Homily for Sunday, 28 July 2019

Readings of the day: Genesis 18:20-32; Psalm 138:1-2, 2-3, 6-7, 7-8; Colossians 2:12-14; Luke 11:1-13

17th Sunday in Ordinary Time

This homily was given at St. Alphonsus Parish and St. Joseph's College, University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, Canada.

“How is your prayer life? How do you most like to pray”?

These are questions I frequently ask people of faith in the course of my ministry as a priest. These are questions I frequently ask myself. When I ask these questions, often I observe that people to whom I ask these questions wonder what precisely I am asking: Do I mean to ask the time of day at which people prefer to pray, or whether people tend to prefer “formula” prayers like the Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be, the rosary, prayers at mealtime, or devotional prayers to particular saints, or simply free verse? Do I mean to leave my intent of these kinds of questions open to interpretation? (Usually I do, in fact, like to leave these questions a bit open-ended).

Is prayer not somewhat of a delicate subject for many of us? Many experts on prayer (if there are such people) suggest that there is no single right or wrong way to pray. Those of us familiar with the Baltimore Catechism of the 1940s may remember its definition of prayer as “a lifting of the mind and heart to God.” More recent prayer “experts” like the late Jesuit Fr. Thomas Green, whose book Opening to God and its sequel Weeds among the Wheat I highly recommend for anybody interested in deepening your prayer experience, reflect on difficulties with definitions of prayer like that of the Baltimore Catechism. The definition of prayer in the Baltimore Catechism, “a lifting of the mind and heart to God,” is well and good, but can lead us, Fr. Green says, to place undue emphasis on our own efforts at prayer over God’s effort to reveal God’s self to us in our prayer. And so prayer is difficult if impossible to define, except maybe as an act of attentive listening to God without trying to limit God; an act of Opening to God that is easier said than done.

In this context of attentive listening to God, Opening to God, I would like to connect this difficulty, if impossibility, in defining prayer to what we hear today from Luke’s Gospel. Luke begins by placing Jesus and his disciples at prayer “in a certain place”; a nondescript, undefined place. In this place, which the usually-detailed Luke does not even name, Jesus’ disciples ask him: “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.”

But how did John teach his disciples to pray? The trouble for us is that, at least in the Bible, there is no account of how John the Baptist taught his disciples to pray. We know from elsewhere in the Gospels that John had disciples, people following him, and that John’s and Jesus’ disciples were not mutually exclusive groups; some of John’s disciples were probably also Jesus’ disciples, and Jesus’ disciples also John’s disciples. We know from the Gospels that John preached a message of justice and repentance in anticipation of the Messiah, Jesus, but the Gospels never explicitly speak of John the Baptist teaching his disciples to pray.

“Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples”: When Jesus’ disciples ask him this, Jesus gives them, and ultimately us, the Lord’s Prayer or the Our Father. Now, neither Jesus nor the Gospel writers seem to be too fussy about the exact formula of this prayer, the Our Father. Who here noticed that the wording of the Our Father we have heard in today’s Gospel reading is not exactly the formulation of this prayer we are used to praying, whether privately or together, say, at Mass? The form of the Our Father we are more used to is from Matthew’s, not Luke’s, Gospel. We might presume that these differences between forms of the Our Father in Matthew and Luke are due to one form being older than the other (Luke’s version of the Our Father is shorter, so it is probably older than Matthew’s). We might presume that these differences are due to differences in the needs of the early Christian communities Matthew and Luke were trying to reach with their messages: Luke, for instance, focuses more on the social needs and challenges of his community, whereas Matthew focuses more on the spiritual good and cohesion of his community.

This is all fine, but how does this meet our needs; the spiritual and social needs of our community of faith here? If Jesus were standing among us here, and we were to ask him to “teach us to pray,” what prayer would he teach us? Would Jesus prayer be a particular formula, to be prayed at particular times of day, or for a specific amount of time every day, or would Jesus ask us simply to pray from our hearts; to lift our hearts and minds to God as the Baltimore Catechism says, however we see fit, at least when we pray in private?

I think we hear a clue to the answer to these questions from the rest of our Gospel reading as well as our first reading, from Genesis, and our Psalm today. As soon as Jesus teaches his disciples the Our Father, he goes on to tell a strange parable in today’s Gospel. The friend in Jesus’ parable, who is asked for “three loaves of bread” at midnight—Luke does not say why anybody would ask a friend for “three loaves of bread” at midnight—Jesus says will eventually give the person who asks for the bread what he asks for, not so much “because he is his friend” but “because of his persistence.” And if any of our human friends might be convinced by our persistence to give us what we need, even when meeting our needs is inconvenient for our friend, Jesus asks us to imagine “how much more… the heavenly Father [will] give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him”!

I interpret from this that there is never really an inconvenient time to pray to God for what we need. Jesus does not give us a correct formula with which to pray, but only asks us to pray persistently: “Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.”

If we go back to the Book of Genesis, to our first reading today, we find a model of persistence in Abraham. In fact, please allow me to introduce to us, as a model for our prayer, Abraham the Pest! Abraham the Pest probably knew as well as anybody the wickedness of Sodom and Gomorrah, so it could not have been much of a surprise to Abraham when the LORD revealed to him his plan to destroy these cities. Yet Abraham knew, as the LORD had to have known, that there were at least a few righteous people among the wicked of Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham’s own nephew, Lot, and Lot’s family were among these righteous. So Abraham the Pest begins to bargain with God: “Suppose there are fifty righteous within the city… Suppose five of the fifty righteous are lacking? Will you destroy the whole city for lack of five”? “Suppose forty [righteous] are found there”… Thirty… Twenty… Ten… Okay, just my nephew and his family, please, unless Lot’s wife looks back at the burning city, then I will accept that you turn her into a pillar of salt”  (but that is another story).

How might God have responded to Abraham’s persistent bargaining to save anybody righteous among the wicked inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah? I try to imagine God’s tone of voice with Abraham as The Pest bargains with God: “Alright, Abraham, I suppose I have given you my blessing to be the pest you are. Note to self: Create limits on persistence of future humans when they pray. No, wait, it is too late; I have already created the ‘pest gene’ in all Abraham’s descendants, who are to number as the stars. What was I thinking? Alright, Abe, you win, you big pest! I will save the righteous people of Sodom and Gomorrah, even if there are only a few of them”!

Our Psalm today gives us a guide for when our persistence in prayer, our being a pest like Abraham to God, pays off: Give thanks to God for when God answers our prayer. “I give you thanks, O Lord… On the day I called, you answered me,” we pray with the Psalmist. Give thanks to God when God does not give us exactly what we asked for, but gives us something even better, or when God helps us to endure suffering, because in Christ God took the suffering and evil of our world on himself on the cross to redeem it, so says the Letter to the Colossians to us today.

What does all this say about how we should pray? I think, first of all, we are invited to pray with the likes of Abraham the Pest, our Father in Persistent Faith; of Thomas Green the Contemplative; of John the Baptist; of Jesus our Saviour. Pray for our needs and for the needs of one another, especially the least well off. Listen attentively without imposing limits on God. And, when our prayer, the “lifting of [our] mind and heart to God,” is answered, give thanks that “on the day” we call, God answers us.

Homily for Thursday, 25 July 2019‒ Feast of St. James, Apostle

Readings of the day: 2 Corinthians 4:7-15; Psalm 126:1bc-2ab, 2cd-3, 4-5, 6; Matthew 20:20-28

This homily was given at the Kateri House Women's Residence Chapel of St. Joseph's College, University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, and Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church, Sherwood Park, AB, Canada.

Lately I have been helping my brother and his fiancée to plan their wedding, which will take place in September. What, though, does planning a wedding have to do with our readings or our feast day today of St. James the Apostle?

I suppose many if not all of us know the (I think usually exaggerated and unfair, if not downright sexist) stereotypes about stressed-out brides or mothers of brides at weddings. I say, in jest, that these stereotypes are unfair also because they say nothing about the groom or the parents of grooms also finding preparation for their sons’ weddings to be an exciting but stressful time, and sometimes behaving accordingly. And, if mothers of brides are somehow stereotypically highly-stressed in preparing for their daughters’ weddings, they have nothing on mothers of apostles!

Essentially in today’s Gospel James’ and John’s mother tries to ensure a place of prestige for her sons in heaven, which we even speak of today as “the eternal wedding feast.” On this feast of St. James, we hear from Matthew how “the mother of the sons of Zebedee,” of the apostles James and John, approaches Jesus “with her sons” and asks Jesus to “declare that these two sons of mine will sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your kingdom.” Even the other ten apostles become “angry at the two brothers” when they hear of James’ and John’s mother’s request to Jesus for her sons.

Much of what we know about St. James the Greater, as he is known because he is the first of two apostles named James listed among the names of the Twelve Jesus calls in the Gospels and, by tradition, imagined to be older than St. James the Lesser, is from texts written much later than the Biblical Gospels. Many of these later texts are more legend and popular devotion than historical fact. Devotions including the famously grueling Camino pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in Spain are connected to St. James’ legendary success as a missionary. Many people and places are named for James (or the Spanish Santiago, Iago for short, in Spanish-speaking countries) for this same reason. Yet not only today’s Gospel but other events in our Gospels involving St. James do not view him especially kindly. In Mark’s Gospel, James and John are called Boanerges, “sons of thunder,” which may point to their quick temper or impulsiveness.

But I think we are invited on this Feast of St. James to understand that there had to be a reason why Jesus would have chosen James, or any of the Twelve, to be among his first apostles. Even within the Bible, the Acts of the Apostles places James in a leadership role among the other apostles in deciding to integrate formerly-pagan and Jewish Christians, each with their own customs that often clashed, into the one Church at the so-called “Council” or “Synod of Jerusalem.”

We know, then, that James had redeeming features; that Jesus chose him to be an apostle; that James is a revered saint and the first martyr among the Twelve Apostles. But I think it is as important that we recognize the same of us: That Jesus has chosen us, to redeem us, to make us saints with our cooperation; that even mothers, when insistent on our prestige like the mother of James and John is, will be no obstacle to our invitation to the eternal wedding feast of heaven.

Homily for Sunday, 21 July 2019

Readings of the day: Genesis 18:1-10a; Psalm 15:2-3, 3-4, 5; Colossians 1:24-28; Luke 10:38-42

16th Sunday in Ordinary Time

This homily was given at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church, Sherwood Park, AB, Canada.

What are some cultural or other norms of which we are aware? How might our norms differ from those of other people or cultures?

Our readings today speak of the tension especially between hospitality and cultural or social norms. In Genesis, “three men” visit Abraham and Sarah “by the oaks of Mamre.” We might imagine “the oaks of Mamre” as a remote area. Abraham and Sarah were nomadic; they were constantly on the move, but had camped out at this location “by the oaks of Mamre.” There, they would have been vulnerable should just anybody walk into Abraham’s and Sarah’s camp and ask them for their hospitality. Abraham and Sarah would have had to protect themselves against the potential of being robbed by unscrupulous “guests” in the middle of nowhere, so to speak, let alone against guests who would simply overstay their welcome.

In Luke’s Gospel, the cultural norm among Jews in Israel of Jesus’ time we hear about today is one of gender: It was rare and culturally discouraged for women to take up the posture of a male disciple before a male teacher or master, as Mary does before Jesus in today’s Gospel reading. In Jesus’ time and culture, it would have been more acceptable for women receiving a guest in their home to behave as Martha does, preparing and serving the food to her male guests first. Martha, not Mary, chooses “the better part” insofar as the norms or expectations for women in the culture of their time were concerned.

Yet Jesus turns this cultural expectation on its head: Mary, not Martha, he says, “has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” And in Genesis, Abraham and Sarah receive their three guests in the middle of nowhere, “by the oaks of Mamre,” despite the risk to them that their guests could have had dishonest motives or simply overstayed their welcome. The three guests in fact leave Abraham and Sarah with a bizarre and, as the next lines in Genesis after the reading we hear today say, at least initially laughable prophecy: In their old age, Sarah and Abraham would “have a son” by the time the guests returned to them “in due season.” I suppose it could have been worse for Abraham and Sarah than one of their three guests leaving after telling what Abraham and Sarah might have perceived as a weird joke. Might Abraham and Sarah have perceived their guest’s parting words much as we would when our stereotypical eccentric relative says something weird or inappropriate at Christmas or Thanksgiving dinner, when the whole family is gathered together? Of course, we know the rest of the story for Abraham and Sarah: Ultimately the guest’s prophecy is true. The joke is God’s, and the prophecy thought to be a weird joke is at Abraham’s and Sarah’s expense: Sarah bears a son, Isaac, whose name means “the one who laughs.”

This episode shows, I think, that our God has a sense of humour. But God’s sense of humour—communicated to us so often through guests toward whom God invites us to show hospitality; through people we encounter on a day-to-day basis; through the guest who overstays his or her welcome; through the eccentric relative who says something inappropriate at a family dinner—has a way of challenging our cultural or social norms.

I have had the joy, over the years, of witnessing personally to God’s sense of humour in this way, in the people I have encountered in their countries and cultures around the world and in the people from other countries and cultures I have encountered here in our country, Canada; people who become immersed in or try to integrate into our culture. I have now lived for the last four years in Paris working on a PhD in theology, so I am becoming more and more used to particular aspects of French culture that occasionally differ from Canadian culture. And I observe that the people of Paris and elsewhere in France tend to appreciate and welcome tourists and expatriates to a greater extent now than even eighteen years ago, when I lived in France for the first time, on a year-long exchange in Lille. When I first arrived in Lille in 2001, even the simple French (and more broadly European) custom of a greeting kiss on both cheeks, “la bise,” was sometimes a bit awkward for Canadian or American students among us. Now, suffice it to say, I am more used to “la bise” than I was then.

Interestingly, just over fifty years ago, Vatican II re-integrated a custom like a greeting kiss (although usually, especially here in North America, it takes the form of a handshake… or a long-distance wave or peace sign) into our Mass, as the sign of peace. I still encounter the occasional Catholic, especially of an age so as to have been familiar with the pre-Vatican II liturgy, who finds the sign of peace to be an unwelcome or awkward distraction from the rest of the Mass.

“La bise” or the sign of peace aside, for about five years when I was a Basilian novice and then seminarian, I worked in refugee ministry in Windsor and Toronto, driving new arrivals to Canada to various appointments. Once, as I was walking between appointments with a Colombian couple and their nine-year-old daughter, having a lovely conversation with the daughter and translating what we were saying into Spanish for her parents, she paused suddenly and asked (as more typically Colombians have few reservations about asking): “How old are you”? Before I could answer politely (I was not shocked by her question, since I have also lived in Colombia), the girl immediately caught herself: “Oh, wait, I’m not supposed to ask that here, right”?

In the Holy Land on our Basilian Peace and Justice Pilgrimage a few years ago, we pilgrims encountered similar cultural norms around table fellowship and hospitality as those of which our readings today speak. The traditional roles of women preparing food and serving us at mealtimes while men were more likely to join us at table and in conversation persist, although to a less absolute extent, from the times of Sarah and Abraham and of Martha, Mary, and Jesus.

In Genesis, Sarah and Abraham behave as would have been expected of them around table fellowship and hospitality. At Abraham’s request, Sarah and “the servant” prepare and serve the food to Abraham and the three male guests. In Luke’s Gospel, it would seem that Martha, more than Mary, behaves according to the cultural expectation for women of the time. Martha busies herself with “many tasks” associated with welcoming Jesus “into her home,” whereas her sister Mary sits “at the Lord’s feet and [listens] to what he” says. It would seem, then, that Martha would be justified in asking that Mary join her in the more customary household tasks for women of service at table instead of allowing Mary to take on the more accepted role of a male disciple, listening and learning at the feet of his teaching master. So why does Jesus, however gently, chastise Martha, “You are worried and distracted about many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, and it will not be taken away from her”?

From the beginning of this story of the encounter among Martha, Mary, and Jesus, Luke shows his great teaching and writing skill and nuance as a Gospel writer. Luke describes Martha as having “welcomed [Jesus] into her home.” It would have been rare at the time (although the New Testament includes other examples of this in early Christian communities) for a woman to be the head of a home and therefore responsible for welcoming guests into her home. Already, Luke subtly but pointedly challenges the accepted gender roles in Middle Eastern societies of the time. Jesus’ reply to Martha’s demand that Mary help her to serve at table flows, then, from the challenge already inherent in Luke’s description of Martha as head of her home.

Still, though, Luke’s and Jesus’ challenge of cultural norms (which are not in themselves wrong) through this story of Martha, Mary, and Jesus is not only a challenge to the social-cultural norms of their time, but a “friendly challenge” to us: What social or cultural norms or, for that matter, norms of the Church and of this celebration at table, the Eucharist, might we allow to distract and worry us to excess? How might our worries and distractions inhibit our hospitality, especially toward anybody who needs our Eucharist to be a sign to them of healing grace, to point them toward greater holiness? This is not to say that norms, cultural and otherwise, are not important. Abraham and Sarah; Jesus, Martha, and Mary demonstrate that these norms are important and even good, but that there is something greater than slavishness to the letter of social, cultural, and even Church norms in ways that can close us off to God’s grace and hospitality. We, like Martha, are invited to choose this “better part.”