of the clergy?  Not really.  He is simply showing what happens when we misinterpret the law.  The priest and the Levite were bound by the purity laws concerning worship at the temple.  Contact with a dead human body – even being within four feet of a dead human body – would have made them ritually unclean.  They would not have been able to fulfill their responsibilities in the sacrifice at the Temple – and that was their job.  And it was an important job, a holy job – it was all about showing love to God.  Hence, their reading of the law not only prevented them from offering help, it insisted that they “cross to the opposite side” to avoid even the hint of impurity.  They were not evil; they simply misunderstood the primacy of the law of love.  They didn’t get the intimate and unbreakable connection between love of God and love of neighbor.

The parable teaches me that I should be “moved with compassion” at the sight of human need, that my love of God is meaningless until it is reflected in my love of neighbor, and that my neighbor includes all people, even those whose name I cannot speak.  The Samaritan is not simply good; he is holy, for he acts as Jesus does; he acts with Jesus’ love. 

Jesus says to the scribe, as he says to me, as he says to you, “Go and do likewise.”

Mission

In some sense, the kingdom of God is an anomalous thing – it is both already, but not yet.  Jesus says that it is at hand, yet we wait for it in the age to come.  Throughout the Gospels, Jesus instructs us how we are to act and live in these in-between times.   Today’s passage (Mt 10:1-7) is one part of that teaching.

The first step is to make ready our hearts for the kingdom.  We turn away from sin and trust in Jesus as the source of our salvation.  By recognizing and accepting the great love that God has for us in giving his only Son, the kingdom of God is not only at hand, it becomes present in our hearts.

This empowers us with great freedom.  We are freed from the fear of disease and death, for God’s unconditional, eternal love cannot be constrained or limited even when our earthly bodies fail or our earthly lives come to an end.  We are freed from the demons of greed and envy, for we recognize in the infinite love of God a greater good than anything we could possibly acquire for ourselves. 

And with this power, we are free to accept the mission that Jesus gave to his first disciples two thousand years ago.  It is the same mission he gives to each of us today, for Jesus insists that we are not to wait passively for the kingdom to come.  Our role is not to simply revel in God’s love and anticipate the ultimate fruition of that love at the end of time. 

Rather, we are to proclaim – proclaim by our words, proclaim by the fearless, peace-filled and joyful lives we lead, proclaim by loving others as Jesus loves us, proclaim by forgiving others as Jesus forgives us – proclaim that the kingdom is indeed at hand and available to anyone and everyone who wishes to take it up.

We have a mission from God.   Accept it, love it, live it – and the kingdom of God will be yours, now and forever, Amen.

Who am I?

I really enjoy questions, problems and puzzles with definite answers.  I don’t particularly care how difficult the problem is to solve, as long as its solution is well-defined, specific, and precise.  Jigsaw puzzles, crosswords, Sudoku, Ken-ken, let me at them.  But give me one of those soft, touchy-feely questions and I’m looking for the nearest exit.

So someone asks me who I am and I say “Norman Roos.”  Oh, they say, that’s just your name, that doesn’t tell me who you are.  Okay, I say, I’m a teacher.  No, that’s not enough, that’s just what you do, who are you?  Ugh, self-reflection – the ultimate touchy-feely!   Is there any answer that is good enough?  Where’s the door?

Even though I’m out of my comfort zone, St. Paul insists that I know who I am.  And he also insists that my answer to this question is determined by my answer to the question of who Jesus is.  My very salvation hangs in the balance.  I can’t look for the door on this one, for the door I duck out of leads to hell.

Well, that puts today’s Gospel passage under a bright light, doesn’t it?  Jesus is asking his own disciples, as he is asking you and me, “Who do you say that I am?”  Peter seems to have the right answer, but if we can shed 2000 years of hindsight, we realize that Peter’s answer doesn’t really cut it - it’s ambiguous, open to many interpretations, some of which can lead us astray, one of which leads to salvation.

Peter claims that Jesus is “the Christ,” equivalent to the Hebrew word messiah – the anointed one.  For the Jews, two kinds of people were anointed ones, kings and priests.  The kings ruled over the people, the priests ruled over the temple and its sacrificial rituals, connecting the people to God.  Which one is Jesus, either, both, or even more?

King is an easy one.  Of course, Jesus is my king.  I want to obey him, I want to be judged righteous by him at the end of time, I pledge my loyalty to him.  But is that all he is to me?  Who do I become if I simply see him as my king, my law-giver, my judge? 

St. Paul knows, because St. Paul lived this life.  As a young man, called Saul at that time, he was a devout Jew, a Pharisee dedicated to strictly following the law given by God to Moses and the people on Mt. Sinai.  He was very proud of his obedience, but also judgmental and vindictive against those who opposed the law, or who simply didn’t follow the law as closely as he did. 

I become this same person when my focus on Jesus is simply obedience to laws of my king.  Unfortunately, I’m not even as good as Paul was at following the rules, so I’m easily frustrated by my failures and shortcomings.  My consolation is to claim that others are obviously a lot worse at this than me.  They commit much greater and more plentiful sins than me.  I may not be quite good at this, but they are the truly evil ones.  In sum, I become petty, judgmental, legalistic, self-righteous, and exclusionary.  This list goes on but it’s not a pretty picture.  It is a picture of hell.

What about Jesus as my priest, the holy one who connects me to God?  Jesus is certainly that.  Yet, when I limit my idea of Jesus to this, I become passive in my relationship to God.  After all, Jesus, my priest, takes care of that.  All I must do is show up, say the right prayers, offer my tithe to the Jesus the priest, and all is well.  And if Jesus has the God-thing covered, I can devote myself to making this life as comfortable for me and mine and I can.  I can even equate my worldly, material success as a validation of my God’s good graces.  If I’m doing well, it’s because I’ve accepted Jesus as my go-to guy with God.  I’m a bit confused when I’m not doing well.  I then look out for those who seem to have cheated me, who wish to take what I have, or wish to hurt those I love.  I become sanctimonious, greedy, selfish, and vengeful – another ugly picture, a picture of hell.

So who is this Jesus for me?  He is king, yet he does not simply give me laws, he lives the law that I am to follow – a law of love.  As he loves me, so I should love others.

He is my priest, yet not a mere connection to God, but he is one with God, offering his own life as sacrifice that I might be saved, that I might spend eternity in the presence of my all loving, God.  He calls me to follow him in love and to follow him in sacrifice, picking up his cross. 

He gives me the power to do this by being present to me in a very real sense every time I participate in this great celebration of thanksgiving – the Eucharist.  The sacrifice He made for us 2000 years ago transcends space and time to become present for me and for you this very day on this very altar.  And He promises to be with us until the very end of time.

When I see Jesus as my God, my Lord, my Savior, and the source of all my hope and my love and my strength, I am changed.  St. Paul tells the Galatians as he tells us that all the artificial divisions we cherish and live with – ethnicity, there is neither Greek nor Jew; gender, neither male nor female; social status, neither slave nor free – are irrelevant if we know that Jesus had sacrificed to save us all, simply because of who we are, created in God’s image, loved by God so much that he gave his only Son to us.  Our anxiety is transformed into peace, our fears into joy, greed into generosity, pettiness into kindness, violence into gentleness, hatred into love.   Led by the Spirit, our lives bear the fruits of the Spirit.

When I know in my heart that this is Jesus, I can answer confidently when asked who I am.  By God’s infinite and divine grace, in union with every other human being, I am a loved child of the all-loving God.

It is enough.