Wednesday, September 26, 2012

25th Sunday Ordinary Time: Cycle B



Mark 9: 30-37
September 23, 2012


In a way, the deaf man with the speech impediment points to something in ourselves.
He points to our own difficulty in hearing the message of the gospel as it is proclaimed in our own time.
Each of us is in continual need of being healed of our own deafness—not the physical deafness of the man in Mark's gospel, but a more critical illness::
our inability for hearing with the ears of our souls.

We go through life struggling to hear the Word more clearly.
Because if we cannot hear the Word clearly, we cannot proclaim it clearly or live it out well in our daily lives.
Learning to listen in this way to what God is saying and, of equal importance, what our neighbors—family members, coworkers, church leaders—are saying, is a lifelong discipline.

Two words pertaining to hearing can help us with this discipline: the words are "absurd" and "obedience."
Both words have to do with hearing and listening.
The first word, absurd, comes from the Latin roots ab and surdus or absurdus, meaning literally "from deafness" or "completely deaf'
Something is absurd when I am deaf to its meaning.

To many people in our world, the words we will soon declare in our confession of faith, the Creed, are simply absurd.
They have no meaning.
And if we are honest, we have to admit that sometimes they sound a little absurd to us as well.
The atheist, for presumably sincere and complex reasons, finds absurd the notion of a loving God who, out of love for you and me, would send his son into the world.
Such a person is impeded from hearing the voice of God in the words we proclaim. His or her deafness is as real as that faced by Jesus in the gospel.

And what about ourselves?
Do the words we recite in the Creed seem absurd to us?
Of course they do. Why?
Because they are such huge thoughts!
Anyone who says they are not a little hard of hearing when it comes to the great truths we proclaim is not being honest with you.
We are all impeded in our hearing of the Word of God, not because we are insincere or because we do not try, but simply because of the magnitude of the task.
We go through life begging Jesus to heal our deafness a little more, to remove a little more of the impediment, to help us to listen and truly hear what God wants us to hear.

And how does the cure work?
 Is it done with spitting, with touching, with a loud groan?
No, it happens through obedience, the second word I mentioned before.
Obedience also has to do with hearing.
The word "obedience" comes from the Latin roots ob audire, meaning to listen closely or thoroughly.
Most of us don't like the concept of obedience
But obedience does not mean something that is imposed on us against our will; it does not mean "my way or the highway."
It means to listen with the heart; to cultivate such a deep stillness of heart and mind that we hear not only what is being said but also the Spirit's more subtle whisperings.
Obedience means spending time with God in prayer, reflecting on the Scriptures, meditating on the Creed, until we begin to savor the words we repeat so mechanically Sunday after Sunday.
Obedience is practicing lectio divina, the ancient practice of reading Scripture in a prayerful reflective manner
It means a disciplined prayer life—the Liturgy of the Hours, centering prayer, the rosary — doing this in our homes with our children, as a matter of practice.

All of this is obedience.
It is firm commitment to a life of deep listening.
And gradually, over time, in subtle ways, obedience changes us.
The life we follow, the gospel teachings we proclaim, the dogma we declare—these things no longer seem absurd. Our deafness is gradually healed.
Our speech impediment is removed and we can proclaim to one another in our own words,
"He has done everything well; he even makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak".

23rd Sunday Ordinary Time: Cycle B





Mark 7:31-37
September 9, 2012

In a way, the deaf man with the speech impediment points to something in ourselves.
He points to our own difficulty in hearing the message of the gospel as it is proclaimed in our own time.
Each of us is in continual need of being healed of our own deafness—not the physical deafness of the man in Mark's gospel, but a more critical illness::
our inability for hearing with the ears of our souls.

We go through life struggling to hear the Word more clearly.
Because if we cannot hear the Word clearly, we cannot proclaim it clearly or live it out well in our daily lives.
Learning to listen in this way to what God is saying and, of equal importance, what our neighbors—family members, coworkers, church leaders—are saying, is a lifelong discipline.

Two words pertaining to hearing can help us with this discipline: the words are "absurd" and "obedience."
Both words have to do with hearing and listening.
The first word, absurd, comes from the Latin roots ab and surdus or absurdus, meaning literally "from deafness" or "completely deaf'
Something is absurd when I am deaf to its meaning.

To many people in our world, the words we will soon declare in our confession of faith, the Creed, are simply absurd.
They have no meaning.
And if we are honest, we have to admit that sometimes they sound a little absurd to us as well.
The atheist, for presumably sincere and complex reasons, finds absurd the notion of a loving God who, out of love for you and me, would send his son into the world.
Such a person is impeded from hearing the voice of God in the words we proclaim. His or her deafness is as real as that faced by Jesus in the gospel.

And what about ourselves?
Do the words we recite in the Creed seem absurd to us?
Of course they do. Why?
Because they are such huge thoughts!
Anyone who says they are not a little hard of hearing when it comes to the great truths we proclaim is not being honest with you.
We are all impeded in our hearing of the Word of God, not because we are insincere or because we do not try, but simply because of the magnitude of the task.
We go through life begging Jesus to heal our deafness a little more, to remove a little more of the impediment, to help us to listen and truly hear what God wants us to hear.

And how does the cure work?
 Is it done with spitting, with touching, with a loud groan?
No, it happens through obedience, the second word I mentioned before.
Obedience also has to do with hearing.
The word "obedience" comes from the Latin roots ob audire, meaning to listen closely or thoroughly.
Most of us don't like the concept of obedience
But obedience does not mean something that is imposed on us against our will; it does not mean "my way or the highway."
It means to listen with the heart; to cultivate such a deep stillness of heart and mind that we hear not only what is being said but also the Spirit's more subtle whisperings.
Obedience means spending time with God in prayer, reflecting on the Scriptures, meditating on the Creed, until we begin to savor the words we repeat so mechanically Sunday after Sunday.
Obedience is practicing lectio divina, the ancient practice of reading Scripture in a prayerful reflective manner
It means a disciplined prayer life—the Liturgy of the Hours, centering prayer, the rosary — doing this in our homes with our children, as a matter of practice.

All of this is obedience.
It is firm commitment to a life of deep listening.
And gradually, over time, in subtle ways, obedience changes us.
The life we follow, the gospel teachings we proclaim, the dogma we declare—these things no longer seem absurd. Our deafness is gradually healed.
Our speech impediment is removed and we can proclaim to one another in our own words,
"He has done everything well; he even makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak".

22nd Sunday Ordinary Time: Cycle B


Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23
September 2, 2012

One of the things I struggle with most in my life these days is selfishness,
 and I think I am not so unlike most people.
A call comes in the middle of the night, someone has just been taken to the hospital, and my first reaction is: “But I have a long day ahead me tomorrow and I need my sleep.”
A call interrupts my working on a talk I have to have ready in an hour and I ask “Why now?”
Of course, after waking up, or thinking about it further, my feelings change.
But the fact remains that my first thought is too often only about me.

One of the most basic human responses to anything new is to ask, "What's in it for me?"
We would like to think our motives are pure and our interests are for others, but there is often a nagging voice reminding us that selfish desires are never far from the surface.
That said, we all know heroic individuals who care for sick spouses or children,
People who go to faraway places to give those in need their time and talent
or people who stay at home and do the same in their local neighborhood.
That's what makes them heroic.
There is nothing in it for them;
They are drawn by bonds of love, faith or by a desire to create a better world.

There are at least two ways we can hear Jesus' words in today's gospel. The first is as a strong challenge about social justice.
National boundaries mean nothing to God.
All people are equal in God's sight,
We cannot look at the Muslims or the Arabs and say: “They belong to the devil,” or “They are not civilized,” or “They are not as good as us.”

All people are equal in God's sight, so the banquet Jesus refers to has implications for how we share the riches with which we have been blessed with others in the world.
The poor, crippled, lame and blind of our world are the majority of God's children who mainly live in the Third World.
They are our brothers and sisters.
At the banquet of life Christians are called to give priority to the needs of these people, not only because they have a just claim on our resources, but also because they can't do anything for us in return.
We can’t just say about those on welfare “They are just lazy,” because most are not.
Millions of our families in the U.S. are living only one paycheck away from being on the streets.
Or one serious illness from being homeless because, yeah, they have jobs, but not ones that pay enough for insurance.

Looking at these people and recognizing that they both need and deserve our help – and helping them, either directly or through the money you give to church or charity –
Helps us because they help purify our motives.
We give not expecting to get back.

When we link our concern, time, talent, career, and money with these children of God, we tame that nagging question, "What's in it for me?" with a firm reply,
 "Very little—except God's justice."

A somewhat comforting angle to take on this gospel is more psychological.
Many of us, when we come to God at any time, try to dress ourselves up to look better than we are!
This gospel reminds us that at Christ's banquet, however, it's not the poised and perfect who are most welcome, but the vulnerable.
It ‘s not the pure and holy, but sinners and the impure.
What does this mean for us who pray and celebrate the Eucharist?
That God embraces those parts of us that are in greatest need of his love and healing—where we are poor, crippled, sinful, blind and lame.

We know this it is true because if Jesus is telling us to host the poor and broken at our tables, then as the perfect host he must do exactly the same with us at this Eucharistic meal as well.

When I was a child we referred to our finest clothes as our "Sunday best" and we wore them proudly to Mass.
Not only did we look good, we acted the part as well.
Everyone was on best behavior for the entire church to see.
Now, I have nothing against dressing with care and behaving well at Mass; it can be a sign of our self-respect, our courtesy toward others and our devotion to God.
But God cares more about what's going on inside us.
We can never hide from God, especially at the Eucharist because we have been invited to be here,
Not as we would like to be, but as we are.

At the Eucharist it’s the poor, the broken, and the lost that are most welcome.
For Jesus, meals were times of celebration and an inclusive fellowship that foreshadowed the inclusiveness that awaits us all in God’s kingdom.
The last supper, therefore, not only pointed ahead to the eternal banquet, but  also it reflected on Jesus’ meals with the disciples, Pharisees, crowds, and outcasts in Galilee,
And with us at this Eucharist.
It is ironic that the greatest crisis the early church faced was not the delay of Christ’s second coming,
But the burning issue of whom one ate with.
This is still a burning issue in today’s church.
We find all kinds of reasons for denying others the right to eat with us at Eucharist.
All the time denying the fact that Jesus turned no one away.
Perhaps it’s time we learned new table manners.
Perhaps it’s time we learned Christian table manners.