Are you ready?

In my younger days, I was sympathetic to the “Keep Christ in Christmas” crowd who always seemed to come alive about this time of year decrying the secularization and commercialization of Christmas.  Yet, on reflection, I realized that Christmas has, for some time now, been irreversibly transformed into both a religious and a secular celebration.  Furthermore, I realized that many of my most cherished Christmas traditions – watching Bing Crosby in “White Christmas”, enjoying Ralph’s travails in “A Christmas Story”, reading “The Night Before Christmas” to the kids, or crooning along with Nat King Cole on “The Christmas Song” – “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…” – have absolutely no mentions of our Savior’s birth at all!

So, if Christmas for many people is nothing more than a time to exchange gifts, kind wishes and peace with others, is there not some good in that?  And since the church is always jammed to the rafters come Christmas Day, have we really lost the religious nature of Christmas?

On the other hand, in the hustle and bustle of getting ready for the big celebration, Advent has suffered.  With our focus on shopping for the perfect gift, planning the Christmas feast, trimming the tree and decking the halls, and partying with family and friends, we can lose sight of the all that we should truly be preparing for during this holy, yet often slighted, season of Advent.

Advent is a time to assess and reflect on three comings, or advents, of the Lord.  We meditate on how deeply grateful we are for the first coming – the birth of Jesus some two thousand years ago; on how joyful we are at the second coming – the present coming of Jesus to be in relationship with us this very day; and on how eager we are for that final coming – either at the end of time or, more likely, the end of our own time here on earth.

As I reflect on these advents, I wonder how much I really get – in my heart of hearts, my gut of guts – what happened two thousand years ago.  Do I really get the infinite bounty of a God who “loved the world so much, he gave his only Son?”  Do I really get the absolutely unconditional nature of God’s love and mercy that “while we were still sinners, Jesus died for us?”  If so, why do I seek more when I already have the infinite; why do I always feel less loved when my actions seem to deserve scorn?  If I really, really got this, why am I not more grateful – radically grateful – as Mary Jo Leddy describes in her book, Radical Gratitude?  Maybe I’ll do better on the second Advent?

So, how’s that day-to-day relationship with Jesus thing coming?  Jesus died for me, but he also rose again.  He is alive and comes to me at every moment of every day, desires to be with me, desires my intimacy.  Without accepting this, I am lost.  As Cardinal George – God rest his soul – stated, “Without a relationship to Christ, doctrine is just ideas and morality is only rules.  Relationships give life.”

Have I nurtured this relationship in frequent, daily prayer?  After all, what good is relationship without intimate and regular communication?  Have I availed myself of the sacraments – those times when Christ is especially present to us – in his own Body and Blood at the Eucharist, and faced directly with his boundless mercy in Reconciliation?  But the acid test is how my relationship with Christ has transformed my relationships with others – as Jesus insists it must – “Love God with your whole heart, your whole strength, your whole soul, and love your neighbor as yourself.”

How do I treat every other person, who – like me – is created in the image and likeness of God; for whom, like he did for me – Christ became man and died to save; who – like me – is loved by Christ with infinite and unconditional love; who is like me in every important respect and unlike me in mere incidentals?  Do I ignore these people, or worse, wish perdition on them, or do I love them as Christ loves me?

Even on my best days, it never takes me much more than thirty seconds to realize how far I fall short of the demands of Christ.  And that bring us to the final advent reflection – how ready am I – how eager am I – to be faced with the final reckoning?  Not much, I’m afraid.   I gain a whole new appreciation of the “fear and trembling” with which St. Paul says we must work out our salvation. 

And that is the key to the season of Advent, for it gives us time to reflect on what keeps us from truly appreciating and being thankful for what God did for us some two thousand years ago.  It gives us time to reflect on what keeps us from entering into the intimate relationship with Christ that transforms all of our relationships, that gives life to our faith.

And when we do that, when we put our failings and shortcomings before the God who loves us so dearly, who wants to forgive even our most grievous sins, when we seek His help to remove the stumbling blocks we have placed before us, we are ready.  We can join the angelic host in full throat, filled with absolute joy come Christmas Day.

Have a most blessed, reflective, and holy Advent. 

Apocalyse now?

During this last week of the liturgical year, the readings turn our attention to the end times, the second coming of the Lord.  Thus our selections come from apocalyptic sections of the New Testament – the Book of Revelation and the twenty-first chapter of Luke.  For the early Christians, who suffered persecutions daily, many of whom knew family members or close friends who had even suffered death for their faith in Jesus, these readings were comforting, as they looked to ultimate justification for their suffering in the end days.

For us, perhaps not so much.  Despite living in economic times that don’t seem to be living quite up to snuff, despite fighting wars that never seem to end, despite hundred-year storms that seem to come every year, we live much more comfortably and more securely than the typical first century Christian.  Combined with the fact that we are not steeped in the language and symbols of first century Judaism, and these types of readings can easily lead to confusion and discomfort.

My tendency is to simply compartmentalize them – put them in a box on the shelf, as it were - historical passages that are important in that they show how it was in Jesus’ time, not so important or relevant for me in my times.  But then, I've lost the whole point.  For God’s words in Scripture, are timeless – as relevant now as they were thousands of years ago, as relevant now as they will be thousands of years in the future.

So while it’s not likely that I will be seized and persecuted, called up by kings and governors to give witness to my faith in Jesus, there is not a day that goes by without many opportunities, some subtle, others blatantly obvious, that I am called up – not by kings and governors certainly – but by the simple needs of those around me, to put aside my pride, put aside my selfish wants, put aside my niggling fears – and reach out in love, reach out in charity, reach out in Jesus’ name.

My greatest danger is that, in my generally comfortable and secure life, I often miss these calls.  In my pride, I lose sight of the great things God has done for me, preferring instead to focus on the great things I have done for myself, the comforts I have earned, the security my diligence deserves.

In my effort to maintain my comfort and my security, I pay close attention to my own needs, my own fears, and my own dignity.

I become blind to the needs, the fears and the dignity of others.  I become deaf to Jesus’ call to love unconditionally, to love without end, to love without measure.  I ignore the wisdom Jesus offers, but cling to the secular wisdom of this world – survival of the fittest, might makes right, dog eat dog, look out for number one.

And if I miss Jesus’ call today, then I am certain to miss it at the final bell, whenever that will be.  If I miss the signs today, then I am certain to be lost in the end.

And so today’s readings remind me to be vigilant in hearing Jesus’ call, faithful to heeding Jesus’ wisdom, always depending on Jesus to give me the courage, give me the strength, and give me the will to stand tall, to die to myself, and to live for the other. 

This is what Jesus urged on his contemporaries two thousand years ago, what he is urging for each of us today, what he will continue to urge on future generations thousands of years from now, forever and ever, Amen.

The call of the King

Over 200 years ago, an amazing thing happened.  A group of men gathered in Philadelphia to create a new government.  They were steeped in a world where kings were considered to have God-given rights to rule as they saw fit for as long as they lived.  Yet, these men reached back to ancient Greece to craft a democracy – of the people, by the people, for the people.  They realized that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.  By spreading power across a wide base – the people – and by checking and balancing the necessary powers of government, they created what today is the most politically free, economically rich and militarily powerful nation on earth.  And, I’m pretty sure most of you here today feel as I do about this accomplishment – thank God we’re part of it.

However, despite these accomplishments - perhaps because of these accomplishments - we live in great danger.  Not just the danger of terrorism, though that is certainly present.  Not just the danger of economic collapse, though that risk is certainly present.   The danger we face is much more tragic.  If we are not careful, our blessings will turn to a curse, our vaunted freedom will turn to slavery and our paradise will turn to damnation.  For the intuition of the founding fathers remains true today – power corrupts.  With so much power on our side, we slip easily down a spiritual dead end.  We assume that since we have political, economic and military power, we have it all.  And, logically enough, what is the sense in having all this power if it goes unused?

Despite our great blessings, we seem to be living in great fear.  How do we live with this fear?

We viewed Osama bin Laden as a serious threat to our lives and our loved ones.  There is no doubt that he hated us as few have hated us before.  Surely we had the power - and the right! - to hunt him down and kill him.  Did we assume that by killing the hater, we also killed the hate?

We watched with great fear as our houses and investments dramatically declined in value.  Unemployment remains uncomfortably high - particularly among the less educated, the less experienced, the less white - and even those who have jobs never seem secure in them.  We jealously protect what is left and turn against others who seem to be threatening our livelihoods.  Have we assumed that our future can only be guaranteed by securing our jobs and our possessions?

We revel in the freedoms guaranteed by our Constitution, the freedom to choose our own lifestyle, to maximize our own opportunities and comfort.  We rationalize our actions towards others as our politically granted freedom of choice.  Have we equated freedom with selfishness, liberty with licentiousness?

Christ is our King, as uncomfortably those words may fall on our American ears.  And as King, he demands our obedience to His will – to God’s will.  As our King, he exerts the only power that cannot corrupt – the power of God’s unconditional, everlasting, infinite love.  It cannot corrupt as it comes from the source of all good, the source of all holiness, and the source of all love.  While our forefathers succeeded in establishing a “more perfect union,” Christ has already called us to live in the most perfect union – the kingdom of God.

It uses the only power that can save us from the one whom we should truly fear – the One who can destroy not only our bodies, not only our wallets, not only our political freedoms, but also our very souls.  And Christ has given us this power to conquer evil:  Love your enemies, feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, shelter the homeless. 

We experienced and participated in that power in action one year ago.  Faced with unfathomable horror and evil, we responded with love.  Faced with sorrow beyond knowing, we responded with compassion.  Faced with crushing loss, we responded with generosity.  Faced with blackest darkness, we responded with Christ's light.

Our King does not wave a mere flag to rally his troops.  He calls each of us, his faithful subjects, to pick up the cross of salvation and follow Him who loves, Him who serves, Him who saves.  And like kings of old, he will be the ultimate judge of how closely we followed.  He will judge us not by the size and might of our armed forces, but by the size and might of our heart.  He will judge us not by our Constitution, but by our compassion; not by what we have earned, but by what we have given away; not by what we did for a living, but what we did for life.

Our kingdom, the kingdom of God, is besieged by fear and greed.  Our King calls us to his side, to his cross, to love our enemies as He loves us, to care for others as He cares for us, to do His will as it is done in heaven.  How will we answer our King?

It is enough

A nobleman called ten of his servants and gave them ten gold coins and told them, 'Engage in trade with these until I return.'  When he returned, he had the servants called, to whom he had given the money, to learn what they had gained by trading.

The first came forward and said, 'Sir, your gold coin has earned ten additional ones.'  He replied, 'Well done, good servant!  You have been faithful in this very small matter; take charge of ten cities.'

Then the second came and reported, 'Your gold coin, sir, has earned five more.'  And to this servant too he said, 'You, take charge of five cities.'

Then the other servant came and said, 'Sir, here is your gold coin; I kept it stored away in a handkerchief, for I was afraid of you, because you are a demanding man; you take up what you did not lay down and you harvest what you did not plant.'

He said to him, 'With your own words I shall condemn you, you wicked servant.  You knew I was a demanding man, taking up what I did not lay down and harvesting what I did not plant; why did you not put my money in a bank?  Then on my return I would have collected it with interest.'  And to those standing by he said, 'Take the gold coin from him and give it to the servant who has ten.' (cf Luke 19:12-24)

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 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, knowing 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.  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 finite-ness 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 God asks of me – God’s purpose for me – is to give His love away in the same fashion.  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.

Tomorrow, 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 is enough.  We need nothing more.

Number one - not!

Wow.  Unusually for me of late, I was closely following a couple college football games on television last night, hoping against hope for a at least one big upset.  As a Domer from South Bend, I was rooting hard for Stanford to upset Oregon or Baylor to beat Kansas State.  Nothing against those Ducks or Wildcats, but they were between my beloved Fighting Irish and a chance for being number one.

Amazingly, both Stanford and Baylor won!  For the first time in decades, Notre Dame fans could chant "We're number one!" and mean it!

Of course, in our heart of hearts, we don't really believe that silly claim, for if you look up "ephemeral" in the dictionary, there is a picture of a football fan pointing a finger to the sky.  Sometimes, it's only the next weekend, when the claim is proven false - once again.  And yet, these claims of position and rank can dominate our our everyday lives and can completely determine how we relate to each other.

We rank ourselves against others based on the schools we attended, the jobs we have, the houses we live in or the money we make.

We rank ourselves against others based on our gender, the color of our skin, our age, the countries we are from, or what we believe or not believe about God.

And we may even rank ourselves against others based on the number of Masses we attend, the length of our prayers, the devotions we perform or the sins we don't commit.

Almost 2000 years ago, St. Paul reminded his disciples in Corinth, as he reminds us to this day, that this need to rank and compare is fundamentally, diametrically, and radically opposed to our faith.  It belies our baptism.

The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ?  Because the loaf of bread is one, we, though many, are one body, for we all partake of the one loaf.  (1 Cor 10:16-17)

As a body is one though it has many parts, and all the parts of the body, though many, are one body, so also Christ.  For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body, whether Jews or Greeks, slaves or free persons, and we were all given to drink of one Spirit. (1 Cor 12:12-13)

The theologians explain to us that the sacrament of the Eucharist involves two "ontological changes."  Now, "ontological" is certainly a five-dollar word, one that theologians love to use, but it simply means that it relates to the very existence of something or someone.

The first "ontological" change is one we have known since our first instructions in the faith: the bread is mysteriously changed into Christ's body and the wine changed into His blood.  But this change is truly a mystery, undetected by our mere human perceptions, for we see no change to the elements, we taste no change, we smell no change, we simply believe.

The second "ontological" change we may not think about as much, yet it is much more demonstrable than the first.  For St. Paul reminds us that as we partake of the Eucharist, sharing the one loaf and the one cup, our community undergoes a change.  We become, as Paul says, one body.  When the minister presents the host to us and states "The Body of Christ," our "Amen" asserts that not only has the bread been changed, but we - as a community - are also changed into the Body of Christ.

And with this faith, our community changes from one based on rank to one based on equality, from one based on competition to one based on mutuality, from one based on retribution to one based on reconciliation, from one based on power to one based on love.  We turn to the other, rather than the self.  We become one God, and thus one with each other.

"We're number one!" - Not hardly.

"We're one!" - with the grace of God, most assuredly.

An Attitude of Gratitude

As Jesus continued his journey to Jerusalem, he traveled through Samaria and Galilee.

As he was entering a village, ten lepers met him.  They stood at a distance from him and raised their voices, saying, "Jesus, Master! Have pity on us!"

And when he saw them, he said, "Go show yourselves to the priests."  As they were going they were cleansed.  And one of them, realizing he had been healed, returned, glorifying God in a loud voice;

and he fell at the feet of Jesus and thanked him.  He was a Samaritan.

Jesus said in reply, "Ten were cleansed, were they not?  Where are the other nine?

Has none but this foreigner returned to give thanks to God?"

Then he said to him, "Stand up and go; your faith has saved you."  (Luke 17:11-19)

At some point, every parent faces a certain challenge – teaching their children to say the “magic words.”  Please and thank you.  “Please” is easy.  After all, there is immediate positive reinforcement; you say please, you get what you want.  Thank you is another story.  Kids don’t see that thank you’s get them much of anything. 

Many, many years ago, as mere little guys, my brothers and I were always battling our mom's insistence on proper thank you notes.  My youngest brother had a clever strategy for deferring the dreaded task.  His birthday was at the end of June, almost exactly six months from Christmas.  He would claim that he was waiting until Christmas and would thank everyone once for both gifts.  Of course, when Christmas rolled around, it was only six months until his birthday.  No sense with thank you notes then, he’d just wait and kill two - or was that three, or maybe four - birds with one stone.

Grandparents make this parenting challenge even more difficult.  My mother-in-law, Pat, would send things to the kids all year long!  We’d say, “send a thank you to Grandma or she’ll stop sending you these goodies.”  Of course, the postman was never overwhelmed by the mail that followed, but that didn't stop Pat!  The gifts kept coming!   What’s a parent to do?

Of course, Pat and other grandparents aren't the only ones whose generosity is unstopped by lack of thanks.  God is on their side.  In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus offers a gift beyond wildest imaginings.  As lepers in the ancient world, the ten supplicants were not simply sick; they were cast out from any contact with society.  So Jesus did not simply cure their disease, he reunited them with the community, made them one again with humanity.  And yet only one came back to thank Jesus for this great gift.  Jesus praises this man, but, as the kids might be quick to point out, despite their ingratitude, the other nine lepers are not “uncured.” 

What’s the deal?  Why should we have to thank God for his grace if, as its very name implies, God freely and unconditionally gives it to us?  Why does Jesus make a connection between gratitude and salvation if the other lepers are cured despite their ingratitude?

Perhaps our model of God is deficient, and therefore, our concept of gratitude is flawed.  We imply to our children that in giving thanks, they will encourage others to continue their generosity so that the gifts keep coming.  Gratitude is simply a subtle instrument of self gratification.  As givers, that’s the way we work, right?  We expect thanks when we give a gift.  If we give a wedding gift and don’t receive the obligatory note of thanks, we feel miffed.  We look at that couple in a different light.  See what they get from us on that first anniversary.  Nada.  Zip.  Zilch.

We assume that God acts in the same way.  If we remember to thank God, then He will continue to remember us in our need.  And, thus, we have reduced the eternal, almighty, all-knowing, all loving God to a simple vending machine – put in the right coins and hit the right buttons and we receive grace.  Fortunately for us, God is much greater than a heavenly vending machine.

God loves us and graces us not for what we do, but for who we are.  He created us out of love, he created us in his very image and likeness, and he created us to be with him in love for all eternity.  We are for God.  Yet we live as if we don’t believe this at all.

Instead, we take our lives and all that God has given us for granted.  Our goal then becomes to work hard to make our lives as good as they can be for us and for our children.  And yet this hard work never completely satisfies.  It seems we never have enough.  There is always something that seems just beyond our reach, but if we work just a little bit harder, it can be ours.  Of course, if we get it, there is then something else just beyond that, and the cycle continues.  We never work hard enough, we never satisfy ourselves, and on our worst days, we feel that we are simply not good enough.

We seek the new and improved, but once we get it, it quickly becomes the old and the ordinary.  We think that more is always better – more possessions, more pleasure, more power, more beauty, more friends, etc. – yet we soon learn that more may be better for a while, but more is never enough. 

Mary Jo Leddy, in her book, Radical Gratitude, refers to this state as perpetual dissatisfaction.  It is ugly, but it is the lifeblood of our money-based economy.  Without our constant yearning for the newer car, the bigger house, the latest fashions; without our obsession for the new and improved; without our mantra of “more is always better,” we spend less, the economy falters, jobs are lost, and our material wealth and our self-worth shrinks.  We no longer live for God, but only for ourselves.

Jesus praises the grateful leper for he has broken this cycle of dissatisfaction.  The man has recognized the source of his life, the source of all that he is, the source of all that he has, and it is enough.  His sight is no longer focused on what he lacks, but on what he has already been given.  

When we come together here to celebrate the Eucharist – the root word for Eucharist is the same word that Luke uses to describe the man’s thanks and praise to God – we recognize that God has given us our very lives as a gift, that God loves us with a love that knows no bounds, that He gave us his only Son to die for us that we might have eternal life with Him.  It does not change God, it changes us.  When we live with this radical, at-our-very-core gratitude, we, like the leper, appreciate and honor what we have, not obsess over and crave for what we are missing.  We can see ourselves for who we are – loved children of God – rather that constantly trying to be who other people want us to be.  And unlike the perpetually dissatisfying more, this is enough, for it is the fruit of God’s infinite and everlasting love.

It is enough.  Thank God.

Got prayer?

Why do I pray?  In some sense, it seems so unnecessary, even illogical.

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 - then why are my prayers of praise necessary?

If God loves me unconditionally, then what do my prayers of thanksgiving or even contrition mean?  God still loves me.

Yet Jesus insists that I pray.  And he leads by example.  The Gospels are filled with instances of Jesus at prayer.  The disciples see this and ask Jesus to teach them how to pray.

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

Jesus begins the prayer with “Abba”, an Aramaic term of endearment for father.  In English, it would be more properly translated as “Daddy.”  Of course, since every person is created by God, every person, whether Christian or not, believer 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 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.  He then connects the coming of the kingdom with the doing of God’s will, "on earth as it is heaven."  Jesus places prayer for God’s will and prayer for others ahead of our own desires.  Our greed is turned to 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.

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.