Homily for Sunday, 4 August 2019

Readings of the day: Ecclesiastes 1:2, 2:21-23; Psalm 90:3-4, 5-6, 12-13, 14, 17; Colossians 3:1-5, 9-11; Luke 12:13-21

18th Sunday in Ordinary Time

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

Who went to Mass today to hear a discouraging message? I will venture to say that few if anybody here today is here to hear a discouraging message.

Yet do we not hear just this, a real “downer,” from the Book of Ecclesiastes today: “Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher… All is vanity.” All your toil “with wisdom and knowledge and skill”; your work, even if you work extended or irregular hours for some perceived good to yourself or to other people, our society, our country, or our world: All this means nothing. All the benefits of our hard work will be left behind “to be enjoyed by another.”

“All is vanity,” sorry. The Jesuit priest and columnist for the newspaper The Catholic Register out of Toronto, Fr. Scott Lewis, who taught me in a course at Toronto’s Regis College, says (I think rightly) in his Register column, “God’s Word on Sunday,” for this week that “the author of Ecclesiastes will never win a prize for being the most joyful or hopeful individual in the Bible.” In fact, Fr. Lewis says, the Jewish Rabbis a few centuries after the writing of Ecclesiastes who decided on which books to include in the Bible were leery of including Ecclesiastes in the Bible as we know it today for a number of reasons: Ecclesiastes is too discouraging. Its message could have been written for anybody already cynically dissatisfied with life enough to have been waiting for an authoritative message to support their cynicism. Ecclesiastes’ message is not particularly religious. The Book of Ecclesiastes barely mentions God.

For good or for ill, though, the Book of Ecclesiastes and its “vanity of vanities” message are in our Bible. But if we fast-forward to the chaotic 1960s, thanks to The Byrds’ 1965 single, “Turn, Turn, Turn,” it would seem that the message of the cynical teacher of Ecclesiastes has gained new receptivity. “To everything… there is a season… and a time to every purpose under heaven”: Today, over fifty years since “Turn, Turn, Turn” was released, its lyrics are engrained in the memory of many people. Is this maybe because, in the 1960s (I think this is true of any time period), people were reflecting on both the joys and the chaos of the time, individual and social successes and problems, by asking the foremost question, “What does it all mean”?

If we fast-forward again to our own just-as-chaotic time, are we not still asking similar questions? What does our life on earth mean? Of what benefit is wealth, or work, or anything? After all, the people who die with the most wealth, or having worked the hardest or the longest, still die. “Vanity of vanities,” it would seem still today, “All things are vanity.” Yet, at least by my observation, Ecclesiastes—not usually the reading we hear today, but the “to everything there is a season” reading, from Ecclesiastes 3—is a staple at Catholic funerals, when people are, I would think, searching for some message of hope or meaning in our own lives and in the life of our deceased loved ones.

These questions are age-old: What is the meaning of our life on Earth? Of what benefit is wealth, or work, or our acts of justice and kindness toward others? Why bother, anyway, if “all is vanity”? Our Psalm today, the letter to the Colossians, and the Gospel of Luke all speak to these enduring questions we have about the meaning of our earthly life and of our activity during it, although maybe not with the same cynical edge as the Teacher in Ecclesiastes.

Our Psalm speaks to the finiteness of our life on earth; our life that is “like grass that… in the morning… flourishes and is renewed [and] in the evening… fades and withers.” Still, for the Psalmist, our earthly life and work within it have great meaning and dignity. We ask God, through our Psalm, to bless our lives, however short, and our work: “Prosper for us the work of our hands.”

The letter to the Colossians invites us to prioritize “the things that are above… not… things that are on earth.” The context of Colossians is both a form of laxity in the practice of Christian faith that had developed within a few decades of the earthly life of Jesus, and a response to that laxity. The more time passed after Jesus’ ascension into heaven, we might understand, Jesus’ disciples got increasingly impatient for Jesus’ promised return to Earth at the end of time. The longer Christian disciples waited for Jesus’ return, the more they became lax or ignorant about accumulating material goods that, while not bad in themselves, risked distracting them from placing their foremost hope in God and in eternal life. The letter to the Colossians’ response to this laxity is radical, even for its time. Colossians asks its hearers to think of themselves as already dead: “For you have died, and your life is hidden in Christ with God.”

In case we think that this call in Colossians to think of ourselves as already dead is morbid or simply bizarre, I invite us to think of our own baptism. Our Church’s Rite of Baptism is full of references to death: Death to our finite earthly life so that we may rise to eternal life with Christ.

But do we not experience in our world today the same tension that would have inspired the letter writer to the Colossians to invite us to think of ourselves as dead to this finite world in order to place our priority and our hope on God and eternal life? On the one hand, do we not hear from some people even today an Ecclesiastes-like despair, without the context of the world and spirituality of the author of Ecclesiastes, who lament the “vanity”; the lack of any meaning in this earthly life? On the other hand, maybe more often today, we hear the “evil twin” of this despair of any meaning in our earthly life; we hear a “prosperity gospel” mentality that encourages greed and material accumulation, even under sometimes Christian pretexts. This “prosperity gospel” holds that either the material poverty of the poor is a curse from God and wealth a blessing, or social justice and an equitable distribution of earthly goods do not matter anyway, because God will make all our inequity and injustice right at the end of time, no matter how justly or unjustly we act now.

In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus offers us, I think, a counterweight either to a mentality that despairs of any meaning to our life on earth or to the “prosperity gospel” view, which, similarly to its evil twin, holds this earthly life to be of no meaning but, in doing so, encourages greed and social injustice, all too frequently under a religious mask. In our Gospel reading today, Jesus encounters a man who asks him to order his brother to divide his inheritance with him. In refusing to do as the man requests, Jesus turns to “the crowd” and warns them, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.”

Jesus does not say that the possessions themselves are bad, or even that the man he encounters at the beginning of today’s Gospel reading is unjust in demanding his share of his inheritance. For us to understand Jesus as teaching that material possessions are in themselves bad, or that this man’s demand for his inheritance is in itself unjust, would miss the point of Jesus’ teaching. Such an understanding would be inconsistent both with the balance of Biblical teaching and with our Church’s historical teaching on the meaning of our earthly life and on justice concerning earthly possessions or wealth.

Neither Jesus, in our reading today from Luke or elsewhere in the Gospels, nor the author of Ecclesiastes—especially if we read Ecclesiastes beyond his cynical-sounding “vanity of vanities” lament we hear today—nor the letter to the Colossians, nor the Psalmist consider all wealth, all human work, or earthly life to be in themselves meaningless. Instead, Jesus and the authors of Ecclesiastes, Colossians, and our Psalm ground all meaning of earthly, material wealth, of labour, and of life itself, in God.

Human wealth, labour, and even our work toward individual charity and social justice have great meaning and dignity, but only if they are grounded in God first. If these are anything but God first—might first, nation first, wealth first, or me first—they become empty, meaningless “vanity of vanities.” Only by placing God first in all we possess, do, and are may we have eternal life, the life of ultimate meaning. And only with God first does our prayer, that of our Psalm, have any meaning for us here and now: “Prosper for us the work of our hands.”

Homily for Sunday, 31 July 2016

18th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Ecclesiastes 1:2, 2:21-23; Psalm 90:3-4, 5-6, 12-13, 14, 17; Colossians 3:1-5, 9-11; Luke 12:13-21

This homily was given at the Monastery of the Carmel of St. Joseph near Spruce Grove, AB, Canada.

What is the point?

“Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher,” the author of the Book of Ecclesiastes from which we hear our first reading today. “All is vanity”! Is this not a somewhat cynical and sad view of our world and of human labour?

After all, in our Psalm we have just prayed to God, “Prosper for us the work of our hands.” Does this not contradict the view of the Teacher in Ecclesiastes, who says of “the work of our hands”: “For all their days are full of pain, and their work is a vexation; even at night their minds do not rest. This also is vanity”?

I am willing to admit that maybe the person who wrote Ecclesiastes may have been having a bad day at work. Maybe he was suffering from a severe case of writer’s block (if so, I can empathize with him, as a priest and graduate student). Maybe the Teacher had a difficult boss… or editor or publisher. Maybe (and by no means do I wish to make light of depression) he was depressed. And yet is there not surely more dignity than vanity in our work and in our world? If not, what is the point of anything we do? To borrow the title of a book from Fr. Timothy Radcliffe, a Dominican priest I had the joy of meeting a couple of years ago at his home at Blackfriars, Oxford, England, What Is the Point of Being a Christian, especially if “all things are vanity”?

I think both the Letter to the Colossians and our Gospel reading today from Luke give us clues toward answering questions like these. St. Paul says to the Colossians, “If you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above.” And Jesus reminds the crowd he teaches with the parable of the greedy rich man to seek to be “rich toward God”; to be “rich in what matters to God” and not to stockpile vain, perishable, earthly riches. And so our question shifts from “What is the point of our work; our faith; our worship; anything we do” to “How might we be rich in what matters to God; in what is of heaven and imperishable”?

Our world gives us many countersigns to “things that are above”; to richness “toward God” and “in what matters to God.” Some seek to be rich in money and material wealth. These are not bad in and of themselves, unless we rely on this material wealth in place of God or accumulate this wealth at the expense of other people. Some seek to be rich in military might and weaponry; rich in various forms of violence. Some seek to be rich in security and certainty. These people go so far as to want to build walls against anybody who may threaten their security. They go so far as to barricade their hearts and minds so not to need to respond to people who challenge their certainties (sometimes constructively), instead of defending the truths of God and of our faith, if necessary, with charity, kindness, and openness to better ways of expressing these timeless truths.

The “prosperity gospel”; the gospel of might and violence; the gospel of security; the gospels of greed and pride: These are not the Gospel of Jesus Christ; the Good News of our God. These are countersigns to the Gospel of Jesus Christ; these are false gospels. Yet enough people fall for these countersigns so that we have reached many crisis points in our world: Frayed and broken relationships in families; disregard for human life and dignity, especially of the not-yet-born, the elderly and the sick, and people with disabilities; wars; racism; a growing gap between the world’s wealthiest and poorest, many who lack even sufficient food and safe drinking water; acts of terrorism, most recently the murder of Fr. Jacques Hamel in France while he was celebrating Mass; more Christians and people of other creeds abused and killed than ever out of hatred for their faiths…

“This also is vanity.” This is appalling. And so what is the point, whether of our work, “of being a Christian,” or of being at all? What matters to God, and how might we be “rich toward God”? It can be well and good of us to condemn the “vanities”; the inhuman horrors of our time. It is well and good of us to speak to the truth of our Christian faith. But to condemn what is vain and false and to affirm truth is not enough. Religious faith cannot rest on the affirmation, “Because it is true.” “A religion,” Timothy Radcliffe says in What is the Point of Being a Christian?, “that tries to market itself as useful for some other purpose” than “to point us to God who is the point of everything… cannot be a religion that [we] could take seriously.” Religious faith demands a lived, ethical response. Our faith; our God calls us to live our response to these great questions: What is the point of who we are and what we do? How do we become “rich toward God”; “in what matters to God”?

And so how do we live our response to these questions? When I ask myself this, I think back to one of St. John Paul II’s earliest encyclicals; his teaching letters to the whole Church: Dives in Misericordia, or “Rich in Mercy.” “It is ‘God, who is rich in mercy,” Pope John Paul II begins. Mercy is “what matters to God.” Our God has revealed himself to us as mercy and invites us Christians to continue to reveal God to our world as mercy.

This, without doubt, is a difficult task for us, even before we consider all the countersigns in our world to mercy. Where do we even begin? I am not sure how many of us have been able to follow the news from World Youth Day in Krakow, Poland. This past Friday the Way of the Cross wound through the streets of Krakow. Each station of the Way of the Cross at this World Youth Day, during this Jubilee Year of Mercy, also included a meditation on one of the corporal or spiritual works of mercy. Might I suggest that these corporal and spiritual works of mercy would be great ways for us to reveal to our world our God “who is rich in mercy”?

Feed the hungry. Give drink to the thirsty. Clothe the naked. Shelter the homeless. Visit the sick and the imprisoned. Bury the dead. Instruct the ignorant, counsel the doubtful, and admonish sinners, always with love and patience. Bear wrongs patiently. Forgive offenses willingly. Comfort the afflicted. Pray for the living and the dead.

These are all ways in which we, as Christians, reveal Christ; reveal our God to our world as “rich in mercy.” And we show, by doing these works of mercy ourselves and by encouraging one another to do the same, that we are “rich toward God”; “rich in what matters to God”; that we, too, are “rich in mercy.” It is all the better when we show God’s mercy in our world quietly; unassumingly, without regard for our own gain but for “[glorifying] God by our lives.”

This, I dare say, is “the point of being a Christian.” Mercy, with humility, is the antidote to injustice; to greed; to violence; to “vanity.” Mercy points us to God; toward “things that are above.” Mercy makes us “rich toward God” who is “rich in mercy” and who prospers “the work of our hands.”

Homily for Thursday, 25 September 2014– Ferial

Thursday of the 25th week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Ecclesiastes 1:2-11; Psalm 90:3-4, 5-6, 12-13, 14, 17bc; Luke 9:7-9

Do our lives; does our work have any significance? If we hear only the cynical words of Qoheleth in today’s first reading, the beginning of the Book of Ecclesiastes, it would seem that nothing we do, nor even our lives, have any significance. “Vanity of vanities! All things are vanity!” Qoheleth says. “What profit” have we “from all the labor which [we toil] at under the sun”?

Would not many of us be inclined to agree with Qoheleth? Life is cyclical: birth; growing up; work; taxes; death… Does all this have any meaning? Perhaps atheists of our time would be proud that even Scripture questions whether our existence has any meaning. Would a loving, present, and merciful God allow this kind of meaningless existence?

But wait… Should Qoheleth’s questions be interpreted not literally but rhetorically? Perhaps what Qoheleth is saying is that, indeed, nothing matters, neither our lives nor our work nor even belief in God, if it is self-serving and not oriented toward serving others and God. Toward whom are our lives; our work; our faith; our worship oriented: God and others or ourselves? Are our lives; our work; our faith; our worship maybe oriented toward God and others sometimes and toward ourselves at other times? Our lives; our work; our faith; our worship are meaningless “vanity” if they are “all about me.” Our lives; our work; our faith; our worship are given meaning if they are all about God and about the people and the world we serve and love in God’s name.

On the one hand, our Gospel gives us the example of King Herod, for whom life was all about him. And so he is perplexed by Jesus; neither able to “see him” nor to “hear” accurately the truth about who Jesus is: the Christ; the Son of God.

On the other hand, perhaps many of us could identify with the writer of today’s Psalm. We at least try (if we are not often successful) at making our lives; our work; our faith; our worship all about God and the people we serve. Yet we recognize, as in our Psalm, that we cannot live a life of faith; we cannot worship properly; we cannot have any meaning beyond “vanity of vanities” without relationship with God. And so the writer of our Psalm prays and invites us to pray to God, “Prosper the work of our hands!”

Lord, “prosper the work of our hands for us”! You give meaning to our lives; our work; our service; our faith; our worship, which are not first about “me” but about you, O God, and the people and world we serve and love in your name.