Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

 Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 18:9-14

Well, thank God you and I are not like that Pharisee!  I think that’s the initial reaction for a lot of people who hear this parable.  We don’t want to be like the Pharisee.  But why not? Because he is not justified before God.  And we all want to be justified before God, or putting it another way, be accepted by God -- get to heaven.

As I was researching today’s gospel I ran across several pictures of this scene.  The Pharisee was always portrayed as proud and arrogant and dressed in fine clothing.  Some pictures made him look absolutely villainous.  And the tax collector is in the background, head bowed in humility, wearing clothing which was straightforward, working man’s kind of stuff. 

But maybe the parable is not just a caution about being proud, maybe there’s more to it.  First, it isn’t as though these two men were standing in an empty church praying.  They were with the community.  Jews then and in some branches, Jews now, pray out loud.  They pray in the presence of others to God.  Second, even though the tax collector considers himself a sinner, he has been allowed to go into the temple.  He’s ritually poor, he’s paid his temple tax, he hasn’t done anything outrageous.  He probably isn’t popular, but most people may have looked at him like we look at tax collectors or used car salesmen -- however blameless these people are, they have a bad reputation.  If he’s in the temple, that means something.

Getting to the pictures I mentioned, they probably aren’t accurate.  Pharisees, according to the historian Josephus, who lived in the early second century, lived modestly, and while they wore various things that were prescribed in the old testament, they all had day jobs.  Remember Saint Paul, who was a tent maker? And if anyone was dressed well and maybe a bit overweight, it would have been the tax collector.  He probably made alot of money at has profession, even if he as pretty honest.  He had to collect a certain amount and then turn over a prescribed fraction to the romans, the rest was his salary.  Sure, tax coloectors took advantage of the people, most of whom couldn’t read or write, but even without a bit of cheating they were wealthy compared to most everyone else, so people were jealous.  So I hope you have a different picture in mind now.

The Pharisee begins his prayer with a reasonable statement -- Thank you God, that I am not like the rest of men.  I’m not greedy, dishonest, or adulterous.  Those are good things, right? And he’s thanking God for this.  Every time we say, “There but for the grace of God go I” we are doing the same thing, aren’t we?  Then he adds, “or even this tax collector”.  So, yes, I guess there is a little arrogance there -- but the Pharisee goes on to describe how he goes over and above the law.  The law said to fast once a year.  He does it twice a week.  He says he tithes everything he gets.  But the law says that you have to tithe the produce of your land and the offspring of your animals.  It doesn’t say anything about monetary income.  So the Pharisee is going above and beyond the law here, as well.  Except for the comment about the tax collector -- and even there, the comment can be taken as thanking God for something, not looking down on him -- There but for the grace of God that could be me”

So why isn’t the Pharisee justified?  Why is the tax collector justified?  Are you justified for acknowledging you are a sinner?

I think Jesus is teaching us two lessons here.  The first is that no matter what we do, we can’t save ourselves.  That was the Pharisee’s mistake.  He’s doing everything right -- in fact I doubt that he’s anything like the pictures we have.  He is following the law and even going beyond it.  The average Jew would look up to him and think, “I wish I could be like him”.  But the point is, we can’t save ourselves.

The tax collector realizes this.  He may not be conscious of any sins.  Not all tax collectors were dishonest.  And there is nothing in the scriptures about working for the government, even if it was the Roman government.  In fact the Old Testament has many heroes who worked for a foreign government -- Joseph, who ran Egypt for the Pharaoh, comes to mind, and Daniel, who worked for the Babylonian king.  And there were others.  In fact, maybe the tax collector could have said the same prayer as the Pharisee.

But the Pharisee is in his bubble, trying to save himself.  The TAx collector realizes that he’s part of a sinful world, that there is really no way he can escape sin. Because we are part of humanity, because we are responsible for the well-being of our brothers and sisters in the human family, and we come up short, even if we do everything we can to make the world a better place, we continue to be immersed in sin.  And that’s why we call out to God for mercy and that’s why we acknowledge that we are sinners.  It’s only then that we become justified in God’s eyes. 

Twenty-ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 18:1 - 8

Have you ever met someone who prayed very hard for something?  Someone who led a blameless life, who was practically a living saint?  And the prayer was not answered, at least the way he or she hoped it would be.  And we say consoling words like, God will answer it when he is ready, or sometimes God’s answer is “no”, or God always answers prayers, but many times in ways we don’t realize.  And surprisingly, our consoling words don’t help much.  It seems like God does not respond to being nagged, contrary to what the parable seems to be telling us.  So let’s take another look at the gospel for today.

Luke the evangelist was not really familiar with Jewish customs or even with Jewish history,  because he is a gentile probably from somewhere in Turkey.  He’s a skilled writer and concerned about accuracy, and while he travels with Paul he meets a lot of Christians who have probably heard Jesus speak.  He also has Mark’s gospel at hand.  And he has a purpose.  He wants to show the world that Jesus is for all people, not just the Jews; that Jesus is the Messiah, that Jesus is greatly concerned about the poor and outcasts.  Every historian has a purpose in mind when he or she writes; Luke is no different.  I give you that background because it may help us to a deeper  understanding of this short gospel reading.  It’s probably not only meant to show the importance of praying without ceasing.  I think that’s Luke’s interpretation.

Imagine Jesus telling this parable.  Before this he’s been talking about the end of the world, the coming of the kingdom.  And remember that Jesus has a sense of humor.  Now when we look at the parable, it might be a little different.

Jesus paints a picture they all know -- Jew and Gentile alike.  Everywhere there was a government, there were people who enforced the rules and everyone knew a judge that neither feared God nor respected any man.  They were in it for the money.  The widow didn’t have any, so the judge ignored her.  Widows in Israel didn’t have a right to part of their husband’s estate, although in places Rome ruled, like Caparnum and the Galilee area, there were laws about this.  So we have an arrogant, selfish judge who won’t rule as he is supposed to, and a widow who bothers him over and over again, until he finally gives up not just because he is being nagged, but because he is worried that she will strike him -- or in the Greek version, punch him on the nose.

Is this supposed to be how we are to approach God?  Are we supposed to nag him until we get what we want?  I don’t think that’s what the parable is about, even though Luke seems to.  I think the key is in the words of Jesus after this.  Will not God then secure the rights of his chosen ones who call out to him day and night?  He will see that justice is done for them speedily. And Jesus seems to imply that this will come about when the Son of Man comes.  By the time Luke wrote his gospel, Christians pretty much believed that the return of Jesus wasn't going to happen any time soon, but when he did return, all the wrongs in the world would be made right, and Satan would be put in his place.  And the words of Jesus point to this future -- and at that time, will the Son of Man find faith upon the earth?

So maybe the parable is partly about praying constantly as Luke says.  Saint Augustine's interpretation was that the more we prayed, the more we increased our desire for what we prayed for; so that when God did answer our prayers, we would realize his goodness and love for us. But maybe there is more to it, and like all parables, should make us think, should make us examine ourselves.  What if the judge is you and I, really not too concerned about justice, unless it  has to do with me or my family.  Why is that person pushing a shopping cart full of his belongings down main street?  I don’t really care, do you?  Is there something I could do about it?  We give a fair amount of money away to various charities.  But maybe that man needs something more than that, maybe justice needs to be done and I’m not doing it.  

And maybe the widow is the voice of God, nagging at me to get out of my shell and do more to see that justice is done, to work to hasten the time when Jesus comes. Jesus seems to connect justice and faith.  If we have faith, we work for justice.  When we work for justice, we are doing God’s work.  

Twenty-eighth Sunday of Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 17:11-19

I did my residency in internal medicine at Saint Louis University. During that time I took a rotation on the neurology service where the chief of neurology was carrying out a trial of a new drug for Parkinson’s disease. Unfortunately it seemed to work at the same dose that made you nauseated, and had to be given by mouth every three hours. Fortunately we’ve come up with much better drugs since then. “But one day we were making rounds on the neurology floor and our professor was talking about how wonderful the new drug was. I asked him how the drug could be so wonderful with all those side effects, especially the nausea that made it very hard to take the required doses? Without a word he brought us into a patient’s room. The man was curled up in a ball just like the pictures in the medical books -- end-stage Parkinson’s disease. Nowadays you almost never see this. Our professor asked the man, who was one of the subjects of the study, what he thought about the drug. The patient gasped out the words, “it’s great! I can turn over in bed now”.

Jesus told the lepers to show themselves to the priests. The priests were like public health officials; they knew what to look for, and were the only ones who could certify that the leprosy was gone and the person could be readmitted to normal life. And of course the Samaritan probably had no use for Jewish priests anyway. So maybe it’s not surprising that the Samaritan returned to give thanks and the others didn’t.

But why didn’t they? Maybe one of them was frightened by what had just happened - that’s not an unusual reaction when God breaks into our world. That’s why heavenly visitors like the angel Gabriel start out by saying, “Don’t be afraid!”

Maybe another saw that he was cured but couldn’t believe that Jesus did this. There are people who confront the mystery of creation or the wonder of evolution and immediately rule out the possibility that God had a hand in it.

Maybe one was offended by what happened. Naaman the Syrian almost didn’t get his miracle because he couldn’t see why he had to bathe seven times in the Jordan river; but when he did, he was cured. There are people who are suspicious of anything that is free.

And I wonder if there was one who discovered he really didn’t want to be cured; his disease had become a crutch, and without it he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Maybe one was so overjoyed by what had happened that he simply forgot to say “thank you”. It could happen.

And maybe one realized that the Kingdom of God was at hand and dashed off to spread the news.

Some of us would see the message of this parable is that we should be like the Samaritan leper and be grateful for what we receive from God, and maybe that’s part of it. But maybe we should also wonder why the nine didn’t return.

Gratitude is a wonderful thing. It’s been shown that people who spontaneously express gratitude have lower blood pressure, less depression, and are happier than those who don’t. And even people who train themselves to do this, because for some of us it isn’t natural, find physical and mental health benefits. But wait, it gets better. When you express gratitude the person who receives it has physical and emotional health benefits. I remember a cartoon many years ago, I think it was in Bloom County, when Otis the penguin said “I could snack on a thank you for the whole day”. Jesus himself in the gospels frequently expresses gratitude to his Father. And when Mary visits Elizabeth, she says that wonderful prayer we called the magnificat -- a song of thanksgiving.

The patient I mentioned was full of gratitude for something you and I take for granted -- the ability to move his body, even a little bit. And I think that’s one of the burdens of being well-off, having a nice home, having enough to eat and drink, and being free of pain. We aren’t grateful, and yet every good thing comes from God.

So today let us realize that sometimes we are probably among the nine who did not return to give thanks to God. And let us resolve to work on the practice of gratitude by expressing our thanks to God and to those who do good things for us, however small. After all, that’s the meaning of the Greek word “eucharist” and a major reason we get together every week.

Twenty-seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

 Luke 17:5-10

Jesus in the gospel just before this told his disciples to forgive “seventy times seven” which was way more than Mosaic law required.  Peter knew that law -- you were required to forgive someone who asked for forgiveness, seven times.  Peter and the others had witnessed a lot of Jesus’ sayings and teachings that seemed to turn their whole world view upside down.  And I think that’s why they said, “Increase our faith”.  

I pray that prayer a lot, and also the one that the father of the demon possessed boy prayed: “Lord, I believe, help my unbelief”.  We all have had times when we wish we had a little more faith, when it seems as though everything is trying to tell us that there is no God, that the universe is uncaring.  And of course there are plenty of people out there who have based their lives on those propositions.  We see people who outright deny anything outside the material world to those who might label themselves as members of a religion, but live lives that are very poor advertisements for being religious.  

But can you “increase” your faith?  I’m not even sure what that means.  If I decide that you have more faith than I do, it’s not because I can measure faith or even the consequences of faith.  I can only observe your behavior and then try to figure out why you behave that way.  And if you pray a lot and do good works and treat everybody with kindness I might conclude that you have a lot of faith.  But if you do good works and treat everybody with kindness and deny that there is a God or that you belong to any religion, I wouldn’t conclude that you have faith.  I think that’s what Jesus is talking about.  He joins right in with the notion that faith is something that you can measure, that can be increased or decreased.  “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed,”  he says, and then he gives an image that would probably make his observers laugh.Because a mature mulberry tree looks like it hugs the ground -- roots all over the place -- and Jesus pictures the tree in the sea, taking root there.  Kind of like imagining a whale crossing the desert.  

And then Jesus seems to sidestep the whole controversy.  He talks about the relationship between a servant, or as the original Greek said, a slave, and his master.  Slavery in Jesus’ time was not quite what happened in the deep south to people imported from Africa.  Sometimes it was voluntary, sometimes it was for a limited time.  Most slaves had nowhere else to go, and if reasonably well behaved, could come and go as they pleased as long as their work got done.  But the bottom line was that they lived to fulfill the expectations of their masters, not themselves.  That was the condition of slavery -- and in return they got board and room.  In those days it was not too difficult to escape if you really wanted to.  But again, where would you go?  Probably you’d find another master and hope things would be easier.  

Jesus is sort of saying, let’s not even talk about more faith and less faith.  Let’s talk about what faith is all about.  Faith is knowing what you are supposed to do, and then doing it.  And Jesus is saying, there is no merit in that.  If you do that, it’s the bare minimum, you are not entitled to a reward for doing what you are supposed to do.  People who go above and beyond that are the ones you are profitable slaves.  

IT makes you think of that other story Jesus told, about the master who gave his slaves money to take care of while he went away.  They could have run off with the money -- after all, Jesus wasn’t talking about a few bucks, but one of those coins was enough to take care of for six months or so.  The guy who got ten could have gone five years without working.  But the one who got one coin did the bare minimum; he took the care of the coin and gave it back to his master and got punished for not going over and above what was expected.  Those who did received rewards.  

Faith either exists or doesn’t.  Jesus frequently calls people to believe in him.  If you believe in Jesus, he promises a lot of things -- eternal life, for one.  Some of our protestant brothers believe that once you declare that you have faith, the rest is history.  Once saved, always saved.  But I think Jesus is telling us that having faith is sort of the bottom line and if it gets us anywhere, it’s the bare minimum.  If we are going to become slaves of God, which is sort of what faith means, that’s all well and good, but it’s what we do after that that determines what kind of servants we are -- do we do more than we are obliged to do?  Are we profitable?  Are we “good and faithful?”

Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 16:19-31

Like many of Jesus’ parables, this one raises a lot of questions.  The rich man ended up in hell, it seems, while Lazarus is in sort of a heaven.  Sometimes Jesus compares the kingdom of Heaven to a great banquet; other times to contented sheep.  Here he compares it to a place where Abraham, the ancestor of the Jewish people, lives and comforts those who have died.  And as for the flames of torment where the rich man went, I think Jesus was again making a comparison.  Someone once told the Dali Lama that if he didn’t accept Christ he would go to hell.  He replied that you couldn’t threaten a good Buddhist with hell because the whole point of Buddhism is to reach a state in which you have stopped wanting anything.  

But why did the rich man go to hell?  Why did Lazarus go to heaven?  When you read this gospel it’s pretty clear that the rich man enjoys life -- fine clothing, good food, probably doesn’t have to work too hard.  Kind of like you and I.  In fact you and I probably eat better and have more leisure than most human beings ever had.  We are certainly a lot better off than the vast majority of our fellow human beings.  I hope being rich and eating well is not a ticket to hell.  

And why did Lazarus end up in heaven?  Jesus portrays him as someone who is poor and hungry and miserable.  Does that get you into heaven?  

And finally, you have the fact that Lazarus lay at the door of the rich man.  I think we all see that Jesus is telling us that the rich man was aware of Lazarus and his misery and did nothing about it.  There are plenty of people within a few miles of Saint Mary’s who are miserable, and we aren’t doing a lot for them.  

And I think it’s interesting that the rich man doesn’t ask to get out of hell -- he knows he’s where he should be.  Someone once said that if you ended up in hell, you would know exactly why you were there and you would praise God for his justice.  

The real difference between the rich man and Lazarus is that one has everything and the other has nothing.  Jesus warned us about this -- he talked about how hard it would be for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven -- harder than getting a camel through the eye of a needle.  And the reason is that someone who has a lot of stuff is reluctant to let any of it go.  You and I know this from experience.  And the attachment to stuff, to the good things in life, can be so severe that we can’t let go -- even in the next life.  But in order to enter heaven, we have to let go.  Lazarus doesn’t have anything to cling to, he’s free to receive what God wants to give him because he is not attached; both his hands are free.  Jesus said that birds have nests and foxes have dens but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head. Jesus has more in common with Lazarus than the rich man.  

So is Jesus warning us about the danger of possessions? Or is he warning us about the danger of neglecting our poor brothers and sisters? Or are we supposed to read into the story that the rich man was evil and Lazarus was good?  I’ve read a lot ao sermons that presume that is the case and go on from there.  But again, I don’t see it.  Jesus told the story so you and I could think about it and decided what we are going to do in response.

When we think about hell we imagine that the evil spirits want to bring more people to hell.  We ask Saint Michael to do something about Satan and his minions who proul about the world seeking the ruin of souls.  But our rich man, who has apparently never had a thought about someone else, now thinks about his five brothers.  One suspects that they are like the  rich man.  He fully expects that they will end up like him unless they change their ways. And he wants Abraham to do something to keep that from happening.  And Abraham points out that they already have everything they need to keep out of hell, to get to heaven -- Moses and the prophets.  Because God leaves us radically free to choose how we live, who we listen to.  If your great grandmother came back from the dead and told you to change your ways, you wouldn’t really be free anymore, because that would be a fact that you couldn’t ignore.  So we are left with Moses and the prophets, we are left with the good news of Jesus Christ.  And those five brothers or sisters  are out there, and you and I are their only hope, because we have the truth.  And one thing we can do is make sure that the people we meet see  that there  is something different about us, something worth learning more about, something worth imitating.  Maybe that’s what we should think about today.      

Twenty-fourth Sunday inm Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 15:1 - 32

This weekend we remember the terrible events of September 11, 2001, when almost three thousand people, including the hijackers, lost their lives.  Three of the planes completed their planned mission, destroying the World Trade Center and part of the pentagon.  The fourth, though, Flight 93, was a different story.  Because the flight had left later than the others, some of the passengers had heard what had happened, and had been told by the pilot that they would return to New York.  However, it became obvious that the plane wasn’t turning around, so a few of the passengers guessed the  truth and decided to do something about it.  Under the leadership of Thomas Burnett Jr., Todd Beamer, and flight attendant Sandy Bradshaw, apparently many of the passengers rushed to the front of the plane and using a fire extinguisher broke down the door to the cockpit.  In the ensuing struggle, the plane, probably bound for the White House, crashed into a field in Pennsylvania where everyone died.  Now the thing about this is that Thomas Burnett Jr. called his wife just before the events and said that he knew they were going to die.  

Burnett was the vice president of a medical device company, married with four children, living a pretty ordinary life.  But at a particular moment in his life, he threw everything aside, and carried out an act of heroism.  

In today’s gospel we see a contrast.  There is the prodigal son, about whom so much can be said.  He was obviously self-centered, cared very little about his father or anyone else in the family, apparently.  He asked for his inheritance, which would normally have come about after the father’s death.  It’s interesting that in the text Jesus says that the father “divided his property between them” suggesting that at the same time the prodigal son got his share, the older brother got his.  The prodigal son then goes off, spending lavishly, until his inheritance runs out.  The older brother, as we can tell if we read between the lines, stayed with his father, working on the family farm, not really changing his life even though now he technically owned the property.  He was cautious which is good; he was probably also scared of change, which is not so good.  

I was the oldest in a family of three children.  My parents, God bless them, did not have a wonderful marriage, but they stuck together and had good days and bad days.  But the effect on the oldest was to implicitly push him to choose sides.  The oldest also felt he had to be the stable one for his two sisters.  And the oldest worried a lot about what would happen if his parents split up.  All of this made the oldest super-cautious, a trait which persists even to this day.  I always envied people who seemed to be more spontaneous, less self-conscious.  But being super cautious is not the worst thing in the world.  

The oldest son reacts angrily when he discovers that his father has pulled out all the stops for the big party.  Killing a fatted calf is what people do when they were  entertaining royalty.  Putting a ring on his finger and dressing him in a fine robe likewise.  The father didn’t just welcome the ungrateful, spontaneous, careless son back into the house, he treated him like a king.  And the oldest son, the cautious one, is angry.  It is at this point that he receives an invitation from the father:  “All that I have is yours, but we must rejoice, because he who was dead is now alive!” And the story stops there.  

Was the oldest son able to put the past behind him and rejoice with his father?  Or did he continue to stay away from the rejoicing people, brooding in his resentment, unable to let go of his caution, of his sense of self-importance, in the face of what the father saw as truly a miracle: “The son of mine who was dead is now alive again!”..

I’m the older son.  I like stability; I’m cautious.  And if someone who doesn’t deserve it gets a sudden windfall, or escapes the consequences of his own actions, maybe I resent it a little bit.  And when I look at all the gifts that I’ve received down through the years, I tend to think I deserved them because I’m careful and industrious and frugal.  I forget that every good thing comes from the father, and he can do whatever he wants with his gifts.  

And I wonder what I would do if I was sitting on that plane and Thomas Barnett, Jr, and Todd Beamer and Sandy Bradshaw planned to rush the cockpit and give up their lives so that others would live. Would I join them or would I sit in my seat hoping against hope that somehow I would survive?  Caution and stability are good things, but there are times when they are not.  Let us pray that we can recognize those times.  Let us pray that we will go to the father’s party and welcome our younger brother home. 

Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 14:25 -33

There’s a lot of controversy over President Biden’s decision to erase 10,000 dollars' worth of debt from people who borrowed from government programs to go to college.  Some people say that without the debt they will spend more money and bolster the economy, and everyone will benefit.  Others say that the debt isn't really forgiven, it’s just shifted to taxpayers, people who paid off their loans, people who didn’t go to college because it was too expensive.  People who were responsible citizens and honored the contract they made to pay off their loans are now paying for people who aren’t being responsible.  I don’t know the answer, but nobody ever forgave any loans I took out.  Maybe it’s not too late.  I could use ten thousand dollars.  So the question comes up, does this have anything to do with the gospel or is the deacon just having a senior moment?

These are harsh words that Jesus has today, aren’t they?  I have to hate those near and dear to me, even my own life.  I have to take up my cross and follow Jesus.  I have to renounce all my possessions.  Maybe it’s time to look to alternative religions.  I can’t do any of those things.  Besides, Jesus is contradicting scripture.  We are told to honor our father and mother.  We are told to make room for the alien, to look out for the orphan and the widow.  And God himself told Moses and the people of Israel, “I have set before you this day life and good, death and evil; choose life” And I can look to the Old Testament and see that one of the rewards for obeying God was being given possessions.  God allowed Satan to deprive Job of everything but his life, and when he showed his faithfulness, God restored everything and more to him.  And you can see that God rewards Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, King David and many others with food things because of their obedience.  And we are always praying for good things to be given to us.  Jesus himself said that “Whatever we ask of the Father in his name will be granted.”

Well, you can imagine that many people have struggled with this passage from Luke’s gospel.  If you look in the footnotes of some bibles, they point out that it was kind of a Hebrew thing; to love one thing and hate another meant that you prefer one over the other.  God himself is quoted as saying “I loved Jacob and hated Esau” and yet Esau received a lot of blessings from God.  And there are those who point out that ‘to take up the cross” meant that you were living in the full knowledge that you would die, and all your decisions were made recognizing this fact.”  And renouncing all your possessions really meant that you were detached from them, that you would be unaffected if they were taken away.  I just hope no one steals Bishop Byrne’s dog, Zelie.  So we can say, Jesus, you were just exaggerating, weren’t you? I can still love my kids and try to avoid pain and suffering and get that electric car that the government is trying to get me to buy so I can save the planet.  

And our church has canonized people who had possessions, obviously loved family members, and perhaps took up their crosses, since everyone gets a cross now and then – but they are in heaven and didn’t seem to take Jesus literally either.

I think what Jesus is saying is impossible.  Even a monk has a rosary and a robe.  And maybe that’s the point.  Jesus is talking about what it takes to be a disciple and uses two examples which have to do with counting the cost of discipleship.  What person sets out to build a tower and runs out of material before he’s finished?  The answer, of course, is no one.  If you think you can build a tower without some sort of plan, you are foolish.  And the same is true of the king and the army.  No king would send ten thousand troops against twenty thousand.  That would be foolish.  Maybe Jesus wants us to see that we are bankrupt, we can’t do the things he asks, we can’t build the tower, we can’t conquer the enemy with our own resources.  

And that’s the difference between Christianity and other religions.  Different denominations understand it in different ways, it’s true.  But it all boils down t6o the fact that Jesus has already paid the price, he’s already done what we have to do to be disciples, to come after him.  And he’s given that to you and I.  For Catholics, that’s what the sacraments are all about.  When you receive a sacrament, you are accepting what Jesus has already done for you, You are allowing him to pay your bills.  You are allowing him to live in you, having done everything that the Father wants from you and me.  And the Father looks at you and I and sees Jesus, the one who pays the price.