Homily for Our Lady’s Presentation Day

The city of Jerusalem did not recognize God made man when He came. But our Lady did.

We have talked a fair amount about how genuinely difficult it was to recognize the Christ. How much faith the first believers had to have. Yes, He worked great miracles. He also walked around pretty much like you and me. And then, as we will discuss on Sunday, He got crucified.

At the foot of the cross, the disbelieving Pharisees and priests scoffed at Him, along with one of the other criminals, and many of the soldiers and bystanders. Bitter and unkind, to be sure. But, at the same time, can we blame them? After all, what kind of Christ is this? A convicted blaspheming Jew, put summarily to death by cruel pagans.

They did not recognize Him. God came to visit them, in Person. He came as a lamb led to slaughter. As the Prince, not of power, but of Peace. He came with pure, divine love. Love that chose to die in sacrifice, rather than visit any wrath or vengeance. God did not get mad when they failed to welcome His visit. Instead, he died for the very people who rejected and killed Him. ‘Father, forgive them. They think I’m a blasphemer. They don’t recognize Your Eternal, Only-Begotten Son.’

Meanwhile: The Blessed Mother beheld everything exactly as it truly was. Because she never deviated one iota from her faith in what the Archangel Gabriel had told her, when the whole adventure began.

Her child is God. The wandering Nazarene rabbi was no blasphemer. He had innocence that extended to truly infinite depths within Him. She watched the innocent divine Lamb die, knowing exactly what was happening. She did not doubt that God’s will was getting fulfilled, even though it made no apparent sense.

She did not know what would happen next. But she knew that God had chosen her to live through it, exactly as it was, whatever came. Then she saw her Son again, risen from the dead.

Helping the Poor Souls Make it Right

Zacchaeus wasn’t just a corrupt tax collector. He didn’t just benefit himself, and the occupying foreign power, at the expense of his own people’s sufferings. He was the chief tax collector. He served as Chairman of the Board of Exploiters. [Spanish]

I myself can hardly relate to Zacchaeus. I have never had to climb a tree to see over a crowd in my life.

But Zacchaeus did more than just swindle people. He also made prudent investments. He made some honest profits on the money he had gained dishonestly. So, when Christ called him, and Zacchaeus turned his heart to God, the notorious tax collector had enough honest money in his coffers to pay back those he had wronged, four times over.

In other words, you would have wanted someone like Zacchaeus to cheat you. Filches your money; invests it and quadruples the value; then turns honest, and gives you back the whole thing, principle and profit.

…During November we Catholics pray especially for…the dead.

If we could be certain that our loved ones have made it all the way to heaven; if we could be sure that they are totally at peace, free of all debts to God and man, altogether reconciled to the truth; if we could know all this for sure, then we wouldn’t pray for them. Rather, we would pray to them.

On the other hand, if we had no hope whatsoever that our beloved dead could reach the goal; if we despaired of their salvation, then we wouldn’t pray for them then, either.

We pray because we hope. Death swallows us human beings up into a great darkness. But we believe that God’s light shines beyond what we can see. So it’s worth praying.

Which means that: Between the certainty that we don’t have, and the despair that we don’t feel, about our deceased loved ones getting home to God—we figure some intermediate state exists. Some temporary state between heaven and hell. What is it? Whatever it is, it must involve purification.

Here’s Dom Prosper Guéranger’s answer to the question, What is Purgatory?

It is a place in which souls stand in need of refreshment, for the piercing flames of purification are keenly felt. Moreover, it is a place where there is no light, so there is nothing to distract them from their fearful sufferings. Furthermore, it is a place where sweet peace reigns not; there, is ceaseless agitation, the soul striving towards God whom it may not reach; there, in direst trouble and anguish, the misery of the poor soul in having thus put herself into such straits of wailing sorrow and frightful pain. Yes, Purgatory is indeed a place the very opposite of that abode where reign endless refreshment, light, and peace. These three expressions are of the highest importance, because they reveal to us, that whenever we pray for the Dead, the succor that reaches them by our means, is always in the form of refreshment, light, and peace.

So we pray. That our beloved dead will have the refreshment, light, and peace of our prayers. And thereby make progress along the path of purification, toward the ultimate goal.

Which raises another question: How exactly does someone make progress toward heaven, after death?

What happened with Zacchaeus teaches us the answer. Zacchaeus saw God, from up in the tree. The Lord called Him closer, and of course Zacchaeus wanted to respond.

To get closer, Zacchaeus had to do two things: He had to receive mercy from God, so he could start fresh in his relationship with Him. And Zacchaeus also had to make right again all the wrong he had done, as best he could.

Now, we honest human beings acknowledge that our sins weigh heavily in the balance of justice. Who doesn’t fail in his duties in this life? Duties to family, to church, to neighbor, to the poor and vulnerable. We have a duty to the truth, to respect it completely. We fail. We have a duty to use all the material means we have to help others. We don’t. We have a duty to receive everything as a gift, and give thanks, and seek only the higher things of God. We get sidetracked.

God mercifully forgives sinners who repent and gives us a fresh start in our relationship with Him. But there’s a lot of debt to settle up. We can start while we’re still making our pilgrim way on earth. Whatever debts remain when we die, we settle in purgatory. Our time in purgatory gets shorter and easier with every prayer someone says for us, every Mass someone has offered for us, every sacrifice someone makes for us.

We hope that someone will do these things for us, when we pass on. Which means the least we can do is pray and fast and make sacrifices and have Masses said for our beloved dead. And for all the poor souls in purgatory.

Quiet Profit in the Parable of the Minas/Pounds

The nobleman called in ten of his servants and gave them ten gold coins.  One of them gained ten more, and then took charge of ten cities.  I think we can deduce that this emphasis on ten should remind us of the Ten…

Right.  Commandments.  We have a lot of friends in this life.  But none of them help us more than our dear friends, the Ten Commandments.

The parable takes a little turn: we only hear about the success or failure of three of the servants.  The other seven go without further mention.

Now, the hero of the parable turned a 1000% profit on his original endowment.  The second hero earned 500%.  The hapless, timorous, self-centered goat of the parable earned a big goose-egg.

Can we safely assume that the other seven earned somewhere between nothing and 500%?  Can we assume that they gave it their best shot?  But, not having heroic qualities, they turned a respectable, but unremarkable, quiet profit?

I hope I can accomplish that much.  I give credit to all of you heroes who can accomplish so much more.  All of us have endowments of some kind, and we can turn a profit for the glory of God by loving our neighbors fearlessly.  If it’s only a 50% or 75% profit, maybe we won’t wind up in charge of any cities.  But at least we will have loved God with all that we had.

Honestly Paying Back

Zacchaeus wasn’t just a corrupt tax collector.  He was the chief tax collector.  He had grown rich while abusing his countrymen and capitalizing on their woes.

I myself can hardly relate to Zacchaeus.  I have never had to climb a tree to see over a crowd in my life.

But Zacchaeus did more than just swindle people.  If we do the math, we can figure that not all of Zacchaeus’ money came to him dishonestly.  Apparently, Zacchaeus had cheated people, but he also made prudent investments with the money, with some honest profits on them.  So, when Christ called him, and Zacchaeus turned his heart to God, the notorious tax collector had enough honest money in his coffers to pay back those he had wronged four times over.

Now, during November we Catholics pray especially for…the dead.

If we could be certain that our loved ones have made it all the way to heaven; if we could be sure that they are totally at peace, free of all debts to God and man, altogether reconciled to the truth; if we could know all this for sure, then we wouldn’t pray for them.  Rather, we would pray to them.

On the other hand, if we had no hope whatsoever that our beloved dead could reach the goal; if the whole thing were hopeless, then we wouldn’t pray for them then, either.

We pray because we hope.  Death swallows us human beings up into a great darkness. But we believe that God’s light shines beyond what we can see.  So it’s worth praying.  We hope for forgiveness, reconciliation, and peace for the ones we love, and we pray for this.

Let’s get even a little more precise.  Between the certainty that we don’t have, and the hopelessness that we don’t feel–about our deceased loved ones–some intermediate state must exist.  For them, that is.  Some intermediate state between heaven and hell.  What is it?  It must be something that involves making progress.  We pray that our beloved dead will make progress toward the ultimate goal.  How does someone make progress after death?

What happened with Zacchaeus teaches us the answer.  Zacchaeus saw God from the tree.  The Lord called Him closer, and of course Zacchaeus wanted to respond.  To get closer, Zacchaeus had to do two things:  He had to receive the mercy of God in Christ, so he could start fresh.  And he also had to pay people back.  He had done a lot of wrong, so—with the means at his disposal—he had to make it right again.

Now, we deceive ourselves if we don’t acknowledge that our debts weigh heavily in the balance of justice.  Who doesn’t fail in his duties in this life?  Duties to family, to church, to neighbor, to the poor and vulnerable?  We have a duty to the truth, to respect it completely.  We fail.  We have a duty to use all the material means we have to help others.  We don’t.  We have a duty to receive everything as a gift, and give thanks, and seek only the higher things of God.  We get sidetracked.  We let ourselves get grievously sidetracked.

God mercifully forgives sinners who repent.  But there’s a lot of debts to settle up.  We can start while we’re still making our pilgrim way on earth.  Whatever debts remain when we die, we settle in purgatory.  And our time in purgatory gets shorter with every prayer someone says for us, every Mass someone has offered for us, every sacrifice someone makes for us.  We hope that someone will do all these things for us when we pass on.  Which means the least we can do is pray and fast and make sacrifices and have Masses said and walk through Holy Doors for our beloved dead and for all the faithful departed.

 

What Makes for Peace

If you only knew what makes for peace. (Luke 19:42)

—

One of the genuinely heartbreaking ironies of our time: “martyrdom” and hope.

Every two years we read at Holy Mass the accounts of the heroes of the Maccabean revolt. The fidelity of the Maccabean martyrs inspires us. But Mattathias, and the Zealots who imitated him, did not fully reveal the face of the Father. Open impiety and irreligion moved Mattathias to kill. But open impiety and irreligion moved Christ to submit to suffering.

We do not know what makes for peace. But Christ teaches us. Holding fast to “the joy set before Him, He endured the cross, despising not its shame.” (Hebrews 12:2)

“The joy set before Him.” The fulfillment for which we were made, the kingdom of true happiness–it cannot be anything less than God. Christ teaches us that this kingdom, this happiness is real. We can, should, and must hope for it.

“He endured the cross.” Christ and the martyrs of Christ do not do violence. They endure violence. The holy martyrs whose memory the Church keeps alive through all the vagaries of history–they counted the joy to come more precious than this passing pilgrim life. So they submitted themselves to an unjust death.

We can and do say that the martyrs have held the world “in contempt.” But a true martyr’s contempt for the world aims only at the falsity and emptiness of a shallow life. In no way does this contempt move a true martyr to acts of violence. To the contrary, a martyr patiently and calmly awaits the coming of the Lord, living a genuinely spiritual life in this world. He becomes a martyr only when violence finds him.

Now, if we think that only jihadists make a mockery of the word martyr, then we deceive ourselves.

The Catholic Patriarch of Syria said yesterday: “It is inconceivable to think that [ISIS] can be defeated with air raids: this is a big lie.”

Practically every time we Western powers drop a bomb from the sky, over the land where our father Abraham once walked–every time we do that, we make real martyrs. Innocent bystanders, patiently waiting on God, meaning no harm to anyone, get killed. ISIS is a bunch of unbelievable bad guys, to be sure. And the people who drop bombs that incur “collateral damage” as a matter of course: Also bad guys.

Christ teaches what makes for peace. Staring calmly at death, not to bring it about, but to accept it. Because the joy set before us is greater.

Jerusalem, Presentation of our Lady, Wings

The Lord longed to gather the city to Himself like a hen gathers her young under her wings. Christ the great king, the universal king, the omnipotent king—He rules the world like a mother hen, with a feathery embrace, rank with the smell of warm love.

The Lord wept over the city, because the chicks just wanted to zig and zag their own way, cheep-cheep-cheeping after whatever caught their fleeting fancy. The mother hen knows and laments: little chicks cannot long survive alone in this strange, cold world without the canopy of warm wings.

In this very same city, Saints Joachim and Ann had taken their young daughter to the Temple, so that she could learn the ways of God. She opened her heart and mind altogether to the truth, never swerving from the path of learning.

Truth is, the wings of God always cover us. The hen has an infinite wingspan: the sway of divine wisdom reaches everywhere, forming and guiding everything according to the magnificent provident plan.

Isn’t that the great truth that our Lady learned and took to her immaculate heart? Namely, that this whole cosmos is a great, warm nest?

Sure, I can’t always feel the warm wings, because I am a goofy little chick, just getting used to using my senses. But the one thing I always know, the one thing I do not doubt: the Hen will take care of me.

The Lord wept because the chicks zigged and zagged, and soon destruction would befall the city made of stone. They killed the Messiah, and then the Romans leveled the whole town to the ground.

But the birds had taken flight by then. Mary our Queen reigns over the indestructible Jerusalem above. The day had long since come for her to fly, when the angel beckoned her to test her own wings: ‘See, you will bear the Messiah as your only son.’

Mary couldn’t see over the edge; she had no idea what was coming. But she leapt out, because she knew how big the mother hen’s wings are. Infinitely big.

Zacchaeus & Purgatory

Zacchaeus said, “I will repay four times over whatever I have extorted from anyone.”

I had the opportunity to visit Jericho a few years ago. A hardscrabble place, with a harsh desert wind. And: tense. Palestinian territory. Israeli soldiers with huge guns guarding checkpoints.

I think we can imagine that Jericho’s air coursed with tension back when the Lord Jesus walked the earth, too. And the tension swirled around this man Zacchaeus. He wasn’t just a corrupt tax collector. He was the chief tax collector. He had grown rich while abusing his countrymen and capitalizing on their woes.

I myself can hardly relate to Zacchaeus. I have never had to climb a tree to see over a crowd in my life. But Zacchaeus stood short of stature, and he wanted to lay eyes on the rabbi from the north.

If we really think about it, we have to conclude the following: Not all of Zacchaeus’ money came to him dishonestly. If it had, then he could not have given half of his largesse to the poor and still also paid back all those he cheated four-fold. Apparently, Zacchaeus had cheated people, but he also made prudent investments and honest profits on them. He industriously climbed the sycamore tree to see the Lord. He must have industriously increased his money, too.

Leaving the Gold Coin on the Court

Does anyone ever waste their God-given talents on purpose? Does anyone ever say to him- or herself, “Look at this. I can do this or that very well, and I love doing it. God gave me these special powers to serve Him and give Him glory by helping others. So I decide here and now not to do that, but to become a bumbling, incompetent elevator repairman instead. Because I know I will suck at it.”

No. People do not generally engage in such perverse decision-making reflections.

Usually, when someone wastes his or her talents, it is because something else gets in the way. Like paranoia. Or pride. Or stubbornness. Or jealousy. Or laziness. Or substance abuse. Or vanity. Or video games.

“I condemn you out of your own mouth,” the Master said. “You knew I was a hard man.”

A hard man, yes. God relentlessly makes the sun rise and gives us chance after chance after chance to get over ourselves and do something worthwhile. If I can manage to be realistic with myself for even five minutes, I can almost always come up with something good in which to participate today. Then–as Woody Allen so wisely put it–if I show up, I have completed 90% of what I need to do in order to succeed.

Problem is, being reasonable with ourselves is a trick. Because I can so easily convince myself that: What I have to offer isn’t good enough. Or that so-and-so will certainly ruin everything. Or that the whole thing is really just too much to deal with.

It all would be too much to deal with—if we launched ourselves out into the world without trust in God. If we couldn’t be sure that the Lord has a perfect plan to bring the good work begun in me to completion. If we didn’t know that, first and foremost, we are His beloved children, and we please Him best by being ourselves and letting the haters gape.

You knew I was a hard man when you folded up your gold coin in a napkin. You were afraid. Of what? Were you afraid of something more terrible than the wrath of the one who gave you the gold coin in the first place? What could be more terrible?

Did the one who invested and made a ten-fold profit—did he think the Master was a hard man, an unfair man? Maybe he knew the truth, which the napkin-man also knew but was too timorous to meditate on.

Maybe the one who made a ten-fold profit knew that if his own ingenious schemes happened to fail, the scene would unfold like this:

“Master, listen. I think you know that I left it all on the court. [Just like the Georgetown Hoyas did last night!] I gave it my best shot. But your gold coin is gone. I had gained eight, but then I put them into this great plan I had, and, well…I lost them all.”

He knew that if he had had to say this, the Master would have said, “Son, I know what you did. I’m proud of what you tried to accomplish. Here’s ten coins. Go and take another crack at it.”

[Click HERE for a post about the august anniversary celebrated today.]