Who is the Good Samaritan? - Homily for the 15th Sunday in OT

            Have you ever been robbed? It’s happened to me a couple of times. When I was 20, my car was broken into and my CDs were stolen. And when I was 9, I remember being with my dad when we came home one afternoon and discovered that our home had been broken into. It’s a horrible feeling: we feel violated, as though something of our own self has been taken; we feel anxious as our sense of peace has been stolen; and we feel vulnerable. I remember after our home was broken into that I would once again return to my parents’ bed at night, being once again afraid of the dark. And I remember how the locks on the doors were used with more frequency. And that’s another result of feeling robbed: we feel the need to lock up and to protect ourselves.

            I mention all of this because at the heart of today’s Gospel is the fact that someone has been robbed. It’s easy to overlook this detail because we are focused on the overall moral of Jesus’ parable: namely, that we must love our neighbor. But, before we arrive at the moral of the story, there is this important detail. Remember: Jesus could have used any other image to describe how to love our neighbor. But of all images and stories to use, he chose a story about a man who was robbed. So, the question is: who was robbed?

The Old Covenant Cannot Help Robbed Humanity

            If we zoom out and look at human history, we can say that the one who was robbed was Adam himself.  He was robbed of heaven and original grace and left half-dead. And who was the robber? The devil.

In this way, we can see that all of humanity is, in fact, the one by side of the road: robbed, stripped, beaten, and left for dead. All of humanity had been robbed of that joy and peace that comes from being in the presence of God. We were half-dead in our toils and in our journey through the valley of the shadow of death.

            Who could restore what humanity had lost? Who could repair the breach between man and God and return the order of grace and the treasures to man? No one but God could! This is why Jesus says that a priest and a man of the law (that is, a Levite) passed by the man.

            When I first heard of these two passing by, I wanted to judge them. But we must realize the reasons why they did not help. On the one hand, they did not help because they loved God. This sounds odd and misguided, of course, but that’s because we already understand how love of God and love of neighbor must necessarily go together. They did not necessarily have this union of the two commandments in their heart. So, they passed by. They passed by because, as good Jewish men, they knew that to touch a man and to get his blood on their hands—as they most certainly would if they were to help a man beaten so much that he was half-dead—they knew that to touch him would defile them and they would have to be purified before being able to worship in the temple again. So, that’s the one hand.

            On the other hand, the reality is that they couldn’t help the man. The priest, representing the old testament temple sacrifices, could not help restore the lost treasures of heaven to Adam. Those sacrifices could not make atonement, nor could they open the gates of heaven. Similarly, the Levite, who represents the old testament law, could not bring new life and a restoration of grace. The law could only bring death. Therefore, both the priest and the Levite, the old sacrifices and the old law, must pass by the robbed man. Neither can save him.

           

The Love of the Good Samaritan

Only God can. And God comes as the unexpected Samaritan (for no one expected God to become lowly man to save man!). This Good Samaritan approaches the man, bends down, and lifts him up, inevitably having the blood of the man on his own hands. The Good Samaritan enters into the very reality and world of the man’s problems. And the Good Samaritan does this because he loves us.

            Yes, we must reiterate that point once more. God enters into our daily world because he loves us. He does love us! If God had a wallet, your picture would be inside it! If God had a refrigerator, your family’s photo would be on it! You are important to God. You are His beloved.

            And so, imagine if you discovered your beloved along the side of the road. The one who you invested so much in, who you spend night and day with, whose laugh makes you smile, and whose very presence brings you delight—imagine that you see your beloved on the side of the road, beaten and robbed. We would run over to them! “What has happened to you?” we would cry out. We would immediately pick them up and care for them.

            And this is the point: God loves us! We are his beloved. He sees us there along the side of the road, having been robbed of our peace. He knows that we feel broken, that we have felt violated and are now afraid of relationships and love—and much less so, to be loved by God. He knows that we are vulnerable and anxious and suffering. We have been robbed!

            He does not chide us for falling into the robbers hands. No, as the Psalm says today:

the LORD hears the poor,
and his own who are in bonds he spurns not

He comes to free and heal us!

            Therefore, as Jesus approaches, let us not lock up our hearts and protect ourselves as though we were to be robbed again! God love us! He is here to save us. Let him pick you up and help you! Only in this way can we help others: Only when we allow God to become the Good Samaritan to our lives can we become the Good Samaritan to others. Only when we allow Jesus to help us will we be able to be Jesus to others.

Salvation History: The Plan of the Good Samaritan

But how does Jesus want to help us? How are we being called to let him help us? The second half of the story holds the key. In the second half, after Jesus lifts the man up, it says that the Good Samaritan bandages the man’s wounds, fills his wounds with wine and oil, and takes him to an inn. These are not insignificant details. So, what do they mean?

First, it says that Jesus bandages our wounds. (Little did we know that the Good Samaritan is the Divine Physician!). Jesus is the one who helps our hearts to heal. This comes about in many ways, but one way is particularly important here—and that is the word “bandaged.”  Another word for this is to “bind.” We hear this word when Jesus talks to the apostles about forgiving sins: “whatever you bind on earth is bound in heaven….” To bind the man’s wounds is to forgive him. This is what makes the Good Samaritan so able to help the man, robbed by the effects of sin: the Good Samaritan can forgive unlike the old priest and the old law. It is the Sacrament of Reconciliation that we see this.

            Then, it says that Jesus fills the man’s wounds with oil. Oil was used as medicine in those times. But it was also used to consecrate priests, prophets, and kings. Another word for “anointed” is the Greek “Christos” from which we get Christ, or in Hebrew “Messiah.” Here, the Good Samaritan, after having forgiven the man, restores the man’s dignity and even elevates it by giving him a share in His own anointing as priest, prophet, and king. Do we not see this as the newly baptized are anointed with chrism? or at confirmation? and at Holy Orders?—all healed too when they receive the anointing of the sick!

            Next, it says that Jesus fills the man’s wounds with wine. You’re thinking, I know, so it’s obvious that wine was used at the Last Supper and at the Wedding Feast of Cana. Wine is the sign of God’s superabundant and divine love poured into our hearts. That’s why there is a superabundance and a super-tasty wine given at the Wedding Feast. That’s why, at the Last Supper, the wine becomes transformed into the superabundance of God’s love himself, Jesus Our Lord. The robbed man’s wounds are filled with this new wine. And so are ours at the Eucharist.

            We see, therefore, that all seven sacraments are presented to us on this road between the two cities! This is how Jesus wants to help us! In the sacraments, Jesus restores to us what was lost in the great robbery: He restores to us the life of grace and His very divine presence into our lives!

Life at the Inn until the Second Coming

            And note: this takes place on the road between Jericho and the heavenly Jerusalem—which together represents life. It is there at that we see the Good Samaritan taking the robbed man to an inn. What is this inn? Well, you are sitting in it! The inn is the Church. And we hear that there is an innkeeper there. (… At your service!)—the priests and bishops, the Apostles, Peter. Jesus gives the innkeeper two coins—two coins taken from the treasury of God’s love, representing His graces—and tells him,

Take care of him.
If you spend more than what I have given you,
I shall repay you on my way back.

“Take care of him.” We hear this when Jesus says to Peter, “Peter, feed my lambs.” And to the disciples: “Go, therefore and teach… baptize…” Yes, Church, “Take care of him”!

            But, then it says, “if you spend more than what I have given you…”

What does this mean? It means our sufferings. In our care for our neighbor, we will bank on the coins of God’s grace, but we will also spend ourselves, offering our very lives in payment. We will suffer as we care for our neighbor.

            To this, Jesus says, “I shall repay you…” This is God’s promise of eternal reward. And when is this eternal reward given? “On my way back”—when Jesus returns! This is the Second Coming. At the Second Coming, we see our Lord fulfilling his promises of eternal life full of reward or of punishment.

The Robbed, Good Samaritan

            This brings us back to the very beginning of today’s Gospel! Do you remember how this whole conversation about the Good Samaritan began? It began with a scholar asking Jesus, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Here, we see the answer. the answer begins with a corrective to the Pharisaical attitude which loved God at the expense of neighbor (which we saw in the priest and Levite passing by the robbed man). The answer continues in the union of the two commandments— that is, to love God and neighbor—which are seen at in the way people are judged at the end of time.

            It is there that we hear something very interesting. And it’s worth hearing the passage in its entirety. So, at the Second Coming,

the king will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.’

Then the righteous will answer him and say, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? When did we see you ill or in prison, and visit you?’ And the king will say to them in reply, ‘Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.’

Ok, so we see here that those who become like Jesus, the Good Samaritan, and helped their neighbor, shall receive the Good Samaritan’s kingdom: that is, the inheritance of heaven.

            But we also see something peculiar and it is found in the words: “What ever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.” What does this mean? It means that Jesus identifies himself not only as the Good Samaritan, but also as the one who was robbed, who was stripped and beaten and left for dead—which He was.

            So, Jesus is not only the Good Samaritan that lifts up our robbed selves to become like the Good Samaritan, but Jesus is also the one who, by taking upon himself our sins, becomes the robbed man in need of a Good Samaritan.

            Therefore, when we see those who have been physically or spiritually robbed by the devil or the world, we are not simply seeing a robbed man. We are seeing Jesus. Our loving response to our neighbor, therefore, is never divorced from love of God; for we see that God has become our neighbor! "Whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me."

            This is why we must become like the Good Samaritan: for not only were we once robbed and now restored, but our God has become like the one robbed and is now awaiting our coming. All of this requires that we first recognize where we have been robbed and allow ourselves to be helped by the God who comes to save us. Only then can we really hear the words of the first reading.

This command that I enjoin on you today
is not too mysterious and remote for you.
It is not up in the sky…
Nor is it across the sea…
No, it is something very near to you,
already in your mouths and in your hearts;
you have only to carry it out.

What Happened in the Supreme Court Today - The Power Grab

The more I look at today’s Supreme Court decision regarding the DOMA case, the more I don’t like it; not only because it pushes wide open the door to same-sex union (and other things regarding that), but also because it solidifies as precedent a creeping attitude change regarding the balance of power in our three-branch government.

Therefore, I’m going to write a little on this landmark case, extensively quoting from Justice Scalia’s brilliant dissenting opinion. This is the first post of two.

But before I do that, do a quick read of what this case was all about (and what it wasn't about). 

So, let’s talk first about the first aspect of this case. From Scalia:

This case is about power in several respects. It is about the power of our people to govern themselves, and the power of this Court to pronounce the law. Today’s opinion aggrandizes the latter [the Supreme Court], with the predictable consequence of diminishing the former [Yours]. We [the Supremes] have no power to decide this case. And even if we did, we have no power under the Constitution to invalidate this democratically adopted legislation. The Court’s errors on both points spring forth from the same diseased root: an exalted conception of the role of this institution in America. (1)

That’s the argument: the Supreme Court overstepped its bounds. But how? Let’s dive in!

They [the People of the US] gave judges, in Article III [of the Constitution], only the “judicial Power,” a power to decide not abstract questions but real, concrete “Cases” and “Controversies.” (1-2)

Scalia is laying the foundation here that the Supreme Court exists, as established by the Constitution, to address actual cases. What is an actual case? It is case where at least two parties have a disagreement. This sounds stupid, common-sensical, but this is what is at issue. (Oy.)

So, with actual cases, lower courts usually remedy the disagreement between the two parties. Only when the disagreement continues after the lower courts does the case comes before the Supreme Court. Scalia writes that the matter was settled in the lower courts. So, he writes:

the plaintiff [Windsor] and the Government agree entirely on what should happen in this lawsuit. They agree that the court below got it right; and they agreed in the court below that the court below that one got it right as well. What, then, are we doing here? (2)

The answer to the question is that the other judges of the Supreme Court believe that the Constitution disagrees with DOMA (an act of congress) and that, in this disagreement, it is the “province and duty” of the judicial branch—in this case, the Supreme Court—to “say what the law is.” (2). Scalia is shocked by that line of argument because

It is an assertion of [the Judicial Branch’s] supremacy over the people’s Representatives in Congress [who passed DOMA] and the Executive [that is, the President who signed the bill]. It envisions a Supreme Court standing (or rather enthroned) at the apex of government, empowered to decide all constitutional questions, always and everywhere “primary” in its role. [As opposed to being co-equal with the other two branches of government]. (2)

Scalia notes how the founders established this separation of power so that the people’s right to self-rule would be guarded and that they would be protected from “the black-robed supremacy” of the judicial branch.

And so Scalia insists that

For this reason [of guarding and protecting the people] we are quite forbidden to say what the law is whenever “‘an Act of Congress is alleged to conflict with the Constitution.’” (3)

But,…  wait. I thought that was the role of the Supreme Court…

It is, but there is a requirement for it. Scalia explains:

We can do so only when that allegation will determine the outcome of a lawsuit, and is contradicted by the other party. (3)

           

So, the Supreme Court can only say what the law is when the allegation will determine the outcome of a lawsuit, AND is contradicted by the other party. Since the plantiff, Windsor, and the US Government have AGREED in this case, Scalia rightly argues that the Supreme Court has no place to hear this “case” because there is no contradiction by the other party:

Neither party [Windsor or the US Government] sought to undo the judgment for Windsor, and so that [lower] court should have dismissed the appeal (just as we [the Supreme Court] should dismiss this case) for lack of jurisdiction. (5)

Therefore,

The question here is not whether, as the majority puts it, “the United States retains a stake

sufficient to support Article III jurisdiction,” ibid. The question is whether there is any controversy [that is, contradiction] between the United States and Ms. Windsor. There is not. (7-8)

Scalia then notes that to do what the Supreme Court is doing by hearing this case has no precedent

We have never before agreed to speak—to “say what the law is”—where there is no controversy before us. In the more than two centuries that this Court has existed as an institution, we have never suggested that we have the power to decide a question when every party agrees with both its nominal opponent and the court below on that question’s answer. The [lawyers of the] United States reluctantly conceded that at oral argument. (5)

Good point.

in fact, past precedent dictates that the case be dismissed. Scalia notes the opinion of Chief Justice Taney in Lord v. Veazie in 1850 who, when confronted with two parties who agreed but who were pushing for the court to “say what the law is,” said:

The whole proceeding was in contempt of the court, and highly reprehensible . . . . A judgment in form, thus procured, in the eye of the law is no judgment of the court. It is a

nullity, and no writ of error will lie upon it. This writ is, therefore, dismissed.” (11)

This concerns Scalia: why isn’t this court today considering past precedent and the ordinary understanding of the balance of power?

Scalia then goes so far as to wonder out loud about whether the other justices have a malicious intent about hearing this case: that is, to set a precedent for the Supreme Court itself: and that precedent is to “say what the law is” even when it doesn’t have the power to do so, and secondarily, to universally make precedent same-sex unions.

The further proceedings have been a contrivance, having no object in mind except to elevate a District Court judgment that has no precedential effect in other courts, to one that has precedential effect throughout the Second Circuit, and then (in this Court) precedential effect throughout the United States. (5)

Scalia is calling this whole charade a power-grab.

He continues his critique by noting how the justices rationalized their decision. He says that they “relegate[d] a jurisdictional requirement” to the level of being simply a matter of “prudence,” which in turn, he says “enabl[es] courts to ignore the requirement whenever they believe it “prudent”—which is to say, a good idea.”

In other words, the justices side-stepped actual law and precedent, citing reasons of prudence—which is just another way of relativizing law so as to get what one wants.

Scalia takes offense at this. He says,

the existence of a controversy [in a case] is not a “prudential” requirement that we have invented, but an essential element of an Article III case or controversy. [What the other justices have done is] a breathtaking revolution in our Article III jurisprudence. (9)

Yikes.

Scalia cites a 1968 court case (Flast v. Cohen) that employed the same argument, saying that

We have been living with the chaos created by that power-grabbing decision ever since, [see Hein v. Freedom From Religion Foundation, Inc.,(2007)], as we will have to live with the chaos created by this one. (8)

Ouch.

So, what should have happened? Scalia writes that Congress passed DOMA in 1996. President Clinton (!) signed DOMA into law. Now President Clinton, if he felt the law was constitutional, had a right to refuse to sign DOMA into law. At which point,

the [lower] District Court could not have refereed this friendly scrimmage, and the [President’s] determination of unconstitutionality would have escaped this Court’s [the Supreme’s] desire to blurt out its view of the law. The matter would have been left, as so many matters ought to be left, to a tug of war between the President and the Congress, which has innumerable means (up to and including impeachment) of compelling the President to enforce the laws it has written. (10)

That would have been the correct way to address the issue under the Constitution.

But instead, says Scalia, the Supreme Court simply enacted its desire to “place this Court at the center of the Nation’s life.” (11). This is problematic for many reasons, but the one reason that Scalia addresses specifically is the matter of confrontation; that is, the three-branch system of government requires that each branch, when it disagrees with another branch, should confront the other in the manner that confrontation is expected by each branch. So, for example,

If majorities in both Houses of Congress care enough about the matter, they have available innumerable ways to compel executive action without a lawsuit—from refusing to confirm Presidential appointees to the elimination of funding. (Nothing says “enforce the Act” quite like “. . . or you will have money for little else.”) But the condition is crucial; Congress must care enough to act against the President itself, not merely enough to instruct its lawyers to ask us to do so. (14)

Because the Supreme Court has amassed to itself too much power, this confrontation no longer (or, will no longer) exists. Thus, a new branch of government will arise: lawyers. And that's what the world needs, right? More lawyers? Yes, 

Placing the Constitution’s entirely anticipated political arm wrestling into permanent judicial receivership does not do the system a favor. (14)

So, that's the first part. Check back for part two when I discuss the same-sex union aspect of this.....

Homily Notes - To the Graduates of JP II Prep: May Your Study Be a Crucifixion

Good evening. Once again, congratulations to all of you graduates. Tonight for this Baccalaureate Mass, I want to give you a homily that is more academic than I normally would give at the parish. If it goes over your head—well, all the more reason for college.

Studying: A Crucifixion

St. Thomas Aquinas once said: “Study is crucifixion at a desk.” It is the hardest work in the world, says Chesterton, because hard work, he says, is repugnant to our nature.

What is interesting to me is that Aquinas should call study a crucifixion. The crucifixion is the place where Jesus dies for us, where Love reveals His true nature: that love is self-sacrificial, total, faithful, and (on this tree of life) it is fruitful. It is there that the deep truth about God is revealed: that God is a loving God. But it is also on that same cross that the deep truth about humanity is revealed: that man is most fully man when he ascends this wooden ladder in love, for it is there that man achieves his ultimate reality—that is, as St. Athanasius once said: that man might become gods.

So, when Aquinas calls study a crucifixion, he isn’t merely saying that study is hard. He is also saying that, in study, we encounter Love and Truth. Indeed, it is in study that we begin to encounter God and also our humanity’s dignity and vocation. Thinking, therefore, is not only the search and expression of Truth, but it is also a labor of one who loves. Yes, study and friendship—like Truth and Charity—are married.

And we know this from experience: your friends: you got to know them by spending time together, by expressing and receiving ideas, and by having your friendship tested through trial. This was study. The desk might have been the local McDonald’s or your mom’s kitchen table as your played cards, but the book was one of the most interesting (and, paradoxically, one of the most unread): the book of humanity.

Friendship, we hear in the first reading, is a treasure beyond price, like fire tried in gold, or a sturdy shelter built on rock that can withstand winds and storms—unlike sand. And friendship—yes, even friendship—required study. And thus, friendship requires both loving and thinking.

And if such is the case with human friends, then should not even more be the case for God?

The Status of the Non-Crucified Culture

Now, let me be frank with you, graduates: our world today avoids study of God and his friendship and has therefore lost its ability to think and to love. If you haven’t already encountered this, you will encounter it soon. You’ll see it in the words people use. Do you notice the words people use? Let me give you a few examples. [Inspired by Dale Alquist’s book “Chesterton, the Complete Thinker”]

Whatever. Whatever reveals the default position of the world: “Whatever. I’m not going to think about this. It’s too hard. Or I don’t care. Or whatever.” As the world has lost its ability to think, so too has it lost its ability for true friendship. You can be unfriended at a bad glance, at the click of the “unfriend” button, or through boredom. This is because the world doesn’t stop to think when the storms of emotion and gossip begin to swirl. And without thinking, it never encounters Truth, that thing that protects the treasure of friendship, the home of charity. With no thinking and no truth, such homes and friends crumble into the sand. Just like whatever.

Like. No, I’m not talking Facebook. But I could say a lot about Facebook and friendship, but I would digress… “Like” is a lack of precision, that something is vaguely similar. It expresses mere opinion. “I like this.” Or “this is like something.” In itself, there is no problem to liking something. The problem is, however, as we have seen in Facebook, that everything is a status update; everything is an opinion. Our world is full of opinions (mine here included). But I’m tired of opinions. I want the truth! The world uses “like” a lot because it cannot say what something “is.” I don’t want a “like” button on Facebook. I want an “is” button. I want truth. Yes, this… IS.

            You know? That’s the last of these words. You know? “You know” means “I don’t know… but I hope you know because I don’t. You know?”

             Um, yeah. Um—like, that’s what we are reduced to. You know? Yeah. Whatever.

             Why can’t the world talk? Because it doesn’t think. And why doesn’t it think? Because it either does not want to do the work—which, in a microwaveable, give-it-to-me-now world, is easy to avoid, or because it has never been taught how to think.

And how frustrating it is for a society that cannot think or talk! This is the quickest way for isolation—which is the opposite of friendship and love.

Results of a Society that Unfriends Jesus

How does society react? Often with anger because it is the easiest emotion when one cannot think or encounters things too hard to think about. Society reacts with even more anger because it doesn’t know how to express its anger since it cannot speak. And so the rage is released in the most brutal and unimaginable ways—in terrorism, in shootings at school, in mindless video game violence, in loud music that fills empty minds with sound instead of logos, and in empty, soulless and mindless sex.

        And, if you think about it, isn’t this what the devil wanted from the beginning? He didn’t want Adam or Eve to think because that would have an effect on how they loved. Thinking and loving, the devil knows, are the things that make us godly in the first place. And Satan hates God. So Satan hates thinking and loving.

            This is why sin is stupid.

        And what is the result of sin? What is the result of all this lack of thinking and loving? It’s slavery. That is not where our culture is going—it is where our culture is. People are enslaved to their stuff because they can’t think beyond their stuff. And because they can’t think beyond their stuff, they can’t love anything beyond their stuff. And so they become isolated in lives of quiet desperation. Or not-so-quiet rebellion. Remember: the Crucifixion was a result of a lot of enslaved people not thinking.

         The strange thing is: in such a state of slavery, you will find that the non-thinkers will accuse the thinkers of something ludicrous: namely, of being unreasonable.

         We are told to believe that the Catholic Church wants to return the world to the Dark Ages, that moment in history that was supposedly freed by the Enlightenment. We heard this when Cardinal Burke was Archbishop of St. Louis. “He wants to return the Church to the Dark Ages!” they said. This couldn’t be further from the Truth.

           When the Visigoths and Barbarians—Barbarians, from which we get our word today—were destroying civilization in murderous, non-sensical ways, it was the Catholic Church that preserved civilization, persevered its languages and literature and philosophy and sciences and art and architecture and music. The only reason why we can read Virgil and Plato and Socrates today is because the Catholic Church preserved such works from the book-burning Barbarian barbarians. It was in such ways that the Catholic Church brought the world out of the Dark Ages and into a renaissance. The Catholic Church held thinking close to her breast.

        Later, when the “Enlightenment” began, we did not see the shining of light into man’s minds, but the dark clouds of doubt and despair, the fruits of which we have reaped by the greatest genocides, wars, and New Barbarianism ever known to man.

And yet we are told that we are unreasonable and, even worse, we are told that we are intolerant. We are told that we are the ones causing this mess, that we are behind the times, that we need to learn the truth of charity and friendship.

        But, as Chesterton once said, there is nothing more fanatical and intolerant than the fanatical hatred of morality—especially of Christian morality.

        And it is this world’s fanatical intolerance of Truth and Charity that is rapidly spinning our world into a new slavery: a slavery of the passions and emotions. And this might be the worst of all slaveries, because the slave-master happens to be our self, and his demeanor is often unpredictable.

In the Creed: an Encounter with the yet-Uncrucified Jesus

        Into this mess, Jesus comes, saying: “I no longer call you slaves,… but friends.” This escape from slavery and into friendship came when Truth in Charity was revealed through the 10 Commandments. Have you ever noticed how they begin? It says: “I am the Lord your God who freed you… from slavery.” Does this not invite us to consider a deeper friendship with the Lord?

            Friendship involves commitment. And so, to the 10 Commandments I offer my 10 Commitments:

God says, “You will not have any other gods.” To which I respond: “I won’t have any other gods. I commit to that, Lord.” I commit to using His Sacred Name only in blessing and in prayer and praise. I commit to keeping Sunday sacred and every Holy Day of Obligation. I commit to loving my parents. I commit to protecting life. I commit to a life of holy purity and chastity, seeing people as they are and not for my own use. I commit to using what I have been given and never to steal. I commit to telling the truth and never to gossip. I commit to being thankful for what I have and faithful to the relationships to which I have given my promise.

        In the simple words of St. Dominic: “I’d rather die than sin.”

            Because sin is stupid. And it hurts my friend.

            Probably the most poignant reminder for me to lead a life of thinking and of charity comes every Sunday when we say the Creed. During the creed, we profess our belief in God the Father, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, the Church. We even mention Mary and the communion of saints.

            But what is odd for me and what is the most poignant reminder is that we also name Pontius Pilate by name. Why? Because Charity and Truth stood in the flesh before him, inviting him into friendship.

        How did Pontius Pilate respond? He said, “What is truth?”

        This is the modern response to the Catholic faith. This is the modern response to Truth. This is the modern response to Charity. This is the modern response to thinking. “What is truth?” the world asks—not in a thinking way, but in a distant, I-don’t-really-care-about-the-truth-but-I’ll-at-least-sound-sophisticated-if-I-pose-the-question kind of way.

            This is a lack of integrity. And for this reason we recite in the Creed: “And he was crucified under Pontius Pilate.”

            Truth. Charity. They were both crucified under the apathetic Pontius Pilate who feigned to think and to care, but who could really care less.

           

            When I say his name every Sunday, it serves as a remind to me to examine my conscience: How am I responding to Jesus’ invitation to friendship in Charity and Truth? Am I responding to the crucifixion at a desk or am the one doing the crucifying?

        Pope Benedict XVI once wrote:

               

Each person finds his good by adherence to God's plan for him, in order to realize it fully: in this plan, he finds his truth, and through adherence to this truth he becomes free (cf. Jn 8:32). To defend the truth, to articulate it with humility and conviction, and to bear witness to it in life are therefore exacting and indispensable forms of charity. Charity, in fact, “rejoices in the truth” (1 Cor 13:6). (Caritas in Veritate, 1).

Yes, to know and articulate and defend the truth in charity are exacting and indispensable forms of charity. Truth and charity helps us to let go of our “subjective opinions and impressions, [and allows us] to move beyond cultural and historical limitations and to come together in the assessment of the value and substance of things” (Caritas in veritate, 4).

            In other words, to study God and to enter into his friendship helps free us from the dictatorship and slavery of relativism and mere opinion.

            To practice this helps us “to understand that adhering to the values of Christianity is not merely useful but essential for building a good society and for true integral human development. A Christianity of charity without truth would be more or less interchangeable with a pool of good sentiments, helpful for social cohesion, but of little relevance. In other words, there would no longer be any real place for God in the world.” (CV 4)

            This is what led St. Thomas Aquinas to say that the greatest work of mercy was to instruct the ignorant.

Conclusion

            On this note, I wish to thank your parents and the faculty and administration and priests here. We were all once ignoramuses, and they have set us free. This is the greatest work of charity: to instruct us in the truth.

            Now you must go and do the same.

            Go out into the world. Do not enter into a Catholic ghetto. Be like the yeast which leavens the entire loaf. And remember: it only takes a little yeast—just a little!—to make the whole loaf rise.

            And yes, you’ll be crucified. But you won’t be afraid, because you’ve been on that cross for a while now. You’ve been on that cross while on your knees and at your desk. You’ll have been at the place where Truth and Charity meet, where there is friendship and joy with the God who loves you.

            And so, this is my prayer for you: that in all your studies, they may be such a place to encounter God’s Truth and Charity. Yes, may your study always be a crucifixion.

Tending to Wounded Butterflies - Homily Notes for Pentecost

The Commandments and Pentecost

If you love me, you will keep my commandments.
And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate to be with you always.

I found it interesting that the Gospel reading for today should mention the commandments. I thought that Pentecost and living by the Spirit superseded, in a sense, these commands from long ago. What is the relation?

Pentecost means fifty: it’s been fifty days since the Resurrection, the days of the Lord’s Passover. This “fifty” is important; for, what happens fifty days after the first Passover? Fifty days after the first Passover, we see Moses on Mt. Sinai receiving the Ten Commandments. These Commandments were the doctrine, the one confession, which united the people of Israel. The Commandments were not meant to enslave or restrict freedom, but to keep Israel from returning to the slavery of the world.

In much the same way, Pentecost today unites us in one confession of faith—and with a new command: a command to love. This is not a minimum as the Commandments are, but a maximum without limit: “Love one another as I have loved you.” And the way that Jesus loves us is infinite, eternal, perfect, divine, and without limit. Pentecost infuses us with this Holy Spirit so that we might not just do the minimum, but live the maximum in love.

The Spiritual Responses to a Wounded Butterfly

Earlier this week, I noticed this maximum of love being lived out—and, in all places, it happened on the playground. One of our little fourth graders found a butterfly who wasn’t able to fly. She held it in her hands, protecting it and almost praying for it. Kids around her asked, “Whatcha got in your hands?” And, upon discovering that it was a butterfly, they insisted that she let it go. But it wasn’t able to fly, she tried to explain, and she was going to take care of it. She took care of it for the duration of recess, for as long as she could. Eventually, recess ended and, as she and I walked to the school, she asked what would happen to her butterfly.

To this story, the spirit of our age might react with a couple of opinions:

First, the spirit of our age might respond with words like “oh, how cute” or “what a child-like faith” and other such niceties. But rarely does the spirit of the age actually slow down, process the matter, question itself and ask: When was the last time that I looked close enough around me to see a wounded butterfly?—and even more so, to feel responsibility towards it?” These are the more painful questions that the spirit of our age will not ask because not only does it require us to slow down and take valuable time (for to do so would mean to question our schedule), but it also puts us into the painful reality of our modern situation: that we need healing from a life too busy or too bored or too self-absorbed to see wounded butterflies, and much less so to be so recollected and loving that we would pick one up to take care of it. Yes, the spirit of our world does have a heart and an initial outpouring of emotion, but it doesn’t let such experiences “sink in” and “hit home.” Sadly, the world does not allow the fruit of love to ripen because the world doesn’t allow itself the time to process and to think deeply about what it has experienced. Here, time acts as a means of purification.

The second response would be to simply dismiss the whole matter as a giant waste of time: after all, it’s just a butterfly. I have more important things to do—like watch TV, update my Facebook, or take the kids to volleyball—very important things. This response is summed up in that great word that summarizes today’s culture: Whatever. And it is this response that is not spiritual at all; for not only does spirituality require that we think, but also that we love.

It was at the end of recess that the little girl realized that she couldn’t take the butterfly back into the classroom with her. And at the same time, she realized that if she let the butterfly go, the butterfly was going to die. She was thinking and she was loving, and initially she wanted to hold on; she wanted her will to be done: that is, she wanted to take the butterfly inside even if that meant making herself the authority, like the principal. Or, at the very least, she wanted to construct her own fantasy world where she could have the butterfly live forever and not actually be wounded.

But neither were the will of God.

In the spirit of the world, the girl could have simply dropped the butterfly and said, “I don’t care, it’s just a butterfly.” But this girl had a heart—and a mind. She looked at me and asked: “Father Gerber, will God take care of the butterfly?”

            “I have no reason to doubt otherwise; He made the butterfly, after all.”

“But if I let the butterfly go, he will surely die.”

I nodded.

Then she paused and thought. Then she asked, “Father, do you think God brings butterflies to heaven?”

            “That’s a good question. I don’t know, my dear. I hope so.”

At which point, she walked a few more steps, stopped, and then reverently placed the butterfly on the ground and began to walk away. Together, we walked to the school and as we neared the doors, she told me, “Father, I’m going to pray for him.”

In this decision, this little girl laid down her own desires in order for the deeper desire of God’s will be done. This is a holy act of charity. And an act of charity done with a drop of the Holy Spirit is worth far more than all of our human endeavors done with a bucketful of the spirit of the world.

And I believe she had the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit she received in her baptism, the Holy Spirit she received at each confession, the Holy Spirit which she receives at every sacrament and which I received in Holy Orders. The Holy Spirit which concludes the prayer which is the Sign of the Cross.

The Human Spirit at Babel and the Babbling at Pentecost

Here, then, is our entry into really understanding Pentecost.

At Pentecost, we see how the disciples were touched by fiery tongues while some onlookers scoffed, thinking their babbling was meaningless gibberish resulting from drunkenness due to new wine. The disciples might as well have been children tending to butterflies. Many of the onlookers failed to see the greater principle at work. That there was a new wine and it was being placed in new wine skins—for the old wine skins had grown old: humanity had grown tired and worn out and dry.

Behind this story of Pentecost, there is the older relative: the Tower of Babel. In that story, certain men with an overdeveloped sense of independence and pride, and motivated by the belief that all was up to their will, attempted to build a tower that would reach to heaven. They did not consult God nor consider whether they were building the foundation on sand. Rather, their action was, in a sense, a declaration of independence from the will of God and from his grace. They were saying to God: “I can do this myself. My will be done.” But as their tower fell, so did man into the confusion of many languages to be scattered across the world.

This is the fate of the spirit of the world: confusion and a disintegration of the human family, a confusion and disintegration which ultimately leads our human endeavors—as well-intentioned as they might be—into ruin.

           

Today, Pentecost does not unite the tongues of man, but unites man in the tongue of the Holy Spirit so as to unite man not simply in man’s own endeavors that fade, but into authentic Truth and Love—truth and love found in the charity and teachings of the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church who is the mystical body of Christ and Temple of the Holy Spirit.

Pentecost makes us realize that our modern culture is characterized by a superficial existence and even a hostility towards authentic charity and truth, a hostility that builds towers against opportunities of service and authentic expressions of love as found in the caring for “wounded butterflies,” or the standing up for injustices against the most vulnerable like the unborn, the poor, and the elderly—not to mention the human family (… and is there a more “wounded butterfly” that the family today?).

Such hostility and superficiality doesn’t even free us to give fifteen minutes to God in prayer each day or to family at the dinner table. Rather, the spirit of the world builds tower after tower against things, calling them a waste of time or a practice for some other holy person, but not for me.

This modern-day slavery can only be remedied by the infusing of a new spirit. “New wine in new wine skins.” And this requires us to rediscover the Holy Spirit and to invite Him into our hearts and homes.

Many Catholics respond to this invitation in much the same way that the world responds to wounded butterflies: we tend to overlook Him as simply a nice extra to the faith that, really, only applies to holy people. He really isn’t for me and I really don’t need Him.

But the Holy Spirit is God. And Pentecost invites us to rediscover Him, to ask who He is, to probe deeper and not simply dismiss.

Spiritually Tending the Wounded Butterfly

And in so doing, Pentecost invites us to ask which spirit moves us today. Or, in other words: why do we do what we do? Is it the spirit of personal accomplishment and pride that moves us to do what we do? Is it the spirit of comparison and lifestyle that moves us? What motivates our calendars? What motivates our purchase and the ways that we spend our time? And, strangely, are we moved by sheer boredom? If our actions are not rooted in the solid bedrock of the Holy Spirit’s wisdom and love, then our actions might as well be the Tower of Babel. We are the wounded butterfly in need of care.

Yes, let us invite the Holy Spirit into our lives! Holy Spirit, come into my life! Come into my schedule and into the choices that I make each day! Holy Spirit, enlighten my mind and my heart and expand my often near-sighted vision! Keep me from choosing the things that fade, but help me to choose the things that are eternal.

My friends, as we rediscover God the Holy Spirit and put away the spirit of the world, we will then rediscover the “wounded butterflies” around us that need our assistance. And as we rediscover the God who is love, we will also rediscover (or perhaps even discover for the first time) the world beyond ourselves and we will be alert and able to respond to the needs of our family, the needs of our parish, and the needs of our community.

It is then that our spirit will become holy for we will have received the Holy Spirit, the Lord the giver of life and the God who is love! We will be united in one language of love that confesses the power of love that lives the new commandment of love.

For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear,
but you received a Spirit of adoption,
through whom we cry, “Abba, Father!”
The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit
that we are children of God,
and if children, then heirs,
heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ,
if only we suffer with him
so that we may also be glorified with him.

…

For those who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. 

At the Kitchen of the Heavenly Layers - Homily for the 6th Sunday of Easter

The Makings of a Dessert

What is your favorite dessert? You know, that sweet goodness that fills you with joy at the first bite: Pineapple Upside-Down cake? Cookies? Ice cream? For me, it’s chocolate cake. With a glass of milk. One big heaping bite of chocolaty goodness. It’s heavenly.

            This past week, Monsignor and I put on a special dinner for a few of the young men of our parish who wanted to know more about us priests and what we do when we’re not eating bon bons and watching Law&Order all day. Monsignor wanted the dinner to be special, so he was going to make a tasty entre. But then he had the bright idea that I should make the dessert.

            I’ve been known to burn water.

            But he has this recipe, he says. It’s really easy. It’s for a chocolate trifle.

Chocolate? I’m interested.

            What is a chocolate trifle? Let me tell you. It has layers.

First layer: chocolate cake (great start).
Second layer: chocolate moose.
Third layer: cherries.
Fourth layer: whipped cream.

(Um, Are there more layers?) Yes!!

Fifth layer: chocolate cake again.
Sixth layer: moose!
Seventh layer: cherries!
Eighth layer: who cares!!! There’s enough chocolate here to satisfy Augustus Galloop! 

And if that’s not enough, we repeat the whole process—for a total of twelve layers!

(Monsignor, we should do this more often!)

Now with all those layers, certainly the recipe would be difficult, I thought.

But monsignor made it easy: he bought me the chocolate cake, he bought canned cherries, he brought whipped cream, and he bought the moose—which comes as a powder (who knew moose was a powder?). So, everything was all ready-made, just layer it all and throw it into the fridge. No cooking, stirring, mixing or anything else needed.

            Except…. Moose is not a powder.

Not knowing this, I added the powder as its own layer. When I was later “reminded” that I needed to add milk to the powder, I was a little embarrassed. But I thought that I could remedy the problem by pouring milk on top. This only made the problem worse.

Yes, Monsignor, the dessert is coming along just fine!

            Now, in full disclosure, I knew that I was not well-practiced in everything kitchen. So, before any of this disaster happened, I actually had asked Monsignor to help me through. Very kindly he walked me through the recipe step-by-step and taught me how to make a chocolate trifle—and how to make chocolate moose. So… I didn’t mess up the moose or the dessert. In fact, the only mess that was made was of the pan after it was licked clean. It was a heavenly trifle.

The Apostle at the Kitchen of the Heavenly Layers

            Ok, so this relates to today’s readings. (I know you’re wondering how I’m going to make this all connect).

            At the heart of today’s Gospel, Jesus promises to give the Holy Spirit to the apostles. This Spirit, Jesus promises, will remind the apostles and will teach them. Fast-forward through the Ascension, Pentecost, and the Apostles going out into the world, and we see Paul in our first reading having to deal with a problem of the Church that Jesus never had to deal with: namely, are the Greeks required to follow the Jewish rituals if they are to enter into heaven?

            It was like the question I had in the kitchen: do I pour the powder in the pan or am I supposed to mix it with milk first?

            I didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t been taught. Nor had Paul about this matter.

            In our own lives, we face such questions, questions of morality that have an effect on our eternal salvation—on whether the chocolate cake comes out tasty, if you will. Such questions as: can I rally be married outside of the church and still be “cool” with the Lord? Can I use contraception? Can I really do whatever I think is right and hope for the best? Can I do whatever I want and really expect that my eternal life will come out all right?

            There are answers to these questions. Right answers. Not just: eh, it doesn’t matter; do what you want. No, that might ruin things. And our lives are more important than desserts.

            So, in the case of Paul, he goes to the Apostles. This is a huge detail. Paul could have simply answered the Jews and Greeks on his own. But he defers to the ones who Jesus promised He would give the authority and power to teach the Truth and to teach in His name. That’s the apostles. He told the Apostles: “whoever hears you, hears me.” Paul recognizes this; He recognizes His master’s voice in the voice of the Apostles. And so Paul, faced with this moral question, knowing that eternal life is on the line, goes to Jerusalem.

            And remember: Paul is in Greece. This is a long walk. It is dangerous and taxing. It would have been easier for Paul to just make up an answer and proclaim it as truth. But he takes the road of suffering.

            Admittedly, my friends, this is most unpopular, especially in our do-it-yourself culture; and doubly so in a culture where there is rampant distrust of authority—especially in an authority that speaks with authority and “specialness” (as though having hierarchy and the Holy Spirit is something special). It is rank with inequality. Yes, it is unpopular to be poor of spirit.

            But note the second reading. In the Book of Revelation we see the new, heavenly Jerusalem descending from the sky. It has twelve gates, representing the twelve tribes of Israel. And it also has a foundation of twelve layers. And what are those layers made out of? No, not chocolate cake! They are made out of twelve stones—and with the names of the twelve apostles.

            Now you know how important foundations are to Jesus. He says that a house built on sand will fall. But a house built on rock will endure storms, winds, floods, everything. Now, heaven is Jesus’ home—God’s dwelling. It is what makes heaven, heaven. And what is the foundation to God’s house? The twelve apostles! He builds on them such that when they teach, we know that we are on solid rock.

            Where are the apostles today? The early Church tells us. Whether in the first generation writings of Paul to Timothy and Titus or in the second generation, as in the writings of St. Ignatius of Antioch, we see that the bishops are the apostles. They are the ones anointed by God to teach definitively on matters that pertain to our salvation. This is why we pray for them at every Mass. And it is why Paul, a good Catholic, would go to them when even he—a great saint—had a moral question.

            He wanted to get the recipe right.

Taste and See the Goodness of the Lord!

            In the Gospel, this is called keeping His word. We keep his word when we listen to Jesus by listening to His apostles; we keep his word when we keep the commandments.

            When Jesus talked about the house’s foundations, he begins by saying: “Every one then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house upon the rock” (Mt 7:24). And Jesus adds, “Whoever hears you, hears me” (Lk 10:16).

This is not restrictive in any way; it is seeking the wisdom of God which He offers us as we walk through difficult kitchen of life; it is a following of the recipe that has been handed on from generation to generation—just like our favorite recipes from mom are.         

And what does Jesus promise if we follow the recipe and keep his word? He promises chocolate cake! He says, “my Father will love him” – I will love you!—“and we will come to him”—yes, to you!—and make our dwelling with him.” Jesus and the Father will DWELL with you!

            Now, we just heard that where God dwells is rightly called heaven. And now He’s promising that whoever follows these shepherds and keeps the commandments—that He will dwell in that person? That means that—… I’m in a stupor just thinking about this—it means that God is going to bring heaven to you. Here. Now.

            And the Eucharist! Heaven coming to us! God edible!

                       

            Yes! Keeping God’s word and receiving this Eucharist means that we will begin to taste and see the joys of heaven right here on earth: “My food is to do the will of him who sent me” (Jn 4:34). The chocolate cake isn’t so far away as we await the timer to go off. We begin to taste this heaven now.

            And we know this when we follow a recipe for making chocolate cake. As we follow the recipe, we begin to enjoy the dessert: the smells of the cake, it’s looks—and, what else? What else do we get to enjoy when we make chocolate cake? Yes! The beaters and the spoons and the bowls on which the chocolate still clings!

            In the moral life, this means we experience the freedom of being released from the slavery of unforgiveness and resentment, from the chains of stuff and the jealousy of comparing lifetstyles, from the bondage of meaninglessness and happenstance. We begin to see the beauty of reality as it really is and embrace all the layers of it.

            And we come to realize, just as we do when we make a cake, that there are some things in our moral life which we must remove or which we must never add at all. Likewise, there are some things which we must always add. We realize that there are times to do things and times to wait. We realize that sometimes we need help in the kitchen, and seeking the wisdom of others is not a sign of weakness, but an exercise of wisdom itself.

           

            Yes, some recipes are difficult. But God tells us: it’s worth it. Keep it up. And I’m here to help you. We’re in this together. You’re really going to love this chocolate cake. Don’t you smell it? Here, here’s the spoon. Isn’t it heavenly?