Tag: Christianity

Posted on

Sermon: Easter 5 RCL A – “Coxie’s Mirror”

When I travel, especially by myself, I don’t always have a set agenda. There are places I want to see, but I’m not rushing from one to the next just to tick them off a list, and I don’t try to fill every moment. For me, that makes things more relaxing and leaves time to fit in the unexpected. I learned about one unexpected place while taking a cab from the airport in Luxembourg to my hotel (I quickly learn to use public transportation because it’s much less expensive, but when I’m schlepping bags, it’s just easier to take the cab).

When the cab driver learned I was an American, he said, “You know, your General Patton is buried here.” I didn’t know that, so I added it to my list of possibilities. A few days later, when one of the places I wanted to visit was closed, I decided to take the trip out to the Luxembourg American Cemetery. General Patton is there, set apart from the others, but he is only one of many, and his grave marker is the same as all the others.

What I never expect when entering places like this is the emotional response. Even before you walk through the main gates, it starts to hit you, so I was intentional about not looking up until my heart was ready… and then I did.

There is General Patton’s cross, and then there are 4,958 other crosses for known individuals, 371 crosses for the unknown, and 119 Stars of David. Of those buried there, you will also find 22 sets of brothers. It is a sea of white markers for those who died near that place.

At one point, I was the only person in the entire cemetery. As I slowly passed among the markers, I read the names, but I was specifically looking for anyone from Oklahoma. I found Roy W Roe, Private First Class, 319th Infantry, 80th Division. He died on March 15, 1945. Based on what I’ve learned so far, he was twenty-four years old and married to Marion.

As I stood looking at his marker, I said to him, “Today, I see you.” For me, that meant, “I see you as a person, as a young man who had a life ahead of him but died so far from home, and as someone so very young. I see you, not as a memory or a marker, but as a person.”

As I continued to walk among them, I read their names and told each of them, “I see you.” I don’t know if that makes sense to anyone, but it did to me. It was the only way I had to honor them and the sacrifice they made.

In truth, all of us like to be seen, maybe not in the spotlight, but acknowledged. Being seen validates who we are as human beings and affirms that our existence counts for something, even if only to a very few. However, knowing that we will be seen raises an important question: When someone sees us, who or what do they see? There, I saw brave men and one woman who gave so much, but what do others see when they see me? What do others see when they see you?

A lot of time and money goes into appearance—clothes, hair, fitness, etc.—but that is like the cover of a book. You can look like a million bucks and still be a Cruella De Vil. Yet when we are truly seen, who or what do people see? This is a question that relates to one of the many lessons in today’s Gospel reading.

Philip said to Jesus, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” You can hear the exasperation in Jesus’ voice as he responds, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me?”

Jesus’ answer provides part of the foundation for our understanding of the Holy Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. If you see Jesus, you see the Father. If you witness the works of the Holy Spirit, you witness the works of God, and so on.

In part of Jesus’ great priestly prayer on the night before He was crucified, He prays, “As you, Father, are in me, and I in you” (John 17:21). There are the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and although separate, they are one. See one, and you see the others. So, what about us? What about you? If I pass you on the street and say to you, “I see you,” who or what do I see? Who or what do you want me to see?

St. Paul says to us in his letter to the Galatians, “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Galatians 2:20). If we are alive to Christ, we have died to ourselves; therefore, when I say, “I see you,” I should see Jesus. Question: Do I?

At the east end of the Sistine Chapel, on the altar wall, is Michelangelo’s great painting of the Last Judgment. At the top is the figure of Christ. With His right hand, He is calling the righteous up to the Kingdom of God, while with His left He is casting out the wicked. The righteous are escorted by angels, and the wicked are greeted by demons.

Since the painting’s unveiling in 1541, there has been high demand for copies and similar works. One of those who created a similar work was Raphaël Coxie (COKE-see). In his painting, the figures are near life size, so the painting is large, approximately ten feet by twelve feet. It hangs in the museum in Ghent, Belgium. However, as with many similar paintings of judgment, it originally hung in a courtroom as a reminder to the criminally inclined of the consequences should they continue down such a path. 

Given the size and subject matter, it really caught my attention, but it was so large that it was difficult to focus on one thing. Still, after studying it, my eye fell on the figure on the cover of your bulletin. She is located at the bottom center of the painting—the woman with her jeweled tiara. Yet it wasn’t so much her as what she is holding. I looked at it for a good long while, then realized she was holding up a mirror and that there is a face in the mirror. However, unlike the other images in the painting, the image in the mirror is vague. It was then that I thought I understood. Coxie kept the image in the mirror vague because he wanted us to see ourselves.

Imagine you are on trial and you see this painting. You are reminded that some are called to Heaven while others are cast down into hell, and here is this woman, saying to you with her eyes, her expression, and her gesture, “Look in the mirror and judge yourself. Which one will you be? Called up or cast down?”

If we are alive in Christ, we have died to ourselves. When people see us, they should see Jesus. Do they? Well, answer this: When you look in Coxie’s mirror, who or what do you see? Do you see Jesus? Do you see someone being called up or someone being cast down?

Philip said to Jesus, “Show us the Father,” and Jesus replied, “If you have seen me, you have seen the Father.” If someone said to you, “Show us Jesus,” would you even in the smallest way be able to say, “If you have seen me, you have seen something of Jesus”? The scary part is that we should be able to say that. If that is not true, why did Jesus go on to say to Philip, “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father”? If we are to do the same work Jesus did, we should look like Him. Right? When we look in Coxie’s mirror, we should see something of the Imago Dei, the Image of God. It won’t be perfect; only One was perfect, but Jesus should be recognizable in each of us.

When we look in a regular mirror, we look for all sorts of things—do I have something caught in my teeth, is my hair combed, am I getting old, etc.? I would challenge you to look in Coxie’s mirror and ask, “Do I look like Jesus? Will I be called up or will I be cast down?”

In seeing Jesus, we can see the Father. In seeing you, others should be able to see Jesus. Perhaps it is only as one sees in a mirror dimly, but there should be something of Jesus that is visible.

You are seen by others. Who or what do they see?

Let us pray:
God, our Father,
You redeemed us
and made us Your children in Christ.
Through Him, You have saved us from death
and given us Your Divine life of grace.
By becoming more like Jesus on earth,
may we come to share His glory in Heaven.
Give us the peace of Your kingdom,
which this world does not give.
By Your loving care, protect the good You have given us.
Open our eyes to the wonders of Your Love
that we may serve You with a willing heart.
Amen.

Posted on

Sermon: Catherine of Siena

Saint Catherine of Siena by Franceschini Baldassare, 17th century

Catherine of Siena was born in 1347, the twenty-fourth of her parents’ twenty-five children. At the age of seven, she vowed her life to Christ. At the age of fifteen, she cut her hair in defiance of her parents, who were pressing her to marry. At the age of eighteen, she joined the Dominicans. At the age of twenty-one, she had a mystical experience in which she became spiritually espoused to Christ. Those events alone are enough, but through her work, particularly her writings, she became a force in her community and beyond, even with Popes.

In her letters and her Dialogue, perhaps the greatest of her writings, she recounts a soul’s journey through the mystical experience of God. There is much to discuss in her writings, so I’ll focus on one idea: she writes a prayer to Christ, speaking to Him about His great love for God’s people and asking what could drive the Creator of all to pursue His creation so recklessly.

“O priceless Love! You showed your flamed desire when you ran like a blind and drunk man to the opprobrium [the disgrace] of the cross. A blind man can’t see, and neither can a drunk man when he is fast drunk. And thus he [Christ], almost like someone dead, blind and drunk, lost himself for our salvation.” Continuing this theme of drunkenness in her Dialogue, she says, “O mad lover! Why then are you so mad? Because you have fallen in love with what you have made! You are pleased and delighted over her within yourself, as if you were drunk for her salvation. She runs away from you, and you go looking for her. She strays, and you draw closer to her. You clothed yourself in our humanity, and nearer than that you could not have come.”

Continuing elsewhere, she writes, “O unutterable love, even though you saw all the evils that all your creatures would commit against your infinite goodness, you acted as if you did not see and set your eye only on the beauty of your creature, with whom you fell in love, like one drunk and crazy with love. And in love you drew us out of yourself, giving us being.”

I am certain that we’ve all been in love before, or at least thought we were, and in that state, I feel certain we’ve all done some pretty stupid things. I’m also fairly certain that most have overindulged in some intoxicating beverage and done some rather stupid things then as well. If you have had the fortune (or misfortune) of being both in love and intoxicated, the level of stupidity can reach even higher levels. That is how Catherine says that Jesus loves us, as though He were drunk and in stupid love with us. That may sound crazy and, to some, irreverent if not blasphemous, but how would you describe a love that lays down his life for you? Logic can’t explain it. Duty doesn’t come close. I suppose we could just say He was crazy, but if we have faith, if we believe that it is the Father’s desire that all should be saved even if we are wicked, then we must at least consider that Catherine was onto something: a love that appears to be a drunken insanity, but which is in fact pure and true.

You don’t have to agree with Catherine’s images of God’s love for us, but take some time to reflect on that love. Jesus was not intoxicated by wine, but how would you describe and explain His actions? You might just discover that a crazy, drunken lover is the best you can do.

Posted on

Sermon: Great Vigil of Easter

This is the night. Although this night has traditionally been the night to bring new members into the Body of Christ, it now seems to be mainly a night for the Church. So, since I believe you are “all on the team,” I’ll speak openly and dare to tell you what I don’t like about the Church these days. Simply put, we have set aside the authority of God, the Scriptures, and the Church and replaced that authority with being “nice” and always trying to do “nice” things. When I say “nice,” don’t confuse this with being kind or polite. That is not what I mean. Instead, when I say “nice,” think soft and squishy.

For example, we might say that it’s enough for me to be a good person, which we often interpret as not hurting others, being accepting of everyone, helping out when I can, and similar actions. All these things are good. There’s no issue with them, but they also fall into the category of being nice. So, why are they a problem? Jesus never said, “Be nice as your Heavenly Father is nice.” Jesus said, “Be holy as your Heavenly Father is holy,” and there’s a vast difference between being nice and being holy. For starters, I can be nice and polite all day long, and it won’t cost me a single thing. But if I’m going to be holy, it will cost me. I will have to sacrifice myself. I will need to set aside who I am, my wants, my desires, my ego… all of it, and do so for the good of the other. Don’t believe me? Ask Jesus as He hung upon the Cross.

Being a nice church and nice Christians means we do not talk about sin, repentance, or judgment. Being kind suggests that as long as you feel good about yourself, then there’s no need for you to be changed or transformed. However, Scripture says, “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come” (2 Corinthians 5:17). St. Paul says, “He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ” (Philippians 1:6), and to the Romans, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind” (Romans 12:2). These are calls, not to remain stagnant, but to set aside the old self and take on the new. To be crucified with Christ and rise in glory.

Furthermore, a nice Christianity has attempted to soften Jesus, making Him something warm and cuddly, because warm and cuddly can be controlled, but that was never Jesus and never will be. Do you remember the Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis? There are two children, Susan and Lucy, who ask Mr. and Mrs. Beaver to describe Aslan, the Christ figure in the story. They ask if Aslan is a man. Mr. Beaver replies, “Aslan a man? Certainly not. I tell you, he is the King of the wood and the son of the great Emperor-beyond-the-Sea. Don’t you know who is the King of Beasts? Aslan is a lion—the Lion, the great Lion.” “Ooh!” said Susan. “I’d thought he was a man. Is he—quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.” “That you will, dearie, and make no mistake,” said Mrs. Beaver, “if there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.” “Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy. “Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. “Don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about being safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

Jesus is many things, but warm, cuddly, and controllable are definitely not part of His nature. He is good, but He is far from safe. As Paul tells us, “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God” (Hebrews 10:31).

There is more, but you understand. This is the night, the night we hear of God’s saving history—how He waged war against our enemies and gave us a mighty victory. However, He did these things not so we could be “nice” little Christians. Instead, He did them so that we might be “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession, that [we] may proclaim the excellencies of Him who called [us] out of darkness into His marvelous light” (1 Peter 2:9).

Stop making excuses for sin in the world or your life. Don’t refuse to be transformed because it’s easier to remain who you are. Don’t try to tame the Lion. Stop being nice. Come into the presence of your unsafe but good King and be holy.

Posted on

Sermon: Good Friday

Today, after the Solemn Collects, there is the Veneration of the Cross. Three times, the person presenting the Cross will chant, “Behold the hard wood of the Cross on which was hung the world’s salvation.” It is a time to meditate on these great acts.

I’m sure there are others, but I have read several different meditations on that scene. Thomas à Kempis, St. Alphonsus Ligouri, and Catherine Emmerich are among the authors who have stayed with me, but they are all quite graphic. You need to prepare your soul a bit before engaging with them. However, I wonder, have you ever truly considered what you would have witnessed, how it would make you feel, and, more importantly, how you would respond? It’s not an easy thing to do, but many saints point out that it is an edifying practice. As we have been studying the virtues during this Season of Lent, St. Bonaventure wrote, “He who desires to go on advancing from virtue to virtue, from grace to grace, should meditate continually on the Passion of Jesus. There is no practice more profitable for the entire sanctification of the soul than the frequent meditation of the sufferings of Jesus Christ.” So, without making you squeamish by sharing some of the other writings, consider these things.

The head of Jesus was often lifted to look into the crowds as He taught them about the things of God. And, perhaps as often, it was bowed in prayer, talking with His Father. Now, it is pierced with the thorns of the crown that the soldiers so roughly pressed upon Him.

The hands of Jesus—how many people did He touch and heal? Imagine Him reaching down and making the mud He would use to give sight to the man born blind. How gentle He was with the child that He picked up and placed in His lap. See Him writing in the dust, turning back those who accused and wanted to stone the adulterer. See them raised as He gave thanks over the few loaves of bread and fish that would then feed thousands. Now, they are pierced with two nails and fixed to the Cross.

His feet were washed by the hands of the unclean woman, and later anointed with costly perfume by Mary of Bethany. Those same feet walked on the waters and traveled many miles, bringing God’s message of love to a dying world. Yet, like His hands, those feet are now nailed to the Cross.

We could look upon Him, seeing His back, born to carry the sins of the world, now whipped and bruised, or His chest, where within that most Sacred Heart beats with the fire of the Spirit, is now pierced. Christ is upon the Cross. St. Alphonsus Liguori wrote, “Behold Jesus, at length, actually dying. Behold him, my soul, how he is in his agony amid the last respirations of his life. Behold those dying eyes, that face so pale, that feebly palpitating heart, that body already wrapped in the arms of death, and that beautiful soul now on the point of leaving that wounded body. The sky shrouds itself in darkness; the earth quakes; the graves open. Alas, what portentous signs are these! They are signs that the Maker of the world is now dying.”

Seeing these things isn’t easy, but seeing is necessary. As difficult as it is to witness, don’t turn away. Stay with Him for a while and see with your eyes and your soul. This is God’s love story. St. Thomas Aquinas once asked Bonaventure which book he used to learn about the great love of Jesus. Taking a crucifix from the wall, Bonaventure replied, “This is my book whence I receive everything that I write; and it has taught me whatever little I know.” 

Jesus tells us, “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). You are Jesus’ friend and His love. The Cross is the love story Jesus wrote. He wrote it for you, and He wrote it in His own Blood.

Posted on

Sermon: Palm Sunday – Heavenly Virtues / Hope

Last week, I shared with you a verse from the Epistle to the Hebrews: “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). In our study of the Heavenly Virtues, including the three Theological Virtues, we understand that faith is a gift from God, but that faith is not something like a commodity we can acquire more of it on an as-needed basis. Instead, faith is a relationship with the Father through Christ Jesus. Faith is resting in the shadow of His wings, regardless of circumstances or outcome. However, the passage from Hebrews introduced the second of the Theological Virtues—hope.

Within philosophy, hope has mainly been seen as negative, though sometimes as positive. It is considered negative because it was seen as frivolous optimism, and positive because, in the right measure, it can provide encouragement.

In psychology, hope is considered part of positivity and positive thinking. Hope is “the perceived capability to derive pathways to desired goals, and motivate oneself via agency thinking—willpower or drive—to use those pathways.” (Source) A psychology professor at the University of Oklahoma explains, “We often use the word ‘hope’ in place of wishing, like you hope it rains today or you hope someone’s well… but wishing is passive toward a goal, and hope is about taking action toward it.” (Ibid.) From this view, hope combines positive thinking with action to achieve a specific goal.

Both of these approaches—philosophy and psychology—bump up against our understanding of the Virtue of Christian Hope, but neither completely captures it, and they differ in two main ways.

First, Christian hope is not about an action or outcome we expect to be fulfilled in the future. Instead, Christian hope concerns an outcome that has already been accomplished. Our hope is the salvation that was achieved at Golgotha on the Cross. St. Alphonsus Liguori writes, “What sinner would ever have been able to hope for pardon if Jesus had not, by his blood and by his death, made satisfaction to the divine justice for us?” (The Love of Jesus Crucified, p.117) Without salvation, there would be no hope; without it, life is just a series of days strung together that lead to nothingness. Instead, “How great is the hope of salvation which the death of Jesus Christ imparts to us.” (Ibid. p.122)

Writing to the Romans, St. Paul said, “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies.Who is to condemn?” (Romans 8:32-34) Ligouri, expanding on this, wrote, “How should that Lord condemn thee, who died in order not to condemn thee? How should he drive thee away when thou returnest to his feet, he who came from heaven to seek thee when thou wert fleeing from him? ‘What art thou afraid of, sinner? How shall he condemn thee penitent, who dies that thou mayst not be condemned? How shall he cast thee off returning, who came from heaven seeking thee?’” (Love, p.122) In other words, for you, Jesus endured the horrors of the Cross, why—if you call on His name, if you have faith in Him and, through that faith, enter into a relationship with Him, and if you love Him—why would He turn from you and condemn you? Christian hope speaks to our souls and assures us that He would never do that. This also highlights the second main difference between Christian hope and the hope of philosophy or psychology: Although Christian hope helps us in this life, its main focus is eternal life.

Our hope lies in our salvation, which has already been secured. While we begin to experience the joy of that salvation in this life, it is our eternal life that Jesus cares most about. Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die” (John 11:25-26). Our hope is eternal life, made possible through salvation gained through the Cross. That in turn gives us the hope we have in daily living. Through the hope of eternal life, made possible by the resurrection of the dead, regardless of the trials we endure, in the words of St. Teresa of Avila: “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” That fun line from The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel puts it: “Everything will be okay in the end, and if it is not okay, it is not the end.”

Faith is the loving and protective relationship we have with the Father. Our hope informs our souls to know that not only do we have this relationship, but that it is eternal. This leaves us with the last of the Theological and Heavenly Virtues, and it is greater than all these—love.

Let us pray (from St. Alphonsus Ligouri). I invite you to make this prayer your own: My Jesus, my hope, Thou, in order not to lose me, hast been willing to lose Thy life; I will not lose Thee, O infinite good. If, in time past, I have lost Thee, I repent of it; I wish, for the future, never to lose Thee more. It is for Thee to aid me, that I may not lose Thee again. O Lord, I love Thee, and I will love Thee always. Mary, thou, next after Jesus, art my hope; tell thy Son that thou dost protect me, and I shall be safe. Amen. So may it be. (Love, p.130)

Posted on

Sermon: Lent 5 – Heavenly Virtues / Faith

The lineup for the St. Louis Wolves baseball team: Who’s on first, What’s on second, and I Don’t Know is on third. I do believe that trying to keep track of the seven Heavenly Virtues can at times be equally as confusing. Just be thankful I opted not to include the discussion on the seven Capital Virtues and the seven Deadly Sins—maybe another day.

To bring everyone up to speed: the seven Heavenly Virtues consist of the four Cardinal Virtues and the three Theological Virtues. So far, we’ve covered the Cardinal Virtues: fortitude (spiritual courage), justice (seeking the common good), prudence (setting rules and measures), and temperance (moderation and balance). The Theological Virtues are perhaps more familiar: faith, hope, and charity or love. Today, we turn our attention to the first—faith.

Holy Scripture is full of discussions about faith; after all, that is what it all revolves around. There are many passages we can quote, and one of the more well-known is found in St. Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians—“We walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7). We enjoy quoting this, but I have to wonder—Do we truly walk by faith and not by sight? I would like to say yes, but I don’t think that is entirely accurate. Not because we don’t believe it to be true, but because we don’t fully understand what it means to have the faith that is proclaimed in the Bible. The issue began around the time of the Enlightenment (17th and 18th centuries), and it can be narrowed somewhat to that deep philosophical statement by the French (those darn French!) mathematician and philosopher René Descartes. He said, “I think, therefore I am.” Why is that a problem? That one little word “I.”

The word “I” shifts faith from the realm of God the Creator into the realm of us, the created. By doing so, faith becomes individualistic. It becomes what I can see, what I can do, and what I believe, which may sometimes align with other believers but often differ vastly. For example, consider the Apostles’ and Nicene Creeds.

“I believe in one God, the Father Almighty… and in one Lord Jesus Christ. I believe in the Holy Ghost the Lord, and Giver of life.” Now, before I go further, please don’t rush to the Bishop and tell him, “Father John says the Creeds are a problem!” I’m not saying that. But when we declare these statements, I know for a fact that we don’t all understand them the same way. More importantly, even though these statements speak of our faith, they do so intellectually; knowing something intellectually doesn’t have the power to transform lives. I can know that Jesus is Lord intellectually, but that knowledge won’t help much when the doctor calls up and says, “Stage four.” I firmly believe that knowledge is power, but when it comes to our faith, that knowledge must be incorporated into a life that is lived.

Another way we misunderstand faith is how we perceive it working in our lives. Say you get that call from the doctor. In your mind, you might think, “I’ll need to have greater faith to see me through this.” Or when things aren’t going well, someone who should be slapped silly might say, “You just need to have more faith.” In both cases, faith becomes something akin to adding more horsepower to an engine. “I’m gonna nitro-infuse the dual turbocharged manifold of my faith and supercharge it!” I know nothing about cars, but you get the idea. But what happens when the turbocharged faith fails? What happens when the doctor says, “We’ve done all we can do”? Didn’t you have enough faith? Was God angry with you? Or do we couch it in easier-to-swallow but vague spiritual language, “It’s God’s will”? 

Our beliefs and our turbocharged faith, or lack thereof, are just two reasons why I don’t think we truly understand what Holy Scripture means by faith. There are more reasons, but enough about what faith isn’t. So, what exactly is faith? A specific incident in Matthew’s Gospel helps us grasp the answer.

“When Jesus got into the boat, his disciples followed him. And behold, there arose a great storm on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by the waves; but he was asleep. And they went and woke him, saying, ‘Save us, Lord; we are perishing.’ And he said to them, ‘Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?’ Then he rose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm. And the men marveled, saying, What sort of man is this, that even winds and sea obey him?’” (Matthew 8:23-27)

This is a familiar story and a favorite for many. We understand that water symbolizes chaos and death, and that the storm represents the world around us with its challenges, concerns, hardships, and more. We are the disciples—concerned, confused, afraid, and dying. Jesus… well, Jesus is conked out in the bow of the boat. From our intellect, we shout out at the storm, “I believe in one God, Father Almighty…,” but the storm still rages. We say, “I will turbocharge my faith,” but the storm still rages. We bargain with God, saying, “Get me through this, and I’ll attend every service during Holy Week,” but the storm still rages. Do all you know to do, but the storm is still going to rage. Why? Because rage is what storms do. You try to influence that storm with your intellectual understanding or your turbocharged faith, but it doesn’t work. Yes, in this particular instance, Jesus calmed the storm, but consider this: years later, after Jesus ascended into Heaven, Peter faced another storm in Rome. Jesus didn’t calm that storm, and it ended with Peter being crucified upside down. Bartholomew was caught in a storm that ended with him being flayed alive. James faced a storm that led to his beheading. All those men in that boat—the exception might be John, who likely saw his fair share of storms—had storms that ended in their brutal and merciless deaths. Did they not have enough faith? Was their faith not turbocharged? No!

In that boat on the sea, when the storm was raging, and the disciples were terrified, Jesus was not only sleeping peacefully. He was also teaching. He was demonstrating to them—and to us—what true faith in the Father Almighty actually looks like. He was teaching that storms are going to do what storms do—rage—but you, no matter what appearance the storms in your life may take, can rest secure in the Father’s arms, knowing—not just believing—but knowing that the Father Almighty will see you through. It’s not about the storms that blow out there—you can’t change them; they will do what they do—instead, it’s about the storms that blow within your soul, and you can do something about them. True faith says, “Regardless of what I know in my mind, regardless of what I see with my eyes, and even regardless of the final outcome, there is God, and where God is… How did David put it?”

“If I ascend to heaven, you are there!
If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!
If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me.
If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light about me be night,”
even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is bright as the day,
for darkness is as light with you
(Psalm 139:8-12).

“I think, therefore I am.” “I will turbocharge my faith.” No. Faith is not about “I.” Faith is relational. “We walk by faith, not by sight.” Faith is a life walking with God and a life transformed by that relationship. If we walk by what we can see, the storm will terrify us; therefore, we walk by what we cannot see. That is faith.

Such faith is a grace, a gift from God. Do you need more of this faith? Then follow the example of the disciples. Ask Jesus for more—“Lord, increase our faith!” “Lord, all I can see is the storm. Help me to see you. Help me to know how to lie down in the bow of the boat next to you and rest in the Father’s arms. Help me to grow more deeply into a relationship with You.”

That is faith; however, there is more to this walk with God, for St. Paul also tells us, “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). Question: What is this hope he speaks of?

Let us pray: Lord God, grant us the faith to know Your will, the hope to accept it, and the love to do it, even when we don’t understand, trusting that Your way is best. We ask this through Christ Our Lord. Amen. 

Posted on

Sermon: Wednesday in the Fourth Week of Lent

Cultural anthropology studies various cultures and identifies their differences. One way to categorize cultures is by whether they are driven by guilt, shame, or fear.

A guilt culture emphasizes law and judgment. Most people in such societies aim to have a clear conscience. Am I following the laws of the land and the moral standards accepted by most? A shame culture focuses on maintaining honor to avoid dishonor. Am I being viewed favorably by those around me? A fear culture involves living in the shadow of physical intimidation. Am I at risk of being physically harmed for my actions?

In the United States, we live under the first—guilt culture. Throughout history, we have developed the law of the land and built a moral code based on what we understand as Biblical teaching. The fear culture can be seen in countries like North Korea or Iran, where people fear retribution and do what is expected of them. In countries like Japan and China, culture is rooted in shame and honor—a fear of losing “face.” 

In the Middle East today and during the time of Jesus, this shame and honor culture was, and still is, the main factor influencing people’s behavior. I admit, this is a new way for me to read and understand Holy Scripture, but the evidence of Jesus’ words and those of Paul and the others suggests that Jesus was much more focused on honor than on establishing strict moral laws. 

Jesus said, “The Father judges no one but has given all judgment to the Son, so that all may honor the Son just as they honor the Father. Anyone who does not honor the Son does not honor the Father who sent him. Very truly, I tell you, anyone who hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life, and does not come under judgment, but has passed from death to life.” Jesus did not say, “Whoever does this and does not do that (law/judgment) will receive eternal life.” Jesus said, “Whoever believes my words and honors me and honors the Father will receive eternal life.” So the question is, how do we honor Jesus? Answer: We do what Jesus had been doing. What had Jesus been doing?

Leading up to these words, Jesus had healed a paralytic who had been crippled for thirty-eight years. Because he was a paralytic and sick, people assumed the man or his parents must have sinned greatly. Being sick brought him great shame. Jesus healed him and restored his honor. Similarly, Jesus healed a boy who was near death. There was also the Samaritan woman at the well. She had faced much shame—five divorces and now living with a man. Given the culture and the hostility between Jews and Samaritans, Jesus honored her simply by speaking to her. Still, through their conversation, he took her shame and restored her dignity, both to herself and to her community. 

In the end, Jesus endured the shame of the cross (cf. Hebrews 12:2) to remove our shame and, in turn, granted us the greatest honor—He made us God’s children.

How do we honor Jesus? By working to restore the honor of others, fulfilling our Baptismal Vows—seeking to serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves, striving for justice and peace among all people, and respecting the dignity of every human being. We honor Jesus and the Father by honoring those we encounter.

Posted on

Sermon: Lent 4 – Heavenly Virtues / Prudence & Temperance 

The reign of Queen Victoria, known as the Victorian Era of the British Empire, lasted from 1837 to 1901. A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens primarily focuses on the French Revolution; however, Dickens, an Englishman, had Victorian London and its issues in mind while writing that great novel. He recognized that what was happening in Paris could very easily happen in London too, so the beginning of the book references both Paris and London and aptly captures the spirit of the Victorian Era. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.” 

During that era, there was a focus on morality, proper conduct, and manners. Therefore, Victorian etiquette was sometimes quite charming—we could still use some of it today—while at other times, downright silly.

One rule that was once good and should still be followed, although with the rise of smartwatches, it would never be reinstated, was: “Pulling out your watch in company unasked, either at home or abroad, is a mark of ill breeding… If at home, it appears as if you were tired of your company, and wish them to be gone; if abroad, as if the hours dragged heavily, and you wished to be gone yourself. If you want to know the time, withdraw.” On the sillier side, we have, “A lady should not ever say ‘my husband,’ except among intimates; in every other case she should always address him by his name, calling him ‘Mr.’ It is equally proper, except on occasions of ceremony, and while she is quite young, to designate him by his Christian name. Never use the initial of a person’s name to designate him; as ‘Mr. P.,’ ‘Mr. L.,’ etc. Nothing is so odious as to hear a lady speak of her husband, or, indeed, anyone else, as ‘Mr. B.’”

All of these rules point to a society governed by various regulations that are followed by many—primarily the elite—and scorned by others as being foolish. However, rules and laws, written or otherwise, have always been a fundamental part of any society. Aristotle noted, “At his best, man is the noblest of all animals; separated from law and justice, he is the worst.”

Today, we continue our study of the seven Heavenly Virtues. As you’ll recall, they are made up of the four Cardinal Virtues and the three Theological Virtues. In particular, today, we’ll look at temperance and prudence. Together, these speak of reason and wisdom in creating, applying, and observing laws and rules.

Technically, “Prudence is the virtue that disposes practical reason to discern our true good in every circumstance and to choose the right means of achieving it. It is not to be confused with timidity or fear, nor with duplicity or dissimulation. It is called auriga virtutum (the charioteer of the virtues); it guides the other virtues by setting rule and measure. It immediately guides the judgment of conscience.” “Temperance is the moral virtue that moderates the attraction of pleasures and provides balance in the use of created goods. It ensures the will’s mastery over instincts and keeps desires within the limits of what is honorable. The temperate person directs the sensitive appetites toward what is good and maintains a healthy discretion.” Those are the technical definitions and are supported by Holy Scripture, yet when I think about them in a less technical way, I think of paint-by-numbers.

As a kid, I’m sure most of us did dome paint-by-numbers. You’d get a nice 8×12 image of a bluebird or a dog and a dozen or so small pods of paint, along with a single paintbrush. They were fun and fairly simple projects. Now, as an adult, I’ve rediscovered paint-by-numbers. I have no idea why, but I can spend hours searching for 17s and be perfectly content. I recently finished my first one, and an example of that project is on the bulletin cover.

These are not the paint-by-numbers you did as a kid. Although it looks fairly complicated, this particular project is classified as beginner. How involved have I become? I have purchased an easel, scores of brushes, clear gesso to prepare the canvas before painting, and sealer for when it’s finished. I have watched hours of YouTube videos and studied techniques. Long story short: although I haven’t reached obsession level, I do invest a significant amount of time. The bonus: it’s cheaper than collecting antique cars.

Technically, prudence “guides the other virtues by setting rule and measure.” In paint-by-numbers, prudence is best represented by the lines. Let’s say that #17 is red. When you are painting 17s without any other color around it, you’ll have an odd-shaped patch of red in the middle of a field of white canvas. That odd-shaped patch of red might seem meaningless at first. It is just there. However, when finished, you might realize it’s part of the lips of the main subject. In the short term, the adherence to the lines, the rule of prudence, may not make much sense, but in the long term, without following the rules, something is amiss. Prudence, the lines, guide everything else.

Temperance “ensures the will’s mastery over instincts and keeps desires within the limits of what is honorable.” In the world of paint-by-numbers, which can be even more challenging with a cat that enjoys swatting at your brush, temperance is twofold. First, it means staying within the lines that prudence provides. Remember the first coloring a young child proudly delivers as a masterpiece? The page has a printed image of a floppy-eared bunny. The child, in their innocence, has taken the brightest of all the crayons, gripped them in one hand, and created a fine rendition of a Jackson Pollock. In paint-by-numbers, you can do the same—throw paint everywhere—and, though this is no judgment of your artistic flair, you too can create a Pollock, but you will never end up with the image you intended.

The second part of temperance is using the right color. I have a new project in progress. This one has much more vibrant colors than the last. When I got home Wednesday night, I sat down and started working on #6. However, at some point, I got it in my pointy little head that I was working on #16, and away I went. Then, things started to make no sense. Trusting the process, I pressed on for a while longer, but then it just started to look wrong. #6 is a nice olive green. #16 is a rather bright orange. Had I desired it, I could have continued, but instead, I went back and painted over what I had done with the correct color, and the image began to emerge once again. St. Paul tells us, “‘All things are lawful,’ but not all things are helpful. ‘All things are lawful,’ but not all things build up” (1 Corinthians 10:23). Temperance: just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should. 

Together, temperance and prudence speak of wisdom and reason in creating, applying, and following laws and rules. Adhere to the rules and laws, and in the end, you’ll likely end up with a fairly nice picture. You can see for yourself how I did. The finished painting is hanging in the lounge.

These two virtues, temperance and prudence, along with the two we discussed a few weeks ago—fortitude (spiritual courage) and justice (seeking the common good)—supported by humility, are known as the Cardinal Virtues. St. Augustine helps us understand their purpose and how they function together. “As to virtue leading us to a happy life, I hold virtue to be nothing else than perfect love of God. For the fourfold division of virtue, I regard as taken from four forms of love… So we may express the definition thus: that temperance is love keeping itself entire and incorrupt for God; fortitude is love bearing everything readily for the sake of God; justice is love serving God only, and therefore ruling well all else, as subject to man; prudence is love making a right distinction between what helps it towards God and what might hinder it.” (Source)

To live such a life and to love in such a way isn’t always easy, but it does not lead to a life void of color or flavor. Instead, it represents the highest calling and the fulfillment of who we were created to be. St. Peter writes, “Keep your conduct among the Gentiles honorable, so that when they speak against you as evildoers, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day of visitation” (1 Peter 2:12). By practicing the Cardinal Virtues, we are well on our way to living such a life, but three more virtues are needed—the Theological Virtues of faith, hope, and love. As for these, I say… to be continued.

Let us pray (from St. Thomas Aquinas): Plant in me, O Lord, all virtues: that I may be devoted to divine things, provident in human affairs, and troublesome to no one in bodily cares. Grant me, O Lord, fervour in contrition, sincerity in confession, and completeness in satisfaction. Deign to direct my soul to a good life: that what I do may be pleasing to Thee, meritorious for myself, and edifying to my neighbour. Amen.

Blog at WordPress.com.