Hometown Hero - Homily for the 14th Sunday in OT (B)

 “My power is made perfect in weakness.” 

In 2005, one of the best Major League Baseball players was Lance Berkman. Born near Houston, Texas, Lance had the opportunity to be the hometown hero as his Houston Astros—of which he was the first baseman—played the Saint Louis Cardinals in the National League Championship Series. The winner would go on to the World Series. 

Near the end of the game, in the bottom of the eighth inning, Lance hit a three-run homerun to put his team ahead. After the inning, Lance—a devout Christian—began to pray to God: “Lord, if you let us win this game, I will give you all the glory in the post-game press conference” – you know how that goes: a Christian-athlete, during the interviews, starts off by saying, “I just want to start off by giving credit to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ …” 

And that’s what Lance was telling God he would do if the Lord let them win.

 Well, in the top of the ninth inning, during the Cardinals’ last at-bat, the most-prolific home-run hitter in Cardinals’ history walked to the plate: Albert Pujols. Albert, also known as “The Machine,” was going to face Houston’s closer: Brad Lidge. Brad wound up, threw his pitch, and before a full-house of crazed Houston Astro fans, Albert Pujols hit that ball into the stratosphere. The Cardinals were now ahead and the Astro fans were quiet. Despairing. 

Lance Berkman, the first baseman, said it was so quiet you could hear Albert Pujols’ cleats digging the dirt as he rounded first base. 

“This is not what we had agreed on,” Lance said to God. 

This was a crushing defeat. 

And most people thought that the Astros wouldn’t be able to come back from such a defeat. But they did. Surprisingly, they beat the Cardinals in that series. Yet, it wasn’t happily ever after. The Astros lost (quite spectacularly) in the World Series that year. 

Lance Berkman faced another crushing defeat. 

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“My power is made perfect in weakness.”      

Fast-forward six years to 2011. Lance was now playing first base for the Saint Louis Cardinals. And that year, the Cardinals made it to the World Series. They made it to Game Six, but were behind by two runs in the bottom of the tenth inning (this was the game that they were down by two runs and were down to their final strike, but they miraculous game back that inning). Now they were down again and whose turn was it to come up to the plate? 

Lance Berkman. 

Now, if you are a Cardinals fan, you remember the 2011 Game Six as the game where David Freese hit the glorious game-winning home-run that would send the Cardinals on to a Game Seven and, ultimately, to the World Series Championship. 

Everybody remembers David Freese. He was the hometown hero. Born and raised in St. Louis. 

Few remember what Lance did. 

Lance, that year, had something like thirty homeruns. A great year. And, as it was near the end of his career, it was a special year. (In his final two years, he would go on to hit eight homers… combined). Few remember that. 

Few remember that, with two outs and the opposition up two runs and Lance facing two strikes, Lance was probably going to be the one standing at the plate as the Cardinals’ season came to an end. 

I can’t imagine losing not just one, but two World Series. 

Before the game, Lance had prayed: “Lord, if I am in a position where the game is on the line and you give me the opportunity of being up to bat, please just give me peace.” As he approached the plate in the bottom of the tenth with the game on the line, he made that prayer again: “Just give me peace.” 

And no one remembers: Lance hit the game-tying single. Not sexy nor glorious like a homerun. But it tied the game. 

And in the next inning. David Freese would hit his famous homer to win it. 

And get the glory. 

And it was David that was the focus of the post-game interview. 

I love this story because, Lance was loved in the clubhouse; a great teammate. Had perspective, leadership. Was named the National League Comeback Player of the Year and also the Cardinals’ Teammate of the Year. And part of me wonders whether that all came from having previously tasted devastating defeat. 

“My power is made perfect in weakness.” 

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Jesus was supposed to be the hometown hero. 

The Messiah – right there from Nazareth. 

But the people of Nazareth “took offense at Him.” They rejected him. Why? 

Well, Nazareth was known to be a kind of armpit of Israel. When the first apostles came to Nathaniel and told him that they had found the Messiah in Nazareth, Nathaniel snorted: “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” (John 1:46). 

And the people there believed that. They didn’t think anything good could come from such a forgettable place—much less did they think that The Messiah could come from their streets. 

They knew the streets. They knew each other. So, how in the world would God – well, how could power and greatness come from a carpenter’s shop? How could the Messiah come from an ordinary family? How could any prophet – how could anything good – come from Nazareth? 

And so they took offense at Him, as though to say to Jesus: “You think you are somehow different from us? You think you are better than us? You are part of the same ordinary and weak stuff that we are made from.” 

And Jesus was amazed at their lack of faith – for had not God, when He chose the Jews, chosen not the splendid and the powerful and the glorious, but the lost and wandering? They had forgotten their very origins: God is always choosing the weak and lowly—and employing them for the great and glorious. 

Yes, he was amazed at their lack of faith—that God had chosen Moses, a slave-girl’s son, to be the greatest leader of His people; that God had chosen David, a humble shepherd, from the tiniest town of Bethlehem; that God had chosen the harlot Rahab … that God could choose whomever from wherever – even the weakest from the lowest – to be the hometown hero and the greatest. 

But they took offense at Him. 

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I think each of us has a little of that Nazareth in us. 

We think: I wanted to do great things in my life, but as I have grown older, I have found that I’m really nobody special. I’m weak and sinful and I live in fly-over country. Nothing great will come from my life. 

We think that we have to be holy or perfect or at least somewhat good before God can do something with us. I say: why would God use me when I’m so sinful? Why would God use me when I am old? 

The alcoholic: why would God use someone with addictions? 

The mentally ill: how could God use someone who struggles so much to see reality clearly? 

Yes, all of us fall for the lie that God will only use the great and the perfect to do the great and advance the perfect. 

But: “my power is made perfect in weakness.” 

David Freese – did you know that, during that season when he hit the game-winning homerun in that World Series—did you know that he was battling tremendous social anxiety and depression? 

Saint Therese of Lisieux, the Little Flower, known for incredibly sugary passages of love and sacrifice – she battled incredibly dark moments of doubt. 

Saint Paul, as you heard in that passage from his second letter to the Corinthians, battled “a thorn in the flesh.” We don’t know what that was. It could have been a physical pain; it could have been a morally sinful inclination that he had – what we do know is that he asked God to take it away. Three times, “Lord, take it away.” But God didn’t take it away. 

To use Lance Berkman’s language: “Lord, this is not what we had agreed on.” 

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But praise God for that. 

That area in your life that you are struggling with – maybe that is precisely the area that God is going to use to do great things. 

Maybe that part of you that you are most ashamed about or embarrassed about—maybe that is the Nazareth that you think nothing good will come from, but from which will come the Savior. 

Maybe that stuff is preciously the stuff that God wants us to bring to Him and say, “Ok, Lord, I believe that you can bring about good, even from here. Even though it isn’t perfect or holy or even good.” 

And maybe that is what we should ask for: for that kind of faith. If Jesus was amazed at Nazareth’s lack of faith, I want Him to be amazed at the depth of my faith! If Nazareth believed that nothing special could come from such an ordinary armpit of Israel, I will believe that everything special can come from His work in the ordinary, even embarrassing areas of my life. 

And where you couldn’t do your miraculous work there, Lord, do it here. 

Jesus, you are my hometown hero.

Credibility & Scandal - Free write on the feast of St. Thomas

 One of the commonly held misconceptions is that faith and science are opposed. Is this true?

 Let’s take a very simple, real-world example and go from there.

 If I were to do an experiment which involved liquid nitrogen (let’s say, to turn magnets into superconductors), I would go to my closet of elements and pull the metal canister with the label “Liquid Nitrogen.” I would then do my experiment.

 What I wouldn’t do is: test whether or not the “stuff” in the metal canister is liquid nitrogen; nor would I test whether or not the Scientific Method is a valid method for achieving measurable results.

 I trust that the label placed on the metal canister was placed there by someone who already validated that the element is nitrogen; likewise, I trust that the Scientific Method has similarly be validated. I trust those things because, implicitly, I trust those people behind those things – even though I have never met those people.

 If I had rampant skepticism, I would never be able to do the experiment at hand. I would have to personally validate every single scientific “fact” that was given to me, from the element, to the method, to the balance of the scales, to the basics of magnetism, and so on. And since I would be wasting all of my time on that and not on the experiment at hand, I would never progress scientific knowledge.

 Doubt is such a waste of time!

 In order to be a good scientist, I must necessarily trust so much of what has come before me. I must stand on the shoulders of those who have come before me. So, I need to trust them. Or, to put it another way, in order to do science, I must have faith in what has come before.

 The Catholic religion is very similar.

 Like scientists that don’t have to re-validate the Scientific Method, I don’t have to prove the validity of the Resurrection. The “scientist,” Thomas the Apostle, already did the experiment. As did ten others who were in the room. And another five-hundred a few weeks later. Thomas (though he was quite incredulous at the time) actually touched and he saw and he heard – and his results were validated by others who were equally surprised by this new knowledge. The atom can be split? Death can be overcome? Who would have thunk it!

 Their results were published.

 The problem – and here is where science and Catholicism separate a little – is that scientists, if they wanted, could still do the experiment on the most basic assumptions, whereas Catholics cannot. On a practical level, scientists and Catholics are very similar in that we all presume on that previously-attained knowledge; none of us has to re-do the experiment. But on another level, we are different in that Catholics cannot re-do the experiment.

 So, although science and religion do share a commonality – that is, trust, or faith – they do differ in that religion, unlike science, has as an essential component: credibility. Catholicism doesn’t simply say, “I believe your results.” Catholicism also says, “I believe… you.”

 This is why Thomas’ personal battle is so instructive.

 He didn’t just simply disbelieve in the Resurrection. (That could very well be understood at the time, given its extreme novelty). But what Thomas also disbelieved were his friends – the very men and women whom he had lived with for years and whom he had trusted all that time. In this moment, he wasn’t just doubting the extreme results of an experiment they had already done, he was forgetting everything that made them – his friends and their results – credible.

 Credibility: the “stuff” that makes a person trustworthy; the ability to trust another.

 And not only that, be had also forgotten the other miracles: the loaves and fishes, the walking on water, the raising of Lazarus, etc. Wasn’t it plausible that the man, Jesus, whom they had witnessed do these miracles also could do this particular miracle of the Resurrection?

 Faith is not a blind leap or a leap in the dark. There are reasons to believe; there is credibility behind the trust. And Thomas had every reason to believe.

 So, why didn’t he believe at his first hearing of the Resurrection?

 Simply: scandal.

 He had been scandalized by the crucifixion. He had been hurt by it, disillusioned by it. A seed of doubt was planted in his mind: “maybe I have been duped.”

 This happens all the time. We grow up from the children’s stories – Santa Claus – and then we hear that some of them were made up. As we see revealed the light behind the curtain in Oz, all else is cast in the dark shadow of doubt. This confuses us. Hurts us, even. Who can we trust? We are truly lambs among the wolves!

 Catholicism over its past century, it would seem, has lost a lot of its credibility; the scandals, the lack of holiness, the lack of “results.” The scandal of the Cross – oftentimes, self-inflicted – tempts us, like it did Thomas, to throw the baby out with the bathwater, to forget something so essential to both science and Catholicism: the foundations.

 Thomas’ disillusionment and hurt are healed when he touches Jesus – and not just Jesus’ side, but all the way up (through the hole created by the lance) to the heart itself. This is why Thomas cries out in surprise “My Lord and my God!” What has happened? He touched Jesus’ heart, literally, and found that it was beating. Jesus was really alive.

 In that moment, Thomas’ incredulity and disillusionment disappeared. His friends were vindicated. And he was taught: “Thomas, blessed are those who do not see and yet still believe.”

 While this final line of Jesus’ teaching exhorts us, there is more to it than that. Jesus is telling Thomas: “Thomas, your disillusionment was healed because you got to see and to touch. Not everyone is going to get that opportunity. So, how will people believe what you saw? And when they believe – often because of the credibility gained by the new life you are about to embark upon – will you not realize how miraculous that will be?”

 How miraculous it is when someone has gone through the Cross of scandal and disillusionment – and still comes to believe.

 For me, I came to believe because of the logical, the reasonable – I see the results of Catholicism’s first experiments, its foundations, as entirely credible. I trust what Thomas (and others) experienced because I know the results of that eroding doubt that comes from distrusting what others have experienced and not affording the benefit of a doubt, especially when the something claimed is so extraordinary. I trust them, too, because, psychologically, it is impossible to have so many people experience the same “hallucination.” I trust, too, because this did change his life. Not in the radical I-will-blow-myself-up kind of way, but in radical kill-me-if-you-must-I-will-not-doubt-again kind of way.

 That may not be enough to assuage the weight and splinters of the crosses that others carry. It may require an encounter with aesthetic Beauty – in the Cathedrals, the art, the music, the liturgy – or the moral Beauty not only in the saints (and they are inspiring!) but also in the current day and age. I love being around someone who loves God and others well.

 I am convinced that if Catholicism in the present era has lost some credibility, it isn’t because the Resurrection isn’t true, it’s because her members haven’t lived out the results of the first experiment and the beauty of that has been hidden. The First Experiment shows the impact that faith has. Until that enters in, we are like scientists who are trying to re-do every experiment instead of basing the present life-experiment on the results of those who have come before. Instead of progressing in faith, many spin their wheels in doubt. The effect is a cultural rot where a mob of individuals rules the day.

 And that affects both religion and science.

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