Our loving-parent-God

If you drew a ten-mile circle around this very church, my mom – with her sister, Mag and all their siblings – and my dad – with all his many siblings – were born and spent their entire childhoods inside that ten-mile circle.  Fr. Zywan always thinks that I once lived here, too, but I never did – it only seemed like I did.

You see, just before my mom and dad married, my dad moved away from Pittsburgh to work for IBM in New York.  In both their families, they were one of the few that moved away.  Hence, a Roos family ritual was to come to Pittsburgh every summer for a week or two, and then come back again to Pittsburgh every Thanksgiving.  And when we came back, we invariably stayed at 1534 Montgomery Road, the house Dan and Dee now live in, but then the manse of Uncle Ivan and Aunt Margie.  I’m not sure I remember the numbers of all the houses my family lived in, but I will always remember 1534 Montgomery Road, for it was a home away from home.

The Birsic kids – who ages conveniently lined up with us Roos kids – were more than cousins, they were like brothers and sisters.  And Uncle Ivan and Aunt Margie did not treat us as just any ordinary guests; we were kids like their very own.  The loved us just as they loved their own.  We especially knew we were family when we got a stern look from Uncle Ivan or were on the wrong end of Aunt Margie’s “crooked finger” – when they scolded or corrected us just as they scolded their own.  They were not just uncle and aunt, they were like another loving, caring mom and dad.  It truly was home away from home.

Many kids, for one reason or another, never have the experience of being loved by their parents.  We were blessed, in a way, to experience the intimacy of this parental love not only with mom and dad, but also with Aunt Margie and Uncle Ivan.

This intimacy is also an integral part of our faith and the reason we are gathered here today.  Let me explain.

The Jewish people were quite the odd ducks in their world.  While every Mediterranean culture believed in a vast collection of gods and goddesses, the Jews were steadfastly monotheistic – one God who was not only their God, but the only God for all people.  Every other culture saw their gods as abusing or otherwise taking advantage of mere humans.  They could only hope, at best, to encourage the gods to leave them alone by offering propitiating sacrifices.  In dramatic contrast, the Jews held that God desired to have an intimate relationship with them, to care for them, to protect them, and most of all, to give them the means to live freely and in community by entrusting them with his law.  No other people could even conceive of such a thing. 

During his life on earth, Jesus experienced an unusually intimate relationship with God – even for a Jewish man.  He almost never refers to God using the typical Hebrew words for God like Elohim (God) or El Shaddai (God Almighty) or Adonai (Lord).  His typical reference to God was the Aramaic word Abba, or Father.  But not just some distant and impersonal father, for he almost always refers to my Father, your Father, even famously, as he taught us to pray, our Father, for Jesus states that those who follow his father’s will are his true brothers and his true sisters.

Jesus understood that as God’s creation, every human being is, from the moment of conception, a child of God.  Yet, this relationship is not simply that which a creature has with its creator.  Rather, with faith in Jesus, we live this relationship as a loved child with a loving parent.  And because this parent is the infinite and eternal God, our relationship is with an all-loving, all-provident parent.

God has loved us into being.  God gains nothing by creating us – God needs nothing, including you and me – yet God created us not for anything He would gain, but simply that we might have life.  God loves us without any condition, for while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.  God, as we hear in today’s passage from John, loves us eternally, for Jesus has prepared a place for us in God’s house of many dwellings.

It is in this relationship with a loving-parent-God that we find hope today.  Not just hope for our beloved Mag, but hope for each and every one of us.  It is in this relationship with a loving-parent-God that we find joy even in this time of death, that we find peace even in this time of mourning, and that we find strength to love others as God loves us.

We gather together today to pray with the sure and certain hope that God will swiftly and lovingly welcome Mag to that place prepared for her from the beginning of time as she so often and so lovingly welcomed my family to join with hers at 1534 Montgomery Road.

A Prayer for Judas

In Dante’s Divine Comedy, the lowest ring of the lowest circle of Hell is reserved for betrayers.  It’s named after Judas. 

Why are we so offended by Judas' betrayal of Jesus? Why is treason at the top of our civil list of capital offenses?  Is it because treason and betrayal so offend our finely-tuned, “eye-for-eye, tooth-for-tooth” sense of reciprocal love and reciprocal justice?

On the other hand, Jesus does not take offense. At the point of betrayal, when Judas greets Jesus in the garden, Jesus calls him "friend" – “Friend, do what you have come to do.” (Mt 26:50)  Jesus came to announce, to live, and to die for the good news that God's love is not reciprocal; it is unconditional.  While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.  (Rom 5:8)

Today, on Spy Wednesday, join me as I pray for Judas, in fervent hope that that he ultimately realized the forgiveness that Christ offered even to those who nailed him to the cross.  It is same forgiveness he offers to each of us even as we continue to betray his unconditional love whenever we settle for mere human, reciprocal love and justice.

Joyful Love

In the 19^th century, a very popular practice in many American saloons was to offer lunch for free to anyone who came into the saloon.  The hope was that anyone who came in for the free lunch would also buy ample beer or other libations.  To encourage this result, the lunches served were generally high in salt.  As a result, most patrons left the bars with full bellies and much lighter pockets – hence, the idea that “there ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.”

In the last century, this became a touchstone for much of our economics.  Milton Friedman wrote a book with this as its title.  We generally accept this as something to remember in everything we do.  Sure, we like to believe we occasionally get something free, but deep down, we know we’ve paid for it somehow or some way.

We even extend this truth to our relationships with other people.  Since we don’t expect to get anything for free, we don’t give anything away for free either.  We give gifts to other people expecting a return of some sort – a gracious thank you, at minimum, or a reciprocal gift in the future.  We love people whom we expect will love us back in return.  When we don’t see the reciprocity we expect, we stop giving the gift.

We cross people off our Christmas card list because they stop sending cards to us.  We cut people who don’t love us out of our lives and our love.  We hate those who hate us.  All of this makes sense in a finite world – a closed system as scientists would call it.  There is only so much resource – food, energy, love – and we cannot afford to spend it without a commensurate return.

Trapped by this seemingly unchangeable truth, our lives become narrowed as we seek to guard ourselves from being cheated of our limited resources.  Our lunches aren’t free and neither are our lives.  Whatever we “give,” we give only grudgingly, with strings firmly attached, as we are always wary that we should be getting something in return.

Jesus reveals a different world and a different truth, one which sets us free.  God’s love is truly free!  It is not conditioned by anything we say or do.  It does not require a return at all.  God so loved the world that he gave us his only Son.  Even though we continually refuse to return God’s love – we call that sinning – God continues to love us with the same infinite, eternal love.  While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. 

And this love liberates and transforms us.  As this love comes from one who is beyond time and beyond space – who created time and created space – it breaks the narrow confines of our finite existence and opens us up to the infinite.  When we give this love away, we continue to be loved by God with the same infinite, eternal love.  Since there is no loss in our giving, there is no need for return.  We give freely and joyfully.

For this reason, Pope Francis titled his first encyclical “The Joy of the Gospel.”  This good news – “gospel” – of Jesus fills us with joy as it frees us from our self-imposed bonds of reciprocity.  Pope Francis strives to project joy in all that he does – and urges us, by his actions as much as by his words – to share his joy by realizing the presence of God's love in our lives.  

Rejoice and be glad, the kingdom of God is at hand.

Lazarus

Catholic evangelist Matthew Kelly always urges us to become the best version of ourselves.  That’s a salutary goal and very Ignatian in spirit.  However, if can often be difficult to tell what the best version of yourself is.  If you get it wrong, the result can be either comic or tragic, neither of which brings you closer to God.

For example, when I was young, I would often dream that my best version was Joe Cool – the hipping-happening, stylish, popular, man-about-town.  Of course for the uber-nerd that I was and always will be, this bordered on sheer lunacy and high comedy ensured following any of my efforts to realize this dream.

On the other hand, God granted me intelligence, an ability to work hard, and a sense of obedience and respect for the law.  I began to believe that my “best version” was a righteous “great provider.”  So what if I wasn’t necessarily stylish or popular.  I was respected as a good person, solid citizen, making a good living for my family, and knowing the answers to all problems.

This sounded pretty good – and it seemed I was doing very well at this.  I made a lot of money and earned many honors and awards for my hard work.  I was well respected by all were important to me.  I even became a deacon – what could be better than that?

What I didn’t realize was the tragic nature of my vision.  For in this “best version” of myself, I was trapped, as dead and buried to this world as Lazarus was to Martha and Mary and his friends.

I made a lot of money, but it never seemed to be quite enough.  The bills got bigger and the debt got deeper.  Anxiety and worry were always present.  Maybe if I just worked a bit harder or a little longer…

I was certainly righteous, the “good boy” who rarely strayed.  But I was never as good as I hoped I’d be.  To make myself feel better, I would be dishonest with myself and others to hide my imperfections.  When that wasn’t enough, I’d simply take note of those who were much worse than I was in obeying the law, judging these people as unworthy of my love and respect, and thereby validating my own obviously better effort.

I had lots of answers – and many of them were correct, a few of them even wise.  Yet I began to dwell in my own mind, not even listening to those around me.  They would talk, but I never listened, for I was simply thinking about my response, my solution to their “problems,” even when their solution was simply for me to listen.

I was truly dead.  Yet Jesus is for me, as he was for Lazarus, as he is for you, the answer.  He calls me – as he called Lazarus and as he calls you – to come out of the tomb.

He calls me to leave behind my farcical and tragic versions of self and to lovingly accept who I truly am – his loved child created in his image and likeness.  He loves me not for my servile obedience but despite my failures and weaknesses, for while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.  He loves me not for the money I’ve earned to sustain my life, for he is the resurrection and the life, source of eternal joy and peace.  And he calls me, forming me from my mother’s womb, with his Spirit dwelling in me, to live as he lived, to love as he loved, to serve as he served, such that my joy may be complete, now and in the kingdom of heaven, forever and ever, Amen.

Stumbling in the Dark

The evangelists report many instances where Jesus heals a blind person.  In every case, the story can be read as a metaphor for the giving of spiritual sight – that is, faith – to the person.  Nowhere is this clearer than in the story we hear this morning.  (Jn 9:1-41).

Here the beggar – blind from birth – miraculously receives his physical sight.  Perhaps more miraculously, he also receives faith despite the consistent efforts of those around him to deny his insight.  He begins professing Jesus as simply “a man,” then claims he is a prophet, then one “from God” and, finally, he acknowledges Jesus as the “Son of Man,” a title which implied that Jesus was the Messiah.

But in John, this story is just as much about those who refuse to believe.  They remain as spiritually blind as they were at the beginning of the story.  They prefer their own dark world to the light which is Jesus.   We shake our heads at their foolishness and smile at Jesus’ rebuke to them.  Yet, I often find myself stumbling around blind in their same, dark world.

At times, I am like the man’s neighbors who see him in a new light.  I may simply doubt that such a thing is possible.  There must be a logical explanation.  After all, I live in a modern society in which science has made great advances, but science has yet to cure a man born blind.  Perhaps it is a trick; it is simply someone who looks like the blind man.  We have seen such remarkable strides in science in our lifetime, it is easy to believe that science will ultimately cure all of our ills, fix all of our problems, and make all of work easy.  We don’t need Jesus’ light, we’ll invent our own.      

At times, I am like the Pharisees, blinded by my own rules of what is right and what is wrong.  If somebody breaks the rules, why should I consider them worthy of my respect, never mind my love?  On the other hand, if I follow the rules, why shouldn’t I be rewarded handsomely?  In a sense, it is my success which blinds me.    As the disciples ask Jesus about the cause of the man’s blindness – “was it his sin or the sin of his parents” – I can easily confuse material and physical success or failure with blessings and curses from God.  I have been richly blessed by God during my life, so it is easy to assume that this is simply my just reward for hard work and good living.  Conversely, for those who are suffering, it is easy to assume that they can just follow my good example and be rewarded as I was.  I don’t need Jesus’ light, mine works just fine.

At times, I am like the man’s parents.  I am blinded by my fear of the light.  I am used the dark, I am comfortable in the dark.  Who knows what will happen if all of that changes?  What would people think if I stepped outside the normal boundaries?  I would rather stay quiet and be accepted than speak out and be rejected.  I don’t need Jesus’ light or his love; I’ll just settle for the light and esteem of others.

Just like the man’s neighbors, his parents, and the Pharisees, I think I have got plenty of light.  I’m not blind, am I? 

Yet science cures disease, but cannot eliminate death.  Science creates amazing amounts of food, yet does not eliminate even physical hunger, never mind spiritual hunger for meaning and purpose.  Science creates weapons of mass destruction, yet cannot eliminate war.

My hard work to succeed only seems to lead to more hard work.  I satisfy one set of desires only to realize that another, even greater set of desires lies just outside my reach.  If only I work a little harder or obey the rules a bit more diligently, I can get that, too!  And, if truth be told, I’m not really that good at working hard and following all the rules.  No matter how hard I try, I ultimately tire out or trip up on one rule or another. 

Finally, the esteem of others does me little good.  In fact, I find that when I am focused on winning the esteem of others, or at least not losing the little esteem I may already have, I don’t even like myself.

None of these false lights can keep me from stumbling in the dark.  I am truly blind.  Only the infinite and unconditional love of God, a love so great that he gave his only son for me and for you, a love so great that his son died an ignominious death on the cross for my sins and yours, only this great and magnanimous God can light my way surely and eternally.  By professing my faith in Jesus, the Light of the World, I live in the peace that science cannot invent, I live with the true and lasting joy that my hard work and diligence will never earn, and I bask in a love that never fails.

I once was lost, but now am found; was blind, but now I see.

True Freedom

As a young child, it seemed to me that the purpose of rules and laws was to keep me from doing what I wanted to do.  They were the “don’ts” in my life – don’t do this, don’t do that.  I would often strain against those rules, testing them up to, and occasionally beyond, the limits.  Even today, as an adult, I am reminded that my attitude is often much the same.  For example, I am driving merrily along when I suddenly come upon another driver doggedly sticking to the posted 25 mph speed limit.  Of course, I suddenly come upon him – I have been driving quite a bit faster than that.  I am still testing the limits.

On reflection, this seems a natural source of frustration for us.  Laws and rules make us aware of our limits.  They make us aware of our finiteness.  We cannot do it all, be it all, for we are limited, finite beings.  Yet, inside, we yearn for something greater.  We are created in God’s image, and are endowed with an eternal soul that seeks and yearns for reunion with its creator, the limitless, eternal, infinite God.

In today’s readings, both Moses (Dt 6:1-9) and Jesus (Mt 5:17-19) remind us that the true purpose of God’s law is not to remind us of our finiteness by imposing limits on us, but to open for us the door to righteousness, to holiness, to the infinite and unconditional love of God.  The doors which it seems to close are those that lead to dead ends that we often mistake for freedom – materialism, selfishness, individualism, exclusivity, hedonism, and humanism.

But Jesus knows something that Moses may have guessed, but could not really know, for Moses’s experience with God’s law was necessarily a brief one, limited to his own lifetime on earth.  Jesus knows that our pride and greed can corrupt even the God-given law of righteousness and justice, a law which demands justice and care for the poorest of the poor, the widows and the orphans, a law which demands that our first love be for the one and only God, and a law that insists we love our neighbors as ourselves.

Jesus knows that we can – and often do – pervert this law by focusing on the letter of the law, using it to exclude justice and mercy from those who perhaps don’t follow it as closely as we like to think we do.  We can pervert the law by using it to exact vengeance on those who harm us, but of course, meticulously measuring out that vengeance to the “eye for eye, tooth for tooth” standard,  as if such exact and objective measurement was possible.

Jesus comes not to abolish the law but to fulfill it, to show us through his life, his teachings, and, most importantly, through his death and resurrection, that the law truly leads us to our all-loving, all-merciful God if we follow it through Jesus, the fulfillment of the law.  Following the lead of Jesus and putting humility ahead of pride, mercy ahead of vengeance, compassion ahead of competition, we uncover the true spirit of the law, the spirit which Jesus goes on to teach us in the rest of the Sermon of the Mount, the spirit which insists that we turn the other cheek, love our enemies, leave judgment to God, treat others as we would have them treat us, and live free of anxiety for material and physical well-being, for our all-loving God surely knows of and will provide for all of our needs.

Jesus fulfills the law and opens for us the door to true freedom, for it is the door which leads to our deepest yearning – the everlasting, ever-loving, infinite God who created us to be one with him and one with each other. 

Step through this door and enter the kingdom of God.

St. Joseph

We interrupt this Lent for a very special celebration – the Solemnity of St. Joseph, Spouse of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Okay, perhaps many of us don’t think of this as the big “saint day” this week.  After all, how many were “wearin’ the green” on Monday?  The St. Patrick’s Day parade made the front pages of the newspaper, but today – meh!  Each year at Christmas, I get a New York Times Crossword Puzzle Calendar.  At the bottom of the page they note special holidays.  On Monday, of course, it said “St. Patrick’s Day.”  Today – nothing.

As I kid, I was well attuned to the relative disparity in mid-March celebrations.  My mom’s family was all Irish.  Her father had emigrated from Ireland, so St. Patrick’s Day was a major celebration.  Yet, St. Joseph was my patron saint and we never celebrated that at all.  My consolation was that I attended St. Joseph School in Endicott, New York.  My feast day was a day off from school!

Even in religious art, St. Joseph has often been relegated to the background.  In the early church, there was virtually no veneration of St. Joseph.  It was not until the sixteenth century that his feast day was celebrated throughout the Church.  And yet, it is right and just that we pull out the liturgical stops today and celebrate this day with great solemnity, for humble St. Joseph played a vital role in our salvation.

When the Mary says yes to the God’s invitation, she places herself in mortal jeopardy.  In the Jewish law, an unmarried woman who became pregnant was subject to stoning.  While Joseph, who was a righteous man, may have spared her from that fate by his plan to quietly divorce her, she would have certainly been subjected to severe exclusion from society.  God had another idea.  Joseph was told to take Mary into his home as his wife – implicitly telling the world that this child was his, and that Mary and the child should be accorded proper respect and dignity.

In essence, Joseph’s humble obedience – his “yes” to God – was almost as crucial to our salvation as was Mary’s fiat.

We celebrate today to learn from Joseph’s humility, to learn from Joseph’s obedience, that oftentimes our own plans just aren’t good enough.   We pray with St. Joseph that we recognize God’s will in our life.  We pray with St. Joseph that we, like he, have the courage to say “yes” to God.

St. Joseph, pray for us.