Third Sunday of Lent, cycle C

Luke 13:1 - 9

The other day I spent some time with an elderly lady who had been hospitalized for about three weeks and was now trying to get her strength back. She was a bit depressed, and in the course of our conversation she told me that she knew why God was doing this to her – she hadn't been to church for about a decade. Then she went on to tell me that the reason she stopped going to church was because they had changed everything from when she was young. And then she told me that all the scandals going on in our Church were because God was punishing us because of those changes. She was pretty sure we got President Trump because we aren't doing anything to put an end to abortion. I didn't have the heart to ask her what God was planning to do to us because marijuana is now legal.

The people of Jesus' time believed that when bad things happened, it was all God's doing. You remember when Jesus' own disciples asked him whose sin caused a man to be born blind – his sin or his parent's sin? What did those Galileans do that God allowed Pilate to kill them? What about those people building a tower, what was their sin? We twentieth century Christians are so much more sophisticated. We don't look for a hidden sin when tragedy strikes someone. Except for maybe that elderly lady.

The first thing we should notice about this gospel is that Jesus more or less tells us that we can't blame God when bad things happen, nor should we believe that if we become ill or lose a loved one or go bankrupt, it's not because we are sinners. After all, we are all sinners, we all miss the mark. There is a whole branch of theology that tries to figure out how if God is perfect, all powerful, all good, and all loving, why do we get sick and die, why do children get cancer, why do typhoons wipe out whole villages, why was there a holocaust? And we've all heard explanations ranging from “God is punishing someone” to “God has his reasons which we will find out in the next life.” I don't believe either is the answer, but I don't have an answer. I think Jesus is saying today, that isn't the question. The real question is are you changing? Are you taking advantage of the time you still have left on your meter?

Jesus says, “repent or perish”, which sounds a lot like one of those old fire and brimstone preachers. But repent isn't a dirty word; the original word in the Greek language was metanoia, which means something like “get above your mind” or “change your direction” or maybe simply “wake up”. Because we know the natural tendency is not to change. I had a friend once who would answer the question “how are you”? With a percentage '' 80 %, 70%, whatever. He explained that the number expressed how close things were to where he wanted them to be. But the interesting thing is that most of the time he answered roughly the same fraction. He must have been content with 75%. And I think that's how a lot of us are in our spiritual lives. We aren't where we want to be, but we aren't really willing to put in the effort and time. And Jesus is saying that we risk “perishing” because the reason most of us are content with 75% is that there are a lot of little things we'd have to change to do better; Maybe we'd have to give up some television time and get involved in some ministry. Maybe we'd have to put down the book we're reading and pick up some spiritual reading or the bible. Maybe we would, heaven forbid, have to take 15 of our precious minutes to say the rosary. I'm not picking on anyone; I am speaking from experience. And the trouble is always what pulls us away from God can be boiled down to pleasure, prestige, power, or wealth. And the pursuit of these will never get us to 100% which can only be found in God. If our lives are controlled by our urges, appetites and desires we are perishing. If we are blind to the needs of others we are perishing. If we cannot control our anger and lash out whenever we are provoked, we are not living; we are perishing. If we cannot make peace with the pains of our past, but keep rehearsing them in or minds over and over again, we are not living; we are perishing. Repentance isn't a prison sentence; it's the path that liberates us from a life that just settles, a life that we could never call “abundant” – which is the life that Jesus calls us to.

The parable of the fig tree is meant to be a wake-up call. At any moment the owner of the vineyard will ask if I have fulfilled the purpose for which I was created, and whether I have or have not, there will be no more opportunity. If I'm only 60% of the way there, I hope I'll be graded on a curve. But the parable also tells us of God's mercy. He is the God of another chance, and today he is offering you and I yet another chance to change our minds, to wake up, to repent. And the best news from the parable of the fig tree is that he will give us everything we need to reach that abundant life he wants for us, that complete joy that Jesus wishes to share.

Some of you know I'm a bible geek. This parable is only in the gospel of Luke. There is another acted out parable in Matthew and Mark, where Jesus comes upon a fig tree which was full of leaves, but had no fruit. Jesus cursed the tree and it withered and died. I wonder if Luke is thinking about that episode when he described this parable. He's reminding us that we are called to bear fruit, but it's never too late to take advantage of what God offers us to achieve this goal.

The bible doesn't tell us what happened to this fig tree. Despite the efforts of the gardener, did it still bear no fruit when the owner came back the next year? Was it still just taking up space and exhausting the ground? Or did it finally bear figs, did it finally achieve the purpose for which the vineyard owner had intended when he planted it? We can only hope. For the fig tree – and us.

Second Sunday of Lent, cycle C

Luke 9:28 - 36

I'm convinced that there are different kinds of minds. I have friends who can get lost in music; I appreciate music, but can take it or leave it. Same with art; some people can't live without it. And I guess I envy the passion in these people. But the ones I envy the most are the mystics. I've known a few in my life, people who seem to have an intimate connection with something beyond ordinary experience. I knew a woman when I lived in Buffalo – the wife of a physician, mother of eight, an ardent Catholic, and very very smart. She confided in us that after one of her children was born, she nearly died, and had one of those near death experiences. It was more real to her than her ordinary life, and she found that she could get glimpses of that world beyond when she was in prayer or meditating. She, by the way, had absolutely no fear of death, but contrary to what you might have thought, she enjoyed every minute of life. I envy mystics; they've seen something I never have.

I don't know if Peter, James and John were mystics – probably not. It's hard to be a mystic when you fish for a living. On the other hand, maybe out there on the water far from shore, far from noise, they may have felt something of the divine. I know that there are moments like that in my life, although never as intense as the experiences of real mystics.

Some of you may have read the book “Proof of heaven: a neurosurgeon's journey into the afterlife.” by Eben Alexander. He suffered an infection of the spinal cord and the surface of his brain that rendered him comatose – by EEG, all brain activity was gone, and he was being kept alive by machinery and his family was told that there was no hope and probably it would be best to turn off the machinery. Gradually, however, he recovered, and remembered the experience when there was, as he put it, no filter between himself and reality. He said that normally our brains filter out most of our experience. And previously a skeptic, he is now convinced that we live on after our bodies die.

I believe that the transfiguration was something like that. The apostles didn't see Jesus transfigured into some sort of god-like being, they saw Jesus unfiltered through their ordinary minds their ordinary experiences. And that was so shocking to them that even Peter was momentarily at a loss for words until he proposed building tents – but Luke tells us he did not know what he was saying. The moment was quickly over, but I suspect that the memory of this carried Peter through the rest of his life and even through his martyrdom. Did he long to once again see Jesus unfiltered?

I don't know if I'll ever have a profound mystical experience. Maybe God gives them to some people and not to others. But I would like to experience reality unfiltered. And I think if someone wants to develop a skill, you have to practice. If I wanted to learn a language, I'd need to memorize vocabulary, practice speaking with others – it would take effort. And perhaps seeing the world unfiltered, experiencing the presence of God in a more powerful way, takes practice as well. That's one of the things we are supposed to do during Lent by the way – become more aware of how God permeates everything. How our experiences are somehow knitted up into God's continued creation of the universe. And Jesus, John tells us, is the word, the Logos, the blueprint of what God has planned for the universe. And the apostle Paul tells us something similar: “... there is one God, the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist, and one Lord Jesus Christ, through whom are all things and through whom we exist.”

So what should we do, as Catholic Christians? How should we practice knowing Jesus? How should we open ourselves up so that we see reality unfiltered – or at least less filtered than when we start out? It does take work – on our part and on God's. But God always stands ready in the person of the Holy Spirit to point us in the right direction, to help us develop a supernatural sense.

First, we need to go where we know Jesus is. The Blessed Sacrament is where Jesus is most truly present in our world. If I want to really know someone, I don't hit the internet or start a long-distance correspondence. I try to be in the presence of the other and that's possible for you and I. Second, our Church teaches us that Jesus is present in scripture. Catholics as a rule aren't very literate in scripture. Over the course of three years if you listen to the readings on Sunday, you will hear about seventy percent of the bible. But unless you spend some time thinking about what you've read and relating it to your own life, it isn't much use. And sometimes you can find out interesting things by reading more than the passage you hear in church. Today's gospel is a case in point. While the three apostles are up on the mountain hearing the Father acknowledge his Son, the other nine are down in the valley trying to deal with another son – a boy who is the only son of his father, the father who is begging the apostles to drive out a demon, and they can't do it. Did Luke put these stories together to make a point? I don't know, but I'm going to think about it.

The third place to find Jesus is in each other. Jesus said, “Where two or three are gathered together, there I am.” And “Whatever you do for the least of my brothers that you do for me.” Every Catholic should be in seeking Jesus among others – whether it is being involved in Food for the Soul, Faith formation, the Knights of Columbus, the St. Joseph's society, the St. Mary's Guild, a bible study group, cursillo – you name it, there's something for everyone, and if you can't find it, start your own. Jesus made a promise, hold him to it.

The Transfiguration reminds us that there is a greater reality out there, and we don't appreciate it because of our filters. Jesus is that reality. This Lent resolve to go where we know He is and practice knowing Jesus.

First Sunday of Lent, cycle C

Luke 4:1-13

As some of you know, if you've been listening to my sermons over the last 22 years, I used to be a cancer doctor. Patients with cancer sometimes show amazing heroism; others get pretty depressed. And one of the things I heard patients say many times was “Why me?” Sometimes they or their loved ones would elaborate on this. “He's always been such a good person1” ; “She's been such a wonderful wife and mother; she doesn't deserve this!”; :He's way too young; he has a whole life ahead of him!”“Why do bad things happen to good people?” Cancer is one thing, but sometimes little things trigger the same response, even among holy people: Saint Theresa of Avila, who reformed the Carmelite Order together with Saint John of the Cross, was crossing a river on her horse one day as she was on her way to visit one of the Carmelite monasteries. She fell off the horse into the river and as she dragged herself to shore, she looked up to heaven and said, “If this is how you treat your friends, no wonder you have so few of them!”

The Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke tell almost the same story: Luke and Matthew are gentle; they say that Jesus was led by the Spirit into the desert. Mark uses a different term; he says “the Spirit drove him into the desert” a somewhat different picture indeed. But all three agree, Jesus didn't go into the desert because he wanted to, just as he didn't go to the cross because he wanted to be tortured and killed – he went because he knew that was what the Father wanted. And I think most of us have found ourselves in deserts we did not want to be in. Like my cancer patients, we look for answers, we ask “Why me?” Like Saint Theresa, we say, “But God, I'm your friend!”

When we read the story about the temptations of Jesus, it's good to remember that just before Jesus goes into the desert, he comes out of the baptismal water and hears a voice from heaven, “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased!” And I think that event makes the temptations more understandable.

After forty days of fasting, Jesus must have been at a very low point. And it's at those points that it's hard to resist temptation. The first temptation is to turn stones into bread. But the real temptation is, “If I am God's beloved, why is he allowing me to be hungry?” Jesus is tempted to perform a miracle for a perfectly good reason but he does not, because to do so would deny the fact that He is human. And that's our cry as well; because we are God's beloved, why are we deprived? Why can't I have what I want, why should I or one of those I love be in need of anything?

I imagine that Jesus may have felt very unimportant out there in the desert. Mark tells us that he was with the wild animals. I wonder if Jesus was thinking about his future ministry – or did that come later? In any event, the second temptation, to power and glory, is really “If I am God's beloved, why are things so hard? Why doesn't he give me a short-cut; if he gave me power and glory, I could bring about the kingdom of heaven without breaking into a sweat.” And you and I are God's beloved, and sometimes we wonder why things are so difficult, why our hard work is not recognized, why our efforts to do good are sometimes met with so much resistance.

The desert is a terrifying place, especially at night when you are alone. Native Americans knew this and a rite of passage to adulthood was to go out and be alone in the desert or the forest until you had experienced a change in the way you looked at life; you would recognize it when it happened. But you had to go through that helplessness. The third temptation is for Jesus to throw himself off the temple tower, because, as Satan tells him, “the angels will bear you up”. Again, the real temptation is “If I am God's beloved, why am I vulnerable? Why will I die someday, possibly in pain; why am I growing old and losing my strength and my memory, why do I wake up with pains in my back; why do I have to take all these pills? Why is my immortal soul in so fragile a body?” And you and I are God's beloved, and ask the same question.

Jesus is driven into the desert; he had no choice. But he chooses to remain in the desert, where he has to confront what every human being must confront. Why don't I have everything I need and want? Why is it so hard, doing my work, nurturing my relationships, raising my children – and worst of all, no one truly appreciates what I have to do. And why are my days and years trickling away; why am I getting weaker rather than stronger?

And we see what Jesus does. He chooses to be hungry rather than to be satisfied; he chooses being misunderstood and doing everything the hard way (like us) rather than taking a short cut; and he chooses vulnerability over taking on superpowers. He chooses humanity.

And he does this consciously, deliberately, because of all human beings who have ever lived on earth, he does not have to; he is divine; as we will see as we read through the gospels, he exercises his divinity for others throughout his entire ministry. But there in the desert he learned what we also must learn; Man does not live by bread alone, but by God's words; You shall worship God alone; and you shall not tempt the Lord. Jesus learned that the goal of our human struggle is to embrace our humanity not because it is fragile and limited, and yes, painful at times; but because it is given to us by our Father, and we are God's beloved, and if we don't see it now, we will someday see that the Father has always acted toward you and I as he did towards Jesus; he brings us through the desert of our lives to Resurrection. Lent is the desert; fast and pray and help each other; empty yourselves out so that God can fill you up with himself.

Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 6:27 - 38

Many years ago when we lived in Buffalo, I was a young physician and we only had four children. Joan and I went on a little Sunday afternoon car trip along the south shore of Lake Ontario. We were enjoying the countryside when our Rambler American decided to die, and we didn't have cell phones in those days, so I went across the road and knocked on someone's door. I explained that my family and I were stranded and could I use the phone to call the American Automobile Association? I was invited in and told to invite may family as well. While I was calling triple A our hostess offered my kids something to drink and handed out a few cookies. As we waited for the AAA to arrive, I got into a conversation with my host who was a retired judge. The triple A truck arrived, checked out the car, and told me that they could only bring it to a local mechanic, but this being Sunday, nothing more could be done. As I was trying to figure out what to do next, the retired judge told me that I could borrow his car. He wouldn't allow me to leave my credit card with him; he told me he trusted me. With gratitude I loaded my family into the car and drove home. The next afternoon, having learned that my car was fixed, my wife and I went to pick up the car and drop the judge's car off. I sent him a thank-you note and never saw him again.

Today Jesus gives us a list of commands and admonitions. Love your enemies; bless those who curse you; give to everyone who begs from you; lend, expecting nothing in return. In other words, Jesus is saying, live so everyone will think you are a crazy person. And you don't do that and I don't do that and I'm pretty sure that the Pope doesn't live this way either. It isn't practical; if anyone were to follow Jesus' advice, he or she would end up pushing a stolen shopping cart full of their belongings around downtown Springfield. Unless of course one's relatives decided to commit you to a psychiatric hospital.

And Jesus reminds us that there is no credit in loving those who love you, or doing good to those who do good to you, because, he tells us, even sinners do that.

So how do we deal with this very troubling gospel? I'm not saying that living this way is difficult; I'm saying that it's impossible. Why would Jesus ask the impossible of us?

I think the clue is the statement He makes: “Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.” When you think about it, Jesus is describing God the Father. When the actor Christian Baile thanked Satan for winning a Golden Globe award, the Father did not turn him into a pile of ash. When Governor Cuomo lights up the World Trade Center to celebrate the abortion law that allows non-physicians to do partial birth abortions on teenagers, the Father does not smite him with leprosy. And when Cardinal McCarrick is punished for his lifetime of preying on seminarians and other young men, he is given ample opportunity to repent and be open to the mercy of God.

When you and I were baptized, we became sons and daughters of the Father of Jesus Christ. Our Buddhist and Muslim and Jewish friends are children of God, no question. But we have a special relationship to Jesus, who invites us into the special relationship he has with the Father. And if we are brothers and sisters of Jesus by adoption through baptism, we, like Jesus, are called to show the Father to our brothers and sisters. Jesus did this. He told Philip, “If you have seen me, you have seen the Father.” And he gave himself up on the cross as an offering to the Father, as he spoke those words, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they are doing.”

The Father gives, expecting nothing in return. He gives because he is pure and infinite love. His gifts are not related to our goodness or our badness, for that matter. And he pours out his love without expecting anything in return, even to Satan and the poor damned souls who would rather spend eternity alone and proud rather than to surrender to his all-embracing love.

So, should we be doormats? Should we allow other people to steal us blind? Should we turn the other cheek? Maybe so, maybe not. But underneath all of what Jesus is saying is that we need to cultivate in ourselves an attitude of detachment – so that nothing anyone does to us causes us to hate, to desire revenge, to become angry and bitter. All of those emotions distract us from our real goal, which is to become more and more sons and daughters of the most High, people who have a family resemblance to their Father and their elder brother, Jesus. And the way we respond to those who are our enemies, those who hate us, those who want to treat us as something less than human, will be what makes us more or less sons and daughters of the Most High.

I told you about a retired judge who offered his car to a young family who were stranded on a country road, no questions asked. He didn't ask for identification; he didn't ask to hold on to my credit card. He didn't ask to keep one of my children as collateral even though my wife offered. And I'm not sure I could have done that, could you? But that's the kind of God we have, one who gives, expecting nothing in return; one who gives, despite the fact that we slap him in the face; one who gives and gives, and loves and loves, and dies for us, simply out of his great love for the creatures he has made and hold in existence.

I don't think I can consistently live the way Jesus is describing. Sometimes there are rare moments when I can, but most of the time, no. But when I feel that I am being slighted, when I feel that I am being taken advantage of, when I am disrespected, I remember that our Father in Heaven continues to love me unreservedly and give me all good things. And maybe there will be moments when I can be like my heavenly father – like the retired judge who gave his car to a stranger, asking nothing in return. And it is in those moments that I am most a child of my heavenly father.

Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 6:17, 20 – 26

Blessed are you who are poor, hungry, sad, and expendable.  Woe to you who are rich, full, happy, and popular. That seems to be what Jesus is saying. Notice that when Matthew gives his list of beatitudes he leaves wiggle room. “Blessed are the poor in spirit” Well, I may have a lot of stuff, but I'm poor in spirit. Or “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness” Well, I know I need to do something about my weight because I clearly eat too much, but I really would like there to be more righteousness, so I'm OK. Hey, Matthew's beatitudes? Easy-peasy.

The other thing about Matthew is that Jesus is talking from a mountain; he's like Moses, laying out the rules, but instead of “thou shalt not” Jesus is telling us who are poor in spirit and hunger and thirst for righteousness and are meek – we don't rock the boat, we don't speak up – we are blessed?

But Luke has Jesus standing on level ground – apparently surrounded by a large crowd of disciples and others, presumably many who had been cured or witnessed Jesus miracles. And as he teaches his disciples, the statements are stark; you can't spiritualize what he says. Blessed are you who are poor; woe to you who are rich. Blessed are you who are hungry; woe to you who are full now. Which side are you on? I am feeling uncomfortable because if I'm honest, I'm on the woe side. So what does Jesus expect of me? Shall I sell everything I have and give it to the poor and become a homeless person? Shall I eat just enough to stay alive and in reasonable health? And I'm happy now, I do a lot of laughing, especially at cat videos on the internet. Should I go around with a sad expression on my face and avoid anything that might amuse me? And can I help it if people speak well of me? I guess I could, because if I go around in rags pushing a shopping cart full of soda cans I intend to recycle while weeping and wailing, people would probably think less well of me.

I don't think Jesus is giving us a prescription as to how we are to live. That's what Matthew did. I don't think Jesus wants people to be poor and hungry and sad all the time; He doesn't want people to hate each other. After all if you remember the last few gospels he has been working miracle after miracle, and you can bet a lot of people who were poor, hungry, sad or lonely are a lot happier now. And he did tell his disciples: “These things have I spoken unto you, that my joy may be in you, and your joy may be made full.” And I think Jesus is saying that those who are rich, filled up, happy and popular are missing out on what he is offering.

And Jesus always has a point. I know in my case I can go a long time without thinking about God. It's a good thing I have regular times of prayer in my day; but even then, after prayer I say, “done with that, now what was I doing before?” If God wants to fill me up with himself, if God wants to bring me the kind of joy that only he can give, well, I suspect that given that I am rich, well fed, have a lot to amuse myself with, and most people I know have positive feelings toward me, there isn't much room for God to work. As Jesus said in another place, to a certain rich man, “You have already received your consolation”. Frederick Buechner, a writer and theologian, said this: “The world says, ‘Mind your own business,’ and Jesus says, ‘There is no such thing as your own business.’ The world says, ‘Follow the wisest course and be a success,’ and Jesus says, ‘Follow me and be crucified.’ The world says, ‘Drive carefully — the life you save may be your own’ — and Jesus says, ‘Whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.’ The world says, ‘Law and order,’ and Jesus says, ‘Love.’ The world says, ‘Get’ and Jesus says, ‘Give.’ In terms of the world's sanity, Jesus is crazy as a coot, and anybody who thinks he can follow him without being a little crazy too is laboring less under a cross than under a delusion."

Picture the scene once again. In Matthew, Jesus takes his disciples up a mountain, away from the crowd, to teach them, to give them the beatitudes with which we are familiar, the ones which are comfortable. In Luke, however, Jesus is surrounded by people who for the most part are poor, have been hungry, people who haven't go much to laugh at, people who have been at the bottom of toe food chain for most of their lives – and as he addresses his disciples, he says these are the blessed ones. And maybe eventually the disciples come to realized that the reason they are blessed is not because they are poor or hungry or sad or expendable, but because they had nothing to get in the way of the coming of the Lord into their lives. And that is the hard lesson. What is it about being poor, money poor, living from paycheck to paycheck, trying to get by on food stamps that draws Jesus to you? What is it about being so hungry you can't think of much besides food that draws Jesus? What is it that not being able to fill up you attention span with television and sports and video games and music and parties – just living one day after another in a bed in a nursing home – why are you blessed? And what is it about being someone who nobody needs, someone who is a burden on society, someone who is grudgingly and roughly cared for by a minimum wage employee, that wakes the compassion of Our Lord?

That's what you and I have to figure out. That's what is so urgent. That is why Jesus can look at me and say, “Woe to you, because you don't seem to be hearing what I'm trying to tell you.” And I don't know the answer. All I can do is pray, “Lord, these are hard sayings. Help me understand, but more importantly help me see what you want me to see and live the way you want me to live.”

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 5:1 – 11

When I was much younger, going to Confession, which is what we used to call the Sacrament of Reconciliation, was a big deal. It was usually initiated by parents or our teaching sisters, and we would usually confess weekly or at least every other week. We were pretty liberal; my grandparents would not receive communion on Sunday unless they had gone to confession on the Saturday before.

To prepare for confession we would make an examination of conscience; we would go through the ten commandments or some other list of potential sins and see if we could recall where we hadn't hit the mark during that last week. Our teachers told us that we had to confess every sin we could remember and how many times, otherwise we were in danger of making a bad confession, in which case we would have to confess that the next time. So there was a lot of pressure.

“I talked back to my mother five times,” I would confess. “I may have seen part of the test paper of one of my classmates, one time”. I had a bowl of vegetable soup on Friday, but it was th kind that had bits of meat in it, which I carefully put on the napkin but I may have eaten meat. One time”. I teased my sister 29 times during the past week. And so it went. Now the subject matter of a third-grader's confession may not seem like sin to you. Oddly enough, we knew the difference between what we called “mortal sins” and “venial sins”. And we also knew that there was a category of actions which didn't even qualify as sins – we called them “faults”. But our mind set was to think of everything that might remotely be a sin and turn it over to the priest. Because with absolution, we were no longer burdened.

Somewhere along the line after Vatican II Confession became Reconciliation and the emphasis was not on how many times you had committed a sin, but rather, to try to identify the roots of your sins, so that the priest might be able to help you deal with these flaws. Confession went from a careful examination of where you had missed the mark to something therapeutic. And that was good and bad. It was good, because we used to have a problem with scruples.. “Did I remember all my sins?” There was a time in my life, mercifully brief, when this used to keep me awake at nights. Another problem was that on Saturday when confession was happening, there might be three or four priests hearing confessions. It didn't take long to figure out which priest gave the lightest penances; the length of the lines would tell you. We would select our priest based on how nice he was. Father McCoy would languish in his confessional, while Father Hartman would be there for an hour after he was supposed to finish up.

But the bad thing was that I think the new way of reconciliation eroded our sense of sin. Today we hear Peter crying out, “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” Peter, who took care of his mother-in-law who lived with him; Peter, who ran a business and probably had a crew of fishermen he had to direct and pay; Peter, who as we will see in the gospels and the Acts of the Apostles, is always trying to do better, always picking himself up when he falls, admitting his mistakes. Peter, a man whom Jesus himself appoints to rule over his church. Peter, a sinful man? I guess I'm in trouble. But Peter was conscious of the fact that he many times missed the mark. It wasn't hard to sin if you were trying to be a good Jew and a good fisherman. Those purity laws were hard when you were out on the water and trying to grab a little lunch. When your feet got tangled up in the net, and you said, “Damn it!” or whatever first century Jewish fishermen said, another failure. And when you came home after a long night fishing it was hard to pray and study sometimes, especially when you missed supper and could barely keep your eyes open. And every Jewish man was supposed to study the scriptures every chance he got. No wonder Peter, whose personality comes through more than any other person in the pages of scripture, said, “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!”

Today, perhaps implicit in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, is the idea that if we can do something about those deep-seated tendencies that cause us to miss the mark we can save our souls. If I spend too much time on the Internet, well, all I need to do is develop some new habits so that I don't. If I am not as attentive to my wife as I should be, well, I can correct that; I'll make a resolution to make her breakfast every morning; at least I'll be slightly more attentive. And of course if I rob a bank or kill someone or commit some other serious action I'll confess that – we still think about those mortal sins.

In the olden days, when we got out of the confessional, we knew two things. We had been forgiven; every fault, every failing; God had put it out of His mind and we knew we were back in His good graces. But because we had scrutinized our lives so closely, down to even little things that no one thinks is a sin any more, we knew once again that we were sinners, and we knew that only God's grace could help us. Because next week we'd be confessing the same things.

“Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” If we do not recognize on a deep level that we are sinners, we don't really see why we need a savior. And that was the glory of the old way of going to confession and maybe we have lost something in the new way. Statistics show that the frequency in which even good Catholics take advantage of the Sacrament of Reconciliation has gone way down from the days before Vatican II. Most of us don't really believe that we are sinful men or women..

The wonderful thing about recognizing that I am sinful and in need of God's mercy, is that it's only then that I can hear the savior's words: “Do not be afraid; from now on you will fish for people.” Recognizing that I am a sinner is the best way to invite Jesus to take over my life and do with me whatever he wants to do.

Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 4:21 - 30

The summer after I was ordained a deacon, I took my family back to Montana. We went to visit my relatives in the little town of Belt. Two of my uncles and a cousin were farmers, and another uncle was a carpenter, but he was also the town plumber. They all decided it would be a wonderful thing if I could assist at the weekday Mass and give a sermon, and in fact they had already cleared it with the pastor. So I frantically scribbled some notes and got into an alb that hit me at the knees. Father had been working in his garden so he came in and stomped the mud off his feet and put on his vestments and off we went. It was obvious that father had not served with a deacon since probably seminary days, because we kept bumping in to each other. Finally I gave my sermon. After Mass my family took us all to the local diner where everyone – you guessed it – talked about the weather, crop prices, which kind of manure worked the best – things farmers know a lot more about than me. They did not try to drive me off a cliff, probably because I didn't say anything controversial or maybe because they weren't all that amazed at the gracious words that came out of my mouth.

This gospel always leaves me a little puzzled. Jesus goes back to his home town and preaches in the synagogue. We heard what he said last week, remember? “the spirit of the Lord is upon me because he has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor...” And then he says, “today this passage is fulfilled in your hearing. And the reaction of the people is very positive. When they ask “isn't this the son of Joseph?” I hear a suggestion of pride in the local boy who made good. But then Jesus seems to read their thoughts, that they are expecting him to work miracles and healings in his home town even more than they've heard he's been doing elsewhere. And after all, Capernaum is up in gentile country; shouldn't Jesus be putting more effort into helping his own kinsmen? Jesus says no, and reminds the people that a prophet is not without honor except in his own country. So far, so good. But then as though he wants to rub salt in the wound, he points out that god sent Elijah to a pagan woman even though there was a famine in Israel; and sent Elisha to cure a Syrian leper even though there were plenty of Jewish lepers around. But why throw him off a hill? Why try to kill him for these words? I might have walked away angry or disappointed, but I can't put myself in the mind set of the people of Jesus town.

Perhaps there is a clue, though. When Elijah walked the earth, his biggest challenge was that king Ahab had married Jezebel and she had started to establish the worship of Baal in the land of Israel. I'm sure you remember when Elijah challenged the prophets of Baal and ended up slaughtering all of them. And things weren't much better in the days of Elisha, when the king, having executed all his blood relatives, also attempted to import a pagan religion. The context here is that Jesus is pointing to a time when god was no longer being honored in the land he had given the Jews, and consequently had taken his business elsewhere. So I don't know if Jesus was comparing his home town to the Jewish people of the past, or whether he was indicating that he was making no distinction between the Jews and the gentiles in his ministry, but whatever it was, they reacted with burning anger.

But what can we bring away from this gospel? One thing is that god is not a vending machine. The people of Nazareth really expected that their native son would answer their needs, pretty much because he was one of them. I think when we don't get what we pray for, we might feel a little like this – I've done everything you asked, lord, and now I expect something back. Heal my disease, save my marriage, help me find a better job. But when Jesus performs miracles in scripture, even in response to a request, it's always clear that it is on his initiative.

Another lesson perhaps, is just because we belong to the church which has the fullness of truth, which has the real presence of Christ, which has the sacraments, does not make us entitled. If anything, our being Catholics gives us more responsibility. During Jesus' time the Jews understood that they had a twofold mission – to honor god by keeping his commandments, all 613 of them, and to be a light to the gentiles. They were good at the first, but not so much at the second. And we Catholics are not very good at spreading the gospel in our own society, even though that was the last thing Jesus said to his apostles before he ascended into heaven.

And finally, how do we react when we are confronted with a truth that we don't agree with? I think somewhere in our teenage years we go from accepting what others tell us to questioning things we don't agree with. That's good in a way, but if it puts blinders on us it's not good. If you support elected officials who take moral positions contrary to what the church teaches, on the grounds that you've decided that the church at least in that area is mistaken, or maybe you don't even care,, this is a problem. The church has had two thousand years to think about how human beings should live, and the reason for its teachings has to do with human happiness, in this life and the next. If we are to be a light to the gentiles, then we have to show through our own lives that the teachings of Jesus through his church make our society preferable to what is out there. The early Christians won converts partly because the society around them could say, “see how they love each other.”. Unfortunately, when you begin to enumerate many of the church's teachings otherwise good Catholics will find at least one or two that they disagree with. And conversely, when we witness a friend, a neighbor, a relative who is living a life that endangers his or her soul, are we willing to be prophets to them, or do we say “it's none of my business”.

Jesus could walk through their midst and move on to the next town. I, on the other hand, am usually concerned about being thrown off the brow of the hill.