Homily Notes: 1 Lent (A) An antidote to the dispossession of sin.

    Lent is a time to get back down to basics, and the Church takes us back--all the way back--to the beginning of the human experience.  In Genesis, chapters 2 and 3, we hear of the "second" creation story, where man was formed from the clay of the ground and God infused this little bit of matter, subject to the laws of the universe, with the gift of life and an eternal soul.  Placed in the garden, the man and woman were to be keepers of the garden, living in a state of simple, uncomplicated grace.  The only rule decreed from God was that they were to stay away from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

   The reading from Genesis proclaimed at Mass omits the important verse (Genesis 2:25), that explains that "the man and his wife were both naked, yet they felt no shame".  We see that merely seven verses later (Genesis 3:7), after the encounter with the snake and the transgression of God's law, that "...the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew that they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made loincloths for themselves".  The reading ends there, but in the very next verses (Genesis 3:8-9), that the man and woman then 'hid' themselves from the Lord God among the trees of the garden, out of fear.  Pope John Paul II points out in his teachings, collectively known as the Theology of the Body, that the contrast presented here is a 'threshold experience' [11.6].  The contrast being highlighted is what was lost--original innocence--and what flows from sin--shame.  From this flows the experience of dispossession and alienation.

   In shame, the original humans became dispossessed of themselves and alienated from

one another and from God. In sin, they do not know who they are before God.  Is God now a vengeful enemy to be feared or battled?  An arbitrary rule maker?  One to be appeased through flattery and groveling?   Is he a competitor against human freedom, decreeing law simply to keep him down? Classically, the Church explains that through the sin of Adam, human intellects were darkened and human will to do good was weakened.  We all, to one degree or another, suffer profound confusion between what is right and wrong.  Further we come to fail in the wise discernment of the things of this earth, often coming to desire lesser goods over greater goods.  Our wills are weakened in the courage of doing what is right--we find ourselves desiring things that are not necessarily good for us, and we pursue them even to our destruction.  Consider the substance-abusing addict.  Their lives are enslaved to the next 'hit', even though the lifestyle incurs great loss and misery... perhaps even death.   We have a sense of this struggle throughout the Catholic tradition, even and perhaps sometimes especially among the greatest saints.  I'm reminded of St. Paul in Romans (7:15ff), who remarks, "I do not understand what I do, for I what I want to do, I do not do, but what I hate, I do...  As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but sin living in me.  For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature.  For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out."   I am also reminded of St. Augustine in his famous remark from Confessions, "Oh Master, make me chaste and continent, but not yet."  These two saints as well as the insights of many others show how profound dispossession of self is--even in those seeking holiness--because of the effects of sin in the world.

   Paul offers a clue pointing to God's antidote to the experience of human alienation.  In today's reading from Romans (5: 12-19), we hear that just as the sin entered the world through the disobedience of one man, so too shall a righteous act by one man, Jesus Christ, lead to the deliverance of all.  The dispossession of humanity through sin will be reversed and redeemed by the holy work of the one man who is like us in all ways but sin... the one man whose offering to God is not stained by disobedience, or blocked by shame, or blunted by a darkened intellect or disabled will.  In Jesus Christ, all of humanity can rediscover its essential identity as Children of God, created is his likeness and image, and now restored to grace at the great price of the Redeemer's sacrifice.  In Christ Jesus, we can come to know who we really are without the confusion and despair of sin.

   For in today's Gospel, recounting the temptations of our Lord, we hear the devil asking Jesus three times, "who are you?"  Well, not in those words exactly, but in the proposition, "if you are the Son of God... make bread from rocks... jump from the parapet of the temple... bow down before me to receive power.   Who are you?  Are you the Son of God?  Well show me.  Prove it by your mighty powers.  Jesus, in full possession and understanding of who he is and what he is about, readily turns back the seductions of the deceiver, propositions which might have taken any other powerful man down the road to desolation.  Jesus possesses his humanity fully, and knows who he is and what he is about.  In doing so, he turns back the temptations of the devil, giving us an example of courage and of what the integrated, confident, humble, self-assured soul can do to effectively turn back temptation.

   But for now, we remain in a fallen state, affected by the assaults of evil which continue to darken and weaken human capacity for natural goodness.  In the example of Jesus Christ who teaches us about humanity's essential goodness, we have the power in his grace to turn back the assaults of the evil one.  Although our natures may be deformed by sin, the redeemer offers hope in the saving power of God.  Thus, we must constantly remind ourselves of our dignity as God's children and choose to live in that grace.  We must struggle to build virtue in cooperation with that grace.  In doing so, we can come to recognize most deeply who we are... in the good, the bad, and sometimes the ugly.  We rejoice in the good, and we rely on God to redeem that which remains.  The act of sacramental confession is a profound act of taking stock of who we really are before God.  We declare those things that are sinful, committing ourselves to the challenge of rooting evil out of our lives, and trusting in the Lord Jesus to take these imperfections to himself.  In doing so, he transforms our struggle, our alienation, our shame and suffering into a final, acceptable offering to the Father, through the merits of his cross.  As we continue through Lent, we come to see all the more that Jesus is in complete possession of himself and his mission... he is not a victim of circumstance or opportunity.  He is not on some divine suicide mission to carelessly dispense grace without acknowledging the costly price of obedience.  In fully possessing himself and all who place themselves in his care, he makes a uniquely perfect offering to the Father for the forgiveness and healing of all disobedience and sin.  By his sacrifice, we observe that self-possession and self-definition is not found in the glories of this world--in power, security, vengeance, retribution, fame, or fortune--but in power made perfect through weakness.  Thus, we can only understand ourselves, in and through Christ... by taking up our crosses and following after him.

   Lent, thus becomes an experience of self-discovery even as we come to encounter the stories and accounts of the suffering Lord again.  The passion and death of our Lord, leading to his resurrection is the pattern of life that is the antidote to the sin of humanity.  As we die to self, fear and shame are revealed as powerless. against us.  Fasting, prayer, and almsgiving are the 'exercises' in virtue to tone our bodies and spirits for the ongoing struggle of carrying the cross of our daily suffering and our profound alienation from God and ourselves in this dark, cold world.  It's not a self-centered, egoistic exercise to come to know ourselves in this way, but instead (and perhaps most often) an exercise in divine trust, humility, and mercy.  As we come to know ourselves as God knows us (consider Psalm 139), the essential rupture of human nature--the loss of self, the darkness of the mind, and the diminishment of the will to do good--begins to be restored in the mystery of Christ.

Stabat Mater dolorosa... (Poulenc, 1950)

The famous 13th century sequence Stabat Mater is a fixture to many celebrations of the Stations of the Cross:

Latin	More-literal translation	Metrical setting (E. Caswall, 1849)
Stabat mater dolorosa juxta Crucem lacrimosa, dum pendebat Filius.	The sorrowful mother stands weeping by the cross where her son was hanging.	At the Cross her station keeping, stood the mournful Mother weeping, close to her Son to the last.
Cuius animam gementem contristatam et dolentem pertrasivit gladius.   [plus 18 more verses...]	Through her compassionate and grieving soul, a sword passed.	Through her heart, His sorrow sharing, all His bitter anguish bearing, now at length the sword has passed.

In this hymn, we are invited to reflect on the observations, feelings, and suffering of the Virgin Mother who accompanied her son to the cross on that first Good Friday.  In doing so, we recognize not only the horror of our sin which demanded such a sacrifice, but we are invited to consider anew the love of the Lord who gave himself in ransom for us, holding nothing back--even death itself.

This Lent, like last, I am going to try to come up with a weekly reflection for Fridays.  This year I'm going to focus on the image and theme of the Stabat Mater.  I begin this week by linking up a YouTube video of the Francis Poulenc (1899-1963) oratorio Stabat Mater (1950) recorded by the Monteverdi Chor (and available on CD).  [I can also recommend the 1989 recording of the Boston Symphony on Deutsche Grammophon which includes the Poulenc Gloria and Stabat Mater, here.]  It is a thoroughly modern piece in its tonality, rhythms, and pathos, meditating deeply on the prayerful lyrics.  While a bit long for this setting, if you don't have a half hour of undivided attention to give it, I would welcome and encourage you to go ahead and start it up and listen to at least the first movement... or to let it play as you wander off to another window of work (or whatever).  Enjoy...

Dies cinerum (Ash Wednesday)

"Remember, man, you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

Lent is the time of "spring training", returning to the Lord with a renewal of body and mind and spirit over the next 40 days (or so) in anticipation of Easter.  Ashes remind us not only of our own mortality, but of our vulnerability to sin and our need of a savior.

Go to Mass today!  It's not a holy day of obligation, but it is an opportunity to start off Lent on the right foot.  Receiving the imposition of ashes are a nice ritual to observe (which sometimes takes place outside of Mass, as it will all day long here), but don't pass up the opportunity to receive the Eucharist if you can help it.  Except for the young and the old and the infirm, this is a day of fasting and abstinence, meaning that the worldwide Church is observing a day of penance in witness to the sorrow we have for our sins and those of the whole world.  One meatless meal is permitted, along with one or two small collations to maintain strength.

Fasting, prayer, and alms giving are privileged practices for this season, which are featured in the Gospel from today's Mass.  But remember, the focus is on internal conversion, not simply external action.

The priest stands in the breach...

The priest stands in the no-man's-land between...

  heaven and earth,

  war and peace,

  life and death,

  the eternal and the passing

  belief and unbelief,

  light and dark,

  humanity and divinity,

  gift and mystery,

  sin and forgiveness,

  guilt and redemption,

  what is and what is possible

  what is and what ought to be,

  what is and what shall become.

Priestly ministry while standing in the midst of these dueling realities can be a dangerous place to be, for it is the place first and best occupied by the Lord himself.  He binds up all creation in himself; he gathers those who have been lost and scattered across the great expanse of space and time to bring their voices into one song of praise before the Father.  He is the Eternal Word who became flesh to dwell among us and to show us the Glory of the Father.

The image of these priests standing together and clinging to the cross in the midst of chaos is an inspiration and reminder to me of what it's all about.  I stand from afar in solidarity with my sacerdotal brothers (no doubt of the orthodox persuasion) to pray for the deliverance of Kiev.  I pray that our own nation not be put to the same test in the crucible of revolution and violence among our own people, but that God may show his mercy and provide deliverance.  May many holy priests and people of good faith have the courage to cling to that cross for the salvation of our nation and world.

Homily - Wednesday 1OT-II

 Our readings from Mark and 1-Samuel speak about the importance of centeredness in our own prayer and solitude.  The reading from Samuel is the famous scene where young Samuel, asleep near the ark of God hears a voice calling out in the darkness, to which he goes to the elder, Eli, proclaiming, "Here I am... you called me."  Eli sends him back to bed, not having been that voice in the night.  After being awakened the third time, the old, wise man of God discerns that it is the Lord himself calling, and he thus instructs Eli to respond, "Speak, for your servant is listening!" 

   The Gospel reading shows Jesus, out-and-about, doing the ministry of healing and exorcism.  Early one morning, he goes out into the wilderness to pray, showing us the value of prayer and solitude--in particular in the context of an apostolic ministry.

   The self-possession which comes from prayerful solitude tends to be a challenge in my own experience.  One must have a certain centeredness in one's own identity and powers in order to give from a balanced heart.  Take, for example, the ministry of being a school teacher.  Having a thousand things on one's mind... bills that are due, what is for dinner once getting home, having to grade papers, keeping an eye on Johnny in the back row who is misbehaving, and so on... a good teacher must be ready and able to put all of those concerns aside in order to be truly present to a young person who presents some need.  Maybe it is simply help with a math problem-- or maybe, too, that is a disguise for something deeper.  That student may be coming to the teacher at any hour of the day, ostensibly to get help with homework, while having a deeper wound to express and receive reassurance for that is rooted in strife or hunger or illness in his/her family.  Only a teacher in full possession of his or her ability to deeply hear and respond in love can respond appropriately to this kind of cry for help.

   A nurse may have 4-5 patients on the unit, all with significant medical needs--medication, being re-positioned in bed, using the restroom, being prepped for surgery, and so on.  But only the nurse in total command of him/herself can effectively reach out and connect empathetically with one who is afraid of dying, who is lonely, who finds him/herself abandoned by family and friends in a moment of need.  The physical activity of 'doing' the job of nursing can very easily cover up the 'being' aspect of the art of nursing.
  All the more the challenge of priestly ministry.  A distant confessor, a distracted preacher, a harried meeting convener, an impatient employer... how often we see this in those who are to be icons of peace and solitude and got-it-together-ness!  How often, brothers, do we see this in ourselves?  It ain't easy to achieve that solitude that allows us to act from the very core of our being as a beloved child of God, yet that is the call for anyone engaged in apostolic ministry.  Prayer is not simply chalking up a score on the board... Office done? check... Rosary in the pocket?  check...  celebrate the Third Mass on Sunday morning?  check...  (How tempting this can be for a 'busy' person!)  Prayer is that place of ultimate refuge and centering for those who would presume to allow the Lord to work through them.  Sometimes elusive, that prayer, that desire for God's presence in the midst of it all, is in itself is a struggle and a wound... but it keeps us honest.
  This is the moment when I woefully exclaim that I'm not there yet... that it's a struggle for me...  In my best moments, maybe I see a glimpse God's peace.  In my best moments, I know I can achieve an amazing, luminous transparency.  In the meantime, I continue to strive, through grace, to be an instrument of God's plan and God's action in spite of myself.  This is why it is so important to pray for priests, and for priests to pray for one another and for their bishop... we do this work in a beautiful, primal solitude, but we support each other in radical relationship... in deep ecclesial communion.  De Toqueville spoke of governments, that in a democracy, "people get the government they deserve".  A corollary may very well be operative with respect to the prayer offered on behalf of the Church's ministers: "a [parish, diocese, all the way up to the papal palace, I suppose] gets the priests it deserves."
   Henri Nouwen's The Wounded Healer explains the challenge of Christian solitude as the key to apostolic ministry in words that are so clear and inviting and encouraging:
Anyone who wants to pay attention without intention has to be at home in his own house--that is, he has to discover the center of his life in his own heart.  Concentration, which leads to meditation and contemplation, is therefore the necessary precondition for true hospitality [for those who come to us in need].  When our souls are restless, when we are driven by thousands of different and often-conflicting stimuli, when we are always "over there" between people, ideas, and the worries of this world, how can we possibly create the room and space where someone else can enter freely without feeling himself an unlawful intruder?  Paradoxically, by withdrawing into ourselves, not out of self-pity, but out of humility, we create the space for another to be himself and to come to us on his own terms...  ...human withdrawal is a very painful and lonely process, because it forces us to face directly our own condition in all its beauty and well as misery.  When we are not afraid to enter into our own center and to concentrate on the stirrings of our own soul, we come to know that being alive means being loved.  This experience tells us that we can only love because we are born out of love, that we can only give because our life is a gift, and that we can only make other free because we are set free by Him whose heart is greater than ours.  When we have found the anchor places for our lives in our own center, we can be free to let others enter into the space created for them and allow them to dance their own dance, sing their own song, and speak their own language without fear.  Then our presence is no longer threatening and demanding, but inviting and liberating.