Homily for Sunday, 13 August 2017

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: 1 Kings 19:9a, 11-13a; Psalm 85:9, 10, 11-12, 13-14; Romans 9:1-5; Matthew 14:22-33

How deeply do our own experiences; our society and culture; our families, friends, and acquaintances; people we regard as leaders, in society and in our Church, influence our basic image of who God is? Of how many different images of God; popular understandings of God are we able to think?

Maybe thanks to the influence of Pope Francis, although God has been understood in these terms long before him, we may be developing an increasing awareness in our Church and broader world of God as merciful; a God who calls us to be merciful and kind to one another. My observation, though, is that this increased emphasis on a merciful God calling for a more merciful Church and world has not pleased everybody. How do we balance mercy with moral accountability? How do we respond to people who persist stubbornly in defiance of moral norms of Church or of societies; who persist in sin? Might an authoritarian God resonate better with some who are worried about too permissive an image of God, so that moral decay and, eventually, the whittling away of any sense of right and wrong, continue unchecked?

What other images of God, besides the merciful God, the permissive God, and the authoritarian God, vie for space in our minds and in our experience? Much like the authoritarian God is the angry, punishing God. There is the God of military might, or the God who blesses wealth (for some, this God of the so-called “prosperity Gospel” also curses people who are poor, sick, with disabilities, or otherwise disadvantaged). The God who sets the universe in motion and then leaves it, and us, to our own devices, is also alive and well in our world: The impersonal, distant, “blind watchmaker” God or, as I have heard this god called among my brother Basilians, “Yoyo” God, as in “You’re on your own”!

These are only a few predominant images of God, of the top of my head, that we might experience. None of these images of God are perfect, although some are better than others. Some have more of a basis in Scripture than others. Today we hear about the prophet Elijah in 1 Kings. Elijah hides in a cave on Mount Horeb. Why would Elijah want to hide himself in a cave on Mount Horeb? The reading we hear today from 1 Kings is right after Elijah has killed all the prophets of Ba’al, a false god in Israel worshipped by the queen, Jezebel. In a rage, Jezebel calls for Elijah to be killed and so, fearing for his life, Elijah flees to the cave on Horeb.

Who could fault Elijah, his life in danger for obeying God against the prophets of Ba’al, for believing himself to be a failure, “no better than [his] ancestors” in eliminating from Israel any worship of foreign gods? More importantly, who could fault Elijah for understanding God first and foremost as a God of might; an angry and violent God? After all, this kind of God had been Elijah’s experience: The God who, through Elijah, had responded to the idolatry of Jezebel and the people of Israel, and Jezebel’s murder of the prophets of the LORD, by having the prophets of Ba’al slain by the sword? This same God now seemed content to leave Elijah on his own on Horeb to die.

At this point, though, when Elijah is most stuck on his images of God as mighty and perhaps angry and violent, and then as distant and allowing Elijah to sink into despair, God calls Elijah out of the cave. The LORD says to Elijah that he “is about to pass by.” Will Elijah recognize the presence of the LORD when he passes by Mount Horeb? The first vision Elijah experiences that might be God is of a strong wind, “splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces.” And, we hear, “after the wind” is “an earthquake” and then “a fire.” Do any of us wonder what Elijah may have been thinking as he was witnessing these visions? Might he have been thinking how closely the wind, the earthquake, and the fire resonated with his prior experience of God: Mighty, angry, violent, and even destructive; a God to be feared more than loved?

To Elijah’s credit, he is able to discern that none of these visions; none of these images— the wind, the earthquake, and the fire— are adequate images of God. Elijah’s and our God is “not in the wind… not in the earthquake,” and “not in the fire.” No, Elijah’s and our best and fullest experience of God is in “the sound of sheer silence.” It is as though, through the silence, God says to Elijah, “Do not be afraid. Do not fear the wrath and destruction of Jezebel. Do not fear me, as though I am an angry and violent God. I have chosen you as my prophet. Rise and wait for me at the entrance to the cave. I will be with you, in calm silence.”

Is this God who called Elijah from the cave on Horeb; is our God not the same God who has been with us from the first moments of creation? St. Paul pleads with his own people in his Letter to the Romans to recognize that the God who once appeared to Elijah in “the sound of sheer silence” is the same God who has been with us all along. This God, our God, gave to the people of Israel first “the adoption, the glory, the covenants… the Law, the worship, and the promises… the patriarchs” and finally “the Christ.” Our God is not to be feared but to be worshipped in love. Our God is “not in the wind… not in the earthquake,” and “not in the fire,” but in “the sound of sheer silence”; in the peace and unity we build in our Church, our communities, our households, and among nations. God is with us in his kindly sustenance of creation; in forgiveness of our sin and of our false images of God that we too often still promote to our world: The gods of fear, of anger, of escalating threats, of violence, of military “fire and fury”; or the impersonal “yoyo” god— “You’re on your own”!

Do we not, though, still in our day have difficulty with all these incomplete and inadequate images of God? Does our world not still, too often, fear God instead of loving God and, in loving God, learn to love one another and uphold one another’s basic dignity as creatures of God? Do too many people today (including ourselves perhaps; including me sometimes) not still doubt the loving kindness of our God by which we are ultimately saved?

To us as to Jesus’ disciples on the boat in Matthew’s Gospel who “cry out in fear” amid the storm; to us as to Peter who, thinking he is able to walk on water by himself before he becomes frightened by the wind and begins to sink; to us as St. Paul to the people who first heard him; to us as to Elijah hidden in despair on Mount Horeb, God extends a hand of kindness, encouragement, and peace, and calls out: “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” Firmly yet gently, God challenges our incomplete and inadequate images and understandings of who God is; our fear that prevents us from loving God and one another as we are called to do: “You of little faith, why did you doubt”?

Our God is in the calming of the storm at sea; in the calming of our fears; in the calming of the chaos and conflict of our world; in the calming of our false or at least incomplete images of God as either behind the chaos or distant from it. Our God “not in the wind… not in the earthquake,” and “not in the fire,” but in the silence; in the calm. May we not doubt. May we not fear, but may we worship and celebrate in love of God and of one another.

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 Sunday, 7 September 2014

23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Ezekiel 33:7-9; Psalm 95:1-2, 2-3, 6-7, 8-9; Romans 13:8-10; Matthew 18:15-20

“You… I have appointed watchman for the house of Israel,” God says to the prophet Ezekiel in our first reading today. Jesus says to his disciples, the earliest Church community, in our Gospel reading: “Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.” So how are we to balance being a “watchman”; a people with the power to bind and loose, the prophetic calling to keep one another morally accountable, with reconciliation and forgiveness?

St. Paul gives us a standard by which we can keep watch; keep one another accountable for good and evil; by which we can bind and loose justly but also act with forgiveness. He says that “love is the fulfillment of the Law.” All “the commandments, ‘You shall not commit adultery; you shall not kill; you shall not steal; you shall not covet,’ and whatever other commandment there may be, are summed up in this saying: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’”

St. Paul’s recap of Jesus’ commandment to love our neighbor sounds easy enough, right? Perhaps to love one another, and especially to express this love as forgiveness when another person does evil or persists in doing evil, is easier said than done.

How is “love your neighbor as yourself” practiced in community, especially when somebody commits sin that damages relationships; that damages community? Jesus gives us an idea of the practical implications in a faith community of “You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” especially in response to evil and sin. First, speak with the person who has done wrong one-on-one. If this does not work, bring “one or two” other “witnesses.” If this still does not work, bring more witnesses; “tell the Church” in order to try to convince the sinner to turn from his or her evil. Only then may the unrepentant sinner be cast out of the community: “Treat him as you would a Gentile or a tax collector.”

Here we have it: four foolproof steps toward reconciliation and forgiveness! If only this were realistic; if only reconciliation and forgiveness were that easy…

But wait: If we do not find Jesus’ invitation to reconciliation and forgiveness realistic, is this perhaps because we often do not interpret it correctly or put it into proper practice in our relationships; in our communities?

“If your brother [or sister] sins against you, go and tell him his fault between you and him alone.” This does not mean “go and gossip with a friend about the wrong somebody did to you.”

“If he does not listen, take one or two others along with you… If he refuses to listen to them, tell the Church.” If healing, forgiveness, and reconciliation cannot be achieved one-on-one between the person who sins and the person sinned against, then this healing, forgiveness, and reconciliation becomes a communal effort. Friends; families; communities must work together. But again the primary goal of this communal effort is not to punish the person who does evil; is not to hurt her or him in return for the evil done, but to facilitate healing, forgiveness, and reconciliation. Even when, as a last resort, a person must be cast out of the community, treated “as you would a Gentile or a tax collector” in our Gospel’s words, in Church terms excommunicated, even then the goal is healing; forgiveness; and reconciliation; bringing the restored sinner back into the community.

Is finding the balance between forgiveness; fostering healing and reconciliation on the one hand, and on the other hand ensuring justice; accountability; being the prophetic “watchman” after Ezekiel in our first reading; the balance between binding and loosing, unrealistic for us?

It is perhaps unrealistic if we understand forgiveness and reconciliation as weakness. Let us take the example of Officer Daryl Pierson of the Rochester Police Department, killed in the line of duty on Wednesday night. Crimes such as this very understandably lead to sadness and even anger in communities; in our city. A wife and two young children are now deprived of a loving husband and father by this heinous action. Would it not be difficult to find a balance between calls for justice and accountability and calls for forgiveness in this and similar situations? Our Gospel might just be pointing us toward forgiveness; reconciliation; healing; perhaps shown forth as prayer for Officer Pierson, for his family, and also for the man who killed him; for his repentance. Is this kind of forgiveness and reconciliation a sign of weakness, or is it a showing forth of tremendous strength, perhaps only achievable by God’s grace?

But is finding the balance between forgiveness; reconciliation and justice; accountability also unrealistic if we understand forgiveness to be about forgetting that any wrong has been done? How many of us have heard “forgive and forget”? How many of us have been unable to forget a serious wrong done to us, even after many years? I hear and have even said on occasion something like, “I would like to forgive this person, but I cannot forget what she or he did to me. I cannot trust that she or he will not do the same to me or to another person again.” How many of us have carried guilt for having been unable to forget wrong done to us?

Let me try to console you with this: Neither Jesus, nor the Bible, nor the Church have ever taught “forgive and forget.” Forgiveness does not mean forgetting the wrong done to us. If so, would the balance not be upset too far toward loosing; a false forgiveness that does not hold us accountable for our actions? No, forgiveness is first a conscious and then a heartfelt decision not to allow another person’s evil to hurt us anymore; not to let this evil destroy us; destroy relationships; destroy community. Forgiveness is a decision made with love; a decision to heal; a decision to reconcile. Forgiveness with love (or charity) leaves room for legitimate disagreement, as St. Augustine once said: “In important things unity; in less important things diversity; in all things charity.” Forgiveness with love seeks the good of one another, knowing that we are all redeemed sinners.

“Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them,” Jesus says in our Gospel reading. Where there is love for neighbor as for self; where love gives rise to forgiveness, not forgiving and forgetting but forgiving to strengthen relationships and community, there is our balance between binding and loosing. There is our balance between being the “watchman”; keeping prophetic watch for the sake of moral accountability, and authentic forgiveness. There is our strength to pray together for the good of one another. There Jesus is in our midst.  

Homily for Wednesday, 13 August 2014– Ferial

Wednesday of the 19th week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Ezekiel 9:1-7, 10:18-22; Psalm 113:1-2, 3-4, 5-6; Matthew 18:15-20

What does Jesus mean when he says to his disciples in our Gospel reading today: “Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven”? How does Jesus’ saying apply to the situation of having to correct a sister or brother in Christ who has done wrong? Have any of us ever had to stand up to someone who was doing wrong (for those in our Faith Formation Summer Intensive Program here today, what about someone who was bullying another who did not “fit in,” for example?) What if the wrong action creates discord between individuals or within families, or even public scandal? How does the power of binding and loosing that Jesus gives to us apply then?

There is right and wrong, and so we are called to stand up for what is right and against evil and sin. And yet the power of loosing the bonds of sin is balanced with the power of binding; of holding others and ourselves accountable for sin.

And yet this power to bind and to loose is not meant to lead us to a sense of superiority, as though each of us are not ourselves sinners. Binding and loosing; the power to forgive sin and also the responsibility to hold one another accountable for good and evil actions, is meant to be both the exercise of individuals and of the whole Church community. Above all, when we must correct a member of the Church, we are invited to ask ourselves: Am I correcting the other person to stoke my own pride, or to strengthen the Christian community; the Body of Christ; the Church?

How often do we think of the good of the whole Church community when we correct somebody who has committed a sin? And yet this is what Jesus asks of us: If the sinner does not listen to one other person who corrects her or him, then bring witnesses. If the sinner will not listen to witnesses, then bring the case before “the Church.” Only when the sinner will not listen to the Church community might she or he be excluded from it; treated “as… a Gentile or a tax collector,” in Matthew’s words.

To bind and to loose; to forgive sin and to hold one another accountable for sin is not primarily about the sinner or even about the sin, but about the good of relationships; the good of community; the good of the Church. And even if one must, as a last resort, be excluded from this community for sins especially damaging to the community or persistent, serious sin, this exclusion (what we might call “excommunication”) is always meant to be a step toward healing; toward bringing the lost member back into community; back to the Church.

On binding and loosing, St. Augustine once said that, if we need to rebuke a sister or brother in Christ who has sinned, “our rebuke is to be in love, not eager to wound but anxious to amend.” May we let this be our test as to how we respond to sin, sisters and brothers in Christ. “Whatever [we] bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever [we] loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven,” not for our own gain but for the strengthening of the Church; the Body of Christ.