Two Days from Tuesday - An Explanation of the Parable of the Ten Virgins - 32nd Sunday in OT (A, 2020)

This morning, I’m sure many of you would like me to comment on the election. … And I’m sure some of you are also thinking, “Lord, please, no! Nothing more on the election!” But, while I shouldn’t say much, nor should I say nothing, I think today’s parable—the Parable of the Ten Virgins—gives us plenty of wisdom to reflect upon in our present moment. So, I personally will say no more on the election, but as I speak I believe the Holy Spirit will speak His Wisdom...

In order to draw out that wisdom, I’m going to take a slightly different approach today in my homily than I usually do. First, I’m going to explain a few of the details of the parable and explain them a little (what academics call a little exegesis). Then, I’m going to provide two important notes about the geography of where Jesus says the parable and of when He says the parable. And from there, I think we will quickly find the real-world application today. 

That said, I want to point out that what I’m about to give you is not my personal interpretation. This interpretation comes from the Patristic Fathers—that is, from those who were taught by the Apostles themselves or from those taught by them. A nice collection of these can be found in St. Thomas Aquinas’ Cantena Aurea. 

 

The Symbolism within the Parable 

So, as we begin the parable, we meet ten virgins. These ten virgins represent the entirety of humanity. We note that they are divided in half—five being wise and five being foolish—as humanity often is. Please note: Jesus does not say two are wise and eight are foolish. We often think that there are so few wise—or that the wise are a minority—but here Jesus numbers them as half. 

These ten virgins, all of them, are waiting. And for whom are they waiting? The bridegroom—that is, Jesus. 

Why are they waiting? They are waiting because, for some reason, the bridegroom is not there. And He is delayed. But the virgins all know that He is coming. This is a description of our current moment: Jesus ascended into heaven (and is thus, in a way, not here) and we are all waiting for the end of time when He shall “come again.” But, humanity has been waiting for a while. He is delayed. 

While the ten virgins (that is, all of humanity) waits for Him, Jesus tell us they all become “drowsy and fall asleep.” Paul, in our second reading (from his letter to the Thessalonians—which is a letter whose theme is very much about the end of all times)—Paul says, “I do not want you to be unaware… about those who have fallen asleep, so that you may not grieve like the rest who have no hope.” In other words, when Jesus says that the virgins “fell asleep,” He was saying that they died. All of humanity will die waiting. 

Then, at midnight—that is, in the darkest hour when no one expects the Messiah to return—the bridegroom, Jesus, is announced as coming. The messengers, whom we call angels, cry out in a “trumpet blast”: “Come out to meet Him!” 

But, remember, the virgins are dead. And we bury the dead. So, when the angels say “come out,” they mean “come out of your tombs.” This is the resurrection of the dead. The dead “wake up” and are raised from their graves when Jesus comes at the end of time. 

What happens next? 

Jesus says that the foolish members of humanity, when taking their lamps, brought no… oil… with them. 

Lamps… oil… what do they symbolize? The lamps represents the human soul. And the oil—the oil comes from the press, from the olive that is crushed. That is to say, the oil are the sufferings and sacrifices that we have offered to God in love when we felt pressed and crushed. 

The wise have this oil. They have lived a life of sacrificial love. And, as a result, their souls, the lamps, have the bright light that comes from this oil of sacrificial love on fire with the Holy Spirit. 

The foolish do not have this oil and thus do not have this light in this dark, midnight hour. 

So, when Jesus comes, the foolish scurry about, looking for this oil but find none. (Earthly life is the time to be pressed into oil; but in death, there is nothing more to be pressed).  So, the foolish ask the wise for some oil. And the wise, in their wisdom, speak something that seems to be harsh. The wise say: “go … and buy [it] for yourselves.” 

What does this mean? The wise are pointing out that the foolish, during their early life, had always sought comforts in the world, buying those comforts by selling their lives. Judas bought thirty pieces of silver by selling Christ. Judas thought he could buy his own salvation—and that’s why he was foolish. Thus, the wise are simply pointing out that how the foolish lived on earth is how the foolish will live in eternity: as fools: trying to buy their way into heavenly comfort without carrying the pressing Cross. And the wise can do nothing about that now in death. 

While the foolish are away, doing what they have always done, Jesus the bridegroom comes and brings the wise into the wedding feast with Him—that is heaven. 

The foolish come back and everyone is gone and it is still dark. This is hell. They find the doors locked and, without any humility, they command Jesus to open the door. They call Him “Lord,” for all will know Him as Lord. But Jesus replies: “I do not know you.” 

Now, of course, Jesus does know them—He is God and He knows all the hairs on our head. But what He is saying is: “We did not share the same love together. I extended my heart to you, but you refused. I carried the Cross for you, but you were nowhere to be found. I do not know you.” 

The doors remain locked—which means this is forever. 

Jesus then ends the parable with the warning: “Stay awake, for you know neither the day nor the hour.” 

 

A Geographical Note 

So, that is the explanation of the parable. I want to take a little detour and tell you about Mount Olives. Mount Olives is where Jesus ascended into heaven, forty days after His Crucifixion and Resurrection. Mount Olives, too, is where the prophets foretold that the Messiah would come at the end of time. 

At the base of Mount Olives, there is an olive press. This is where olives would be crushed so as to create oil. Next to that olive press there at the base of Mount Olives is a Garden. You know this garden: it is the Garden of Gethsemane—the place where Jesus was in agony during the night before He died. 

When I was on pilgrimage there, the tour guide told us that the word “Gethsemane” means, get this, olive press. 

Thus, in the Garden of Gethsemane—the Garden of the Olive Press—Jesus Himself is being pressed, crushed, under the weight of our sins. He sweats blood—the oil from the olive. 

And what were the foolish virgins lacking? … that very oil. 

This is all very mind-blowing, I think. But why do I mention all of this about Mount Olives and the Olive Press and the Garden of Gethsemane. It’s not just to make the connection about the virgins’ lamps and their oil. 

The reason is this: because Jesus taught His disciples this parable at the base of Mount Olives. 

That is, while He is telling all of this about the coming again of the Messiah, He could be pointing “up there” to the peak of Mount Olives—as though to say: this will happen and I will come again, even when I am delayed. 

And as He says the parable, the Garden of Gethsemane would be right over His shoulder. And He could point “over there” to the Garden and say, “Stay awake, for you know not the day nor the hour.” 

In fact, what does Jesus say in the Garden of Gethsemane: “Peter, will you not stay awake with me for one hour?” Peter, this is the hour that I was talking about! 

 

A Timeline Note 

Here, I must give you one final detail and that is about when Jesus told His disciples this parable. He doesn’t tell them weeks, months, or years before the Agony in the Garden. 

Jesus tells them just two days prior. The Agony in the Garden happens on a Thursday night. The teaching of the Ten Virgins happens when Jesus visited Gethsemane on that Tuesday afternoon. 

Can you imagine? 

Stay awake, for you do not know the day nor the hour—indeed, you have no idea, you think it’s going to happen a long time from now—but it’s just two days away, Peter. Two days. 

 

A Word for Our Times 

We know the rest of the story, right? In the Garden, Peter and the Apostles become drowsy and fall asleep. And then they scatter when Jesus is arrested. They were foolish. 

After the Crucifixion and, then, the glorious Resurrection, Jesus comes to them. They are afraid. Jesus doesn’t have to give them a second chance. He doesn’t have to forgive them. But He does. 

The point here is that, after the Ascension—on Mount Olives—Peter and the Apostles would have walked down the mountain and would have passed by Gethsemane and, also, the entry where Jesus talked about the Ten Virgins. 

And the Apostles would have begun to teach that parable to everyone, as though to say: Don’t be foolish like us. We didn’t realize we only had two days. And we received a second chance so that we could warn you now. Jesus will come again, in the night, like a thief. And you must be ready. You must let yourself be pressed by the Cross. Do not seek to buy your salvation, but be wise and seek it from him. We received the second chance to tell you this. This is your second chance. 

Or, let me put it another way: what if Our Lord had come last Tuesday, during Election Night? Would you have been ready? 

I mean, we spent all that energy and worry—and Our Lord could have come and interrupted the whole thing before votes were even begun to be counted. And some would maybe have become disappointed about that: You mean, the End of the World—now?!—but who won the election???!? 

And I must admit: had Jesus come that night, I would not have been ready. I was foolish. Because, sometimes—oftentimes—we get wrapped up in the stuff here below (and sometimes that stuff is pretty important), but we forget the more important, indeed more ultimate, things of life. 

Like Jesus. And Heaven. And that, well, you and I may actually have only two more days. 

 

A Resolution 

So, with your two days left, how are you going to get right with God? What do you need to do to be less foolish and more wise? Let’s make a resolution right now…. 

Live the next two days that way. Live the rest of your life that way. This is your second chance.

The Aspiration - Homily for the Solemnity of All Saints (2020)

I have an opening question to start today's homily. And that question is this: 

To what do you aspire in life? What is your life’s aspiration?

To have an aspiration means to have a dream, a goal, something to which you orient your life. That—whatever that is (that job, that home, that life)—that is what I want, that is what I want to achieve, that is what I'm aspiring to. 

The word “aspire” comes from the Latin, ad + aspirare. And it literally means: to breathe out. In other words, your aspiration is what you are breathing for. So, let me rephrase the opening question:

In this life, for what are you breathing?

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We breathe for many things in this life, but Our Lord says that those in heaven breathed for the following things. I've made a list. Those in heaven lived for the following things:

1. Him. 

            ...   

            ...

That's the list.

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My favorite mosaic
from the All Saints' Chapel
in the Cathedral Basilica in St. Louis

And who is this Jesus that they lived for, breathed for? He is the one who didn't care about the treasures on earth, because He had treasures in heaven; He was poor in spirit. He didn't need to be powerful on earth because His power came from above; He was humble and meek. Jesus was merciful and yet He hungered and thirsted for righteousness-- and still a peacemaker. He wanted this for others and when they refused, He mourned. He was pure in heart. And, because of all of this, He was persecuted.

And those in heaven-- because they breathed Him and loved Him, they became like Him. They were poor in spirit and pure in heart and merciful and even persecuted for it all. They are blessed and holy in heaven.

The Latin word for that is “sanctus,” from which we get the word saint.

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 St. John tells us that these, the saints, were the ones who “survived the times of great distress.” Times of great distress. We hear that and we may think of our own times. But, really, every single age, every single century has seen its struggles and its battle with evil and darkness. Such things are not simply for our age or the so-called Dark Ages. If you are breathing, you are going to experience "times of great distress."

And the saints are the ones who survived them. That is: they kept the faith.

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Some children at school ask me: Father Gerber, how many saints are there?

John says in the Book of Revelation that there are 144,000.

But anyone who has read the Book of Revelation knows that his language is not simply literal, but deep and often symbolic. The number 144,000 is not simply literal. It means something.

First, you take the 12 tribes of Israel, the people of the Old Testament. Then, take the 12 apostles, the foundation stones of the New Testament. What do you get when you multiply 12 by 12? You get 144.

Additionally, the number 1,000 meant, in ancient times, a large multitude. 

So, multiply that by 144 and what do you get? 144,000.

In a deeply symbolic language, John was saying: In heaven, there will be a large multitude of people who come from the Old Testament and the New, Jew and Gentile alike.

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But there is a question that comes from that. And the pressing question is this: will you and I be in that number? Will we be saints in heaven?

When the St. Louis Blues Hockey Team scores a goal, there is a song that is played on the organ. It's a delightful little song-- a Black Spiritual, actually-- that has lyrics: 

            When the saints go marching in

            O when the saints go marching in

            O Lord, I want to be in that number

            When the saints go marching in.

I love that. Each time the Blues score, I am reminded of my goal, of what I should be aspiring for in this life: I want to be in that number.

The whole goal of my life is to get to heaven. The whole goal of your parenting is to bring your kids to heaven. That's it-- to march in that number.

And that means, to put a very fine point on it: it means that, in order to get into heaven, we need to become saints.

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And as you hear that, you may wonder: "Well, shoot, if I gotta be a saint, I got no chance of getting into heaven."

And I think one of the reasons why we say that is because, firstly, we think that saints are only those who are canonized by the Pope. And that's not correct. They are many saints in heaven who have never been canonized.

But, I think the deeper reason why we don't think we can ever be a saint is because we have the saints "way up here." We see them as god-like and porcelain statues on pedestals without much personality. But, the reality is, is that they had emotions, some of them out of control emotions, and temptations-- lots of temptations!-- and fears and anxieties and doubts and even arguments with their spouse and their children. 

We tend to forget that Jesus came not for the righteous, but for the sinners. 

And one of the things about the saints is that they were firstly sinners-- ordinary people like you and me-- who responded to the extraordinary graces offered them in this brief life.

Can I tell you a brief story about such a saint?-- a saint who has given me inspiration for my aspiration...

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There was this guy named Mark. Not the evangelist Mark. A different Mark. This is a true story.

Mark was raised in a Christian family. He was a pretty ordinary guy. Tried to help out in his community. Became a doctor—ok, so he was slightly above ordinary.

And one day he came down with a stomach illness. It was pretty bad. And he was treated with some a powerful medication that contained opium-- which is the stuff of heroin. Mark recovered, but he became addicted to the opium drug. And he was ashamed and his family embarrassed.

He tried to break the addiction to the heroin, but he would fall. But, being a good Catholic, he would go to confession and receive God's mercy and resolve to do better. And Mark would do better, but then he would fall again. And he would go to confession again and receive mercy again and resolve to do better and he would do better for a time, but then he would fall again. It was a cycle. Fall, confession, mercy, resolve, fall, confession--

And, unfortunately, during one of those confessions, the priest told him to stop coming to confession and the Eucharist until Mark stopped the addiction.

Brutal.

(That is not the teaching of the Catholic Church, by the way).

So, there Mark is, an addict to heroin, unable to be absolved, and prohibited from receiving communion. With all that shame and embarrassment.

At this point, I think it would be safe to assume that most people would have given up and fallen away from the faith.

But Mark did not fall away. He would go to Mass even though he was refused communion. He would come, believing in the graces of just being there, being at the place of our Lord's crucifixion and resurrection, even though it was a crucifixion for him.

For 30 years he did this. 30 years. Can you imagine? Unable to receive the Sacraments, addicted to heroin for 30 years?

But when Mark prayed, he prayed to be brought to heaven. There was that hope in him. He aspired for this one thing: to be with Jesus forever in heaven—that is, if Jesus would take an addict.

One day, in Mark's hometown, it became illegal to go to Mass and to be a Christian. Mark and his family were arrested and were to be executed. The officials were going to kill Mark first, but he begged to be killed last so that none of his family would die alone.

And that's what happened. Mark was with his family members and comforted them in their final hour. And was killed last.

He died as a heroin addict. And as a saint. Mark is a saint because he persevered, carrying the Cross until the very end. Saint Mark Ji Tianxiang was canonized by Pope John Paul II—also a saint—on October 1^st, in year 2000, one-hundred years after his martyrdom.

And I only tell you his full name now because, up until I now, you thought Mark could have been anyone in our community. And that's the point: any of us can be saints.

Had I led off that story telling you he was a man who lived ages ago and in a foreign land-- had I led off with that, you would have put him on a pedestal and thought it unidentifiable.

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But Mark is one in that number that is marching in. And you and I can be one of them, too.

Mark aspired to be in heaven. Even though his life was being consumed with heroin, his deepest breaths were for Jesus.

And because of that, Mark now breathes the free air of heaven-- where there is no more suffering, no more tears, and no more heroin.

And that brings me to the end. And I'll end where I began: with a question:

To what are you aspiring in life?

For what are you breathing?

The Coins of Our Assent - Homily for the 29th Sunday in OT (A, 2020)

In the 1920s and 30s, G.K. Chesterton was one of the most impressive Catholic intellects in the English world. During that time, he travelled from his home in England and made two visits to the United States, even visiting our own Kenrick-Glennon Seminary in 1931. After those visits, he wrote a book entitled What I Saw in America. It is a delightful book and in the first few pages, he makes an astonishing observation.

In What I Saw in America, Chesterton observes that America is one of the few nations—if possibly the only nation at that time—that is both democratic and dogmatic. Democratic in that it is not a monarchy. Dogmatic in that its foundation—the Declaration of Independence—proclaims that there is a God from which all men are created equal and to whom men and government are responsible. 

There is, therefore, a peculiarity about America: that while there is separation of Church and State and, indeed, while there is no religious test to assume public office (as is written in Article VI of the US Constitution), America is nevertheless religious—religious not in that it holds to one particular religion or even that its elected officials and citizens believe and are affiliated with a religion, but that, at our American heart, we hold to a Creed. And that American Creed begins: “We hold these truths to be self-evident…” As that Creed focuses on God, the Creator, as the source of our rights, the American Creed can be said to be religious. 

American Catholics, for their part, hold to that American Creed while also saying another Creed that begins: “I believe in one God.” 

The important part here is that Chesterton observes that America is founded upon a Creed that has a religious tone. 

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To understand why this is important, we need to take a moment and reflect upon the nature of a Creed. 

One of the peculiarities of a Creed is that it can include everyone and yet can exclude anyone. In Catholic terms, the Catholic Creed is the fisherman’s net that can bring in fish—people—of any kind. The Catholic can be a white person or a black person, a rich person or a poor person, an old person or a young person, and so on. But the net brings them all in. Yet, that net is defined: you are either in the net or you are not in the net (you can’t be simultaneously entangled in it and also free from it). That definition or shape of the net is determined by the Creed—the Creed which is said at Mass and which is clearly articulated in its more precise definitions through the perennial teaching of the Church (readily found in the Universal Catechism). It is that definition that consequently determines who is in the net and who is not. To be Catholic, therefore, means to be in the net—which necessarily means assent to the Catholic Creed. 

In American terms (and to use Chesterton’s analogy here), to be an American means to be in the great Melting Pot. Like the fisherman’s net, anybody can be in that Melting Pot: white or black, rich or poor, old or young, foreigner or national. But to actually be in the Melting Pot means that such a person must fall inside the limits of that Pot’s shape. The shape of the Pot, like the shape of the fisherman’s net, is defined by the American Creed. Thus, to be an American, you must believe the American Creed upon which the founding of our country is based: that God created us and made us equal and so on. Interestingly, the “rite of Citizenship” to become an American citizen is, in many ways and degrees, akin to the Rite of Christian Initiation to become a Catholic. Both require the person to assent to a Creed. 

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The problem facing our culture today—both in our Nation and in our Church—is that there are those who think that they can change the Creed—Catholic or American—or, worse, to think that assent to a Creed is no longer deterministic of being a Catholic or an American. We hear people saying, “I can be a Catholic while also approving actions that are totally outside of and contrary to her Creed.” Or, in the case of an American, we hear some saying, “I can be an American while also approving actions and political systems that are totally contrary to the country’s founding.” 

These problems are, at root (whether people know it or not), an attempt to not only deform the shape of the melting pot and the fisherman’s net, but to discard them altogether: in effect, to melt down the pot itself. A simple but most important conclusion can be made here: America without her Creed is no longer America, just like Catholicism without her Creed is no longer Catholicism. 

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Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, when faced with a malicious crowd who was trying to ensnare Him in the religious and political events of the day, took a coin and said those famous words: “Repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar. And repay to God what belongs to God.” 

The key words here are “repay…” and “what belongs…” To repay means to give back what was given. And “what belongs” implies that, what was given, wasn’t mine. 

In saying this, Jesus holds up a coin. It had an image of Caesar. And because it has the image of Caesar, it goes to Caesar. But what has the image of God? You do. I do. Imprinted on your soul and on my soul is God’s image. And so the coins in good citizenship belong to Caesar; you and I, however, belong to God. 

In the case of America, where Her Creed assents to God, what we give here in good citizenship and in good faith are necessarily and closely aligned. The Roman Empire of Caesar wasn’t founded upon God; so, coins to Caesar. But our America was founded as “one nation under God.” So: the question needs to be answered: what are we to repay to America? 

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I, as a Catholic and an American, who have received these great loans of faith and country, must pay back what I have received by offering the coins of my own assent. 

This is the requirement of those who call themselves Catholic and American. Catholic Americans give assent to two Creeds which have at their founding, God. 

In that assent, we pray for our country and we also pray for the holiness of our brother and sister Catholics—most especially those who are called to bear the Cross of public service. 

But, in addition to our prayers, we are called to help our brothers and sisters—both in their task of being good citizens of this country and of being good citizens of God’s Kingdom. As such, Catholic Americans have always held accountable our elected officials, but we have always and especially held accountable our Catholic elected officials; for, a Catholic American elected official bears the weight not only of serving our country, but also of serving God. Indeed, given the nature of America, only in serving God (ie, repaying what belongs to Him) does the official well-serve America. This is the point of the first reading about Cyrus and God telling him, a leader of Israel, that Cyrus’ position comes from God—and there is no other. 

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Here, we may conclude by answer what authentic Catholic American assent looks like. 

First: authentic assent requires that we not only know our Catholic faith and our country’s laws and foundation (which itself does require sacrificial effort on our part—or great trust), but also that we give an actual and not mere nominal or notional assent. That is, we must go beyond being Catholics—and Americans—in name only. 

Second: we pray for good Catholic Americans to persevere in the faith in the discharge of their office and we pray for more good Catholic Americans to undertake the cross of public service for the greater glory of God. We also pray for the conversion of elected officials who are not Catholic but who nevertheless uphold the American Creed that our Lord may direct their governance to his greater glory and the salvation of their souls. 

Third: as simply good Americans who assent to her Creed, we also avoid supporting those running for office who do not similarly assent; for we know the exercise of their office would deform the melting pot and thus America. 

Fourth: most especially, as good Catholic Americans we avoid supporting those Catholics running for office who do not assent to the Catholic Creed and all its impacts upon morality, the dignity of the human person, and, by extension, our God who upholds our nation; for, if a Catholic official cannot repay what belongs to God here, how are they going to repay what belongs to America? 

This is the challenge of the Gospel. And it is a challenge. But the coins of our assent are what you and I owe to God.

How the West Was Won - Homily for the 22nd Sunday in OT (A, 2020)

Today’s homily comes with a warning label: it will be a little more heady than usual. I hope you find it edifying and timely. 

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You, as an American, having come from our mostly Judeo-Christian background, and Greek and Roman ideals of government and thought at that—you think differently and value different things than, say, a person living in Iran or Russia or China. To some degree, you are a product of and part of Western Civilization and are different than Eastern Civilizations. As such, you have been taught and naturally tend to collaborate, to cooperate, to compromise. You are more apt to pluralism and to tolerance and, as a fruit of that, to enjoy a public square that is open to the discussion of varying ideas and even opposite opinions—although, this part of our Western civilization is quickly closing. 

Indeed, in that public square, our Western civilization sometimes encounters ideologies that are totally opposed to that civilization—for example: anarchists who oppose foundational building blocks of civilization that are called laws or Marxists who oppose another societal building block which we call personal liberty. Yes, in the public square, we sometimes encounter ideologies that are impossible to compromise with. 

And we are faced with a very difficult question: what do we do then? This is the question our culture at large is facing, whether it knows it or not. 

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Before the Second World War, in the European Theater, Western Civilization was confronted with Adolf Hitler. (As an aside: in our 21^st century, the name, Hitler, and the label “fascist” are thrown around rather indiscriminately and have, in many ways, become empty caricatures of their very real evils and the novelty of that evil at that time). But in the late 1930s, the British Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, thought he could talk some sense into Hitler. Chamberlain had no idea of what we know today. Indeed, when he had met with Hitler in September, 1938, Chamberlain believed that Hitler could be appeased. He thought that Hitler didn’t really actually believe those bad things he said about Europe. He didn’t really want to conquer the Anglo world. Hitler, like the Marxists and communists, Chamberlain thought, simply wanted economic betterment. And so, he thought their so-called evils could be avoided by negotiation and compromise. This is what Chamberlain did and he came home to England, celebrating the Munich Agreement, literally telling the British people, even, to “go home and get a nice quiet sleep.” One year later, Germany would invade Poland and, a few months after that, Chamberlain’s own Britain. 

This same dynamic is occurring today. 

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In an effort to understand better this dynamic, I sought an objective, outsider’s perspective. I believe I found such an objective look in an interview given by Ayaan Hirsi Ali. Ali is a woman of the East, a Somalian immigrant to the United States, and has had endured the scourge of political Islam. After coming to the US, she has become a fellow at Harvard’s Kennedy School. During an interview with a Stanford think tank, she made the following observation about us in the West. She notes: 

        

[T]hose to whom freedom came late [like the Polish after the fall of the Soviet Union]—those are the ones who are willing to fight…. For them, it is not some vague story in history, they still know what it was like to be … behind that Iron Curtain. To have no freedom. They know what a totalitarian ideology is. They recognize it and they are willing to fight for the core principles of freedom.… Northern Europeans, to some degree Americans, who have been free for so long, they don’t know what freedom is anymore, they are the ones who are… wringing their hands and thinking… “what is western civilization? Is it white supremicism?” And if our elites… cannot tell the difference between white nationalism and western civilization… then we are in big trouble. 

The interviewer quoted a speech by one of our Presidents during his visit in Poland. That President said: 

The fundamental question of our time is whether the West has the will to survive. Do we have the confidence in our values to defend them at any cost? … Do we have the desire and the courage to preserve our civilization in the face of those who would subvert and destroy it?” 

The interviewer then asked Ali: “Is that the fundamental question?” 

“Yes,” she said, whether we have the will to survive, “that is the fundamental question.” 

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The error in our current day, then, is to think that, after WWII, we would never have to go to fight for our civilization again. 

CS Lewis, in his book, “That Hideous Strength,” outlined how, in the years after World War Two, the populace would become duped and even welcoming of such evils and would fail to fight against them. He notes with special and truly incredible foresight the following steps. He notes, first, that there will exist a comfort culture that enjoys a false sense of security; then there is a loss of journalistic inquiry and integrity; this will be accompanied by the use of celebrities as a means of persuasion and to cover for ignorance; there would be a doing away with the police force; and there would arise a tribalism of Left and Right political movements; and then, finally, a loss of the plot itself. Sound familiar? He wrote that nearly eighty years ago. 

The last step, the “loss of the plot”—what does this mean? It means to forget the real sources of evil and how we are all of us—left and right, American citizen and immigrant, black and white, Catholic and Protestant, West and East even—we are all in a raging battle against Satan himself. 

Precisely because we have been conditioned to collaboration and cooperation and tolerance, our Western sensibilities often balk against such a fine point and we wonder whether intolerance is ever a holy—or even approved—action. 

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Indeed, that’s the heart of Peter’s argument with Jesus. Peter, in his rebuke, voiced a very Western thought, that somehow evil could be conquered without the Cross. To this, Jesus responds in what is quite possibly his harshest and most intolerant rebuke: “Get behind me, Satan.” 

Now, Jesus loves Peter. Thoroughly loves him. He gives Peter the keys to the kingdom. But Jesus says what he does to alert Peter about the gravity of the situation. And the gravity is that Peter’s ideology is totally incompatible with Jesus. In other words: there is no compromise, Peter. The Cross is it. If you do not have The Cross as your foundation of life and as your focus and priority and meaning for everything you do—if rather comfort and appeasement is your thing, then you are playing for the other team. And so: “Get behind me, Satan.” 

Paul, in a little softer language says, “I urge you… do not conform yourselves to this age, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind…” 

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Such a transformation embraces the Cross of seeking the Truth and the facts and which demands such, and not echo-chamber narratives from your preferred sources of information. 

Such a transformation carries the Cross of calling our leaders—especially our leaders who claim themselves to be Catholic—to condemn without qualification riotous Marxists and Anarchists and those who undermine the dignity of this land’s laws and her people—including the unborn, the elderly, and the poor. 

Such a transformation would not be content with the phrase “systemic racism” and would even question its validity and its usefulness. It would carry the Cross of investigating the motives that drive anger and would remind the culture to seek real solutions to black-on-black crime, drug culture, absentee fathers, and the destruction of the family. 

True transformation is not content with virtue signaling, but with the real carrying of the Cross even unto the point of unpopularity in our Western World. Virtue signaling is simply appeasement to the mob. Carrying the Cross, however, means to stand in such a way as to voice intolerance of evil and therefore face the ugly titles that come with it, even though we love the West and are standing up for her and fighting the evils that threaten to destroy her. 

Yes, to be a Christian means to have somewhere in our souls Jesus’ own words. And while those words are always “love your neighbor” and “do good to your enemies,” sometimes those words are also “Get behind me, Satan.” They shock our Western sensibilities. But nevertheless we are to have them and say them when we are tempted from within and as a society from without. 

That is the Cross. This is the power of God and the wisdom of God and the victory over evil. And the one who claims the victory brooks no compromise. 

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Exception - Homily for the 20th Sunday in OT (A, 2020)

A favor. A pulling aside of the velvet rope. Entry into a place where you would typically have no business entering. Being given an… exception. 

I was in the sacristy at Saint Peter’s Basilica in Rome. Two of my brother priests and I were on a kind of pilgrimage, offering Holy Masses throughout the city and the country, really, and at various significant places: the altar at Saint Catherine of Siena’s house; the Portiuncula in Assisi; Padre Pio’s parish in San Giovanni Rotundo. And on this day we were at Saint Peter’s. And we had made a request of a friend of ours—requested a favor, really—to be able to offer Holy Mass where I would typically have no business entering: at the very tomb of Saint Peter.

My brother and his wife were with me and I remember us passing a security guard and then the velvet rope and then the stairwell downward into the crypt. An exception had been given to us. And, because of that exception, that favor, I got to offer Holy Mass in one of the most beautiful and memorable places on earth. 

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At the heart of the readings today is this reality of the exception. The favor. 

Exceptions and favors are wonderful—unless we presume them. At that point, we lose the sense of the greatness of the exception.

So, for example, when we approach Jesus in prayer, we simply presume that He is going to give us what we ask. While this is good (we should have great confidence in our Lord), the temptation is that we turn Him into our slave—like a candy machine that gives so long as we have paid—instead of remembering that He is also our Master. He doesn't have to do what we ask.

We can also lose the reality of a favor when we think there was no plan at all.

So, for example, it is easy to believe that Jesus is purely reactionary. What I mean is: we think that He only responds to our prayers and that He really doesn’t have a proactive plan. But Jesus is and indeed calls Himself “the Way”; He says He comes to fulfill the Father’s plan.

When we lose that sense that God actually has a plan and that Jesus doesn't have to answer in the way we want and that, when He does, He is extending mercy-- when we lose that, it is easy to lose the sense of gratitude that comes with knowing an exception was given to us.

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Here we can discuss the odd reaction Jesus gives to the Canaanite woman. 

She has asked Him to help her daughter who is possessed by a demon. And the odd thing is that Jesus says nothing. Why? Why is He being rude—or so it seems? 

At the heart of the Father’s plan is the salvation of His Chosen People, the Israelites, the Jews. This is the mission that Jesus is given: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” In other words, “I wasn’t sent to help that woman. It’s outside the Father’s plan. The Father's plan is to save the Children of Israel first. That's the order of things. So, I’m neither her master nor her slave." Hence, silence. 

Despite this, the woman draws closer and says, “Lord, help me.” 

In a word, the woman understands, by Jesus’ silence, that her request is outside the bounds. She is literally asking for an exception. 

To this, Jesus responds in a way that seems even more rude: “It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs.” Did He just call her a dog? 

Here, a little history serves us well. 

At this time, there were two kinds of people in the world: Jews and Gentiles. Jews were the Chosen People and the Gentiles were seen as everyone else. The Jews were the Children of God, the Chosen, the Light—and the Gentiles were not (or so it seemed). As a result, there was a condescension: some of the Jews looked upon the Gentiles as dogs. The Canaanite woman is not a Jew; she's a Gentile.

So, when Jesus says “… and throw it to the dogs,” it appears as though He is continuing the Jews’ way of thinking. 

He’s not. 

On the one hand, He is alerting the woman that she is correct: she is asking for an exception and, for Him to grant it would be seen in the eyes of those around them (there was a group of Jews there)—it would be seen in their eyes as wasting food on dogs. “You are correct, Woman. You are asking for an exception.” 

But on the other hand, Jesus is also alerting the onlookers that, yes, to reach out to her would scandalize them: “I understand that you look upon her like a dog.” 

Why does He alert them like this? Because He is going to make the exception. 

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In the first reading, you heard from Isaiah. And in the prophecy it says that “foreigners... [will] join themselves to the Lord”—foreigners were Gentiles—and that “I [the Lord] will bring them to my holy mountain… for my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples.” 

In the prophecy, Isaiah is saying that God has a plan for the Gentiles. And this plan, in the time of Jesus, had been forgotten. 

For example, in the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, there were several gathering areas for prayer, like extended courtyards. The outer courtyard of the Temple, for example, was in Jesus’ day famous for gatherings of money changers and their tables and the selling of animals for sacrifice. When Jesus enters into the Temple, you recall that he makes a whip of cords and drives out all of the money changers and flips over their tables while saying: my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples. 

Do you know what that outer courtyard was called? It was called the Court of the Gentiles. 

It was the part of the Temple that was made especially for the Gentiles. 

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 And so, when Jesus says what He does to the woman, He is alerting her to the very real fact that, if He does this healing for her, it will mean more than just a healing of her daughter. It will mean involving her in a greater plan than herself: she will become a reminder to the Jewish people about God’s plan for the Gentiles; the healing will become the beginning of the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy; it will inaugurate the restoration of God’s plan for the Gentiles; and it will involve her in a greater conflict. This isn’t just about healing her daughter. 

To this, she responds with great respect for Jesus, with deference to the Jewish people, and with self-deprecation: “… even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from their master’s table.”

 It is the feminine complement to the centurion’s “Lord, I am not worthy….” 

And her reward is not only the healing of her daughter and the praise of the master, but even the reception of the archetypal name given to Mary, “O woman.” 

The exception is granted. And it becomes the rule.

Indeed, the Church that Jesus Himself established on this earth is called Catholic—meaning "universal"—precisely because She is a Mother who embraces all Jews and Gentiles, "all peoples," in all places, and in all times. 

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So…. What does this mean for us? 

Unless you were born of Jewish parents, you are Gentiles. You are able to enter the Father’s House because that exception has been granted to you. As Paul, the “apostle to the Gentiles,” says in the second reading today: “… you once disobeyed God but have now received mercy because of their disobedience”— 

Who is he talking about there? The Chosen People, the Israelites. Because they had rejected Jesus, the Gentiles were invited in. 

You are here because God wants you, He has chosen you, but it started out as the exception. 

And why does God allow this exception? 

So that “by virtue of the mercy shown to you, they too may receive mercy.” 

In other words, when we—when that woman—realize the great generosity of God; when we realize that He didn’t have to extend His gifts and His call (which are “irrevocable”); when we realize that the velvet rope has been pulled back and we are granted access into places that we have had no right to claim as our own nor to enter on our own accord—the Holiest of Holies being communion with the very Son of God, Jesus Christ, in the Eucharist— 

When we, like that woman, see that this was an exception and not something that should be presumed, we start approaching the Father’s House and these Sacred Mysteries and even heaven itself with a greater humility, a greater appreciation of the generosity, and thus with a greater joy at having been so called. It will necessarily lead to a proclamation to others about Him who has been so good to me. 

I am here today, about to receive Jesus and His many gifts, because He has made the exception for me. Because He wanted me. 

Sit with that for a while and I promise you will be changed. 

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.