4th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)
Wearing Green in a Sea of Blue

Readings: Jeremiah 1:4-5, 17-19; Psalm 71:1-2, 3-4, 5-6, 15-17; 1 Corinthians 12:31—13:13 or 13:4-13; Luke 4:21-30
Picture: cc inboundpass


Dear sisters and brothers, some years ago, someone I know found himself at a college basketball game. The Jesuits were playing their traditional rivals La Salle. The La Salle supporters were all dressed in green, the Jesuit supporters in blue. Each group occupied its own section of the stadium. The rivalry couldn’t have been more intense. The atmosphere was rowdy and electric. Since my friend was studying with the Jesuits at the time, he naturally chose to sit with his classmates in the blue section of the stadium. And things would probably have gone well if that was all there was to it. Except that there was a minor complication. You see, although this guy was then attending a Jesuit college, he had previously graduated from a La Salle high school. What to do?

I suppose the politically smart thing to do would have been for him to sit in the blue section, to keep quiet about his earlier affiliation, and to cheer for the Jesuits. Or, if his loyalties were too painfully divided, he could have chosen not to go to the game. He could have watched it on TV instead. But my friend is not a politician. In order to be fair to both teams, he decided to sit with the other Jesuit fans in the blue section while wearing a green t-shirt. Not only that, but he also tried his best to cheer equally for both teams. Can you imagine what it must have been like?

Wearing green in a sea of blue… I’m surprised that he was able to leave the stadium in one piece.

We might say the same about Jesus in today’s gospel, which continues from where we left off last week. As you recall, Jesus is near the beginning of his public ministry. He visits the synagogue in his hometown, where he’s just announced to the people that the Spirit has anointed him to bring glad tidings to the poor. Everyone is thrilled. They want to hear more from him. And then what does Jesus do? He proceeds to antagonize them by talking about foreigners. To a group of enthusiastic Jews, Jesus starts talking about Sidonian widows and Syrian lepers. To proud members of the Chosen People he talks about gentiles being favored by God. It’s as though, like my friend at the ball game, Jesus decides to put on a green shirt while sitting in the blue section. It’s definitely not the politically smart thing to do. What’s even more surprising is that when the people try to kill him, Jesus manages to escape in one piece.

And this is not just a one-off incident. Jesus’ experience in Nazareth provides us with a pattern that characterizes the rest of his ministry. Even after leaving his hometown, Jesus will continue to speak on behalf of the outcaste and the excluded. He will continue to reach out to prostitutes and tax collectors. For, as the scripture scholars tell us, these groups of people are included among the poor to whom Jesus is sent to bring glad tidings. And when the religious authorities finally do succeed in putting him to death, Jesus still manages to escape their evil intentions. He is raised to life on the third day.

Of course, all of this may seem puzzling to us. Why does Jesus insist on antagonizing the authorities? Why does he choose to wear green in a sea of blue? And how does he manage to escape his persecutors when they finally catch up with him? It all doesn’t make much sense, especially when seen from a political perspective. A politician cannot help but be concerned with popularity. But Jesus is not a politician. He was anointed as a prophet. And, as was the case with Jeremiah in the first reading, this is how prophets operate. Like Jesus, Jeremiah too is appointed as God’s messenger even from his mother’s womb. Like Jesus, Jeremiah is called to go to his own people with an unpopular message. He is to tell them to submit to the Babylonian invaders whom God is using as God’s instruments. And, like Jesus, Jeremiah too will suffer rejection and persecution. But, as we heard in the first reading, God promises to protect him, to make him a fortified city, a pillar of iron, a wall of brass, against the whole land.

What the experiences of Jesus and of Jeremiah demonstrate to us is that, as politically foolish as it may be, it is in the very nature of a prophet to speak the inconvenient word, and to do the unpopular thing, to wear a green shirt while sitting in the blue section. All of this is, of course, far from easy to do. As Christians, we know that it is difficult enough simply to try to fulfill our various Christian duties: to go to Mass at least once every week and on days of obligation, to go to confession whenever we’re conscious of having committed any serious sins, or, in any case, at least once a year. And yet, is this really enough? Is it enough simply to be concerned with these religious practices? Doesn’t the Catechism of the Catholic Church also remind us that when we were anointed with the oil of holy chrism at our baptism, we were incorporated into Christ who was anointed priest, prophet, and king (CCC, 1241)? As baptized Christians, we too are called to be prophets as Jesus was before us. We too are called to speak the inconvenient word and to do the unpopular thing, to gather in those who may be left out by society, whomever these may be: the sick and the aged, the jobless and the homeless, the lonely and the forgotten.

And for us to do this, we need something that both Jesus and Jeremiah enjoyed, the thing that moved Jesus to touch and to heal lepers, even when the Law said that they were to be kept at a distance. This is the spiritual gift about which Paul writes so beautifully in the second reading: If I speak in human and angelic tongues, but do not have love, I am a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal. Might we not say the same about faithfully attending Mass every Sunday? If we have not love… And it is also through this same gift that the prophets like Jesus and Jeremiah find protection and sustenance, even in the face of death. Love keeps them in one piece, for love never fails.

Sisters and brothers, as baptized Christians and sharers in the prophetic anointing of Christ, how are we being called to wear green in a sea of blue today?

Baptism of the Lord (C)
Baptisms and Border-Crossings

Readings: Is  40:1-5, 9-11; Ps 29:1-2, 3-4, 3, 9-10; Ti 2:11-14; 3:4-7; Lk 3:15-16, 21-22
Picture: cc Abeeeer

Dear sisters and brothers, some years ago, I joined a team of volunteers accompanying a group of catechumens on a weekend retreat in preparation for baptism. As the venue for the retreat was quite far away, the plan was for everyone to meet at the church very early one Saturday morning, hop onto a couple of tour buses, which would take us to a ferry terminal, where a ferry would then transport us to our destination. The journey went smoothly enough for me, until I got to the terminal. You see, although I had tried to remember everything necessary for the weekend, I’d missed one crucially important detail. I’d forgotten that more than just being rather far away, the retreat location was actually in a whole different country. I’d forgotten that the ferry terminal was also an immigration checkpoint, the crossing of which required a passport. Without this official document, the checkpoint became for me a terminal in the literal sense of the word, a dead end. Much to my embarrassment – What?! You mean Father forgot his passport?! – I had no choice but to go back home, retrieve my travel document, and then return to catch a later ferry.

The inconvenience caused by my own absentmindedness brought home to me two things that I don’t often think about. The first is, of course, the importance of the passport. Not only does it allow you to cross into a foreign country, but it also enables you to return home. With a passport, borders become checkpoints instead of dead ends. With a passport, you can safely negotiate border crossings in both directions. And you can do this because the passport tells people who you are, where you come from, what your nationality is, under whose protection you belong. But this crucial importance of the passport also points to a something else. It highlights the fact that border-crossings can be highly stressful and even dangerous undertakings. And this is, of course, becoming increasingly true in our post September 11th world. Today – especially after the exploits of the would-be Detroit bomber – even a passport-carrying traveler has to face a whole host of challenges, including ever-stricter packing guidelines and ever-more stringent security checks, not to mention the possibility that a fellow traveler might actually be a closet terrorist. All of which is enough to make us give up the idea of traveling altogether. Faced with so much stress, it’s probably understandable if we decide to forgo vacations and opt for stay-cations instead.

Which is why our celebration of the Baptism of the Lord on this last day of the Christmas season is so timely for us who are baptized Christians. For what is baptism if not a border-crossing? In today’s gospel, for example, we find people filled with expectation, and gathered by the banks of the river Jordan, where John has been baptizing. Why are the people expectant, if not because they think that John can help them to cross the border separating the kingdom of this world from the Kingdom of God? Why are they gathering at the Jordan, if not in the hope that its banks might turn into a checkpoint for them, a border-crossing into eternity? But John has no such pretensions. He makes it quite clear that although he can gather the people at the checkpoint, he cannot bring them across to the other side. To do that, they need someone else. And isn’t this what sets Jesus apart from John? Although the Baptist is able to show people the way to the border by teaching them to smooth out the highways of their hearts, only Jesus has the passport that is required to bring them across. It is for Jesus alone that the heavens open. Of course, the gospel gives us no indication that Jesus is carrying an official travel document. What we do find, however, is the descent of the Holy Spirit and the sound of the Father’s Voice declaring Jesus’ true identity. You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.

Out of all the people gathered at the borderlands of the Jordan, Jesus stands out because he alone has a passport. He alone is the Father’s only begotten Son. But that’s not all. Jesus stands out not only because of who he is, but also because of where he is going. Jesus stands out because of the particular direction in which he is traveling. Unlike all the others, who are hoping to cross from the kingdom of this world into the Kingdom of God, Jesus brings the Kingdom of God into this world. He is the One whom the Father sends to comfort, give comfort to my people. Isn’t this the mystery that we have been celebrating throughout this Christmas season? And, by becoming one like us, Jesus effectively transforms himself into our passport. Baptized in his blood, we become the adopted sons and daughters of the Father, able to pass safely into the Kingdom of God. Isn’t this the great gift that has been given us at our baptism? In the words of the second reading, when the kindness and generous love of God our savior appeared, not because of any righteous deeds we had done but because of his mercy, he saved us through the bath of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit… so that we might… become heirs in hope of eternal life. And isn’t this also the deeper reason why Jesus submits to John’s baptism even though Jesus is without sin? How else might those waiting at the borderlands of the Jordan finally be able to cross over into the fullness of life, if the One who alone is the Way and the Truth and the Life (John 14:6) does not come among them to lead them? How else would the ordinary waters of baptism be infused with the extraordinary power of the Spirit, transforming sinful enemies of God into beloved children of a compassionate Father? How else but by the immersion into these same waters of the sinless Body of the only begotten Son of God?

And yet, sisters and brothers, as marvelous as all this is, it is not quite the whole story. For checkpoints are meant to facilitate travel in two directions. And passports are meant to enable people to move freely both in and out. Similarly, to be a baptized Christian is more than just to enjoy the privileges of holding a passport into the Kingdom of God. It is also to share in the mission of Christ, who was sent by the Father into the world, not to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him (John 3:17). A baptized Christian is called to travel in the footsteps of Christ, to cross borders in both directions, to share one’s precious passport with others, to comfort them with the same consolation that we have received, so that they too might enjoy the fullness of life. Indeed, this is a great challenge for us, especially today, when borders are becoming increasingly dangerous locations, not just borders between countries, but also those between races and religions, between ideologies and identities. Just this past week, haven’t we heard reports of a soccer team being machine-gunned on the border between the Republic of Congo and Angola, of Christians being attacked in Egypt, of churches being firebombed in Malaysia, and of people of Indian descent being targeted in Australia? News like this may tempt us to cling desperately to the safe and the familiar, to stay home and to steer clear of border-crossings. But to do so would be to fail to live up to our dignity as baptized followers of Christ, who chose us and appointed us to go out and to bear fruit, fruit that will remain (John 15:16).

Sisters and brothers, on this last day of the season in which we celebrate God’s coming among us as a human person, perhaps it is only right that we ask ourselves how the Lord might be inviting us to undertake border-crossings today. And whatever may be your response, please try not to do what I did.

Don’t forget your passport.

Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God
Recognizing the Face at the Door

Readings: Nm 6:22-27; Ps. Ps 67:2-3, 5, 6, 8; Gal 4:4-7; Lk 2:16-21
Picture: cc purplemattfish

Dear sisters and brothers, the story is told of a college professor who was a world-famous expert in his field of study. On one occasion, he was invited to give a speech at an important conference in a foreign country. Many people were looking forward to the event. Unfortunately, no one at the conference had ever seen him before. And the professor had a habit of dressing very casually. So, when he showed up at the door in a crumpled short-sleeved shirt, some old pants, and a pair of flip-flops, with his hair uncombed and his face unshaven, quite naturally, the people at the entrance asked to see his invitation. And when he said that he had left it at home, they refused to let him enter. Perhaps they thought that he was some crazy homeless person trying to get at the free food that was being provided for the reception. I don’t know what happened after that. But if there is a moral to this story, it’s probably this. To have a successful conference, it’s important not just to invite the right speaker. You also have to be able to recognize him.

Invitation and recognition: sisters and brothers, aren’t these also two of the main ingredients in our readings today? Notice how the first reading provides us with a blessing. Not just any blessing, but a very special prayer that Moses learns from no one else but God himself. By using this prayer, the people can actually invite God to show his face to them, and God promises that he will accept their invitation, that he will look upon them kindly and give them peace. And not only do our readings begin with an invitation, notice also how the gospel ends with the naming of the child of Mary. He is given the name Jesus, which, as you know, means God-saves. That he is given this name is a sign of recognition. It tells us that when God finally accepts his people’s invitation to show his face to them, Mary, the person at the door, recognizes him and lets him in. But not everyone does. As you know, Jesus had to be born in a stable because there was no room for him in the hotels and motels of his day. And even though king Herod suspects that the child is a king, instead of welcoming him, he wants to have him killed. On that first Christmas, when God finally did accept the invitation to show his face, not everyone was able to recognize and welcome him. And perhaps we should not be too quick to blame people for their failure. Just as few people might expect a famous professor to be dressed like a homeless person, even fewer expected God to show up as a helpless baby.

Invitation and recognition: sisters and brothers, aren’t these also two of the main ingredients that we need so much, even as we stand at the door of a new year? Many of us have come here this morning – when others might still be recovering from the celebrations of last night – to ask God for a blessing. We are inviting God to let his face shine on us in the year 2010. But, as the people at the conference found out, an invitation is only helpful if it is also accompanied by recognition. And recognition is not an easy thing to achieve. After all, do we really know what the face of God looks like? After having invited God to come among us, will we be able to recognize and welcome him when he really does show his face? Will we be able to recognize him, for example, if he shows up in the frightening face of a foreigner who might need our help, or when he chooses to wear the clothes of weakness and disease?

And yet, as difficult as it is to recognize the many different faces of God, it is not impossible. For, as the second reading tells us, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying out, ‘Abba, Father!’ And it is this same Spirit that enabled Mary and Elizabeth, and others like them, to recognize the face of God when at last he came. But first we need to pay attention to this Spirit. Like Mary, we need to learn to look closely at the events in our lives, reflecting upon them and pondering them in our hearts. And on this New Year’s Day, we might even like to take some time to look back on the year that is now past, to consider how God might have been showing his face to us there.

A couple of days ago, I heard someone tell a story of a woman who invited her family and friends to a big party at her house. She was very excited about it. She bought fresh lobsters and spent a whole day preparing and cooking them. And when the lobsters were finally ready, because there were so many of them, and because she wanted to surprise her guests, she put them in plastic bags and left them in the kitchen. Unfortunately, her son mistook those bags for garbage, and threw them all out. Another tragic result of misrecognition.

Sisters and brothers, even as we continue to invite God to bless us in the year ahead, how might we better recognize him when he shows up?

I wish you all a joyous and peaceful new year.

Sunday in the Octave of Christmas
The Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph (C)
From Hiding Places to Holy Portals

Readings: 1Samuel 1:20-22, 24-28; Psalm 84:2-3, 5-6, 9-10; 1 John 3:1-2, 21-24; Luke 2:41-52

Dear sisters and brothers, are you familiar with The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe? As you know, the movie adaptation of this book by C.S. Lewis begins with the bombing of London during the Second World War, and the evacuation of the four Pevensie children to a house in the country. One day, little Lucy Pevensie is playing hide-and-seek with her three siblings, Edmund, Susan and Peter. She discovers a room where she finds a large wardrobe filled with winter coats. But the wardrobe is more than just a dusty old storage space. It is also a portal, a doorway to another world. Stumbling into it in search of a hiding place, Lucy finds herself in the magical land of Narnia, a wonderful but also perilous place, where animals speak, and where little children become kings and queens and mighty warriors.

Strangely enough this story of a wardrobe that is more a doorway to danger and adventure than a safe hiding place is what comes to mind today as we celebrate the feast of the Holy Family. For there are those among us who say that we live in a time when the family is increasingly coming under threat. And they are probably right. Aren’t divorces becoming ever more common? Aren’t we in danger of losing our children to various bad influences, ranging from drugs and alcohol to gang violence and Internet pornography? And are we not also hearing ever-louder cries for the acknowledgment of so-called alternative life-styles, whatever the forms these might take? All these developments can seem like so many deadly bombs falling upon our fragile families. Faced with such a lethal barrage, some of us choose to respond by emphasizing the importance of the nuclear family, consisting of father, mother and children. In the nuclear family, we seek something not unlike what Lucy thought she had found in the wardrobe: a safe hiding place, in an isolated room, out in the country, far from every possible danger. But how realistic is this approach? Is this really all there is to family life? Are holy families necessarily nuclear? Or might things be a little more complicated than that? What about those families who don’t quite fit the mold of a nuclear family?

Consider, for example, the two families that our readings present to us today. Neither of them would seem to conform to strict ideas of what a nuclear family should look like and how it should act. In the gospel, as we know, although Jesus is the son of Mary, Joseph is not his father. And, in the first reading, Hannah is actually only one of two wives of Elkanah. The other wife, Peninah, had children, but Hannah did not. And when God finally answers Hannah’s prayers by blessing her with a son, instead of keeping and raising him in her husband’s household, Hannah gives him to the priest Eli.

Not only is the stereotypical nuclear structure of the family missing, but there also seems to be more going on here than simply providing a safe hiding place. And yet both these families are models of holiness. In what does their holiness consist? The answer is found in a striking feature that they both share. Each family is closely associated with the House of God. Not only do they make an annual pilgrimage to worship at the temple, they also conduct themselves in such a way that, through them, their children are ushered into the service of God. I prayed for this child, and the LORD granted my request, says Hannah to Eli. Now I, in turn, give him to the LORD; as long as he lives, he shall be dedicated to the LORD.

We see something similar in the experience of Jesus too. In reply to the questions of his anxious parents, Jesus tells them that he must be in his Father’s house. And yet, soon after that, he returns with them to Nazareth. Clearly, his Father’s house is not just the Temple in Jerusalem, but wherever his heavenly Father wants him to be. Whether it be in a carpenter’s shop in Nazareth, or in a fishing boat on the Sea of Galilee, or on a Cross on Calvary, in all these places, Jesus remains in the house of his Father’s will. And his family plays a crucial role in ushering him there.

Even though they are not strictly nuclear, each of the families in our readings today is holy because, like the wardrobe in the movie, they act as portals, doorways through which people are led into the House of the Lord. And not only that, but both Samuel and Jesus also themselves become portals ushering others into the service of God. Samuel grows up to be the great prophet who anoints first Saul, and then David, king. And, as we are told in the second reading, those who keep Jesus’ great commandment of love remain in him, and he in them, and so may be called the children of God, members of the Father's household.

If all this is true, then, for a family to be holy, it seems less important that it fit some predetermined structure, than that it somehow manage to usher people into the House of the Lord. I’m reminded, for example, of Agnes Awori, a 53 year-old widow living in a slum on the outskirts of Nairobi in Kenya, whose story is told in yesterday’s issue of the LA Times. Agnes’ family is far from nuclear. She lives in a shack with 12 children, the oldest of whom is 15. Only four of these kids are hers. Seven are the children of her dead sister. And the last one is a baby that Agnes picked up 16 months ago while on her way to market. It had been abandoned in a plastic bag on the railway track, with its umbilical cord still attached. Although ridiculed by onlookers, Agnes chose to save the baby. She named him Moses. Now Agnes makes about $2.65 a day and has accumulated about $132 in debts. Still, as she rocks Moses in her arms, she is able to say: I'm happy in my life. I'll bring him up well, like these other orphans. Everyone has their own talents in life.

Of course, whatever Agnes may say, these are far from ideal conditions in which to bring up a child, let alone 12. But then we might say the same about being born in a manger and then having to flee by night into Egypt. Of course, it’s important to stress that more needs to be done to help people like Agnes. That, after all, is the aim of the newspaper article. Still, perhaps it’s worth remembering that what we are celebrating today is not the Feast of the Ideal Family, but that of the Holy Family.

Sisters and brothers, isn’t it true that families come in different shapes and sizes? But whatever may be the shapes and sizes of our families today, how might we make them better portals leading others into the House of the Lord?

2nd Sunday of Advent (C)
Between Potholes and Reunions

Readings: Baruch 5:1-9; Psalm 126:1-2, 2-3, 4-5, 6; Philippians 1:4-6, 8-11; Luke 3:1-6

Dear sisters and brothers, have you seen that commercial with the talking pothole? A stylish grey sports car goes over a pothole, bursts a tire, and comes to a standstill. Oh no! Did I do that? The pothole asks, in a charming southern accent. Let me get my cellular out and call you a wrecker. Oh shoot, I don’t have a phone. I’m a pothole! So… 'K, bye! Funny commercial. But not if you’re the driver of the sports car. Can you imagine how you must feel? Not only has the pothole damaged your precious car, even worse, it has kept you from reaching your destination. Maybe you were rushing home for dinner, or to meet some friends for a drink, or to the hospital where your wife’s in labor. The pothole has kept you from being reunited with the people you love.

And speaking of reunions, I’m reminded of a YouTube video about Hilda Schlick, a grandmother in Israel, who was recently reunited with her long lost brother, Simon. Hilda is a survivor of the Holocaust. After WWII, she had ended up in Israel, thinking that the rest of her family had been killed. Except that they hadn’t. Years later, using her maiden name, Hilda's grownup grandson makes a search on the internet, and discovers that Hilda’s parents and brothers had survived the Holocaust and settled in Canada, where one of her brothers still lives, along with many nephews and nieces and their children – a big family. Thanks to the efforts of Hilda's grandson, the terrible pothole of war and genocide, which had broken her family apart, was finally filled in. After 65 long years, Hilda and Simon enjoyed an emotional reunion in an airport in Israel.

Potholes and reunions: Aren’t these the things that our Mass readings invite us to reflect upon on this 2nd Sunday of Advent?  For what do we find in the first reading, if not a disruptive pothole and a promised reunion? As a result of war, the city of Jerusalem has been separated from her children. They have been deported to a foreign land. But all is not lost. Through the prophet Baruch, God tells Jerusalem not to give up hope. For God has commanded that every lofty mountain be made low, and that all the age-old depths and gorges be filled to level ground, that Israel may advance secure in the glory of God. Although her family has been broken apart by exile and war, God promises Jerusalem that God will fill in the pothole, that God will smooth out the road, and bring the exiles home. God will work to bring about a joyful reunion.

And what about us? Isn’t this piece of good news also addressed to us too? Aren’t there potholes among us today as well, obstacles that keep families apart? We may think immediately, of course, of the brave young women and men serving in our Armed Forces, who continue to have to leave their families in order to keep their country safe. But shouldn’t we think also of the countless nameless faces, the mothers and fathers, who have to separate themselves from their children in order to find work in a foreign land? Shouldn’t we think also of the terrible temptations that many of our young people have to face on a daily basis: the temptations of drink and drugs, of sex and violence? In our world today, isn’t it true that, among many other things, poverty as well as other social evils can be as disruptive of family life as war? Face with potholes such as these, we can often feel terribly helpless. We can even be tempted to give in to depression and despair. Even so, in this season of Advent, through our readings, God reminds us not to give up, but to keep on hoping. For although, on our own, we may not be able to fill in all the potholes on the highway of life, there is still something we can do.

We can start by taking care of another highway, by attending to that interior road that connects us to God. Isn’t this the message of John the Baptist in the gospel? A voice of one crying out in the desert: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths. Every valley shall be filled and every mountain and hill shall be made low.” To even begin to see and to repair the many potholes on the highway of life, we must first patch up the ruptures in our relationship with God. It is only when we begin to fill in the holes in our hearts that we can receive the wisdom to see what needs to be done in our world, as well as the strength and courage to do it. Isn’t this also what the prophet tells Jerusalem in the first reading? How is she to regain her hope? She must first take off her robe of mourning and misery and put on the splendor of glory from God forever. She must first stand upon the heights and look to the east, to the rising sun, to see her children gathered from the east and the west. Isn’t this also what we are being asked to do in this season of Advent, to take off all the things that keep us from God and to put on Christ, to look to the rising Son of God?

And isn’t this also why, in addition to being a time of preparation, Advent is also a season of joy? Only this is a curious kind of joy. It’s the joy that children sometimes experience when you promise them a lollipop. They haven’t received it yet, but already they are happy. They are happy even while they wait, because they trust that their parents will not lie. For them, a promise is as good as its fulfillment. This is not unlike the joy that Paul talks about in the second reading. Although it’s not clear in the reading, because the relevant verse (v.7) has been left out, Paul finds himself in a pothole. He is writing from prison, separated from the community to whom he addresses his letter. And yet, Paul writes about joy. I pray always with joy in my very prayer for all of you, because of your partnership for the gospel…. I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work in you will continue to complete it until the day of Christ Jesus. Although kept apart from the people for whom he longs with the affection of Christ Jesus, Paul experiences joy when he prays for them, because he has confidence that God will continue to bless them. Although the pothole of prison prevents him from meeting them, his prayer enables him to enjoy a spiritual reunion with them in the Lord. And he writes to share with them this fruit of his prayer, his joy in the Lord.

Potholes and reunions: Isn't this what Advent is about? In the midst of our everyday busyness, aren’t we being called to allow God to fill in our potholes, to salvage the wreckages of our lives and our world, so that more of us might experience the joy of reunion, the same joy that is the gift of Christ at Christmas? If all this is true, then perhaps potholes can talk after all.

Sisters and brothers, what are your potholes saying to you today?

1st Sunday of Advent (C)
Coffee, Karate and Christmas

Readings: Jeremiah 33:14-16; Psalm 25:4-5, 8-9, 10, 14; 1 Thessalonians 3:12-4:2; Luke 21:25-28, 34-36

Dear sisters and brothers, as you know, today we begin a new church year by entering the season of Advent. Why, you may wonder do we do this? Why not follow what we do on New Year’s Day? Why not just dive straight into Christmas, with a countdown and some champagne? Why bother with the four Sundays of Advent? To answer this question, I think we need to appreciate an important difference, a difference that we often forget about. Sisters and brothers, what is the difference between coffee and karate?

About a month or more ago, Starbucks Coffee introduced a new product: instant coffee. Of course, other brands of instant coffee have been available for a very long time. But Starbucks claims that their instant coffee is as good, if not better, than their regular version. To prove it, they even let people take taste tests at their stores. Now, I am not a coffee drinker. I don’t know the results of those tests. But if the claim is true, then coffee might well be one of those things that you can enjoy instantly without sacrificing quality.

Compare that with karate. Some of us may remember the movie The Karate Kid. A teenager takes up karate to defend himself against some bullies. But, although he’s very eager to learn, his teacher – who looks like a harmless little old man – only gives him ordinary household jobs to do. Paint the gate. Wax the car. Sand the wooden floor. At first, the boy is frustrated and impatient. Why is he wasting his time doing chores, while the bullies are learning karate under their own teacher? Why can’t he learn as quickly they seem to be doing? But later, he realizes that his chores were really part of the training. By repeatedly applying wax on and taking wax off, for example, he was learning defensive blocks. More importantly, his teacher was teaching him that karate was much more than just about beating an opponent in a fight. It was also about discipline and perseverance, mercy and self-restraint, things that the bullies had failed to learn. Even if they had picked up some fancy moves rather quickly, theirs was not the real thing. True karate requires much time, effort and self-sacrifice. Unlike coffee, there really is no such thing as instant karate.

And what about Christmas? Have you noticed how, suddenly, the radio stations are playing nothing but Christmas carols? Overnight, a huge Christmas tree has sprouted on State Street. Christmas decorations are everywhere, even while some of us are still finishing those leftovers from Thanksgiving. What is this, if not instant Christmas? But is there really such a thing? Is Christmas really more like coffee than karate?

Not if our Mass readings are anything to go by. While everything around us might lead us to think that Christmas has to do only with trees and tinsels, presents and parties, or even cribs containing cuddly newborn babes, our readings remind us that it’s also about much more. Long before we hear anything about a baby born in a manger, the liturgy helps us to prepare for Christmas by reminding us about its deeper meaning.

The first reading reminds us that Christmas is about the fulfillment of a promise. The days are coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to house of Israel and Judah…. In those days Judah shall be safe and Jerusalem shall be secure… To a small and insignificant nation, a people constantly threatened by powerful enemies – a people not unlike the karate kid – God promises safety and security. And this promise is made also to us. Even if we may live in the most powerful country in the world, aren’t we also threatened by bullies of different sorts? Some of our bullies are external: like rising costs of living and unemployment, or addiction to alcohol and drugs, or misunderstandings with family and friends. Other bullies are internal: like selfishness and greed, or the refusal to forgive, or the neglect of those who are suffering. But if Christmas is the celebration of the fulfillment of God’s promise to help us deal with our enemies, then we must first be able to identify them. Who are your enemies?

And not only does Advent give us the opportunity to identify our bullies, it also helps us to recognize the God who comes to deal with them. For God appears among us in many different ways, sometimes in ways as surprising as the harmless little old karate master. And not all of these appearances are as pleasant and attractive as a cute and cuddly newborn baby. In the gospel, for example, Jesus paints a terrifying picture of the circumstances surrounding his second coming at the end of time. People will die of fright, he tells us, in anticipation of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of heaven will be shaken. And then they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud of power and great glory… And not just at the end of time, even today, God can come to us in surprising ways. Think, for example, of the person who, after losing his job, begins to realize how much he has been neglecting his family. Advent is a time for us to learn to recognize and to welcome the God who often comes among us in unexpected ways.

And, as the karate kid found out, to do all this, we need to undergo training. Our readings describe this in three ways. The first is waiting. After begging God to teach me your paths, the psalmist says this: for you are God my savior, and for you I wait all the day. Not just an hour or two. The psalmist waits all the day. Second, in the gospel, Jesus tells us that this waiting involves being alert. Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy from carousing and drunkenness and the anxieties of daily life…. Be vigilant at all times and pray for the strength… to stand before the Son of Man. Third, to engage in vigilant waiting does not mean simply doing nothing. It involves continually trying to do the right thing. As Paul tells the Thessalonians in the second reading, we earnestly ask and exhort you in the Lord Jesus that, as you received from us how you should conduct yourselves to please God... you do so even more. Vigilant waiting through right conduct – this is the training that we are undertaking in this season of Advent, in preparation for the God who comes to fulfill God’s promises to us.

Today, most of us live in an instant world. Starbucks sells instant coffee. For a cheap lunch, I often make instant ramen. We get instant information on the Internet. We contact one another instantly by cellphone... All this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. But it can get dangerous when we forget that, unlike coffee, there are also things in life that cannot be had instantly, things like karate, of course, but also things like justice and peace and true friendship. As well as things like Christmas. Isn’t this why we need the season of Advent?

Sisters and brothers, what will Christmas look like for you this year? Coffee or karate?

Solemnity of Christ the King (B)
Candles, Comedians and Christ the King

Readings: Daniel 7:13-14; Psalm 93:1, 1-2, 5; Revelations 1:5-8; John 18:33b-37
Picture: cc anne.oeldorfhirsch

It’s better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.

Dear sisters and brothers, you’ve probably heard this saying before. And, if you’re like me, you probably also think that it makes a lot of sense. But isn’t it true that it’s often far easier said than done? At least speaking for myself, when I face a dark situation, my first reaction is rarely to find a candle to light. For one thing, sometimes I can be so engrossed in other concerns that I’m not even aware that the lights have gone out. At other times, I either get paralyzed by anger at those whom I think are responsible, or I try not to think about it, hoping that the darkness will simply go away by itself. And isn’t it also true that often, when the lights go out, you can feel so powerless that it’s difficult to find a candle, let alone to light it? Which is why, I must confess, I have a secret admiration for comedians. They have this amazing ability to find light in a dark situation.

Take David Letterman, for example. As you know, he recently faced a very dark time in his personal and professional life. Someone had gotten hold of evidence that he’d been cheating on his wife with several of his female colleagues and blackmailed him. What did he do? Instead of ignoring the problem or trying to cover it up, he told everybody about it on national television. And he even did it in a way that made people laugh, raising his ratings in the process. In a time of darkness, he lit a candle by speaking the truth.

Also, recently, I happened to watch an old routine by George Lopez. I think he was talking about the changes made by the previous Administration to the immigration policy, changes that may have cast a very dark shadow on the lives of many undocumented migrants in the country. In a very funny way, Lopez questioned the wisdom of the changes. What is going to happen, he asked, when they deport all the undocumented aliens? Who will maintain their roads and clean their streets? Who will build their homes and water their lawns? Who will care for their kids and walk their dogs? What was Lopez doing? In a time of darkness, when people were feeling powerless, he lit a candle by helping them to recognize another power.

What the comedians teach us, I think, is this. At least three things are required to light a candle in the dark. It involves looking into the darkness, speaking the truth, and recognizing another power.

We find something similar in our readings on this feast of Christ the King. Notice how the action in both the first reading and the gospel takes place in a time of extreme darkness. The first reading is set in a time of exile. The chosen people have been defeated and deported to an alien land. Their Temple is destroyed, and they are prisoners of a foreign power, first the Babylonians, and then the Persians.

A deep darkness covers the gospel too. Remember that here, in John 18, Jesus has already been betrayed by a close friend, accused by his own people, and tortured by the Romans. He will soon be crucified between two thieves. Remember also, that earlier, in John 13, when Judas leaves the supper room to sell his master, we are told that it was night, not just the usual darkness that falls when the sun sets, but rather a spiritual gloom resulting from the eclipse of the Son of God.

In these times of darkness, our attention is drawn to two men. One is able to light a candle. But the other remains in the dark. The first is the prophet Daniel. Remember his situation. Although an exile, he lives in the king’s court and enjoys royal favor. Living a relatively comfortable life, he doesn’t really have to pay attention to the darkness. But he does. With deep anguish, he gazes intently at the gloomy situation of his own people – a situation that he believes is the result of their own sinfulness, their infidelity to God. In his prayer, he confesses the truth of his people’s guilt. As he stares into the dark, he sees visions during the night. Even as his people are laboring under foreign rule, Daniel sees a vision that reminds him that there is another power. Not only is this power greater than that of the Babylonians and the Persians, it is also able to overcome the people’s sinfulness. Daniel sees one like a Son of man receiving dominion, glory, and kingship…. that shall (neither) be taken away… (nor) destroyed. For us Christians, this is the same power that we heard about in the second reading. It is the power of Jesus Christ… the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead and ruler of the kings of the earth…. who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood. By staring into the night, speaking the truth, and seeing a greater power, Daniel lights a candle in the darkness for his people.

In the gospel, Pilate too comes face to face with another power. But he cannot recognize it, not only because it appears as a body bruised by scourging, and a face bloodied by a crown of thorns. Pilate is blind to this power because he doesn’t appreciate the extent of the surrounding darkness. For him, the situation is difficult only because, if not handled properly, it may threaten his career. Although Caesar is his king, Pilate is really his own servant. Pilate’s concern is only to save his own skin. And in his selfishness, he is unable to speak the truth of Jesus’ innocence, let alone to accept the possibility that Jesus might truly be a King. As Jesus tells him, everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice. By clinging to his own career, Pilate loses sight of the truth. He rejects Christ, the Lighted Candle, and remains engulfed in darkness.

As it is with comedy, so is it with the spiritual life. In order to light a candle at least three things are required: one must face the dark, speak the truth and recognize another power. Daniel was able to do this but Pilate was not. Daniel saw the light, but Pilate remained in the dark. Even so, there is at least one thing that sets the spiritual life apart from comedy. We can watch a comedy and have a really good laugh, only to leave and forget all about it. And maybe some of us treat the Mass in the same way, except that we may not laugh as much. But, as you know, we Christians are called not just to come to Mass to see the light, but also to leave this place and to be lights in the surrounding darkness. And isn’t there much darkness around us, if not in our personal lives, then at least in society at large? In the front page of today’s Santa Barbara News-Press, for example, we are told that the unemployment rate in California has reached a modern-day record of 12.5 percent. Elsewhere in the same paper, there is a report of a four year-old Lompoc boy, who was allegedly beaten to death by his mother’s boyfriend, while both the mother and the accused were strung out on drugs.

We live in a dark world, a world waiting for light, a world in dire need of people who are able to face the dark, to speak the truth and to recognize another power, the power of Christ, the Crucified and Risen King.

It’s better to light a candle than to curse the dark.

Sisters and brothers, how might we light our candles today?

32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
Heroes for the Heroic

Readings: 1 Kings 17:10-16; Psalm 146:7, 8-9, 9-10; Hebrews 9:24-28; Mark 12:38-44 or 12:41-44
Picture: cc tanakawho

Dear sisters and brothers, when you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up? I remember having various options in mind, the usual favorites: doctor, engineer... But mostly – I’m embarrassed to say it – even though I didn’t realize it at the time, I think I just wanted to be a hero. You know, someone others would look at and then nod their heads in approval and admiration, someone people would point to and say, in tones at once reverent and enthusiastic: Yeah! What about you? Did you ever want to be a hero?

And have you ever noticed how important heroes are to us? Especially when we encounter a bad situation of some sort, have you noticed how quick we are to identify and shower praise upon extraordinarily courageous individuals, even as we denounce those we consider to be our enemies? Take the terribly tragic shooting that took place in Fort Hood, Texas this past Thursday. Within just a day or two, the media has already identified a hero: Kimberley Munley, the police officer who ended the massacre by shooting the suspect, but not before sustaining injuries herself. CNN characterizes her as a "tough woman" who patrolled her neighborhood and once stopped burglars at her house. A Facebook fan page, on which she is referred to as A Real American Hero, is reported to have attracted 1,400 members.

It’s perhaps not too surprising that we should look for heroes in a crisis. The attention and adulation that we give to them somehow helps us to bear the shock and the grief of the moment. By focusing on the heroism of some among us, we are able, at least to some extent, to change our sorrow into joy, our shame into pride. And yet, as much as our heroes help us to deal with our pain, as much as they deserve our praise, we may perhaps wonder whether something gets lost when our attention is focused exclusively on them.

Take our scripture readings for today, for example. The widow’s mite is a story that we all know very well. And our usual approach – my usual approach – is to think of the widow as a hero, a model to be praised and emulated. Painfully poor as she was, she willingly contributed all she had, her whole livelihood towards the upkeep of the Temple in Jerusalem. The rich may have donated much more in absolute terms, but she, even at great cost to herself, gave 100 percent. The widow in the first reading is just as heroic. In a time of drought and famine, even though she and her son are themselves close to starving to death, she willingly shares her food with the prophet Elijah. And what is even more worthy of praise and emulation than the widows’ heroic generosity is the attitude that motivates it. Both widows are willing to sacrifice everything, even at the risk of losing their own lives, because their trust is ultimately in the Lord. In the words of our responsorial psalm, they believe that their God is the Lord who keeps faith forever, secures justice for the oppressed, gives food to the hungry. Aren’t these women true heroes? Shouldn’t we be like them? In our own lives as Christians, shouldn’t we try to be just as generous, just as trusting, just as heroic?

Of course we should! And yet, isn’t there also something crucially important that gets left out when we focus only upon the widows as heroes? For, as heroic as they are, aren’t these women also themselves, in a sense, victims? Aren’t they themselves in need of a hero? Isn’t this precisely what they are hoping for from the Lord? To gain a better appreciation of this, however, we need to consider more closely the biblical context in which each of the stories is situated.

In the first reading, for example, the drought that occasions the widow’s suffering is not a random occurrence. It is the immediate result of the powerful word spoken by the prophet himself. As the mouthpiece of God, Elijah calls down a drought on the land because of the idolatrous behavior of Ahab, the king of Israel. Thus the widow – who is a foreigner living in the Sidonian town of Zarephath – is suffering because of the infidelities of the chosen people, in response to which God sends the prophet to issue a call to repentance. The Sidonian widow’s heroism is called for because the chosen people have become corrupt. And if she is a hero, then, Elijah is the hero’s hero.

We find something similar in the gospel as well. As some scripture scholars remind us, the story of the widow’s mite comes immediately after Jesus’ critique of the scribes – or at least some of them – and the prevailing system of religious practices that they administer. They devour the houses of widows and, as a pretext recite lengthy prayers. In this context, Jesus may well be drawing his disciples’ attention to the widow’s contribution, not just as conduct worthy of emulation and praise – although it is surely that – but also as a state of affairs to be lamented, a problem needing to be addressed. Why, we may ask, should a poor widow, struggling to keep body and soul together, be expected to donate her very last two coins toward the maintenance of the Temple? Shouldn’t the Temple be providing for her upkeep instead? Isn’t her situation a concrete illustration of how the administrators of the Temple and the Law devour the houses of widows and, as a pretext recite lengthy prayers. In this bad situation, like Elijah before him, Jesus appears as someone sent by God to speak up for the victims and to call the victimizers to repentance, to be a hero for the heroic, even at the cost of his own life.

But is there really any difference between the heroism of Jesus and Elijah on the one hand, and that of the widows on the other? Don’t both pairs share in common a genuine generosity born of profound faith and hope in the Lord? Aren’t both pairs willing to sacrifice everything for God and their fellow human beings? What difference does it make whether we focus our attention on one or the other? An indication of an answer might perhaps be found in our second reading, which makes a clear distinction between the sacrifices offered by the high priest and that of Christ. While the high priest’s sacrifices have to be offered repeatedly, Christ’s sacrifice has been made once for all. Similarly, might we not say that, if we were to focus only on praising and imitating the heroism of the widows, without also attending to and addressing the circumstances of their suffering, then won’t their sacrifices need to be offered again and again, if not by them specifically, then by others who will take their place? For better or for worse, won’t we always need heroes like them?

In contrast, attention to the heroism of Elijah and Jesus makes us see the importance of discerning the deeper reasons why people like those widows – people caught in difficult situations not of their own making – continue to have to suffer. More than simply looking out for heroes, Elijah and Jesus show us how, as grown-up Christians, called by God to be light of the world and salt of the earth, our vocation is not just to practice heroic virtue, but also to be heroes for the heroic.

Sisters and brothers, how grown-up are we as Christians? To whom are we called to be heroes today?

29th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
Did You See The Gorilla?

Readings: Isaiah 53:10-11; Psalm 33:4-5, 18-19, 20, 22; Hebrews 4:14-16; Mark 10:35-45 or 10:42-45
Picture: cc mrflip

Sisters and brothers, recently someone told me about an experiment he’d been involved in on campus a while ago. Apparently it’s quite a famous experiment. Some of you may have heard or even participated in it. A group of maybe 100 or more people was asked to watch a short video clip in which several other people, some wearing white and others wearing black, were passing basketballs to one another. The watchers were asked to count the number of times the ball was passed between the people in white. After the clip had been screened, various answers were given. Then, to the surprise of most of the test subjects, they were asked how many of them had seen the gorilla. Gorilla? What gorilla? Only two people raised their hands. The video was screened again. And, sure enough, in the middle of it, someone in a black gorilla suit walked right through the group of ball players. In fact, the gorilla had taken center stage, and yet most of the subjects hadn’t seen it. They’d been so focused on the ball that they’d missed the gorilla.

It may seem strange, but doesn’t this experiment mirror what we see happening in our gospel today? To recognize the similarity we need to situate today’s passage in the wider context of Mark’s gospel. We need to consider what has gone before and what will come after. We need to see, for example, that up until this moment, Jesus and his disciples have been moving ever closer to Jerusalem. In the very next chapter they will finally enter the Holy City. And, all along their journey, in addition to ministering to the crowds with his wise words and healing touch, Jesus has also been trying very hard to tell his companions about what awaits him in Jerusalem. In fact, today’s gospel passage follows immediately after Jesus’ third prediction of his Passion and Death. For the third time, Jesus tells his closest companions: Behold, we are going up to Jerusalem and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death and hand him over to the Gentiles who will mock him, spit upon him, scourge him, and put him to death, but after three days he will rise(10:33f.). And what we heard just now is the response of Jesus' friends to this bone-chilling revelation. Their beloved Master has just told them, yet again, that he will soon die a horrible death. And James and John respond with: Grant that in your glory we may sit one at your right and the other at your left. Not only that, we are also told that, when the (other) ten heard this, they became indignant at James and John. And they were upset not because the Zebedee brothers had been insensitive, but rather because they had been trying to get ahead of the rest of them.

In other words, even though, all along their journey towards Jerusalem, the reality of Jesus’ impending suffering and death had actually taken center stage in their conversations, the disciples had missed it. Not unlike the test subjects who missed the gorilla even though it walked by right in front of them. Like those test subjects, the disciples’ were more interested in what had been going on in the background. They were concentrating on the glorious acclaim that Jesus had garnered from the crowds in his public ministry. Seeing earthly praise already received, they wanted also to share in the heavenly glory that was yet to come. Obsessed with their image of a glorious Messiah in the distant future, they missed the heartbreaking sight of the Suffering Servant closer at hand. Concentrating only on their own desires, they missed their chance to do what friends might be expected to do in similar situations – if not to console, then at least to try to empathize with the one who is suffering. It is not surprising then that when Jesus’ predictions eventually came to pass, when he was finally arrested in Gethsemane, they all left him and fled (14:50). They ran away because they hadn’t yet understood what Jesus had been trying to teach them. Focused as they were only on the passing to them of the ball of the Lord’s glory, they had missed the intruding gorilla of His Cross.

And perhaps this tendency of the first disciples is something that we are also particularly prone to in this modern age. As you may have heard, some people speak of ours as a feel-good generation, living in an increasingly therapeutic society. Many of us tend to assume – and I might include myself here too – that to be healthy and happy, an individual has to be free from all negative emotions and experiences. So that if we aren’t feeling good about ourselves at any given moment, if the struggles of life trouble us to any degree, then there must be something wrong with us. We need therapy, or counseling, or healing. We need help to take the pain away… And perhaps we do. But this obsession with our own individual well-being often leads us to fail to consider what others might be going through. So caught up are we in our own pressing concerns that we have no room to empathize with the pain of others, even those closest to us, let alone those who are far away. Like the first disciples and the subjects in the experiment, we concentrate so much on the ball that we fail to notice the gorilla.

And perhaps this would be all right, if not for the fact that there is a crucial difference between our situation and the gorilla experiment – a difference that our readings highlight for us quite strikingly. In the experiment, although the gorilla takes center stage at some point, it doesn’t have any real relation to the passing of the ball. Indeed, the gorilla is more of a distraction than anything else. The situation in our readings, however, is quite the opposite. Here, we find an intimate connection between passing into glory and the endurance of suffering. In the second reading, we are reminded that Christ identified himself so closely with us that in him we no longer have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has similarly been tested in every way, yet without sin. And the first reading tells us that it is by thus undergoing affliction for our sake that the suffering servant came to see the light in fullness of days. Also, not only does Christ’s passing into glory depend on his endurance of suffering, but his passing of glory on to us also depends upon our willingness to share in the sufferings of others. Whoever wishes to be great among you will be your servant; whoever wishes to be first among you will be the slave of all. For the Christian, the way to true happiness has to pass through the other, especially the other who suffers.

Or, in the words of that song popularized in the sixties by Jefferson Airplane, when the truth is found to be lies and all the joy within you dies… you better find somebody to love… Especially when the going gets tough, particularly when we might be sorely tempted to focus solely on our own needs – perhaps during a time of budget cuts, for example – we need to find somebody to love. And, happily, our celebration of World Mission Sunday today offers us an opportunity to express that love in concrete monetary terms. But World Mission Sunday comes only once a year, one day out of three hundred and sixty five. What about the rest of the time?

Sisters and brothers, when we leave this place to live out the other three hundred and sixty four days of the year, how many of us will see the gorilla? How many of us will find somebody to love?

28th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
Moving House

Readings: Wisdom 7:7-11; Psalm 90:12-13, 14-15, 16-17; Hebrews 4:12-13; Mark 10:17-30 or 10:17-27
Picture: cc hagwall

Sisters and brothers, do you like to travel? Many of us do. Traveling broadens our horizons. We get to visit new places, to see new sights, to meet new people. But no matter how far we go, how many great sights we see, or how many interesting people we meet, we usually get a special feeling when we return home, don’t we? It doesn’t matter how much fun we’ve had on the road. There’s almost a kind of relief, when we’re able to settle back into familiar surroundings, to put up our feet after snuggling into our favorite chair, to shut our eyes in the warmth of our own bed. Finally, we’re home!

And all of us have a home of some sort, don’t we? It doesn’t matter if work commitments mean that we often have to live out of a suitcase. Nor does it matter even if we don’t actually have a roof over our heads. For a home doesn’t really have to be a physical location. As the saying goes, home is where the heart is. And the human heart has a marvelous capacity for making its home in all sorts of different places. Sometimes home is an object or a memory. Sometimes it takes the form of a person or an activity. Whatever it is, we all have a home of some sort, a (literal or figurative) place, where our hearts find rest.

But, of course, we’re not always aware of this, are we? We don’t always know exactly where our home is. Especially if we tend to wander around a lot, we can often fail to recognize the exact place where our hearts prefer to rest. Which can be dangerous, because our chosen homes are not always the best places to be. Sometimes, for example, some of us may find our home in a bottle of pills or liquor, or in the screen of a slot machine or a computer, or in various unhealthy eating or working habits. Remaining in such homes is highly detrimental to our wellbeing, as well as to the wellbeing of those who love us. Common sense dictates that, if we live in homes like these, and if we want to enjoy a fuller life, then we have to move. But that is often much easier said than done.

Which brings us to a question that today’s gospel reading poses to us. To the man who at first seems to have everything a person could need or want, Jesus says, there is one thing you lack. But what is this one thing? We may imagine that this was also the question at the top of the rich man’s mind. I’ve kept all the commandments. What could I possibly lack?

If we take this question as the central focus of the passage, then what Jesus asks of the rich man begins to make a lot of sense. Go, sell what you have, and give to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven; then come follow me. For notice the effect that this apparently demanding – if not downright unreasonable – request has on the man. Of course, we don’t know for sure exactly what was going on in his mind. All the gospel tells us is that his face fell, and he went away sad, for he had many possessions. But perhaps it is not too difficult to imagine what lay behind his disappointment. Perhaps it's possible to imagine that Jesus’ words actually helped the man to recognize for himself the place that he called home. As a result of Jesus’ call, the man finally began to see the extent to which his heart was resting in his many possessions. And not just his material possessions, all of which Jesus wanted him to sell and give to the poor. But also his moral possessions, all the commandments that he prided himself in having observed from his youth. From these too, he was to detach himself, if he wanted to inherit eternal life. Not that he was to stop keeping the Law, but that he would no longer rely on its observance for his salvation, but on his following of the Lord.

And this, of course, brings to mind what the second reading tells us about the word of God being living and effective, sharper than any two-edged sword, penetrating between soul and spirit, joints and marrow… to discern the reflections and thoughts of the heart. With just a few carefully chosen words, Jesus, the Word Made Flesh, penetrates the heart of the rich man, uncovering his deepest desires, and helping him to see the place he calls home.

But that’s not all. In addition, Jesus also shows the rich man how detrimental this home of his can be to his own spiritual wellbeing. For in choosing to rest in his many possessions instead of following Jesus, the man was doing the exact opposite of what the first reading tells us a spiritually astute person would do. As we heard just now, the spirit of wisdom is to be preferred over scepter and throne… all gold, in view of her, is a little sand, and before her, silver is to be accounted mire… So that to choose possessions over Jesus, gold over the Wisdom of God, is the same as to prefer the worthless over the priceless, the passing over that which endures. It is to make a foolish choice, a dangerous choice. All of which meant one thing for the rich man: it was time for him to move, to change his home. But that’s much easier said than done. And so, we’re told, he went away sad.

Speaking for myself, it’s not too difficult to identify with the rich man. It’s not too difficult to imagine oneself in the position of knowing what has to be done, and yet still be unwilling, even unable, to do it. We all know, for example, the damage being done to the earth by our current patterns of energy consumption. And yet, how difficult it is to move out of this comfortable home that we have made for ourselves. How hard it is to take the bus instead of drive, or to use a fan instead of the A/C. What Jesus tells the rich man applies as well to us: there’s one thing you lack… You’re unable to move, even when you know you need to.

In contrast, in the gospels, we find Jesus continually on the move. Today’s reading, for example, begins by telling us that he was setting out on a journey. And we know where his journeying would lead him: to Calvary and beyond. Jesus is able to do this because, unlike the rich man, he makes his home not in possessions, but in his Father’s will. His heart rests in his Father’s love.

According to a Chinese legend, when the sage Mencius was a boy, his mother moved house three times. Their first home was near a cemetery. And little Mencius would imitate the wailing of the mourners passing by. Their second home was near an abattoir. And the boy mimicked the shrieking of the animals as they were being slaughtered. Finally, they found a place by a school. And the boy began to follow the lessons that were being recited by the students. Only then did his mother finally settle down. It must not have been easy to move house so often. But for the love of her son, the wise mother was willing and able to suffer the inconvenience.

Perhaps it’s for this same kind of wisdom, the wisdom born of love, that we too need to pray, as did that person in the first reading, who said, I prayed, and prudence was given me; I pleaded, and the spirit of wisdom came to me.

Sisters and brothers where exactly do we find our home? How willing and able are we to move if we have to?