Paralysis of the Spirit

Today’s Lectionary readings: Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

Like many of you I have been Catholic my whole life, maybe not as long as some of you.  I have lived my entire existence immersed in Catholic life and culture – going to mass each Sunday, listening to bible readings and sermons way over my head, putting money in the collection, receiving communion, getting a Catholic school education, praying the rosary with my family, for the intentions of the Holy Father, the work of missionaries and the conversion of sinners, fasting on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, abstaining from meat on Fridays in Lent, giving up dessert all through Lent, praying the Way of the Cross, going to confession, praying my penance of three Our Fathers and three Hail Marys in the back of church, promising to be more obedient to my parents and nicer to my siblings, making the sign of the cross with holy water, genuflecting before the Blessed Sacrament, asking help from my guardian angel, the saints and the Mother of God … And I know that being a Christian and a Catholic isn’t something you can put on and take off like a t-shirt.  It is who I am right down to my core.  Of course, I know what that means now.  I didn’t always.  But don’t get me wrong.  I truly enjoy many things about being Catholic, the profound sense of history going back to the apostles, the sense of home and welcome in most Catholic churches I’ve visited, the profound peace of mind and heart that accompanies receiving the sacraments, the deep joy of connecting with God in scripture or prayer or going on retreat, the certainty that I am where I should be and where I want to be.

But I have often wondered why I’m not more excited about my faith, and why so many good Christians and Catholics around me seem so uninspired and disconnected.  I’ve been a priest 20 years, a pastor 15 years.  I’ve studied sacred scripture, I’ve preached countless homilies, gone on numerous retreats, heard many confessions, and celebrated more baptisms, weddings, and funerals than I can count.  I’ve been to 4 World Youth Day gatherings around the world, and I have come away each time with a better sense of who I am and why I believe.  Yet after just a short burst of excitement about my faith on these occasions, I seem to fall right back into my daily routine, which by comparison is less exciting or inspired. 

I suppose my situation is a little different, since I also work a church-related job.  But you might be able to relate if you love what you do for a living and get paid for doing it, too.  Still a big difference is that most people don’t come to where you work so you get the opportunity to convince them why you love what you do, and challenge them to be better people, and inspire them to make the world a better place, and appeal to a deeper sense of meaning and purpose within them, and share insights with them to help sustain their hope and courage in the face of their daily struggles.  And if you do, it helps to be enthused and inspired yourself.  Otherwise, you can’t blame them for not catching the fire you never had to start with.

In many different places, sacred scripture invites us to reflect on the tremendous gift of God’s mercy and compassion.  God’s own Son came to save us from the eternal punishment we deserve on account of our sins, to heal our physical and spiritual infirmities, to reconcile us to one another and to the Father.  His coming was announced by prophets who called him Messiah and Lord, the Anointed of God.  The name the angel gave him before his birth was Emmanuel, God-with-us.  Even the reading today from the prophet Isaiah reminds us that God desires to lift the burden of sin and guilt from our shoulders, and extend to us forgiveness and new life.  Yet who of us is truly excited and enthused about any of that?  I’m not asking that you yell out “Amen” or spontaneously burst into song.  That would probably just throw me off so I lose my place, and you embarrass those sitting around you.

I’m not saying we’re not good Christians or good Catholics because of it.  We might even argue that our preferred expression of excitement just never reaches those levels associated with Hollywood celebrities or candidates running for political office.  We are definitely excited and enthused, just in a less exciting and less enthusiastic way.  But a measure of our excitement and enthusiasm is how it affects those around us.  In many cases, when we are inspired by people who are exciting and enthusiastic, we want to be close by them.  Seeing them energizes us, listening to what they have to say, just being in their presence.  And we are changed by that encounter, even momentarily.  So when we return to our normal lives, others notice something new about us.  And we are always willing to tell them about our experience, hoping perhaps they would ask to come with us next time, hoping they would come to know what we know.

Last week, our scriptures focused on leprosy.  This week, we look at paralysis.  What is it like to be paralyzed, to be deprived of feeling and movement in our limbs?  But our greater concern is the paralysis of the spirit.  When Jesus healed the paralyzed man in the gospel, he spoke only of forgiveness of sin.  Jesus’ greater concern was the man’s spiritual illness.  His physical healing was secondary.  And when his enemies hardened their hearts, he proved he could heal a man’s broken spirit by healing his broken body.

Most of us here are whole and healthy.  We did not come to mass laid out on a stretcher.  But our physical wholeness can distract from the brokenness of our spirit and our need for healing.  Yes, we came to church today to hear God’s word, to celebrate Eucharist, and to be refreshed and renewed for the spiritual struggle that awaits us in the week ahead.  Jesus offers us the gift of forgiveness.  He desires to calm the turmoil and shed light upon the darkness that has taken hold of our hearts.  Each of us alone knows the nature of that turmoil and the depth of that darkness.  But unless we acknowledge their hold on us, even God will not be able to set us free.  Whatever the circumstances that brings us to Jesus, it all fades away when we encounter him face to face.  He sees our faith – or our lack of faith – and the faith of those who help us find him, and he knows the path that led us to him.  It matters not how.  It only matters that we are finally here.

The prophet Isaiah proclaims the word of God, “Remember not the events of the past, the things of long ago consider not; see, I am doing something new!”  Whatever our journey to this present moment has been like, however we were led to this place, we need not be burdened by it.  It is the past.  God is doing something new.  When we let go of the turmoil and the darkness, there can be peace, there can be light.  The holy season of Lent begins later this week.  God wants to show us new ways to release us from the paralysis of sin that grips our spirit, to once again know the freedom of his peace.  “Rise, pick up your mat and walk.”  It seems so easy.  Yet it takes great courage just to ask.  That is why we might need help from friends, or others can use our help.  Either way, it is God who heals. 

And when we are healed, then we will once again know excitement and enthusiasm in our faith.

Feels Good vs. Glory of God: a Much Higher Standard

Today’s Lectionary readings: Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

I can’t say I really truly know what it’s like to be alienated. I don’t ever remember being picked first – not for dodge ball, not for basketball, not for soccer, not for capture the flag, not for quiz bowl. I was willing to embrace this reality growing up, as I was convinced I did not possess fundamental life skills to guarantee my survival in the high school wilderness. So I made sure I did not attract undue attention. But I did notice there were those who seemed more adept at fitting in. People liked being around them. They did things together – they talked, they laughed, they spent time together. They even referred to each other as best friends. I suppose I was a little deficient in the social skills department. But I caught on eventually. I realized there were more advantages at having friends than enemies, that I was less paranoid around strangers if I was more agreeable and hospitable, that my parents did not have to send me to a therapist later on to straighten me out. Nonetheless, I learned the value of positive social interaction as an essential element of being a member of the human family. Every now and again, I would hear of recluses and modern-day hermits, people like J. D. Salinger who wrote The Cather in the Rye and died in 2010, and Harper Lee who wrote To Kill a Mockingbird, and wonder if professional success had anything to do with their withdrawal from public life. In the end, it makes a lot more sense to be connected to people, despite their limitations and flaws. Whoever saw Ebenezer Scrooge from Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol and said, that’s what I want to be when I grow up? I would much rather be in the crowd that quietly pointed him out to others for being strange. And although I value my privacy a great deal, I know I wouldn’t survive in a monastery.

But there are people who experience alienation who are powerless to reverse the undesirable consequences of their human condition. Scripture today highlights the stigma of leprosy, whose definition encompassed a much wider variety of illnesses in biblical times than they do today. One of the commentaries I read included any skin discoloration, flaking, unsightly bruising, pustules, mold and mildew. Athlete’s foot and psoriasis would have been considered leprosy! Not only did the physical ailment bring with it pain and discomfort, it also struck fear in the hearts of others. And the unfortunate consequence sanctioned by the law of Moses was banishment from the community. The illness made them unclean in more ways than one. They were judged unfit to participate in community life, as well as in public worship. So they had to live outside the camp, as exiles and untouchables. And they had to warn others of their approach, by saying aloud, “unclean, unclean.” It was humiliating and demeaning. No one in their right mind would choose to live like that.

So when a leper came to Jesus and begged him, “If you wish, you can make me clean,” the leper was asking Jesus to take away not only the illness he suffered but more importantly the heavy burden of alienation and shame that came with it. The thinking prevalent in that day was that illness came as the result of sin, either of the one who suffered the illness, or even of the person’s parents. You might recall Jesus’ healing of the man born blind which we read in the weeks before Holy Week, and the healing of the cripple who sat at the gate of the temple made whole by Peter and John after the resurrection. We might not seriously think it, but sometimes we express our frustration with illness when we ask God in our prayers, “Why me? What have we done to deserve this?” Clearly, we still associate physical illness with sin. And our faith teaches us that there is an indirect connection, that alienation from the human family is a reflection of our alienation from God which is a consequence of sin.

Few people would intentionally choose to reject God. But whenever we lose sight of our vital relationship with God and our consequent connection with one another, whenever our highest priority becomes our own self to the exclusion of God and our neighbor, we run the risk of alienation. In the reading from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, he was dealing with an issue that has little relevance to us today. But the principle he invoked still makes sense. In his day, animal sacrifice to pagan gods was a common practice. But after offering the meat of these animals in sacrifice, they were taken to the market to be sold for public consumption. The question Paul was addressing was whether Christians should knowingly purchase and consume meat that had been offered to idols. One group argued strongly that since pagan gods did not really exist, the meat offered in sacrifice was not rendered unfit for Christians. It made total sense. But Paul argued for the prevention of ill feelings, especially among unbelievers and those whose Christian faith had not yet matured. “Do everything for the glory of God. Avoid giving offense, whether to the Jews or Greeks or the church of God, just as I try to please everyone in every way, not seeking my own benefit but that of the many, that they may be saved.” Clearly, the principle of doing everything for the glory of God, and of avoiding giving offense to anyone, holds us to a much higher standard than just being right. It requires of us a level of sensitivity and compassion that is an expression of our care for one another. We cannot knowingly and intentionally desire what is hurtful or harmful to our neighbor. We cannot be smug and arrogant and ruthless even when we are right. The higher standard is not what feels good, but what gives glory to God. And we can and should apply this principle in all aspects of our life as Christians, especially when dealing with fellow Christians and everyone else, whether addressing questions of politics or church governance, of health care or assistance to the needy, of safety for the vulnerable or economic prosperity for all. Paul’s response was clearly an attempt to show the church how to put the gospel into practice concretely. There cannot be nor should there be a disconnect between the gospel and the lives we live.

Jesus said to the leper, “I do will it. Be made clean.” God clearly would not desire that we experience alienation from him or from one another. But Jesus also instructed him to do as the law required, to show himself to the priest and make the proper temple offering. In reality, none of that was necessary. Jesus just took care of the problem. Yet he also chose to give glory to God and avoid giving offense to anyone. So if you think following Jesus would make your life easier, think again. Jesus calls us to a higher standard, to choose the values of the gospel, and sincerely desire the glory of God and the good of our neighbor. Rejoicing in the downfall of our enemies, or puffing ourselves up with self-righteousness is not the way of Paul, and it is definitely not the way of Jesus.

Prophet, Go Home!

Today’s Lectionary readings: Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

I am often fascinated by people who are so full of life and energy and enthusiasm that they give new meaning to words like inspiration and passion and determination and conviction.  They are so focused and positive and motivated, it’s infective.  I am fascinated because they ooze life and energy and enthusiasm out of every pore it seems.  They have great reasons to get up in the morning, great reasons to courageously face their daily challenges like commuter traffic and difficult people, and criticism and discouragement and a general lack of appreciation.  But they report a higher degree of job satisfaction than most, convinced they in fact make a difference in the lives of those they meet, that they contribute to success in their field of expertise, and that they are better people for all their trouble.  So they forge ahead steadily into battle and danger and opposition.  Yet not all passionate, energetic and enthusiastic people are automatically effective.  Sometimes they do more harm than good because they are unable to share what inspires them nor the reason for their enthusiasm.  I once had a Moral Theology professor in graduate school who completely deflated my desire to get a degree in Moral Theology because he taught the subject like he was teaching Calculus to idiots, except it became clear early on he lacked basic communication skills.  He may have been proficient in his subject matter (after all, he was hired by the college administration), but that didn’t come across at all.  Or maybe we students were just more cynical as a group, so we weren’t at all receptive.  And it isn’t always easy for teachers to motivate and inspire us to catch what motivates and inspires them.

Take St. Paul for instance.  That reading from his first letter to the Corinthians, addressed to an assembly similar to ours here, may not have convinced anyone of the merits of celibacy who were not already motivated and inspired to embrace it with enthusiasm.  But we can tell by his determination and conviction in writing about it, that he wanted to set his listeners on fire!  No big deal.  We can look at his message and tell ourselves it may have been appropriate in another time and place, but will not be an easy sell in this present age.  I know what he was talking about, but I am already sold on the idea.  And I don’t have nearly the passion he had, so I’m not even going to try.

Instead, when Moses spoke to his listeners, he clearly placed the responsibility on God to find someone who would share his message with conviction and energy and passion.  In every age, he has sent prophets to his people to speak his word, to tell them of his great mercy and compassion, to draw them closer to himself, to move them to thankfulness so in turn they are compelled to serve their neighbor in need, to inspire them to transform society, to give them hope in the face of present challenges that they more eagerly work to build a future of promise.  Think of the prophets whom God has sent, from Moses and Jeremiah, to Daniel and John the Baptist.  Think of the prophets through the history of the church who proclaimed truth in the face of power, who did not shrink from persecution, who burned bright in the dark night of selfishness and sin – among them the martyrs Peter and Paul, Stephen, Perpetua and Felicity, Thomas Becket and Joan of Arc, Thomas More and John Fischer.  They were on fire with God’s message in the face of hostility and indifference.  And closer to us in history, there were the Lutheran theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the Jesuit priest Teilhard de Chardin, the peace activists and proponents of non-violence Mohandas Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr., the defender of the poor Archbishop Oscar Romero, the advocate of the voiceless Dorothy Day, and the apostle of the slums Mother Teresa of Calcutta.

A couple of things I notice looking at this illustrious group.  First, they belong to an exclusive club that is not easy to join, partly because no one ever sets out to join it.  But we look upon them with great respect and admiration for their courage and for the mighty hand of God that employed them in the work of transforming the world.  They are also all dead, and most not by natural causes.  We might look upon them with great respect and admiration, but the reasons we respect and admire them today are often the reasons they were cut down in their prime by the people of their day and age.  In short, we generally do not like prophets, especially those who are on the job in our present time.  The prophets of ages past we respect and admire because they are no longer around to get under our skin.  So our ancestors ignored them and persecuted them and silenced them.  And later, we built monuments to honor them.  The ones who are here now are often annoying and abrasive and relentless in their efforts to drive us off the edge.  They speak of things we do not want to hear, mostly because they point out to us how we have behaved poorly, how we have not lived up to our own noble calling, how we have disappointed our God and the heroes we admire.  They tell us to reform our lives now and make better decisions.  They stick their noses in our business and are not afraid to tell us to our face how we have lost our way, how we are drifting away from God and the values of the gospel, how we need to bring about a drastic change in the direction of our lives.  We would much rather a bright and sunny report, an optimistic outlook and a hearty pat on the back.  But the reason they are annoying and abrasive, and that we are not always receptive to their message is that they call us out of our comfort zones to live more radically the gospel we say we profess.  There is an urgency in their voice, that we not waste time and effort realizing the fulfillment of God’s kingdom in our midst, that we act more decisively to remove the obstacles on the road to holiness and authentic Christian discipleship, that we burn with greater zeal to serve God and our neighbor, and make the world a better place for those who come after us.

Jesus’ listeners in the gospel reading were amazed at how he spoke with authority, how even the unclean spirits obeyed him.  But we know how in the end he did not fare any better than the prophets who came before him nor the messengers God sent after him.  God will not tire to send us prophets to announce his message of mercy and compassion, to draw us closer to himself, to move us to thankfulness so in turn we are compelled to serve our neighbor in need, to inspire us to transform society, to give us hope in the face of present challenges that we more eagerly work to build a future of promise.  But when will we even begin to listen to the prophets whom God sends us?  When will be heed their message and reform our lives, and live more consciously the dignity of our baptism?  It’s not that God isn’t doing his job sending us prophets.  It’s that we don’t like the prophets he sends us.  We prefer them to be mild-mannered and diplomatic, well-dressed and well-behaved.  Then we can more easily ignore them.