Homily for Sunday, 29 July 2018

17th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: 2 Kings 4:42-44; Psalm 145:10-11, 15-16, 17-18; Ephesians 4:1-6; John 6:1-15

This homily was given at St. Joseph's College, Edmonton, AB, Canada. 

How often have we heard the same basic story or account of an event take on variations in smaller details over time, while still preserving the main point or truth, the more often it is re-told? Those of us who are parents, older siblings, aunts, uncles, or otherwise relatives or caregivers to young children: When we read that bedtime story for the fiftieth time, might we not improvise a small variation, or perhaps add voices to various characters in the story, which we had not added the previous forty-nine times we had read the story? I have done this when I have cared for small children, especially now my niece and nephews. Anybody among us who is a teacher: Have we ever varied some details of our teaching, each time we teach the same material, to direct greater attention toward the main point we are teaching? Have teachers ever used this technique with any of us when we have been students?

The basic structure of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes account we hear today from John’s Gospel is old and frequently-repeated. Even within the Gospels, the multiplication of the loaves and fishes appears twice each in Matthew and Mark, once in Luke, and once in John. It must have been especially memorable among the earliest disciples of Jesus, because this is the only one of Jesus’ miracles to figure in all four Biblical Gospels. And yet, each time it appears in the Gospels, some details of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes differ slightly from other accounts of the same event: In two variations of the account, four thousand men, in addition to women and children are fed; in others, Jesus feeds five thousand. In two accounts, the disciples bring seven loaves and “a few small fish,” whereas other versions specify five loaves and two fish. John’s Gospel has not Jesus’ disciples but a boy bring the loaves and fish to Jesus.

And this multiplication of food motif is not limited to the Gospels. We hear of a similar event today in the second Book of Kings, in which Elisha orders his servant to feed “a hundred people” with the “twenty loaves of barley and fresh ears of grain in his sack.” I wonder: When Jesus multiplied the loaves and fishes to feed thousands, would the people he fed have said, “Wait, is this not like what Elisha did years ago, only there are more people here than when Elisha fed the hundred, and today Jesus started with fewer loaves than Elisha did, and a few fish”?

Would the people Jesus fed have recognized him through the multiplication as a kind of prophetic miracle-worker, like Elisha but maybe even greater than him? With the many repetitions in the Gospels of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes, would Jesus have multiplied the loaves and fishes only once, or several times, whenever he had great crowds following him who had become tired and hungry and were out of food? Why the differences in detail of this multiplication of food motif, from 2 Kings to the Gospels, and from one Gospel to another? Are these differences in detail, while maintaining the basic structure of the story each time, due to the different Biblical authors arranging and then re-telling this event in their own way and each for their own purpose or to their own particular audiences?

I would answer “Yes” to all these questions, but then what does it matter if details change from one account of a feeding of the multitudes to the next, as long as a central truth or message is present across the many versions of this story? And if there is a central truth or message across all the repetitions of this multiplication of food event in our Scriptures, what is it?

Let me suggest that a key starting point for us in drawing a consistent central message; a central truth from the multiplication and feeding episodes in 2 Kings and in John is that both events begin with a free gift from God. In both cases, even what appears to be insufficient food for the size of the crowd is already God’s gift to the people; to us, before the food is miraculously multiplied.

If we think in logical, mathematical terms, might we be tempted to question why, in 2 Kings, twenty loaves would not be enough for one hundred people? After all, this would be one-fifth of a loaf per person. Depending on how large and dense the loaves were, should this not have been enough to satisfy one hundred people? And yet, in John’s multiplication of the loaves and fishes, we have the opposite problem if we think mathematically: Five loaves and two fish would give each of the five thousand people one-thousandth of a loaf of bread and one-twenty-five-hundredth of a fish… Unless they were big fish, it would seem that God was being mighty stingy with the people following Jesus that day!

But, if we think in these mathematical terms, we lose track of the key truth of both multiplication and feeding accounts: Both are centered not on the multiplication and feeding actions of Elisha and then Jesus, but on God’s free gift that is present beforehand, so that the multiplication of food and feeding of the people can take place at all.

In the historical context of 2 Kings, the man who brings “food from the first fruits to Elisha” is most likely somebody concerned with bringing an amount of food, the “twenty loaves of barley and fresh ears of grain,” set by the religious custom of Israel as the appropriate amount of one’s food stores for a sacrifice to God. Somebody recognized as godly, like Elisha, would be the ideal person to offer the servant’s food sacrifice to God.

Surprisingly to Elisha’s servant and maybe to us, though, Elisha asks his servant not to offer his food, which in fact is God’s gift to him, back to God through Elisha as a burnt sacrifice, but to the hundred hungry people. Only when Elisha’s servant trusts God enough to obey Elisha does the initially small amount of food the servant had been carrying become more than enough to feed the one hundred people. In other words, whenever we receive a free gift from another person, or especially from God, we are given the responsibility in turn to use this gift for the greatest good possible, not only for ourselves or in religious devotion or worship (as good as devotion and worship are), but for one another, especially those most vulnerable and in need of our material goods, our presence, and our service.

Our use of the gifts we receive for the greatest good, especially of one another, necessitates growth in trust toward the gift-giver, in this case God. As we pray in our Psalm response today, God opens his “hand to feed us; [to] satisfy all our needs.” And although God could feed and satisfy us all by himself, God chooses to give us the freedom and the ability to receive God’s gifts and then to make them even more abundant for one another. We then become the gift from God to one another.

This movement from initial gift or “first fruits,” to the gift recipient trusting in God, to the gift being multiplied beyond our wildest imagination, to our becoming the gift is shown as much in our reading from John today as in 2 Kings. In John’s Gospel, the Apostles Philip and Andrew take the place of Elisha’s servant of 2 Kings. Philip and then Andrew size up the crowd and their amount of food. Of course, the amount of food is too little for the size of the crowd, until Jesus rhetorically and yet ever-so-gently draws Philip and Andrew beyond their purely logical thinking toward trust that God will miraculously satisfy the five thousand people. And then Jesus makes Philip, Andrew, and his other disciples his greatest gift to the people. Jesus gives his disciples a central part in his miracle: “Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.”

Insofar as we trust in God to “satisfy all our needs” and ultimately to bring us to salvation, God gives us a part in his sustaining, saving miracle of which this Eucharistic celebration is a sign, a sacrament. In this way, God sends us forth to be his gift, to gather in the abundance, so that nothing and nobody may be lost.

Homily for Tuesday, 10 March 2015‒ Tuesday of the Third Week of Lent

Readings of the day: Daniel 3:25, 34-43; Psalm 25:4-5ab, 6, 7bc, 8-9; Matthew 18:21-35

Have you ever found yourself caught between wanting to forgive somebody generously, as Jesus asks of us in today’s Gospel reading, and wanting to hold this person to account? Our Christian faith, based on our Scriptures, invites us to do both: forgive generously and hold one another to account for right and wrong. But how do we both forgive generously and safeguard accountability?

Jesus says to Peter in Matthew’s Gospel: Forgive “not seven times but seventy-seven times.” In other words, mirror God’s infinite forgiveness by forgiving one another infinitely and without calculation. But does not this call to infinite forgiveness pose problems for us and for our culture?

The first problem is captured in a neat but flawed little phrase. Who here has ever heard, “Forgive and forget”? To “forgive and forget” is not God’s way. It is not the way of our Christian faith. To “forgive and forget” is not what Jesus asks of Peter in our Gospel reading and of us. Sin hurts, and so it should. Sin causes a breakdown of trust; a breakdown of relationship: Our relationships with God, with one another, and with ourselves.

Trust and relationships, once broken partially or completely by sin (the difference between venial and mortal sin), must be rebuilt and repaired. In our Church, we have the sacraments, especially Reconciliation and Eucharist, which begin the process of rebuilding and repairing the damage to relationships caused by our sin. “Through the ministry of the Church,” God absolves; God grants us “pardon and peace,” but neither God nor we forget the damage caused by sin to our relationships. “Forgive and forget” does not repair the hurt relationship; does not serve accountability. The person sinned against continues to hurt, while often the sinner feels guilty, even when the guilt is not admitted or spoken; even when told to “forget about it” and move on from the sin. Has anybody here either been sinned against or been the sinner, hurt or been hurt by another person, and so you know all too well of what I speak?

Accountability, not “forgive and forget,” is at the heart of our Church’s teaching on purgatory. Sin, even sin that has been forgiven and absolved, has still caused a break in relationship. This broken relationship must be purified; rebuilt; repaired, even if the forgiven sinner will eventually go to heaven. Purgatory’s destiny is heaven; not “hell with parole” but a Catholic understanding of accountability.

And yet we are called to pair accountability with infinitely generous forgiveness. God is not the God of “forgive and forget”; neither is God the God of the record or ledger. Neither are we, then, to keep a record of one another’s or our own wrongs. This actually destroys us more than the sinner whose records we keep with an obsessive vengeance!

“Not seven times but seventy-seven times,” Jesus says to Peter. Not “forgive and forget” or record-keeping of wrongs, but God and our Christian faith invite us to both accountability and infinitely generous forgiveness.

Homily for Monday, 2 March 2015‒ Monday of the Second Week of Lent

Readings of the day: Daniel 9:4b-10; Psalm 79:8, 9, 11, 13; Luke 6:36-38

What is mercy? Have we heard it said, or even thought or said ourselves, that our world; our society perhaps especially, is losing a sense of sin? More importantly maybe, is our culture not lacking in a sense of mercy, both the mercy of God and in a taking to heart of our own calling to “be merciful”?

Our Gospel reading today from Luke renews for us this Christian calling, “Be merciful as your Father is merciful.” But then does not our Gospel reading confuse us with Jesus’ next words: “Stop judging and you will not be judged”? Has this prohibition of “judging” not too often been extended to reluctance in our society to hold one another accountable if need be; as an excuse for moral relativism in which we ought not to judge another’s actions or cultural tendencies as right or wrong at any cost? This kind of relativism is both morally and logically untenable. We make moral judgments all the time, I hope, as is right and human for us to do.

I only hope (and have confidence that at least most of us do) that we hold ourselves to the same moral standards, not more lenient or severe, as we hold other people. From time to time, I hear the symptoms of the evil twins of laxity, when some are too lenient with themselves (“Do I really need to pray to overcome this sin, or even confess it sacramentally?), and scrupulosity, when some are too harsh with themselves, thinking that almost all they do is sin.

Both laxity and scrupulosity are failures to recognize not so much sin as mercy. God is eternally merciful. Pope Francis says, “God never tires of forgiving us”; we sometimes “tire of asking God for forgiveness.” Let us not “tire of asking God” and one another “for forgiveness” as needed! But let us acknowledge God’s mercy and grace at work in most of our actions, even those that do not result in the good that we sincerely intend. After all, God did not create us as bad or sinful, but good; in God’s own image and likeness. To think otherwise is heresy. Even more, it is an illness from which I pray that those afflicted may be healed.

“Stop condemning and you will not be condemned.” I do not think that most of us, or most of our society, have a problem with condemning. We have a healthy aversion in our society, I think, to condemnation. And again, God is not a condemning God with a ledger up in heaven to keep score of our right and wrong actions, but a God of mercy; a God of forgiveness.

But do we not still hear, in dealing with people who are troublesome to us, “Kill them with kindness”? This phrase also deviates from Jesus’ invitation, “Be merciful.” Kill them with kindness? No! Give them life by our loving kindness; by our mercy that is God’s gift, to the point that forgiveness hurts us; is a cross for us; is “Spirit and life” for us!

“Give and gifts will be given to” us in abundance: Kindness; mercy… “Be merciful,” then, “as [our] Father is merciful.”

Homily for Sunday, 16 November 2014

33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Isaiah 5:1-7; Psalm 80:9, 12, 13-14, 15-16, 19-20; Philippians 4:6-9; Matthew 21:33-43

What sets the unfortunate third servant, who received only one talent, apart from the other two servants in our Gospel reading today? What sets him apart from the “worthy wife” in our first reading, from Proverbs? What did the third servant in our Gospel reading do that was so wrong in the eyes of his master?

Unlike his two fellow servants, the third servant fails to bank the talents his master gives him, or to trade them for more talents, but why? Maybe he is afraid of his master. The master seems every bit the “demanding” person that the third servant makes him out to be. The master gives the third servant only one talent, while he gives five talents to the first servant and two to the second, so in addition to being fearful the third servant may be somewhat jealous of the other servants. When “out of fear” the third servant buries his talent, the master casts him “into the darkness outside, where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.”

It is no wonder that this third servant is fearful; the master in Matthew’s Parable of the Talents is very harsh with him. What did this servant do that was so wrong? After all, fear can be appropriate in some situations. What are some things that we fear? Our daily news plays on our fears of natural and human-made disasters; war and violence; diseases like Ebola… We fear financial and job insecurity. Many, even here in our city, fear not being able to afford shelter, food, and clothing. Some fear for the well-being of loved ones. We fear bad weather. Ultimately, many of us fear death.

Our Psalm speaks of a different kind of fear. We respond to our Psalm, “Blessed are those who fear the Lord.” Here, “fear” is the due respect and reverence that we give to God. This kind of fear of the Lord is good for us to have.

But then there is another kind of fear; the kind that keeps us from taking risks to build human community; to build Church; to build the Kingdom of God in our world. This is the kind of fear that paralyzes the third servant, who buries his one talent in the ground. This is the kind of fear that, St. Paul says in our second reading from 1 Thessalonians, causes us to cling to façades of “peace and security” instead of staying alert for the return of our Lord Jesus Christ. This is the kind of fear that, as Pope Francis has said, tempts us as Church to become closed in on ourselves and sick instead of directing our service and works of kindness especially toward the fringes of our Church; to those on the outside; to the poor; to the lost; to those who are hurt; to strangers. This is the kind of fear that stops us from listening to one another; stops us from engaging in conversation especially with those with whom we disagree, confident that God’s truth inspires us and will not allow us, as God’s Church, to fail. This is the kind of fear that stops us from forgiveness and mercy; repairing the wounds of evil and sin.

This is the kind of fear that leads us to bury our talents; our gifts from the master, God, in the ground. This is the kind of fear, together with jealousy toward others who seem to be given more talents; more gifts than we are, that keeps the third servant in our Gospel reading from realizing that he, too, is gifted, and is invited to invest his gift in the bank; to allow it to multiply in value.

And so will we allow fear to stop us? Or will we instead know that we are gifted by God? Will we take a risk to build the Kingdom of God in our world? Our God is not really a harsh master after all. On the one hand, there are consequences to failing to bank and invest our talents; to fear that stops us from building community; Church; God’s kingdom. On the other hand, there are also more significant blessings if we use what gifts and talents we have effectively: These gifts and talents, no matter how many we start with, grow and multiply.

Will we take a risk to build the Kingdom of God in our world? Are we aware, even if we are like the servant with only one talent and not like our neighbour with more money; more gifts; more talents, that the one talent we have that matters is the master himself, Jesus Christ, God made human, like us in all but sin? God has taken a great risk, sending us his Son to begin the building of the Kingdom of God among us; to live, die, and rise among us, with the promise to return in glory. Jesus, the master himself, is our one talent; our one gift that matters. How will we bank on this talent; allow this talent to grow and multiply in our world? How will we fearlessly build community; Church? Will we take this risk to build God’s Kingdom in our world?

Jesus invites us through today’s Gospel reading to take risks with the gift God has given all of us, the presence of Jesus Christ, to build community; to build the Kingdom of God in our world, as a team; as one Body of Christ; one Church. Jesus invites us to bank our talents together; talents for the Kingdom of God, so that they may grow and multiply.

In my late teens and early twenties, one of my favorite game shows on television was all about building up wealth while working as a team. Does anybody here remember “The Weakest Link”? The contestants on “The Weakest Link” would answer as many questions correctly in a row as possible. Each correct answer in a row would increase the amount of money that could be won by one contestant. An incorrect answer would reset the meter to zero, but money won through a string of correct answers could be saved by a contestant yelling “bank”! One contestant would be eliminated after each round, either because of too many incorrect answers or for not taking opportunities to yell “bank” and therefore costing the other contestants.

Imagine as though the people in our readings today were contestants on “The Weakest Link.” The “worthy wife” from Proverbs would answer enough questions correctly to advance from round to round. She would not take chances, but wisely bank winnings even from a few correct answers in a row. St. Paul would be a risk-taker. He would build up the pot of winnings even more than the wife from Proverbs would before yelling, “Bank”! And St. Paul (who was a Pharisee, remember) would answer all the religious trivia questions correctly! The servant with five talents in our Gospel reading would always answer correctly and always “bank” huge sums of money. The servant with two talents would not quite be as good, but still an adequate contestant.

And then the servant with one talent would not answer many questions correctly and would almost never yell “bank.” Out would come Anne Robinson, the host of “The Weakest Link”; the “Queen of Mean,” with a withering insult of the servant with one talent, whose teammates would have voted for his elimination. “Who here has fallen from the tree of knowledge?” Anne would deliver with her deadpan and English accent. And then would come the decisive line, “You are the weakest link. Goodbye!” This was the game show equivalent to “wailing and grinding of teeth.”

Fortunately for us, our God is far more generous than and not nearly as mean as Anne Robinson! Still, our God has given us talents; gifts. God has given us one gift that matters, his Son, our Lord Jesus Christ. Will we be like the third servant, fearful to invest his one talent; the “weakest link” who never yells “bank”? Or will we take the risk with our talents that God asks us to take; the risk that Jesus Christ has taken for us in becoming human, dying, rising, and promising to return for our salvation? God invites us to invest our talents fearlessly as a team, the Body of Christ, the Church; to be kind; to welcome; to forgive; to build God’s kingdom on earth until it reaches its fullness at the end of time.