Homily Preview: 20OT-A

   I didn't have a Saturday night Mass this evening, and don't have a Mass until later tomorrow morning, so I am a little later in the homily prep process than I normally would be at this point.  Rather than having something of a text or even notes, I'm still at the mulling-it-over state of what I'll be preaching tomorrow.  I think I need to talk about mercy.  Here's some points that I think I need to find a way to connect and present tomorrow:

• We see the Canaanite woman approach Jesus three times, persistently begging his attention (Matt 15:21-28) and finally being rewarded for her faith-- the reward being deliverance from a demon that had hold of her daughter.  (...clearly an act of mercy.)
• The pope and our bishops have asked us to call to mind persecuted Christians around the world, and in particular in the Middle East where Christians are suffering nothing less than martyrdom, if not genocide, this very day.  In the fat and easy life we have here in the States, it is easy to forget that people are facing death for practicing the very same faith that somewhere between half and two-thirds of our faithful can't trouble themselves over by attending Sunday Mass.  In calling to mind the unity we all have as members of the Body of Christ, we implore God's mercy upon the suffering members, that they may be delivered from their cruel persecution under the boot of radical, militant Islam.  We also pray for the unity of all Christians to speak out and inspire our leaders to provide the humanitarian relief and security necessary to preserve innocent life and human dignity in these afflicted regions of the world.
• St. Paul proposes the power of mercy (Romans 11: 29-32) to draw all of the human family together around the One God.  While the "us" and "them" in Paul's context is Israel and the Gentiles, there are so many "us"es and "them"s that rage against one another... the waring factions in the Middle East, the civil unrest in Ferguson, MO, the polarized political parties, the haves and have-nots in the economic rat-race...  Paul suggests that our common need for mercy, flowing from the universal need that all men and women have for salvation (in that all have fallen short of the vision of God), actually unites us to one another:

For the gifts and the call of God are irrevocable.
Just as you once disobeyed God
but have now received mercy because of their disobedience,
so they have now disobeyed in order that,
by virtue of the mercy shown to you,
they too may now receive mercy.
For God delivered all to disobedience,
that he might have mercy upon all.

•  The Church has a deep tradition of reflecting on the language of mercy:

• The English word mercy shares the same roots as the French word, merci, which means "thank you", but even more historically refers to 'reward', 'giftedness', 'grace', or 'pity'.  So, to use the French word, merci, is to acknowledge that "I am gifted" by your act of kindness, pity, or grace you have shown me.  Further behind the French word merci lies the Latin merces which has the sense of 'reward' in the context of wages or pay.  A worker or retailer thus earns his living by selling merchandise at a market, which also shares this root.  Mercy in the English-speaking world is thus shaded by an 'economy' related to good and evils, justice and rights, reward and penalty.  Mercy is thus the forbearance of a just penalty by a gratuitous benefactor.
• But the idea of 'mercy' in scriptural and theological sources doesn't completely share its history with this line of meaning.  In Latin, 'mercy' is referred to as 'misericordia', which means, roughly, 'gentle heart'.  This parallels the Hebrew ideal of 'hesed' which specifically invokes covenental love... love which is not merely a contractual quid pro quod, but rather mutually-beneficial and life-preserving... resistant to betrayal and stronger than any sin.  (Remember, the first reading also takes us back into the idea of the covenant... 'follow the covenant and justice will be revealed' (cf Is 56: 1).)
• Greek takes a different turn, rendering mercy as 'eleos', from where we get the liturgical phrase, "Kyrie eleison" ("Lord have mercy"), at Mass.  'Eleos' has the sense of a healing balm, or flowing oil poured out as a gift of the Father upon his children.  I wonder if there is a connection between this idea and what we hear in Psalm 133, when we hear "Oh, how good and pleasant it is for brothers to live in unity: it is like precious oil upon the head, coming down upon the beard, even Aaron's beard, coming down on the hem of his robe..."  Not only is the unity of brothers a grace and anointing from God, but the reference to Aaron implies a priestly (pontifical) reality coming from this 'anointing'.  Not only is the human family whole, but its wholeness is found in an orderly brotherhood under God our Father through as a result of this anointing (of mercy).  Aaron's own priestly role is to be a man of anointing (mercy) and unity, not unlike our own bishops and priests who pour out God's mercy on the Church and strive to unite all men and women in common worship of God.  There is also an implied pneumenological (Holy Spirit) reference to the power of the Spirit to bring all the scattered brothers and sisters of the Father into unity of language, faith, and love by this anointing.

• As you might imaging, the Angelic Doctor has a lot to say as well, but as it is 11:00 and I have to get some sleep, I'm not going to go down that road here and now.
• One must also acknowledge the extensive reflection on mercy put forward by St. Faustina and the Divine Mercy revelations.  What a devotion for our age, which is in such great need of the Lord's mercy!

And so, as is usually the case, I have a whole lot of stuff to run with, and this week, the ideas point to a central truth quite nicely... all the seemingly-disparate angles bending the light to a single, bright beam: we must urgently pray to God for mercy, not only for our (undeserving) selves, but even for our (undeserving) enemies, that we might be delivered from the misery of the Evil One who seeks to divide and conquer us.  Do we have the courage to ask for and the faith to work for a peace that this world cannot give?  What I am still looking for is a unifying theme or story or 'hook' that illustrates these truths in action... a biographical or historical vignette, the story of a saint, a small joke or familiar saying, an image from literature or media, an observation from human nature, or something else.  While I might use a thousand words to describe the technical way that this all works (as I have above), as a preacher I will be much more effective if I can provide a compelling image that can carry the weight of all these words without having to rehearse them all.  This is a 'homily preview'.  Tune in tomorrow, where God-willing, it all comes together, in 8-10 minutes or (hopefully) less.

Update, Sunday 08:30am:  I'm going to lead with a summary of the news stories this week on ISIS and Ferguson, and ask the question how did our world get this way, and what is the solution?  (Mercy!)  We have been permitted by the bishop to use the Mass formulary for Persecuted Christians and the Eucharistic Prayer III for Various Needs.  I really like the formulary for the propers as they do bring to mind and prayer our union with their sufferings very well.  Further, the formulary supports what I am going to say about our unity in God's mercy.  On the other hand, I don't particularly like the novelty of the Eucharistic Prayers for various needs.  Because I do not believe the sentiments expressed there are strong enough to overcome the disadvantage of its novelty, both in my presumaly-novice recitation of it and in the distraction I sense this causes the people (every time I have used an 'alternate' EP, I invariably get a question of where it came from and if it's 'approved'... as if I'd dare make one up on the fly!), I'm going to take a 'pass' from exercising that option.  I do like the preface to that prayer though, and if I can use it separately (I need to look up that is a legitimate use), I might just do that.

Homily Notes 19-OT-A - Three half-truths (a.k.a. lies) and a promise.

   The Gospel before us today in Matthew (14: 22-23) tells the story of Jesus meeting his disciples while at sea during a storm, inviting Peter to come out and walk on the water with him.  The gospel has a two-fold function.  It is yet another story of Jesus' miraculous power as God--he walks on the water.  But it also comes to us with many of the elements of a parable... there's something deeper, something greater in the message of the story, and what's more, we are encouraged, I think, to place ourselves in the shoes of Peter to see how we would respond to Christ's invitation to come walk on the water.

   The Jewish people were deathly afraid of the water and what it stood for.  The waters were chaos.  Ships were sent out from ports into the Mediterranean Sea and frequently never seen again.  Indeed, the first chapter of Genesis resounds in the hearts of the people, assuring them of God's desire to separate the dry land from the sea (Gen 1:10) just as certainly as God separated the day from the night.  Indeed, the temple reflected something of the relief that the people had in making it to terra firma: one would have to wash through the baths, not only relieving themselves of the guilt of sin and becoming ritually pure to offer sacrifice, but it was something of a sign of refuge as they emerged from the waters into God's holy, firm, and sacred grounds inside the temple precincts.  Catholics continue to perpetuate this sentiment as the faithful bless themselves with holy water at the doors of our churches... we are not only recalling our own baptisms which set us free from sin, but as we step into the church (often up a series of steps rising up from the street level outside--a further subtle hint of what is going on as we enter church) we are stepping onto holy ground... a refuge.. a sanctuary... from all of the stuff that happens to us 'out there' in the so-called 'real world'.

   Taking all of that into perspective as we look at the gospel, it's a rather simple story.  The disciples were distressed by the winds that tossed their boats-- how fitting for so many of us who struggle with life's challenges and difficulties-- illness or death in the family, anger and discord on the job, too little money and too much month until payday, papers to write and exams to take at school, the sacrifices required by kids and families and marriages... the chaos goes on an on, and is represented by the rough waters the disciples found their boat in that evening.

   And so Jesus walks by, over and above the chaos of the waters, and calls out to Peter, "take courage, it is I; do not be afraid".  Peter, trying to identify his master, puts him to the test: "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water," to which Jesus replied, "come."  And so we see our hero, Peter, step out onto the water.

   It is at this point that I invite you to consider three half-truths that we are often told by friends and family--and they are told and re-told very innocently and without any malice or desire to confuse, but sometimes they unintentionally cloud the truth of who is really in charge of those rough waters.  Indeed, I have caught myself offering and receiving these 'consoling' words, for lack of a better thing to say, resorting to a kind of "internet theology" that looks good on Facebook, but fails to heal and encourage the aching soul.

  First, consider how the boat was a few miles off shore and being tossed by the waves.  When we encounter someone who is in a crisis, like the disciples were on that night, we are sometimes tempted to encourage them with the words, "the Lord doesn't give you more than you can handle!"  Indeed, the corollary to this saying which comes from the very person who needs encouragement is, "I wish the Lord didn't have such high regard for me and what I am able to handle!"  This saying comes from a corruption of 1 Corinthians 10:13, which even in the NAB read at Mass seems a little deceiving.  It says we will not be tried beyond what you are able to bear... a better way to read it in the context it was given would be that we will not be tempted (thanks RSV and Douay-Reims), which has a very different meaning than most people intend by this saying!  Let's cut to the chase:  The Lord often does allow us to be overwhelmed by 'more than we can handle'.  It's a simple fact of life.  If we could 'handle' everything that comes to us and challenges our faith, our life, our health, and our safety, what practical need would we really have of God?  Now, this is not to say the God torments his faithful to draw them to himself... that's not the point.  His permissive will allows the darkness to creep about the earth... it is a product of our free will and a consequence of our fallen state due to sin that we do not see God face-to-face and enjoy the totality of his life in the here-and-now.  Death entered the world through one man, and through one man (Jesus), the world will be redeemed, and is being redeemed as we speak.  The challenges we face as we choose to turn away from the darkness and to the light of God reflect our increasing ability to love, to sacrifice, to give, and to live as God does, preparing us for the Kingdom of Heaven.  One of those lessons is to realize that the world can sometimes swallow us up, and that we can receive 'more than we can handle'.  The invitation is to keep the eyes on Jesus and when we are driven to our knees in absolute desperation that we know who to call upon for deliverance... we call upon the Lord who has power, even over the tempest of the seas.

  A second half-truth is in the saying which is sometimes attributed to St. Ignatius of Loyola, the great spiritual heart-doctor of the church, but sometimes attributed to Augustine.  The saying, allegedly, is "work as if it all depends on you, pray as if it all depends on God."  I have even preached on this before... it is even glossed in the Catechism #2834 (!), but there seems to be something of a good half-truth there.  We should have everything on-board and working for us when we face life's challenges: God should be present as we perfect our own work ethic.  But there is something wrong with that.  Who gets the credit when we 'conquer overwhelmingly' in God's love, which overcomes all things?  Was it our prayer (and the eloquence, charm, or coercive power of our prayer to tell God how to solve our problems), or was it our work?  In any case, our success often redounds in some way to our manipulation of the situation... of being industrious enough to work and convincing enough to pray.

   Other Ignatian sources, which I have not been able to completely verify, seem to say that the saying is actually completely backwards:

Let this be the first rule of your undertakings: confide in God as if the success of those undertakings depended completely upon you and not at all upon God; nonetheless give your whole self to the undertakings as if you yourself would be doing nothing in them but God alone would be doing everything.  (Still looking for source- is it authentic St. Ignatius or possibly even St. Peter Canisius?)

Perhaps we should pray as if it all depends on us, and work as if it all depends on God!  Our prayer, if urgent and sincere and pure in its reliance on God is most certainly heard, and God, in his wisdom, will provide the solution which we should not concern ourselves over unduly, but simply accept... not in a quietism, but instead in faithful cooperation with his will.  His burden will be easy and is yoke light, if we allow ourselves to cooperate with the workload he gives us, rather than trying to strike out in our own way.  As Peter began to walk out on the water, there was a fundamental trust in the power of his master, but he quickly lost sight--perhaps looking at himself and his own power, perhaps wondering if there was a physical or scientific reason for why he stood upon the seas and the chaos below.  That's when he started sinking.  That's when he needed greater faith.  And that's when he reached out for the Lord...

   And so we come to the third half-truth.  "The Lord helps those who help themselves".  This is probably the most dysfunctional of the three sayings.  The Lord does provide aid to those who take advantage of his gifts and opportunities, but sometimes we are simply beyond helping ourselves.  We need to have the courage, the smarts, the opportunity, the vision, the hope to be able to reach out beyond ourselves... not only into divine assistance, but to the assistance of family and friends, to the professional care of doctors, counselors, and teachers, and to the hands of those who can raise us up where we are too weak or hurt or scared to go.  If we are self-made people, we commend ourselves to our self-made purgatories or hells here in this world, and perhaps unwittingly in the world to come.  (I once heard it remarked that the Sinatra hit, "I did it my way" is undoubtedly the elevator music in hell itself!  There's a whole discussion of funeral music that could send me down a rabbit hole here, but we'll leave that for another discussion.)  It turns out that the Lord actually cannot help those who are turned away from him and intent on simply helping themselves.  Peter was able to call out, "Lord, save me!"  It doesn't get any simpler than that.  We feel the water engulfing us, and we turn without reservation, without condition, without hesitation to the Lord who walks on the waters and bids us to come out and join him there.

   So how can we survive those choppy waters of chaos and fear?  The one true invitation which remains is the one that comes from the Lord to come toward him in faith.  Faith is not simply a 'spare tire' in our bag of tricks... faith is not a special wrench in our tool box to rely on when the times get rough and nothing else will work.  The invitation before us today is to grow in faith, in season and out of season, relying on God alone to be our salvation and strength.  This promise is not just an assurance of his presence in the background of our lives, but it is the consequence of the covenant that was given so many years ago to Abraham that he would be our God and we would be his people (Genesis 17:7).  That covenant has been perfected in the Law of Moses, and brought forward through the prophets and kings and faithful of the ages, up until now as our Lord offers his own Body and Blood upon the altar we come to this day... on his terra firma, coming out of the chaos and confusion of our own lives.  He is our God.  We are his people.  We are bound by faith, by love, and by sacrifice to the events which are ratified in our churches and in our prayer today while standing confidently on this holy ground.