November 2008 Sánchez Sunday Commentaries & Sample Homilies

COMMEMORATION OF ALL THE FAITHFUL DEPARTED (A) November 2, 2008Unshakeable HopePatricia Datchuck Sánchez

Wis 3:1-9Rom 5:5-11John 6:37-40

In a sermon shared with his fellow believers in November 1933, Dietrich Bonhoeffer asked: “Where are our dead?” and “Where will we be after our death?” (A Testament to Freedom, HarperCollins Publishers, San Francisco: 1995). Today’s celebration in honor of the faithful and, perhaps, not-so-faithful departed invites our consideration of these same questions. As his text, Bonhoeffer chose today’s first reading, and, like the author of Wisdom, he affirmed that the dead are in peace, at rest in the hand of God. God’s peace, insisted Bonhoeffer, means that the battle is over; God’s peace means refreshment for those whom life has made weary. It means security for those who have wandered through this life unprotected; it means a home for the homeless and dignity for those who have had theirs stolen by injustice, violence or the apathy of those who could have made a difference.

“They are in peace” helps to soothe the pain of those who mourn the fallen soldiers; “they are in peace” encourages the parent of the child who died too soon, too senselessly. “They are in peace” brings some small comfort to the survivors of this world’s hatred and ethnic cleansing as they wonder how so many can be lost and so few care or mark their passing. “They are in peace” may help to mitigate the shame of Darfur, Tibet, Afghanistan, Iraq, Congo and places like these because these many, many innocents are now with God, in peace.

As church, insisted Bonhoeffer, it is our responsibility to hold out this assurance of peace when people question death and dying. Indeed, the church exists in order to answer those questions. If it did not know these answers, and if it failed to speak them, then the church would be little more than a gathering of the hopeless. But this is not the church. On the contrary, the church is a people of unshakeable hope.

This hope, as Paul points out in his letter to the church in Rome, does not disappoint because it is founded in the love of God, whose mercy for sinners knows no bounds. God’s love has been proven beyond all doubt in the life and ministry of Jesus and especially in his embrace of death. How eager Paul is to offer reassurance. His words remind us that dying should hold no fear for us because with the peace that comes from being and resting in God comes also the joy of salvation and reconciliation with God.

At times, however, even the most unshakeable hope harbors a little doubt about those who have gone before us marked with the sign of faith. What about those whose “mark” seems to have been smudged or somewhat erased through sin or neglect of their spiritual health? How shall we answer Bonhoeffer’s questions on their behalf? Where are our dead? How have they fared after dying? As if to anticipate these worrisome wonderings, the Johannine evangelist assures us that the dying and risen Jesus rejects no one. He further insists that Jesus does not lose any one of us. Rather, all are gathered unto him and unto his cross. There, in that moment when

life meets death and emerges victorious, we are assured that we shall one day share in that same victory. Even though death is frightful, as Bonhoeffer (op. cit.) admitted, death is also mercy — God’s greatest mercy. Death lures us with heavenly force if only we keep in mind that it is the gateway to home, to the realm of peace. Therefore, as we celebrate those whom we remember today as the faithful departed, we acknowledge that they are simply farther along on their journey than we are.

The fact that Bonhoeffer could share such an attitude about death in the midst of the atrocities being perpetrated upon the innocent by the Third Reich attests to his faith and summons forth our own. Therefore, we do not ask “Why?” in the face of death, or “When?” or even “How?” “We simply ask “Where?” and we are assured, “They are in peace.” A German proverb affirms this fact of our faith: “Those who live in the Lord never see one another for the last time.”

Wis 3:1-9“If there is no eternal consciousness in a human being … what would life be then but

despair? ... If this is the way life is, there is no sacred bond uniting mankind … it is as if the human race passes through the world as a ship through the sea or the wind through the desert, a thoughtless and fruitless whim. If this were so, how empty and devoid of consolation life would be!” With these words, Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard underscored the blessing that is the soul (Provocations, The Plough Publishing House, Farmington, Pa.: 1999). That eternal aspect of who we are, that part of us that makes us whole and holy, that necessary essence that never dies — this gift of God bestows meaning on every moment of our existence.

This conviction was not always held by our Hebrew ancestors in the faith. Indeed, belief in an eternally surviving soul emerged around 200 B.C.E. and is referenced in the later biblical books, some of which are regarded by certain Christians as either apocryphal or Deutero-canonical. Wisdom is among those books.

Although traditionally attributed to the 10th-century monarch Solomon, Wisdom is the latest of the Old Testament books and probably appeared circa 60 B.C.E. Known only in Greek, Wisdom may have been written in Alexandria, Egypt, in order to strengthen the resolve of Jews who were trying to remain true to their faith and traditions in the midst of the Diaspora. As Addison G. Wright has pointed out, life in the Diaspora held many powerful influences, not the least of which were systems that offered wisdom or salvation as a reward to all willing aspirants (“Wisdom,” The New Jerome Biblical Commentary, Prentice Hall, Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: 1990). To curtail the attrition of fellow Jews to other religions or philosophical systems, the author of Wisdom blended philosophy and rhetoric to present the beliefs of Judaism as the answer to all life’s questions.

On the question of what happens when you die, the author was unequivocal in the conviction that the rewards of the next life will depend on one’s responsiveness to God in this life. Therefore, the author concluded that the souls of the just ones are in peace, resting in the hand of God. As for the wicked, these would reap the harvest of their misdeeds and be relegated to Sheol, which, by the first century B.C.E., was understood as a place of torment.

Although death had previously been understood as the absolute end, the idea here is that death and the struggles of daily living are to be accepted as a proving ground wherein the believer’s faith is refined and hope is stoked. The Wisdom author encourages God’s just ones to regard their struggles as having sacrificial value rather than fret over suffering or make every

effort to avoid it. Those who have suffered and who have gone before us in faith now shine as sparks through stubble. Each of us hopes one day to be similarly luminous.

Rom 5:5-11Before his martyrdom at the hands of a U.S.-trained squadron of the Salvadoran army,

Jesuit priest Ignacio Ellacuría was a prominent theologian and one of the principal contributors to Latin American liberation theology. One day, while he was lecturing and offering a particularly complex analysis of Jesus’ life, he suddenly stopped and allowed his heart to take over. He said, “The fact is that Jesus had the justice to go to the depths and, at the same time, he had the bowels of mercy to understand human beings.” After a short silence, and with obvious emotion, he simply added, “He was a great man” (“Carta a las Iglesias,” a biweekly published by the Pastoral Center of the University of Central America in San Salvador).

Paul seems to have arrived at a similar place when, in his letter to the Romans, he interspersed a most profound Christology with a most moving and loving tribute to Jesus, to God and to the Spirit. This text is particularly “heady” and heartfelt. Here Paul celebrates the good news of salvation with an enthusiasm that is palpable in his words.

Affirming Jesus’ sacrifice for sinners as a proven expression of God’s love, Paul appeals to his readers to have hope and to be happy. “What more could we ask?” he seems to shout to us across the centuries with a message as new and as vital as the day it first became a reality. With a variety of synonyms (“saved,” “justified,” “reconciled”), Paul marvels at all that God has done for us in Jesus, and we cannot help but be caught up with him in joy.

Paul Achtemeier suggests that preachers of this text would do well to relate it to its prior context in 4:23-25 and ignore the arbitrary chapter divisions (Romans, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky., 1995). Then the praying assembly will more readily grasp the close relationship between righteousness or justification, and reconciliation. Paul goes to the heart of the mystery of the Christian faith to affirm that the death and resurrection of Jesus are the key events in the breaking down of human enmity against God. Those events underscore the absolutely unmerited nature of God’s grace, which alone breaks the grip of sin and opens the way to reconciliation.

Reconciled with God through Jesus, both our state and our status with God have changed, insisted William Barclay (“The Letter to the Romans,” The Daily Study Bible, The Saint Andrew Press, Edinburgh, U.K.: 1975). Our change of status is called justification; that is where the whole saving process begins, once Jesus has set us in a right relationship to God. Our change of state is sanctification; that is where the saving process continues and never ends until such time as we become one of the faithful departed, whom we remember in prayer today.

John 6:37-40If ever a text should dispel those false notions that ours is a vindictive, ledger-keeping

God who focuses on every weakness of human beings and doles out appropriately dire consequences, it is this one. In this text, God is revealed as one who has drawn near to us in Jesus and whose will it is that we may have eternal life and be raised up on the last day. Stanley B. Marrow describes the combination of the present “have eternal life” with the future “I will raise him up” (v. 40) as “most instructive” (The Gospel of John, Paulist Press, New York: 1995). It is God’s expressed will that everyone who sees Jesus and believes should enjoy eternal life here and now. Elsewhere in the Gospel (John 17), eternal life is equated with knowing God, as in having an intimate relationship with God. To add “and I will raise him up …” represents the

corollary to this present gift of eternal life. God’s will, therefore, is nothing less than the gift of life — not a life that goes on forever without death, but a life that is no longer lived under the dominion or shadow of death.

The gift of eternal life, like every good gift, has to be freely appropriated by human beings. Unconditionally given by God, this gift of life is nevertheless conditioned upon the believer’s acceptance. Awareness of this condition prompts believers to cultivate an openness that is sensitive to recognizing God’s gifts. Because God’s gift of eternal life is a here-and-now experience and not merely an end-of-life experience, sensitivity to it must be honed on a daily basis. We call this daily honing by several names. It is prayer that continually searches for the truth in whatever medium God wishes to make known. It is the sacramental encounter that finds God in bread and word and wine as well as in the shared family meal or the romantic dinner for two with one’s soul mate. It is the realization that God lives to be discovered and loved in the so-called least ones of this earth. It is believing in Jesus as the ultimate authority on God, on humankind, on life.

While he moved among us, Jesus had many encounters with the good and the bad, the healthy and the ailing, the rich and the poor, the young and the old. To every encounter, Jesus brought the possibility of a sharing in eternal life — that is, of sharing in the relationship that he enjoyed with God. Those who welcomed his encounters also welcomed God. In welcoming God and Jesus, each person also welcomed the gift of eternal life that begins in time and space but continues beyond the passage of death into forever. Today, we celebrate the faithful who now live in forever, and pray that one day the words of Jesus in this Gospel will be realized in each of us.

Sample Homily Nov. 2, All Souls “Do This in Memory”Fr. James Smith

At this All Souls Mass, we hold in memory our departed friends. Memory has two aspects: memory of fact and memory of meaning. The

surrender of General Lee to General Grant at Appomatox, for example, is a memory of fact. But that fact is just the kernel of the actuality. The context of that fact includes the determination of the South to destroy American unity, the national abomination of slavery, the horrific killing of brothers on opposite sides, the scar carved on the Southern body by Sherman on his march to the sea.

Secular history, like sacred scripture, was written for our instruction, and so the memory of Appomatox may also be brought to bear on our current situation. We might wonder what it teaches us about the futility of war, the carnage of civilizations, the destruction of cities, the pain of families, the corruption of conscience, and the fact that generals get to perform military rituals after ordinary soldiers splatter their guts all over their buddies.

When we turn our attention to religious memories, the word “memory” is transformed into “anamnesis.” (You can live a full life without knowing “anamnesis.” I use it simply to show that religious memory is different enough from secular memory to have its own word.)

Remember the Exodus. The Exodus is a memory of fact: The Israelites exited Egypt. But the context of that Exodus was prior slavery in Egypt, which was caused by disobedience to God’s covenant, which Moses received on Mount Sinai. Without that religious context, Exodus was just a slave rebellion. When modern Jews celebrate Passover, they recall the tragic and heroic aspects of

their heritage; their faithfulness to the covenant and their infidelities; the burden and joy of being God’s Chosen People.

Anamnesis does more than recall a fact, though, even a meaningful fact. Anamnesis also proclaims the deed, re-presents the activity, relives the experience. Modern Jews experience themselves as now on Exodus, as presently keeping or breaking the covenant, as this moment waiting for the messiah, as currently hoping for the coming of the kingdom. As Rabbi Abraham Heschel wrote: “Every Jew of every era stands with Moses on Sinai.”

Christian anamnesis works the same. As a simple fact, the Last Supper was just another meal with friends. But that fact embossed with meaning included the whole life of the disciples with Jesus; their initial enthusiasm and later doubt; the many stupendous miracles; the wondrous expressions of humanity and hints of hidden divinity; the belief in Jesus as Messiah, the imminence of the Kingdom. In meditation, we may return to that blessed memory and imagine what we would have felt or done. We can imagine what Jesus felt when he said: “This is my body.” Not the healthy flesh of a vibrant young man, but muscle and fat flogged, flayed, ripped from bone. And his blood not red serum bubbling through a happy heart, but living fluid sluicing from a stabbed heart, splattering on the stony dirt of Calvary.

But that is still a mere memory, even if it is full of meaning. To get the extreme experience, we must add anamnesis, religious memory. Then, we do not go back into the past; we bring the past forward to our time. Jesus and his disciples gather around this table with us. His body is re-broken, his blood re-spilled. Every Christian of every era stands with Jesus on Calvary.

Anamnesis, like all things human, is imperfect. That’s a blessing. Because if we brought our entire religious memory to bear on this present moment, we would die of fright ... or joy.

DEDICATION OF THE LATERAN BASILICA IN ROME (A)November 9, 2008Holy People, Holy PlacesPatricia Datchuck Sánchez

Ezek 47:1-2, 8-9, 121 Cor 3:9-11, 16-17John 2:13-22

Although it was not included in the Time-Life Guide to The World’s Greatest Buildings (Trevor Howells, ed., Fog City Press, San Francisco: 2003) or in Patricia Schultz’s 1,000 Places to See Before You Die (Workman Publishing, New York: 2003), the holy place we celebrate today is uniquely important, as is attested by the inscription above its doors: “The mother church of Rome and of all the churches in the world.” In this capacity, St. John Lateran welcomes all who believe in Jesus, and this basilica represents both the joys and struggles that have shaped Christianity through the centuries.

The faith was declared illegal by Rome and subjected to several waves of persecution for its first three centuries, so Jesus’ followers were unable to gather publicly or in an official capacity until Emperor Constantine became a Christian in 313. For that reason, there were no extant churches until the fourth Christian century. The very first place set aside for such a purpose in Rome was a wing of the palatial home of the Laterani family being used by Constantine.

From then on, except for a few periods (such as the Avignon papacy and the Italian revolution), most of the popes have been crowned at the Lateran, and many have resided and have conducted official business there. But why is this feast so significant that it supersedes the Thirty-Second Sunday of Ordinary Time? Prolific author and gifted homilist William J. Bausch suggests that this feast underscores the catholicity or universality of Christianity (Once upon a Gospel, Twenty-Third Publications, New London, Conn.: 2008). Reminding us of our roots and our center, today’s feast celebrates the worldwide fellowship that has marked our past. Today’s feast also challenges our “almost pathological individualism and atomistic existence” (Bausch’s words) with the truth that we are intended to be a community.

Of singular importance to our Hebrew ancestors, as is reflected in today’s first reading, was the time the community of Israel spent in the presence of God in the Jerusalem temple. Ezekiel’s description of the temple is comparable to that of Eden and attests to the Jewish conviction that the presence of God is the source and sustainer of all living things. Water, a precious commodity, is featured as flowing from the temple in all directions. This vivid imagery encourages contemporary believers to draw strength, inspiration and healing from their participation in the temple or church worship. With so much to attract our attention elsewhere, we may lose sight of the centricity of the liturgy for our life and well-being. To that end, Ezekiel calls us home today to worship, to God and to one another as a community of faith.

Paul’s words, as first shared with the church in Corinth, invite believers to think of the holy place of God’s presence in terms of flesh and blood rather than bricks and mortar. You and I, and all who gather, become that holy place by virtue of our drawing together in faith and because of God’s promise (through Jesus) to be present. If each of us were to take it to heart, how might that conviction influence our attitude toward our bodies and the bodies of others? Would we desecrate the temple of our body with too much food, too much alcohol, with illicit drugs or smoking or promiscuity? Would we be so quick to harm another through violence? How would we reconcile allowing the temples of God to die from famine, disease, injustice or war? Wouldn’t their status as holy places demand our care and our reverence?

It is clear through the actions of Jesus in today’s Gospel that we should do something to prevent the pollution of holy people and holy places. The ancient temple was a place of prayer and not of buying and selling, but it had unfortunately become like so many holy places in our world today — a place to prey on the religious sentiment of the faithful in order to make a monetary profit. While reminding his contemporaries of the purpose of the temple, Jesus also used the occasion to teach that in him, a new meeting place for God was being established. Destroyed in death, he would nevertheless rise, and in his dying and rising, Jesus has become the holy person and the sacred place where God and humankind come together.

Ezek 47:1-2, 8-9, 12At the time Ezekiel shared this vision with his fellow exiles, their beloved temple in

Jerusalem was but a memory. Destroyed by the Babylonians, the temple’s loss seemed to prophesy the end of Judah and of the worship of Yahweh. But the prophet was not about to allow his people’s hopes to die; rather, he held out to them a vision of a new and divinely constructed temple that once again would be the source and center of their spiritual and communal lives.

Historically, as Walter Brueggemann has pointed out, the temple had three constructions and three destructions (Reverberations of Faith, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 2002). First built by Solomon during his 40-year reign (962-922 B.C.E.), the initial temple dominated the landscape and religious vision of Jerusalem for approximately 400 years until it

was razed by Babylon’s army circa 587 B.C.E. (2 Kgs 25:1-22). News of this destruction reached Ezekiel in exile (Ezek 33), and from then on, the prophet’s message shifted from one of castigation to one of assurance that God was very present even in exile and that God’s forgiveness would bring rebirth and restoration to the displaced peoples of Judah (Ezek 40-48).

In this text, the prophet shares a vision of a river of fresh water flowing out of the temple to the Dead Sea, where it turned the lifeless salty sea into a fresh water source teeming with marine life. While he probably did not expect to see a literal fulfillment of his vision in geographic terms, Ezekiel envisioned a comparable renewal of life for the exiles. Whereas Babylon had proven to be a “salty,” barren place of punishment and alienation, restoration to God and to their homeland would be an experience comparable to immersion in fresh, life-giving water.

That restoration to Judah was engineered in part by Cyrus, who, after conquering Babylon, allowed exiles to return to their homelands. With Cyrus’ help, a second temple was built (Ezra 1-2). Supervised by Zerubbabel, this temple was completed in four years (520-516 B.C.E.) and rededicated in 515 B.C.E. During his tenure, Herod made such substantial renovations to this second temple that it was sometimes referred to as a third temple. This temple served God and the liturgical purposes of the Jews until Titus and the Roman armies destroyed it in 70 C.E. Today, all that survives of the second temple and the additional Herodian refurbishing is the so-called “Wailing Wall.” This is Israel’s most sacred site and remains a symbol of what was and what is hoped for yet again. No doubt this vision of Ezekiel continues to feed the faith of our Jewish brothers and sisters, for whom the temple is a sign of life and unity. This same vision prepares Christian believers for understanding Jesus and the community that gathers in his name as the special locus of God’s life-giving presence.

1 Cor 3:9-11, 16-17Like most cities in the ancient world, Corinth had a variety of shrines and temples erected

in honor of as many gods and goddesses. Paul, whose religious tradition was monotheistic, revered only one sacred place: the temple in Jerusalem. After he had come to know Jesus, however, Paul’s insight into the mystery of God deepened. He began to understand that because of the indwelling Spirit of the one true God, human beings had become holy places, temples where God chooses to abide. Together, these Spirit-filled human beings constitute the church.

Paul used the metaphor of the building or temple in order to underscore the importance of constructing the growing church with integrity. He also understood his role as the founder of the church in Corinth in terms of a master builder. In that capacity, he had done all he could to lay a sure and stable foundation. Then, as Richard B. Hays has put it, he let out the rest of the work to subcontractors (First Corinthians, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1997). These were the elders and catechists who were responsible for “maintenance” in Paul’s absence. To these, Paul said, “each one must be careful.” Some scholars suggest that Paul had in mind a certain individual (or individuals) who might have been undermining the foundation he had so carefully established in Corinth. But others are probably more correct in their understanding that Paul was addressing all who teach or exercise leadership in the church.

Those who teach and those who are taught, those who lead and those who are led — these, together, constitute the temple of God. In verses 16-17, Paul affirmed the communal nature of the church by the use of the second-person plural pronoun: “Do you (plural) not know that you are the temple of God and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?” One individual does

not constitute the church, nor does one group; rather, the church is the community gathered in Jesus’ name and infused with the Spirit.

Interpreters of this passage, suggests Richard B, Hays (op. cit.), ought to use the text as a mirror to see whether they find their own reflection in it. As God’s dwelling, the church belongs to God, and is not a means to advance our own ideas or careers. Are we treating church-building as a business or a competitive sport?

Hays says that he has been to enough United Methodist Conference meetings to know that this temptation is not merely hypothetical, and he suspects that the situation may be similar in other ecclesial communities. Pastors and all those charged with the ministry of caring for God’s living temple are to work diligently at being prayerful, holy and humble, remembering that church leadership is stewardship exercised in service. More than anything, the people in the pews need good examples.

When signals are mixed, however; when words don’t translate into action or when words and actions contradict one another, then the foundation and all its living stones become unsure. Paul recognized the weighty responsibility of leadership. He continues to inspire his successors.

John 2:13-22This Gospel has traditionally been interpreted as a corrective by which Jesus wished to

rid the temple of commerce and return it to its proper purpose as a place of prayer, but it has garnered other points of view that also merit our attention. Albert Nolan has suggested that Jesus’ action was not a coup or takeover of the temple as some have maintained (Jesus Before Christianity, 25th anniversary edition, Orbis Books, Maryknoll, N.Y.: 2001). Nor had it anything to do with the sacrificial rites or temple ceremonies, nor with the vague Jewish expectation that the temple cult would be purified by the Messiah in the last days. Jesus, insists Nolan, took action in the courtyard of the gentiles and not in the Holy Place, and he took action against the traders and moneychangers. His concern was not to take power or purify ritual but to stop the abuse of money and trade.

Substantial extra-biblical evidence attests to a lively trade in animals in the temple precincts. Scripture scholar Joachim Jeremias also cited evidence that the traders took advantage of the pilgrims to Jerusalem (Jerusalem in the Time of Jesus, Augsburg Fortress Press, Minneapolis: 1975). Unable to bring ritually clean animals with them, they were forced to buy from the temple traders, who raised the prices, sometimes to exorbitant heights. Moneychangers were also padding their commissions for exchanging foreign currency into temple shekels. It was these injustices that riled Jesus, and he acted with authority to eradicate them. His example continues to warn against similar injustices perpetrated in the name of religion or under its auspices. We can only wonder what Jesus might say to those who take advantage of the faith and devotion of others by inundating them with requests for money and promising eternal rewards to those who comply.

When questioned about his authority to take such forceful action, Jesus responded with a prediction about the temple’s destruction, which the fourth evangelist reinterpreted in terms of Jesus’ own demise and resurrection. During Jesus’ ministry, the temple in question would have been the so-called third temple being renovated by Herod. Using the reference to 46 years in verse 20 and the writings of Josephus (Antiquities XV.xi.1; #380), scholars have deduced that construction on the temple was begun around 20-19 B.C.E.; hence, Jesus’ action probably took place during the Passover of 27-28 C.E. Completed circa 63 C.E., the temple stood for only seven more years before being razed by Titus’ armies. But the temple of Jesus’ body, once

raised, lives forever, and welcomes all who would accept Jesus’ invitation to come to him and make their home in him (John 15:4). Home in him, at rest in his presence, believers will learn to worship God authentically, in Spirit and in truth.

Jesus’ radical action in the temple, depicted here by John at the beginning of his ministry and by the synoptic Gospels as nearer to the end of Jesus’ public service, would figure significantly in the plot against his life and in his trial. Aware of the inevitable fallout, Jesus’ concern for the integrity of the sacred place moved him to act despite what would befall him. Today, those who profess to believe in him are to be similarly reverential toward all those holy places and people in whom God chooses to be present.

Sample Homily Nov. 9, 2008, Dedication of Basilica of St. John Lateran“The Way of Change”Fr. James Smith

Zacchaeus had a change of heart. But change is very difficult. Today, the speed of change is approaching the speed of light. It was only 66 years from that clumsy first flight at Kitty Hawk to the incredible landing on the moon.

In his book Faithful Change, religious psychologist James Fowler wrote that any change in our life entails four processes. He calls them dis-engagement, dis-identification, dis-enchantment, dis-orientation. Let’s take a closer look.

When we want to change something, we first must actually stop doing it. Stop the affair, quit smoking, get off the couch, throw away the bottle. A good intention won’t do it, nor will promises to ourselves or to God, nor will procrastination or compromise or gradual withdrawal. To change any habit, we must simply dis-engage, break our engagement.

Whatever we are doing, we have a certain investment in it; it becomes part of us. If we drink or smoke, we consider ourselves drinkers and smokers. If we lie and cheat we are self-described liars and cheaters. We are what we do, so we are identified with our habits. In order to break a habit, we must be dis-identified from it. We must stop thinking of laziness as part of our identity. We have to prove that we are no longer impatient or judgmental.

We do certain things because we enjoy them. In order to free ourselves from their allure, we must be dis-enchanted with them. We must brush the patina of romance off the affair; we must recognize alcoholism as an escape from reality. We must move out of the enchanted forest into the real world where we actually live.

We are creatures of habit. Once we form a pattern of life, we tend to drift along in that direction because it is comfortable. We need to feel that all parts of us are going in the same direction. So, when we change any habit, we feel that we have lost our sense of direction. We don’t know what to do over lunch if we are dieting; we feel lost without our old lover; we take the wrong bus if we move; we are turned around when we fall in love. In short, we are dis-orientated.

Of course, it is very uncomfortable to be dis-engaged, dis-identified, dis-enchanted, dis-orientated. That is why change is so hard for us. So, we try as quickly as we can to adapt to change. We must become engaged with our new habit. We have to actually get to work on time and really take out the garbage. Then we must reidentify our self: We must think of ourselves as thoughtful and pleasant; we must help others see us as a person who is dependable and honest. New habits must be part of our identi-kit.

Life east of Eden, outside the Fantasy Forest, can get pretty grim, so we need to find some joy, some luxury, some pampering for our sober self. We

must discover some romantic aspect of life, we must see the invisible aura around people, we must be lured by beauty, enticed by goodness. In short, we must become re-enchanted.

And when we have once again become engaged with life, identified our self with our activities and fallen in love with existence, we are free to re-orientate ourselves. In fact, we have already found a new direction by accomplishing those other tasks of change.

Following Christ is called “The Way.” And integrated people fully engaged with the world, in love with life, are well on the Way.

THIRTY-THIRD SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME (A)November 16, 2008Making the Most of Each MomentPatricia Datchuck Sánchez

Prov 31:10-13, 19-20, 30-311 Thess 5:1-6Matt 25:14-30

If you were diagnosed today with a terminal illness and were told that you have six months left to live, how would that knowledge affect you? Some of those gathered here today may already carry this knowledge with them. What difference has it make in your life? When Anglican bishop and New Testament scholar John Robinson (1919-1983) received similar news, he wrote that his first reaction was one of shock. But then he felt liberated and thought to himself, “Gosh, six months is a long time … how am I going to use it?” At first Robinson thought he should go through his daily planner and cancel engagements. Then he decided against such a negative approach and resolved that “preparation for eternal life means really learning to live, becoming more concerned with contributing to an enjoying what matters most — giving the most to life and getting the most from it, while it is on offer” (from A Treasury of Quips, Quotes and Anecdotes, Anthony Castle, editor, Twenty-Third publications, Mystic, Conn.: 1998).

Similar thoughts were expressed by an oncologist in a New Zealand newspaper. Her experience with cancer patients led her to conclude: “Cancer makes people start thinking about the quality of their lives … in fact, some people never become completely human beings and really start living until they get cancer. We all know we are going to die but cancer makes people face up to it. Cancer patients live with a lot of extra enjoyment because they have faced their fear of death. Cancer patients aren’t dying. They are living!” ( From an article that appeared in 1973 in the Palmerston North Evening Standard).

As the liturgical year winds down, its focus on the last things reminds us that we all live under the sure specter of death. As believers, we accept dying as a passage to life, but we also cannot ignore or waste the finality that dying brings. Death reminds us that we are to accept each day as a gift, to become all we can, to do all that we can for as many people as God places in our path. Whether we know how long that might be or not, the concluding liturgical year presses upon us with an urgency that invites each of us to make the most of every moment, for it is of this moment alone that we can be sure.

The woman featured in the first reading from the book of Proverbs inspires us to use well all the moments we are given. She is unnamed, and in her anonymity she illustrates the silent greatness that can be achieved in doing ordinary things with extraordinary care. A good wife and

mother (as is illustrated in omitted verses), she prepared a lasting legacy through her simple world of cooking, housework and reaching out to share with those less fortunate.

In today’s second reading from Paul’s first preserved correspondence, the great apostle shared with the Thessalonians what he also shares with us: the necessity of living in the present moment. Paul advises us to be alert and sober and not to let any opportunity to pass us by. Live in the bright and revealing light of truth, Paul urges, so as not to have anything to hide or, anything of which to be ashamed, when time is no more.

Today’s Gospel describes something of the daring and devotion required of believers who wish to make the most of every moment. The Matthean Jesus’ parable reminds each of us that we have been given gifts to use, to develop, to share. Not all gifts are the same, but all are valuable, reflective of the One who gives to each of us so uniquely. In Jesus’ parable, the servants who were given various shares in their master’s possessions did not know how long they would have to use them to their best advantage. Two made the most of what they had and were invited to share more deeply with their master. The other failed to use the gift that he had been given. His inattentiveness to the treasure that was within his grasp communicates the same timely lesson that we learn each year at this time. Shall we follow his example, or that of the other servants and Paul and the good woman of Proverbs?

Whether we know that we have six more months to live or six more decades, the urgency with which we live each moment and the best use we make of the gifts we have been given is our gift to God and a sure way to prepare for that ultimate encounter with death that leads to life.

Prov 31:10-13, 19-20, 30-31In his book Everyday Greatness (Rutledge Hill Press, Nashville, Tenn.: 2006), Stephen

R. Covey affirms that occasionally the world witnesses a heroic feat or discovers a person with a truly rare and remarkable talent. Every now and then a scientist makes a pivotal discovery or an engineer designs a remarkable device. Every so often, politicians manage to sign a bold peace agreement or initiate a project that will revolutionize space travel. Yearly celebrations reward significant talent and accomplishments in every field from acting to athletics, from music to mathematics. These singular people and events often make the headlines and enjoy what American artist Andy Warhol (1928-1987) once called “15 minutes of fame.”

But, says Covey (op. cit.), most people are aware of another type of greatness, a quieter version that rarely makes the evening news. Covey calls this “everyday greatness” It has to do with character and contribution. Everyday greatness is a way of living, not a one-time event. It attests to who a person is rather than what they have; it centers on motives and small and simple deeds rather than grandiose ones. Everyday greatness is precisely that quality reflected in the worthy woman featured in this excerpted text from the book of Proverbs.

Written in acrostic or alphabetic form, this poem accents the value of wisdom over physical beauty and of generous care over fleeting charm. Greatest among the woman’s types of witness is the last one mentioned: fear of the Lord, or a reverential respect for God, which informs all her other activities — for that fear is the beginning of wisdom (Prov 1:7). Praised at the city gates, where major legal and economic transactions took place, the woman is in good company. It was there at the portal of the city that wisdom also spoke her words to all who would listen and know God (Prov 1:21).

Given the status of women in post-exilic Judah, early readers of these words may have been surprised to see a woman featured as one who possessed wisdom that rendered her great. However, this portrait of a feminine ideal forms a literary inclusion with the ancient author’s

description of wisdom, personified as a woman in Chapter 1. Moreover, in both Hebrew (Hokmah) and Greek (Sophia), the word for wisdom is feminine, hence the name Lady Wisdom (Prov 8-9). The figure here stands out as a model of everyday greatness for men and women alike. Obviously, gender did not deter the early Christian authors, who would later refer to Jesus as the very wisdom of God (1 Cor 1:24).

1 Thess 5:1-6When Paul preached so enthusiastically in Thessalonica about the promised return of the

risen Jesus, he was no doubt besieged with questions. When will Jesus come? How shall we know him? How shall we get ready? Where shall all of this take place? For the most part, Paul had no answer to these queries except the reassurance that Jesus would indeed return and that he would appear unexpectedly. To speculate as to when or where or how is futile, and not conducive to the attitude of being prepared that should characterize believers.

This watchful waiting may seem difficult to maintain for a community that is almost two millennia removed from the Christ-event. However, as Beverly Gaventa has pointed out, the watchfulness Paul urges does not pertain only to time; it is also a matter of importance for our faith (Texts For Preaching, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1995). Watching for Jesus and waiting to welcome him even after 2,000 years is to proclaim the belief that God stands at the beginning, the end and the center of human life, and that all people who enjoy that gift of life will be asked to account for their stewardship of that gift. This accounting, as Jesus has indicated in several parables, is not something that can be pulled together at the last minute; it is not a final exam for which believers can cram the night before. Rather, the God who stands at the beginning, end and center of human life should figure into every word and work of every day and night. Then our accounting will simply be the summing up and drawing together of a life spent in the service of God and others.

This sort of service is characterized by the light of love and truth. For this reason Paul reminds his readers, “You are children of the light” (v. 4). As Abraham Smith has noted, Paul’s distinction between children of the day and children of the night is not just about contrasting spheres of awareness or existence, but also about contrasting spheres of action (New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. II, Abingdon Press, Nashville, Tenn.: 2000). It is not the day or the night that makes the deed what it is; rather, our deeds produce day or darkness, depending on their integrity or lack of integrity.

The word “integrity” connotes wholeness that grows from a life based on principles. Those who live in the light exhibit a consonance between words and deeds, behaviors and values. To that end, says Stephen Covey (op. cit.), integrity is an everyday choice that results in a lifestyle. Having integrity every other day will not work. Nor, as mentioned previously, can integrity be achieved in a last-ditch effort before dying. For that reason, Paul’s words and the urgency with which he shared them are to move us today; whether we shall have the opportunity to do so tomorrow, we cannot know.

Matt 25:14-30Have you ever seen the TV show “Iron Chef”? The series originated in Japan and was

adapted for American audiences, and features two culinary experts who vie for a claim to the title “Iron Chef.” Each show features a “secret ingredient,” which can be anything from carrots or clams to shrimp or squash. In one hour, each chef is to produce several dishes with that ingredient, after which a panel of tasting judges decides “whose cuisine reigns supreme.” Both

chefs are on equal footing — they have use of the same appliances, etc. — but the results they produce are quite varied, as each brings his or her own ideas and expertise to the table.

While most of us will probably never compete for a television title, each of us has been given a “secret ingredient,” a uniquely personal talent that we are to discover and develop and utilize to the fullest extent possible. This is the premise of the parable that constitutes today’s Gospel. Although our results will vary, each of us, like the servants in the Gospel, is to make the most of what we have, and in the end, the returning Jesus will judge our best efforts and decide our future.

This parable is the third in a series of three judgment parables that focus on the accountability of church leaders (24:45-51) and the responsibility of lay believers (25:1-13), and centers on the willingness of believers to place themselves and their gifts at the service of the kingdom. That willing service will require a daring that the first and second servants accepted as part of their responsibility. Each one, according to ability, used what was given him and worked in such a manner that his gift grew and developed. That gift had to be used, exercised, spent … not hoarded, hidden or set aside for safekeeping.

While the master rewarded the responsible service and daring behavior of the first two servants and deepened his bond with them by giving them a greater share in his affairs, the third servant was treated quite harshly. Although this unproductive servant claimed to be fearful of losing what had been shared with him and thought he was being careful by burying his talent, the master called him lazy and wicked. As Douglas R. A. Hare has pointed out, the parable does not attempt to address the causes of the servant’s laziness (Matthew, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1993). But one factor is evident from their exchange: The servant has no love for the master. His sole interest is in himself and his own security rather than service.

Perhaps it is this last servant who has the hardest lesson to teach contemporary believers. Many among us withdraw from the risky business of service to the Gospel, claiming that our gifts are insignificant or inferior or even unwelcome. When another can serve better, why should I try? Surely there are others with more time, more treasure, more talent that I … surely they are the ones who should be out there doing their best.

But today’s Gospel challenges us to look at all we have received and acknowledge that all is gift. Then, rather than waste or hoard those gifts, let us do all we can, for whomever we can, for as long as we can, realizing full well that we have only the present moment to do so.

Sample Homily, Nov 16, 2008, 33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time“Back to the Garden”Fr. James Smith

The servant was afraid of his master, because he was on a different wavelength. When we are out of sync with things, the world is a fearsome place. Danger lurks in every round corner of our globe.

Although The Wall Street Journal boasts that “Americans have dramatically reduced their risk in virtually every area of life, resulting in a life span of 60 percent more than in 1900,” dread of unknown calamity runs high, fed by often inaccurate round-the-clock news. We eat our TV dinner with terrorists and serial killers.

Healthy fear is an integral part of the human experience. Fear is what kept our ancestors out of the path of charging beasts — just as it keeps us out of the path of a speeding truck. However, dangers are more hidden these days: from nuclear power plants that could melt down or be sabotaged to the discovery of toxic waste sites to the threat of all-out war.

In order to regain and sustain our zest for life, first we have to get out of the grip of fear. If the love of money is the root of all evil, then fear is the soil of evil. Adam plowed the first furrow in the Garden when he cringed and whined to God: “I hid because I was afraid.”

But why was Adam afraid of the God with whom he strolled through the garden in the twilight? Ah, that was before the incident of the tree. Now, the tree was just a symbol. Adam could have been told not to cross that bridge or swim that lake or even cut his hair. The tree was a symbol of limits, of human limitations.

The taboo tree proclaimed that Adam was a creature. Although all creation was made for Adam, and Adam was made for God, nevertheless, all creatures have natural limits. Rivers are limited by banks, grass is limited by cows and humans are limited by God. And every creature thrives only within its natural limits.

But Adam was not satisfied with even a single limitation. He broke the boundary and set himself against God. And by doing so, he put himself outside the natural order. Instead of being in rhythm with the world, he now had to sweat, suffer and die. Instead of living in love with Eve, he was ashamed and afraid. And so are we. But we have been doing it for so many centuries that it feels natural.

Now, if that is the true state of humankind, we have every right to be afraid. Because we are out of kilter; our individual egos are bent, vulnerable to attack. So, we shore up our egos with defense mechanisms. In the Garden, Adam needed only a loincloth. But todays streets are meaner. We enlarge our ego defenses with designer clothes, cosmetic surgery, growling cars, loudmouth phones and nuclear bombs. But no matter how clever our defenses, every vice is just a sophisticated loincloth. Its ultimate purpose is to keep us from being hurt. Like Adam, we hide because we are afraid.

In order to live out in the open, we must stop being afraid. We do that by deciding that our ego is not even defensible. Our ego is inherently wounded: It wants too much, tries too hard, reaches too far — it breaks the natural human limits.

Back to the Garden. Back to basics. Every creature flourishes only within its natural limits. Limits do not restrict human freedom but enlarge it; God is not our competitor but our cooperator. We were made to walk hand in hand with God in love instead of fear.

CHRIST THE KING (A)November 23, 2008Pay It ForwardPatricia Datchuck Sánchez

Ezek 34:11-12, 15-171 Cor 15:20-26, 28Matt 25:31-46

Catherine Ryan Hyde’s novel Pay It Forward (Simon and Schuster, New York: 2000) —and the movie that was later based on the book — popularized the title concept of doing three good deeds for others as a way of expressing appreciation and gratitude for a good deed that one has received.

The idea of “paying it forward” did not originate with Hyde. It was mentioned, albeit not by name, in a letter from Benjamin Franklin to Benjamin Webb dated April 22, 1784: “I do not

pretend to give such a sum; I only lend it to you. When you meet with another honest man in similar distress, you must pay me by lending this sum to him. Enjoin him to discharge the debt by a like operation when he shall be able … I hope it may thus go thro’ many hands before it meets with a knave who will stop its progress. This is a trick of mine for doing a great deal of good with a little money.”

In his science-fiction novel Between Planets (Charles Scribner and Sons, New York: 1951), Robert A. Heinlein was the first to coin the term “pay it forward” in this conversation: “The banker reached into the folds of his gown, pulled out a single credit note. ‘But eat first — a full belly steadies the judgment. Do me the honor of accepting this as our welcome to the newcomer.’ His pride said No; his stomach said YES! Don took it and said, ‘Uh, thanks! That’s awfully kind of you. I’ll pay it back, first chance.’ The reply came quickly, ‘Instead, pay it forward to some other brother who needs it.’ ” A principle that Heinlein practiced as well as preached, “pay it forward” has inspired the formation of several organizations devoted to making kindness and generosity contagious.

Jesus inspired a similar way of life in those who came to believe in him. Nowhere is this principle more clearly expressed than in today’s Gospel. As one who went about doing good, Jesus healed the sick, fed the hungry, welcomed strangers and reached out to those imprisoned by their own sins or through the injustice or apathy of others. No need was too small to merit his attention; no effort was too great. In all he said and did, Jesus revealed the loving care and attentive mercy of God for this world’s least ones.

The loving mercy of God as exercised by Jesus was beautifully anticipated by the prophet Ezekiel in today’s first reading. Like a devoted shepherd whose life is completely given over to the care of his sheep, Jesus directed his mercy toward every human being, no matter where they had strayed or been scattered. He gave of himself to the extent that, in the end, he surrendered his own life so that the lost would be found, the strays would be gathered in and the wounded would be made whole.

When Jesus’ followers realized all the good gifts of God that had come into their lives through his efforts, they were probably moved to thank and honor him as a sign of their gratitude. Some even wanted to make him king. But Jesus redirected their gratitude into gracious outreach toward others. Jesus challenged his own to “pay it forward” and to pass onto others what each had received from him. By extending God’s gifts to others, believers become participants in a dynamic that makes of salvation a here-and-now experience for others rather than relief that comes only with death — salvation becomes an existential rather than merely an eternal experience.

Jesuit Fr. Walter J. Burghardt insisted that salvation is divinely designed to take place within the human community. “My salvation,” said Burghardt, “depends on fidelity to three relationships: Do I love God above all else …? Do I love each sister and brother as Jesus has loved and loves me? Do I touch each thing with the reverence, the respect, the restraint God asked of humankind at its birthing?” (Justice: A Global Adventure, Orbis Books, Maryknoll, N.Y.: 2004). We may pray for the hungry, the thirsty, the sick, the imprisoned, the naked, the homeless and the lost, but unless our prayer is translated into positive and practical action on their behalf, then we have obscured the reason for which Jesus lived and died. Jesus came to give so that we might give, too; he did not ask for payback. Rather, the words and works of Jesus compel those who profess to believe in him to pay it forward. To do so will be to honor Jesus as king in a most effective and reverent manner; to pay it forward is to proclaim our faith with our lips as well as our lives.

Ezek 34:11-12, 15-17In one of his addresses to the crowds who gathered to see him in St. Peter’s Square in

Rome, Pope John Paul II spoke with great admiration of Jesus’ kingship: “How marvelous is this King who renounces all the signs of power, the instruments of dominion, force and arrogance and wishes to reign only with the power of truth and love, with the power of interior conviction and sheer abandonment.” Such a king is more like shepherd than a sovereign, and it was precisely these pastoral qualities that Ezekiel held out to his contemporaries to fill their hearts with hope.

Ezekiel and his fellow Jews had been sorely disappointed by the lack of pastoral care shown to them by several of their kings. According to the prophet, poor leadership and a lack of faithfulness to God had resulted in the demise of Judah. Conquered by the Babylonians, their capital and temple destroyed, their elite citizenry in exile, the Judahites were precisely as Ezekiel described. They were scattered, strayed, sick, injured and in need of rescue.

Human leadership having failed them, Ezekiel turned the eyes of his contemporaries to the God who would never fail. God would come, he promised, to shepherd the people rightly. Initially, God acted on behalf of Judah through Cyrus the Persian. After conquering the lands held by the Babylonian empire, Cyrus arranged for the exiles held by Babylonia to return to their respective “sheepfolds.” But God’s ultimate shepherding of the people of Israel and Judah would be accomplished through the person and mission of Jesus.

Always redirecting the efforts of those who would make him king, Jesus showed himself, in word and in deed, a true shepherd. His outreach to the lost, the sick and the strays made it clear that he meant to exercise his power in a pastoral manner. When his contemporaries refused his pastoral overtures in favor of a more militant solution to their political problems, Jesus did not succumb to the temptation to mold himself in accordance with their desires. In the end, he proved himself to be the shepherd-king par excellence; he laid down his life for his sheep.

Although they are few, there have been some people through the centuries who have exercised their leadership in a pastoral manner rather than a pompous one. Mohandas Gandhi shepherded the people of India by his prayerful example; he led with integrity and truth, and they followed. Archbishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador and Dom Helder Camara of Brazil did likewise, as did Mother Teresa of Calcutta (now called Kolkata). These leaders have all been removed from our midst through death, but their witness continues to live and to inspire us. Today, these great shepherds and Jesus himself challenge all potential leaders to be of similar mind and manner. Followers are also challenged to support leaders in their goodness, acknowledge and aid them in their weakness and work together for justice, truth and peace —rather than foist upon our leaders a burden that we ourselves are unwilling to bear.

1 Cor 15:20-26, 28A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. Paul knew that one of the weak links in the

“chain” that constituted the faith of the Corinthian believers was the difficulty they had in accepting the resurrection of Jesus. It was difficult for many in that Greek city to surrender the long-held notion that the body was an evil carapace that burdened the soul. When Paul preached of Jesus risen, alive in a gloriously transformed body, the very idea was a stumbling block. Consequently, some had taken a rather “cafeteria-style’ approach” to their faith, selecting some tenets and rejecting others. But Paul knew that if the resurrection was one of the “items” the

Corinthians and other Greek believers refused to put on their plate, then the chain of their faith would break, for without belief in the resurrection, our faith is in vain.

Along with promoting the necessity of faith in Jesus’ resurrection, Paul wanted to make sure his readers appreciated the consequences of that central event for believers. Christ is the first fruits of the universal harvest of those who will be gathered unto God and to glory because of Jesus’ saving death and resurrection. A Jewish cultic term, aparche or first fruits referenced the custom of consecrating and offering the first-picked produce of the fields and the firstborn of the flocks to God, thus acknowledging God’s rightful ownership of all that exists. First fruits were also regarded as a hope-filled sign of what was yet to come as the growing season progressed: an abundance of fruits and vegetables and numerous sheep and goats. In his rising from death, Jesus signaled the end of the reign of sin and death and the beginning of a new era of forgiveness, reconciliation and life. Rising from death, Jesus is the pledge of what God has promised to all who belong to Christ.

In the final verses of this excerpted text, Paul established the sovereignty of Jesus Christ over every other sovereignty (arche), authority (exousia) and power (dynamis). As Richard B. Hays has explained(First Corinthians, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1997), these three terms refer, in the first instance, to cosmic forces that the ancients believed were arrayed in opposition to God (Rom 8:38; Col 1:16; 2:10-15). These three terms also have political implications, in that Christ, as Lord and King of all, rules unchallenged, even by the imperious Roman Empire. Like other Greek cities, Corinth’s streets and public squares were studded with statues and shrines erected to glorify Roman rulers. But Paul’s affirmation of the sovereignty of Jesus Christ summoned the Corinthians to owe their allegiance to none other.

With Paul’s words held fast in our hearts, we shall go forth from this place and into the streets and squares of our respective cities and towns. Throughout this week, Paul reminds us that in all our comings and goings, there is only one who is sovereign over all, and it is in him, the living temple of God, that we will find our true refuge and place of ultimate belonging.

Matt 25:31-46In an episode of “Seinfeld” that continues to make its point in reruns, Jerry, George,

Elaine and Kramer discussed the custom of what they called “re-gifting.” If they received a gift and didn’t need it, or if it didn’t fit or they simply didn’t like it — would it be proper to pass on that gift to another person? As the character argued their points of view, this writer reflected on the impact that such a custom might have on the human struggles that are cited by Jesus in today’s Gospel. Gifts that are superfluous to us could mean a great difference in the life of a needy brother or sister. Passing on these gifts, or paying them forward, could mean the difference between their having a meal or going hungry; between wearing a warm jacket or freezing in the cold winter wind. Gifts stored in overstuffed closets, drawers or garages can be certainly put to use by others if only we share them.

But the sharing Jesus calls for here goes deeper than the distribution of one’s surplus or cast-off wealth. Jesus challenges us to see and meet another person’s needs because of the presence of Jesus within that person.

Earlier in the Gospel, Jesus had acknowledged that he was present within those who accompanied him and shared in his ministry: “Whoever receives you receives me, and whoever receives me receives the One who sent me” (Matt 10:40). As Douglas R.A. Hare has pointed out, there is nothing uniquely Christian about the idea of Jesus’ solidarity with his disciples (Matthew, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1993). It reflects the Jewish shaliach

principle: “A man’s representative is the man himself.” However, what is distinctive in this Matthean scene of judgment is the fact that Jesus has chosen to be known and represented in the world’s powerless and needy. Jesus is being revealed through their hunger, their thirst and in all their struggles. This recognition of Jesus traveling incognito in the most distressing of disguises calls forth our compassionate care for those who hunger and thirst or are naked, imprisoned, sick or in danger of being displaced and deported. This recognition of Jesus in this world’s least ones calls for giving that is steady and sacrificial, not just occasional. Inspired by the one who sacrificed Godhead, glory, his own will and his very life, we can describe our outreach to the poor as authentic re-gifting only if we give in the manner of Jesus — fully, freely, frequently and without expectation of reciprocity.

Furthermore, when Jesus gave to another, that person was not diminished or demeaned by his gifts; rather, Jesus’ gifts bestowed a dignity on others. So also must be the “paying it forward” of those who call themselves his own.

Sample Homily, Nov 23, 2008, Christ the King“In God’s Order”Fr. James Smith

The concept of king is foreign to us, and the concept of God’s Kingdom is totally alien to our experience. To appreciate Jesus’ longing for the kingdom, we would have to live in another country in another century immersed in another culture.

That is what psychologists call a “second-order change.” The first order is the way we actually experience reality. The first order is the way we understand the meaning of life and the values of the good life. All of our decisions are made within the context of this perception of reality. Of course, we make adjustments; we rearrange the furniture; but as long as we stay in our basic framework, we make only first-order changes.

A good example of this is a nightmare. You can do different things in a nightmare: You can fly, jump over a cliff, set the world on fire. You can do anything imaginable. What you cannot do is beat the nightmare, get out of the maze, catch the plane, find the door. The only way to escape the nightmare is to wake up: Get out of the first order of nightmare and change to the second order of the waking state.

The people in the time of Jesus lived in a first order of Roman occupation, temple-centered Judaism, law-keeping ethics, patriarchal family and agricultural economy. All of their decisions were made within that context. People made some changes: The Essenes fled into desert communities to wait for the end; the Zealots formed guerrilla groups to sabotage the Roman order. But all these were just ways of moving the pieces around. This was just first-order change. What Jesus called for was a second-order change.

He looked at reality in terms of God’s order, God’s Kingdom. Yes, they still had to pay taxes, but Caesar was a clear second to God. Yes, they were still poor, but now blessed in their poverty. Yes, they had to raise families, but the important family was fellowship with Jesus. In many ways, life seemed to go on as usual, but in their hearts they had made a miraculous reversal of ordinary values.

Second-order change comes in a variety of guises, but it never comes easily. After all, our first order of reality is the spontaneous way we live our life. It is the way we were taught, the way that has worked, the way that is approved by our peers, our country and our religion. Most people will make tremendous adjustments to reality, amazing reinterpretation of events, fantastic contortions of their minds before they have the courage to make a

second-order change almost in desperation, just before the first order collapses around them.

That is why the second order of God, the Kingdom of God, has such a hard time coming into reality. Just as the Jews made some adjustments to their vision of reality when the kingdom was first announced, so we do the same in the kingdom’s third millennium. We practice virtue a little harder, avoid sins a little better, give more to the poor, pray more, buy fewer things, treat people nicer. Which is all very good — but it is finally nothing more than rearranging the same stuff in the first order. Second-order change, living in God’s order, God’s Kingdom, means escaping the secular framework of life and dealing with reality from a religious perspective. We may still do many of the same things and suffer the same consequences. But we will be doing them with different hearts.

As with the first followers of Jesus, our reality will be changed at its root.

FIRST SUNDAY OF ADVENT (B)November 30, 2008A New Year, a New PagePatricia Datchuck Sánchez

Isa 63:16-17, 19; 64:2-71 Cor 1:3-9Mark 13:13-37

Like a blank page eager to receive the pen, the new liturgical year stands before us, waiting to see what we shall do and who we shall become. Only God knows what is ahead, and the spirit of the Advent season invites believers to allow the blank page to be filled not by their own plans and determinations but by the word and will of God. This is not an easy feat for those who take great satisfaction in carefully organizing their days and nights. With PDA or BlackBerry in hand, many approach life as a project with certain goals that must be accomplished in a given amount of time. Of course, there is nothing wrong with living carefully, but with regard to God and the spiritual life, the mentors of Advent call us to cultivate another attitude.

Mary, who probably had other plans for herself and Joseph, was called to allow God to rewrite her story. Her own version of her future surely did not include being a mother before marriage, but God’s draft for her life took her on a path that included unexpected difficulties.

The life and ideas of John, son of Elizabeth and Zechariah, were similarly redirected. Initially, John seemed to envision himself as a reformer who was to prepare the way for the messiah who would lead Judah to victory over its oppressors. But God, in Jesus, made it clear that John’s involvement would make ready the path of a messiah who would suffer for the victory he would achieve. As Jesus’ precursor, John would have the page of his life abbreviated, cut short by his death at Herod’s hands.

Jesus, too, certainly had his own ideas about his messiah-ship, but he allowed God to dictate these ideas and the manner in which he would live out his short life. Like Mary, Joseph and John the Baptizer, Jesus submitted his curriculum vitae to God’s editing.

Now let us shift from this author/editor symbolism to another image, one that the prophet known to us as Trito-Isaiah (first reading) brings forth for our inspiration — the potter and the

clay. When a potter takes an amorphous lump of clay to the wheel, it is the potter who molds and shapes and spins and scrapes until what is conceived in her mind’s eye begins to find its form and function. Then it is the potter who places his handiwork in the kiln, where it is fired and given a certain permanency.

So it is with life. While we human beings are not exactly amorphous lumps of clay, our wills are nevertheless subject to a greater will and a keener vision. Through the experiences of living, giving and growing, the divine potter helps to shape our hearts, our minds, our wills. Through the suffering and struggles of life’s “kiln,” purification comes. Motivation becomes purer. Integrity becomes firmer. Faith becomes deeper. Hope grows stronger and love finds its greatest intensity.

Both images clearly state that another is “calling the shots” and forming the future. In today’s second reading, Paul refers to the work of the divine editor on our life stories, and to the efforts of the potter on the clay, as grace. Grace enriches the believer, insists Paul, with every good gift. Grace confirms the knowledge of Christ and the good news of salvation within us and invites our authentic witness to the same. Grace empowers change and growth and new beginnings. Grace enables independent and self-sufficient human beings to allow God to write the script. Grace allows God to throw and fire the pot and to decide how it will be used. Above all, grace helps us to prepare for the moment of our ultimate encounter with the divine editor and potter, whenever that moment will come.

Mark, in today’s Gospel, reminds us that while we cannot know when, we do know how we are to prepare — through watchful waiting. Inherent to our watchful waiting is a daily willingness to submit the “copy” and the “clay” of our lives to God. While we cannot know what God may choose to write on the pages of this new liturgical year before us, and we may not know how God will shape the clay that is our life, we do know some things with certainty: Ours is a loving and merciful God. Ours is a God who looks down from heaven and sees us in all we are, in all we do. Ours is a God who gives new life and new beginnings to all who call out in hope (Responsorial Psalm 80).

Isa 63:16-17, 19; 64:2-7Like his prophetic predecessor Deutero-Isaiah, the author of the third section of the book

of Isaiah (Chs. 56-66), or Trito-Isaiah, suffered with his contemporaries through a period of upheaval. For Deutero-Isaiah, it was the Babylonian exile that drew forth from him God’s words of comfort for a shamed and alienated people. For Trito-Isaiah, suffering came in the form of the hardships the exiles encountered upon their return home. For many, it seemed as if the promises of Deutero-Isaiah (“Behold, I am doing something new, says the Lord,” 43:19; “I will turn their darkness into light,” 42:16) had been forgotten by God and hence went unfulfilled. Although Deutero-Isaiah’s message of hope had mobilized the returning exiles and quickened their step with anticipation, their homecoming was a disappointment.

Sympathetic to his people’s plight, Trito-Isaiah presented their needs to God without diluting their anguish. At times his message seems harsh and impatient, but he managed to temper the obvious disgruntled feelings his contemporaries were experiencing with a call to trust in the God who, in the end, would not disappoint. Today’s first reading weds the faith and frustration of the late sixth-century B.C.E. Judahites into a beautiful — even a little brazen — prayer of lament. “Arising out of a situation of great need, the lament bases its appeal for God’s help upon a recitation of God’s merciful deeds from the past when the people were similarly threatened,” wrote scholar Paul D. Hanson. “The theological assumption that underlies the

lament is the steadfastness of God” (Isaiah 40-66, John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1995). Like all of the Hebrew laments, this prayer is frank in stating the situation but contains no inkling of doubt; the people of Judah and their prophetic spokesperson had unwavering trust that God could make things right.

While there is palpable trust in this communal lament, there is also impatience; it is not enough for God to “look down” upon (63:15) the people and hear their prayer. This prayer demands that the heavens be torn open and that God come down (64:1). In order for this to occur, the prophet recognizes that the people, whose sins have led them away from God and their homeland, must meet God halfway by “doing right” (v. 4) and by humbling themselves in repentance. Confession of sin, as Hanson (op. cit.) has noted, clears the way for the people to throw themselves upon the mercy of God. Confession washes them clear of the notion that they themselves or some political maneuver could bring salvation. Chastened, childlike, the people admit: You are father; you are the potter; you call the shots, O God, and we content to be putty in your powerful hands. With an attitude similar to that of Job, the prophet and the people of Judah have exhausted their argument against God and have, at last, bowed to God, admitting that they do not have any power to change things on their own.

During the season of Advent, as during any season of life, our leaning on God brings us closer to the source of our strength and courage. On any given day, our world, like the world of Trito-Isaiah, can be a frightening, horrible place fraught with the terrible effects of human greed, violence and sin. Yet God has become so fully and personally invested in our world through Jesus Christ that there is no evil that can stand against God’s goodness. Therefore, we cling to God in trust, in hope and in joy.

1 Cor 1:3-9Paul did an excellent job of planting the seeds of the good news in many Greek cities and

stirring into flame the faith of his converts. His own faith and desire for Jesus were contagious, and this contagion continues to be evident as his words are proclaimed in our hearing almost 2,000 years later. Words such as this greeting to the believers in Corinth continue to speak to us, people who also still “wait for the revelation of our Lord Jesus Christ” (v. 7).

According to Victoria Atkinson White (The Abingdon Preaching Annual, Abingdon Press, Nashville, Tenn.: 2004), the key to our anticipation of Jesus is that we must enact the waiting as seriously as we get on with our other pre-Christmas preparations. It is in waiting that we find the rest that will refresh us and see us through to the end. And it is in our waiting together that we become a community with other believers. What better gift can we give this Advent season, asks Atkinson White, than to give ourselves the time and space to wait?

As we do so, Paul’s words will encourage us with the knowledge that our waiting, our hope and our prayerful eagerness to welcome Jesus are all graced by God. This grace, insists Charles Cousar, enables us to live in the in-between time that is human existence (Texts For Preaching, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1993). We live between hidden-ness and revelation (v. 7); between guilt and blamelessness (v. 8). Our personal and collective failures as human beings leave us depressed. While we know the good to which we are called, we often find it difficult to transcend weakness and sin. Paul assures us repeatedly that for all these in-between-time struggles, God gives grace.

Paul is also adamant in his assurances that God’s grace is not wanting but is more than sufficient for whatever may come into our lives as we wait. Enriched with the good news and with every spiritual gift, we are equipped to make a difference in this world. We are, after all, the

church of Jesus Christ, who is the incarnate love and merciful forgiveness and saving redemption of God. This belonging charges our waiting with a responsibility to be Christ in the world and for the world. This understanding of ourselves and our role underscores the necessity of living in such a manner as to be taken seriously. Every aspect of human life, from ecology to economics, from politics to prayer, from working in the marketplace to worshipping with the gathering of believers — all are a part of the world that we are to grace by our words, by our witness, by our lives.

As Paul’s soaring rhetoric broadens our vision, his intensely practical ethic should also persuade us to attend to life not only on a cosmic scale but also in the nitty-gritty, day-to-day details. We must remember that this church we constitute is “not only an ideal which we must realize; it is rather a reality created by God in Christ in which we may participate” (Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, Harper and Row, New York: 1954).

Mark 13:13-37Often called the “Marcan” or “little apocalypse,” Chapter 13 of the first Gospel puts 21st-

century Christians in touch with a literary genre that has been much misunderstood and, as a consequence, misinterpreted. Apocalyptic literature emerged in Israel during those periods when the Jewish people were oppressed by or alienated from the dominant political and social structures of the time. This style of literature was given voice during the exilic and post-exilic period and was most clearly enunciated in the first two centuries B.C.E. and the first two centuries C.E. As Willem S. Vorster has explained, “Apocalyptic usually arises when the values and structures of a society lose all meaning for some minority group … and are replaced by a new symbolic meaning system. It is therefore at once a crisis phenomenon and an all-embracing approach to life in which the future determines the present” (“Literary Reflection on Mark 13:5-37: A Narrated Speech of Jesus,” Neotestamentica 21, 1987).

By the time the Marcan Gospel began to be circulated, both orally and then in written form, the followers of Jesus were a minority group struggling to find a foothold in a society that regarded them as a political nuisance (Rome) and a religious threat (Judaism). With their situation so tenuous, Christian authors encouraged their contemporaries to allow their hope for a future forever with Jesus to strengthen them in withstanding present struggles; hence the apocalyptic literature that promised the return of Jesus and urged watchfulness on believers.

In this short parable, the Marcan evangelist underscores the fact that even if he may be absent from them for a time, Jesus remains the master of the household of the faithful. In his absence, each of his followers has been entrusted with her own work. This uniquely personal task for the sake of the kingdom cannot be accomplished if one waits passively twiddling his thumbs, or procrastinates and leaves the “work” to another day. Since the details about the end are known to no one but God, being prepared is a daily priority for us.

Isaiah, Paul and Mark remind us that our times and our lives are yet to be written — they are in God’s hands. At the beginning of this new liturgical year, while we await the celebration of yet another Christmas, we place all we are, all we love and all we hope for in God’s competent care.

Sample Homily, Nov. 30, 2008, First Sunday of Advent“Ready or Not”Fr. James Smith

Most of us remember the child’s game “Hide and Seek.” It was fun scurrying to find a hiding place behind a tree or a building. But it was scary when you heard “Here I come, ready or not” — and you were stuck between the tree and the building. Caught unprepared!

That is precisely what Jesus is warning us about. Here he comes, ready or not. No matter if we are safely hidden behind a lifestyle or out in the open between this and that change. Whether we have just said a prayer or broken a promise. Our religion is a “come-as-you-are” affair.

All religions are not so. When Buddha gained enlightenment after endless meditation, he decided not to teach anyone because he thought they weren’t ready for it. Only when the god Brahma encouraged him did he start to spread his doctrine, and even then, cautiously, to only a few people. And they had to come to him and ask for it. He told them only what he thought they could absorb and perform.

Jesus, on the other hand, commandeered his disciples aggressively — whether they liked it or not, ready or not. And he demanded rigorous discipline, whether they were able or not.

The difference between Jesus and Buddha was their different views of life and death. Buddha believed in reincarnation, which meant that people repeatedly had chances at life to improve their spiritual status. This meant that they had as much time, as many lives as they needed. But Jesus believed that people had only one life: a life that began on earth and extended into heaven. Their time on earth, their preparation for eternal blessedness, was limited. They had only one chance to get it right. There was just one right way. And he was the way. Here he comes, ready or not!

Christianity is a risky business. The stakes could not be higher: everlasting bliss or grief. And the path is narrow, the door needle-eye size. The discipline is daunting: Turn the other cheek, love your enemies, do good to all, take up your cross, lose your very self.

But the odds are great. God is the dealer and the cards are stacked in our favor. God deals each of us a winner, and only the cards that each one of us is able to play. Yet we do have to play the life we are dealt. We must bet with abandon, recklessly — and then graciously fold. For we simply do not have it within our power to save ourselves. No matter how many chances, how many lives we had.

Every person and every thing is destined for glory. All that every person and every thing has to do is what it was created to do, just be itself where it is. Nothing beyond its ability. This system of salvation works perfectly for all non-human creatures. They are content to sit or grow or growl as their nature determines.

It is only we humans who tend to think that we have a better plan. That is why we go against our own nature, create a life separate from God’s plan, try to improve our chances of winning by hedging our bets. We put everything in the pot but the last penny. We try to save our life without losing it.

But we cannot win. God is mysterious, heaven is far away, the earth is delightful and tempting, the way is twisted and overgrown, the light is dim, the blood runs hot and the spirit is exhausted to a whisper. It is fortunate that we are not responsible for the salvation of the world. It has already been accomplished.