Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 16:19 – 31

I look at Facebook four or five times a week. I don't put much on facebook but I enjoy seeing what members of my extended family post. And there are a couple of communities I enjoy – one is for permanent deacons. A few days ago I ran across something called “global rich list”. It's a calculator that allows you to enter your annual income, or alternatively your total net worth, and find out how you stack up against the rest of humanity. I'm ashamed of where that puts me – but I think you would be as well. Face it, we Longmeadow people, even relatively poor ones, are way up there in the top 5% in terms of how rich we are.

Today Jesus in a few words paints a picture of a rich man – dressed in purple, when the only way you could get purple dye was to collect a certain species of shellfish and extract the dye; and fine linen, which was very expensive because it was spun from very fine threads, which took a lot longer than the coarse material most people wore. And while our gospel reading says “he dined sumptously” the actual Greek text says “he made merry in luxury” or as we might say today, every meal was a party. So to me he doesn't look like a mean-spirited king or a conniving merchant – he looks round and silly and oblivious to his surroundings, thinking primarily of himself.

Lazarus is a caricature as well. In fact he sounds a lot like Job, from the Old Testament, who was reduced to sitting on a pile of manure scratching himself with a piece of broken pottery. And I think Jesus is deliberately painting these extreme pictures. Notice that Jesus names Lazarus, the only time a person in a parable had a name. And Lazarus means “God is my helper”.

Now it sounds like the rich man went to hell and Lazarus to heaven. But that is not what Jesus says. He says they both ended up in Hades – which means “the netherworld”. There was a common belief that people went to a temporary place after death. Some people said that's where you spent eternity; others said that you would eventually move on – perhaps to reincarnation, perhaps to resurrection, as some Jews believed, or perhaps to something more in keeping with our concepts of heaven and hell. But a lot of people including many Jews believed that you had one final chance to learn what you needed to learn and move on to a good end. And I think when we look at this story, we can see that.

After all, if Jesus is trying to show us how to avoid hell, we never find out why the rich man is there in the flames. If all he did was enjoy life and burn through his money, does he deserve eternal punishment? I hope not. And he calls Abraham his father, and Abraham refers to him as “My son”. The bond between the holy patriarch of the Jewish people and the rich man is not broken. And there is that interesting reversal; “you had your good things during life; and it's Lazarus' turn now.” This doesn't make sense – if laying around having dogs lick your sores and longing for the crumbs of the rich man's table is enough to have eternal happiness.

And with Jesus' parables we often try to see which character we relate to. We don't relate to Abraham, we don't relate to Lazarus, and I would venture to say we shouldn't relate to the rich man either. We may be rich, but rich as we are, I think most of us would not step over a beggar on our porch and most of us would not spend our money on horribly expensive clothing, and most of us would not have a wild party for ourselves and throw food on the floor every day. And most of us do try to give something back – money, time, talent – we aren't oblivious to the fact that there are people in trouble, and most of us try to do something about that.

I don't think the rich man is burning for all eternity in hell. I think he is learning a lesson. He starts out seeing that he is in torment and Lazarus is up there with Abraham. He recognizes that he is supposed to be there – he doesn't ask to get out, he just wants a drop of water. And when that doesn't happen, he finally begins to think of someone else – his brothers. And he says that if someone rises from the dead, they will surely repent. And in the context, if they repent, they will change the way they see things, they will see their own Lazarus and be moved to take pity on him. And Abraham says, in effect, now you are catching on, that's why they have Moses and the Prophets. And Jesus ends the story there.

So who should we identify with? I think it's the brothers. I think this parable is a reminder that the most important thing about religion after our duty to God is our duty to our neighbor, the neighbor who has a name, a name we don't yet know. The neighbor who is loved by God just as much as He loves us, just as much as he loves the greatest saints, just as much as he loves the Blessed Mother; because God loves with His whole being, with all the love of which he is capable. A few weeks ago we heard about how Jesus shocked the pharisees because he sat down and ate with sinners. This was not because the Pharisees wanted nothing to do with sinners. They had a saying: “It is a good thing to feed a sinner who is hungry. It is an evil thing to sit down and eat with him.” The Pharisees thought that shunning a sinner was the best way to bring him back to righteousness, to rejoining the community. Jesus disagrees. Jesus wants each of us to be responsible for our brothers and sisters – on a personal level. And that is a real challenge.

We each have our Lazarus. Do you know his or her name? Do you step around him or her when you go out of your house or place of work? Or will you change the way you see things, which is what repentance means. And reach out to him or her in love.

I think the rich man will eventually learn his lesson and join his brother Lazarus in the bosom of Abraham, because God is infinitely merciful. But you can think what you want. Just recognize your brother. Once you learn his name, you cannot do otherwise.

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 16:1 – 13

We've just heard the parable of the unjust steward. Saint Augustine wrote a commentary on this parable, in which he said he could scarcely believe that Our Lord said these words. Saint Augustine was taken aback by the fact that Jesus seems to be praising someone who is dishonest, and furthermore, tells his followers to make friends for yourselves with dishonest wealth. And if you can't be trusted with dishonest wealth, who will trust you with true wealth? You can see where Saint Augustine was having problems. But he isn't the only one. If you look at others who have commented on this parable, they are all over the map about what it means. And I don't know which interpretation is right either. But I think that's the point of Jesus' stories. They all deserve to be thought about, pondered over, and we should never stop at the first interpretation that comes to mind.

Jesus' audience lived in a time when there were very very rich people and people who had very little. They took that for granted; there wasn't really a middle class. The rich man was probably a land owner and had tenant farmers. They were allowed to grow things on his land provided they paid the rich man a commission – usually a large one, but what choice did they have? The rich man was probably barely able to read and do any kind of accounting, so that's what his manager did. And the manager made his living by taking part of what went to the rich man. Some people say that when the manager writes down the debts of the tenants, he is basically writing off his share of what they owe. Others say that he is playing fast and loose with his master's wealth, and that is probably what got him in trouble in the first place. But I don't think that we need to dwell on that. Some writers say that the steward is unjustly accused; after all, the master is acting on rumors and fires his manager without allowing him to respond to the rumors. But of course Jesus later refers to him as dishonest. But that is not the point either. I should point out that the word “dishonest” is a translation from the Greek word which literally means “unjust”. Luke has made it clear in other parts of his gospel that he thinks all wealth is somehow “unjust” because as long as some people have more than others, there is injustic in the world.

The point is that the steward found himself in trouble with a very bleak future. He was still the manager of his master's wealth, because his employment would seem to be terminated when he gave his master an accounting for his stewardship – so he used that position to prepare for the future. And what he did was pretty clever. First, he used his position to bring about gratitude in the tenant farmers. He knew, even if he was dishonest, that if you did something that made another person grateful, they would most likely feel that they were in your debt. When we feel in someone's debt, we are uneasy until we pay them back, and if we can pay them back with something more valuable, we feel at rest. So the steward brings about gratitude – probably significantly, because these were desperately poor people. But the other thing he accomplishes is to leave the impression that what he did was ok with the master. The master saw the cleverness of the steward, and that's probably why he commended him. If he had gone to the tenants and said that the steward was not acting on his authority and he wanted the originally agreed upon commission, it would stain his reputation; he might lose the tenant farmers to another rich person and he'd be in trouble. He would be seen as untrustworthy. So his only choice would be to smile and keep quiet when people told him how great he was for forgiving part of the debts that were owed him.

The steward is shrewd and clever, and takes care of his future, at least his future on this earth. And when Jesus says, “Make friends for yourselves with dishonest wealth, so that when it fails you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings” it isn't that you are supposed to become friendly with it, but use it to make friends with those who can welcome you into eternal dwellings – and we know from other places in the gospel of Luke that he is talking about the people who can't pay us back on this earth, the poor, the outsiders, the abandoned; it's another way of saying “lay up your treasures in heaven”. And when he says, “If you are not trustworthy with dishonest wealth, who will trust you with true wealth?” he is pointing out that what has been given to us by almighty God, which we tend to think of as somehow related to our talents, our efforts, our cleverness, is not really ours – and we are stewards who will have to give an accounting.

And Jesus leaves us with that saying that always makes me nervous: “You cannot serve both God and Mammon.” Because the real lesson of the parable is that the steward used all his resources, all his cleverness, everything under his control, to achieve an end which at best would keep him in comfort for the rest of his life, or at least till he had another job. And because of Original Sin, you and I are always tempted to pay a lot more attention to the things of this world than those of the next. Here we are – and we are at least here giving an hour of our week to God. And here we are – and we are at most giving a small fraction of our income to build up God's kingdom; and the rest of our time and our treasure will be used to further the material goals of ourselves and our families. I'm not saying that's a bad thing; I'm simply pointing out that there is a danger here, because Our Lord makes it clear that there is no in-between position. Even when we are immersed in our day to day lives and have forgotten about Sunday Mass and the parables of Jesus, we must still be putting His kingdom as our priority. What he has given us must, in the long run, be used to serve Him.

So this is a good week to reflect upon our relationship with our money, our possessions, and indeed, the poor and the outcasts who have a claim on our wealth, because after all, what we do for them we are doing for Jesus Himself.

Twenty - fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 15:1 - 10

A telemarketer called a random number one day and a little boy answered.

“How old are you,” said the marketer?

“Five”, the boy replied.

“Could you let me speak to your mother?”

“No, she's busy.”

“How about your father?”

“He's busy too.”

“Do you have any older sisters or brothers?”

“Yes, I have a sister, but she's busy.”

“Is there anyone there I can talk to besides you?”

“Well, there are some police and firemen here, but they are busy.”

“Why is it that everyone in your house is busy?”

“They are all looking for me.”

We have the option today of reading the first two stories Jesus tells, or reading them along with the parable that we refer to as “the prodigal son”. I know you all are very familiar with that parable, because that's usually the one we preach about. But maybe today we should concentrate on the first two parables, about the shepherd who loses a sheep and the woman who loses a coin. Sometimes we interpret these stories as being about how God never gives up on sinners, or people who have left the church. That's probably a reasonable conclusion. But maybe we should think about what is really going on here.

First, Jesus is responding to Pharisees who are scandalized because he eats with sinners. The Pharisees had a saying, that if a sinner was hungry and you fed him, t hat was a good thing; but if you sat down and ate with him, that was a terrible thing. What they meant was that if you sat down and ate with the sinner, you were in a sense condoning his sin, and the best hope for winning him back was to show him that he wasn't welcome among the righteous. In another scripture Jesus says something similar when he talks about what to do if your brother offends you – remember? You make attempts to have him see that he's done wrong, and when nothing works, you treat him like a gentile. So the Pharisees are scandalized by Jesus, who seems to accept sinners as they are, and is making no effort to show them that they are sinful. And that brings on the parables.

Out west in the cattle drives ranchers would have their cowboys drive their herds to market. Usually several ranchers would combine their herds. It was expected that a few cattle would be lost in the drive; and I'm sure it was true of shepherds, as well. A man shepherding a hundred sheep would expect to lose a few. So our shepherd is totally out his mind, leaving the ninety nine to go after the stray. And the thing about the woman with the coins, each worth about a day's wage, is not that she would look all over for the coin – if you lost a fifty dollar bill you would probably look as well. But after she finds the coin, she throws a huge party, probably costing a lot more than the coin. She's out of her mind.

And remember, in both cases the sheep belongs to the shepherd, the coin belongs to the woman. I think Jesus is talking about you and I, not necessarily public sinners, people who have left the church, people who are in need of conversion. Really and truly, do you get lost sometimes? I do. I get lost all the time. Sometimes I feel abandoned by God; sometimes I fail to trust Him. I feel lost when my ministry doesn't seem to bear fruit. When someone close to me dies, I feel lost. People get lost in addiction, in anger, in the failure to forgive. And some of us get lost right here in church when our prayers seem dry and we begin to wonder if God is really here. We are in good company, though, because Mother Theresa wrote in her correspondence with her confessor that she felt like that a lot. I think lostness is part of the life of faith, it's normal, it's natural, and we need to recognize it. Because, you see, that was the Pharisee's problem; they refused to believe they could be lost and maybe sometimes were lost, and therefore they had no need to be found.

But think also about what these parables say about God? He experiences loss. Isn't that amazing? When I am in need of being found, God goes looking for me, because I am his, I belong to him. And God would leave the ninety nine behind to find me, and God would have a lavish celebration when he finds me.

For the Pharisees, God will only step in and involve himself with you when you follow all the rules, when you get rid of all your uncleanness – not only must your behavior conform to God's rules, but so must even the thoughts of your mind. But for Jesus, God is not what the Pharisees expect; he is out looking for his own. He is where his lost ones are. And even if we don't want to be found, like the little boy, He's still looking for us, because that is God, the busy God, the one who never gives up, who goes wherever he has to, even to dine with sinners, to rescue what he has lost.

This week reflect on where you might be lost, and as you do so try to see how God is there, working right in that part of you that needs to be rescued, and you might see that he is working in you to restore what is his.

Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 14:25 – 33

My dear wife decided that we should re-organize our garage and paint it, so that's what I've been doing this past week. I should point out that when we moved into our house in 1984, there was stuff in the garage from the previous owner. Much of it was left-over vinyl siding which I saved, never knowing when I would have to replace a piece. There were chunks of wood as well, which I did not throw out, having grown up with a grandfather and a dad who both did not throw out wood, in case they would ever need it to build something. We then proceeded to cram thirty-five years of other stuff in the garage. So as I was beginning to clean out the garage I ran across two suitcases that we had purchased the first time we took a couple of grandchildren on a trip – they were seven and five. As I looked at them, I thought, these are full of memories, I'll keep them. My dear wife quickly brought me back to reality, pointing out that the grandchildren were now in college and we had a whole closet full of newer and better luggage, which we did not use. So I agreed to take them to the Longmeadow swap shop. When I got there the man told me to toss them in the trash bin, because they got suitcases all the time. I thought about bringing them home, then with a pain that tore through my very soul, I tossed them in the dumpster. There is a point to this story.

The gospel of today reminds us of Saint Anthony of the Desert, Saint Francis of Assisi, and countless other saints who literally renounced their possessions, left their families and carried their crosses and followed Jesus. But not all the saints renounced everything, or left their families, although I suspect everyone who gets to heaven has to carry a cross. And while Jesus' words are harsh here, we hear him in other gospels telling us that the important thing is to believe in him, to trust him, and it says nothing about family or possessions. And that is the emphasis of Saint Paul as well.

So I think of the Martins, Louis and Zelle, the parents of Therese of Liseaux. They are canonized saints – they are in heaven, but they lived a very middle class life, not wanting for much; they raised eight children and made their living running a business that manufactured items made of silk. Louis ran the business end and Zelle the factory; they employed people, they had friends and relatives, and if you had met them you would be impressed, I'm sure, but you probably wouldn't see a relationship between this passage from Luke and their lives. Of course they bore their crosses. Zelle died of breast cancer just a few years after Therese was born; Louis spend the last part of his life physically and mentally impaired. And you can think of other canonized saints who acted as though they had missed the class when this gospel was taught – Saint Margaret of Scotland; Saint Louis of France; Saint Henry of Bavaria, Saint Stephen of Hungary, Saint Thomas More – they all had lots of possessions and families they cared about.

So what does this gospel, these seemingly harsh words of Jesus, have to do with us? I don't hate my relatives, although there may be one or two ... I hope I'll be able to carry my cross, but I haven't renounced my possessions. Is Jesus just being hyperbolic? Is this mere rhetoric?

I think we need to look at the other part of this gospel, the part about the tower builder or the king. Jesus is giving reasonable advice here; before you begin something, make sure you will be able to finish it. And I think this puts the other words in context.

In the language of Jesus' time, the word “hate” didn't mean what it means today. It was more like Jesus would have said, “You must prefer me to even those you love; and when he calls on us to renounce our possession, it isn't like the young man whom he told to sell all he had and give it to the poor; renounce is a different word. So I think for you and I this gospel should lead us to three questions:

Are there people in our lives that we prefer to Jesus? A child, a spouse, a best friend whom we could not envision ourselves without? How do they get in the way of our relationship with Jesus? They may not even be aware that they are in the way. The fact is that everyone with whom we have a relationship is potentially a rival of Jesus. So we have to evaluate our relationships in view of this possibility.

The second question: are there possessions standing between you and Jesus? If you are like me, probably. That was the point of my suitcase story. I can go through my home and find things I've had for years and have no more use for, and yet, I hang on to them for sentimental reasons, or because I might possibly have a use for them in the future, or maybe one of my grandchildren will need it. My own children, by the way, have expressed no interest in taking any of my stuff. So attachments can slow us down, they can distort our thinking; and as Jesus told us in another passage, store up treasures in heaven, not here on earth.

The third question: am I prepared to carry my cross and follow Jesus? Some of us are already bearing heavy crosses, and others, like me, very tiny ones. But we all have crosses. There are circumstances in everyone's life that they would rather be different. We can name our crosses, and they can get in the way of our relationship with Jesus by leading us to self-pity or despair. Or, and this is the greatest thing about Christianity, we can use our crosses to draw closer to Jesus. My mother used to tell me when I scraped my knee as a little kid and came to her howling, “Offer it up”. We all knew in those days that there was something about suffering that could potentially draw us closer to God. And when we take advantage of that, with His help, we are walking with him to Calvary and then to resurrection.

So Jesus tells us today to be wary of people, possessions and pain, because they can all get in the way of our being his disciples – or, if our perspective is right, they can help us be better disciples.

Twenty - second Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 14:1, 7 - 14
One of the perks of being a physician is that you get honor.  When people call you doctor, that's honor.  When people suggest you go ahead of them in the cafeteria line (because they think you are really busy) that's honor.  And even in the gratitude of patients you receive honor.  I liked being honored.  I liked it when I would be invited to speak about my research, or give a grand rounds.  And one of the real shocks of retirement is that gradually the honor slips away and people see you more and more as someone who is old and out of touch and doesn't matter any more.  This part of life, for me anyway, is God's way of teaching me humility. 
Way back when we are babies we begin to value honor.  When we have learned to walk, or talk, or develop bowel and bladder control, we are complimented by our parents; that makes us feel good.  And so we go through our early years seeking approval, and it's such a strong instinct that when we don't get it, some of us lash out and are happy just to be recognized.  If I can't be the smartest, or the best athlete, or the have the most friends, I can always be the meanest or the most destructive.  And it's pervasive in society.  In our present society we are turned off by people who “blow their own horn”.  President Trump does that a lot, although I sometimes wonder if he is just trying to get a rise out of people – and succeeding.  In our society we value the show of humility; we like actors who receive an academy award or athletes who win trophies to attribute their success to others, even to God.  Paradoxically, a hero who seems humble is honored even more than one who doesn't. 
In Jesus' time, the society was even more sensitive to honor than we are.  Although there are passages all through the Old Testament advising people to be humble, those were mostly forgotten; It was important who you knew and how well you knew them.  It was almost like currency; the more honor you had, the more advantages came your way.  You could get a better dowry for your daughter; you could charge more for your goods; and conversely, those without honor soon found themselves at the edge of society.  So the people at the banquet are behaving normally.  And oddly enough, I don't think Jesus was telling them or us that honor is a bad thing.  In fact, he seems to say, if you really want to be honored, than at least show the appearance of being humble.  After all if the host invites you higher – your honor meter goes way up.
But then Jesus talks about something unthinkable.  Because one of the main reasons for inviting people to a banquet is the hope of being invited back.  You would invite someone a little higher than you, and expect reciprocity.  If someone accepted your invitation and didn't invite you back, you would be humiliated and they would be shamed.  That's just the way things worked
So Jesus invites his host to really break from the norms of the society – invite the poor, the widows, the orphans the crippled, the lame – they can't pay you back.  But you can expect your payment when the righteous are resurrected. 
2000 years later, that kind of hospitality is rare, and when it exists, it's kind of artificial and institutionalized.  I don't know about our bishop, but I bet he doesn't eat with a bag lady or one of those homeless guys holding a cardboard sign.  You can go down to the soup kitchen and get a meal, no questions asked.  In several parishes there are “sandwich ministries” where some members make sandwiches and distribute them to homeless people.  These are good things.  But is Jesus inviting us to something much more radical – to literally eat and drink with people we would rather not associate with.  After all, If I'm passing out food in a soup kitchen, I can go home to my own supper feeling good about myself.  If I invite them into my house to share my meal, I will end up nervous, doing a lot of extra work – and if I try to sit down after the meal and share a little wine and conversation, that's really unusual. 
Jean Vanier founded the L'Arche communities in which normal people and people with developmental disabilities or were mentally challenged lived together in a family environment.  I suspect that's kind of what Jesus was getting at. 
Am I going to go out and grab some people off the street to share my supper tonight?  No.  Are you?  No.  Does Jesus know this?  Yes.  So why does he give us this totally counter cultural advice?  I think it's to make us think.  You and I know that if we would begin to do what Jesus suggests, we would quickly become saints.  Because we would be doing this because Jesus asked it of us – obeying God like Mary did.  We would be doing this as a practical way to love our neighbor, exercising the virtue of charity in a remarkable way.  We would be doing this as a way of making up for our sins – Saint Peter says that “Love covers a multitude of sins”.  I don't give banquets, but if I did, I wouldn't know where to begin in inviting the people Jesus suggests I invite, and lets not kid ourselves, I probably wouldn't even think about carrying out Jesus' advice. 
And when I meditate on the second part of this gospel, or in fact many other suggestions Jesus makes in the scriptures, I fall back on the fact that I am not a very good Christian, if being Christian means doing what Jesus says to do.  And maybe that's Jesus' point.  We all have to learn deep in our souls that we are in need of a savior, someone who can make up for all the times I've failed to follow Jesus. 
There's a story about life after death.  It turns out that everyone is seated at a banquet with every kind of wonderful food and drink.  Our resurrected bodies are a lot like the ones we have now, except no one can bend their arms at the elbow.  Some people are spending eternity trying to get the food into their mouths.  Others or putting the food into the mouth of the person on the other side of the table, and being fed by him or her as well.  Everyone is just doing what they did on earth, and some are in heaven, and  some are in hell. 

Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle C

Luke 13:22-30

Which of the following statements do you agree with?

1. I'll go to heaven because all paths lead to heaven.
2. I'll go to heaven because I have faith.
3. I'll go to heaven because I am a good person, generally.
4. I'll go to heaven because I go to church and make my family go to church.

The man who asked Jesus the question today was probably thinking along these lines; there was a controversy among the Jews about who would be saved – some said you had to be Jewish and that was enough. Some, like the pharisees, said you had to rigorously follow all the commandments of Moses, otherwise you were lost. Still others said that it was even possible for gentiles to be saved, so long as they followed the seven commandments of Noah which were given to the whole human race. And of course there was a school of thought among the jews that once you died, you were dead – no life after death; the Sadducee.

Jesus actually answers that question, but not the way the man had hoped. Jesus says “you have to strive to enter through the narrow gate.” And he suggests that some who are trying won't be strong enough. Now if you had heard that statement in the Greek of Jesus' time – because that's the only record we have of what Jesus had been preaching in the Aramaic language – it would have sounded like this: you have to agonize like an athlete to enter. What did Jesus mean? I could point to someone like tom brady who is out throwing passes for three or four hours a day, when he isn't doing wind sprints or lifting weights. And we all know that anyone who achieves excellence didn't get there by accident, even a Kardashian.

First, striving means diligence. Deuteronomy says “seek the lord with all your heart”. There can be no compromise; there has to be passion. Second, striving means mental concentration. Each of us, every day, must make a choice. The man asking Jesus the question had not made a choice; he was still of the opinion that he didn't have to begin until he knew exactly what was expected. Not true. St Paul talks about “seeing through a glass darkly” and that's how we have to go about our lives – moving, not standing around. Third, striving means self-denial. Tom Brady could be doing other things that would probably be more fun. He has enough money. And the same is true of us – we have to care enough about becoming what God wants for us to put aside things that aren't helping, that may be standing in our way.

We are all very lucky. We get the grace of the sacraments. However, the church teaches that a sacrament is first of all a promise of God's grace – we might say, “virtual grace”. However, the way we respond to this act of love on God's part will determine whether the grace offered is received – “active grace”. Saint Augustine said, and I paraphrase, “God acts so that I may want what he offers me, and when we decide we want that, he cooperates with my wanting so as to perfect in me the gift he offers.” The church has always taught that while we receive a valid sacrament, it doesn't always mean that the sacrament has an effect in us. I remember a classmate in medical school. He had been admitted – he had the “virtual grace” to become a physician. However, he had graduated from college with a bachelor of science in economics, and spent a lot of time watching and playing the stock market. He did not pass his tests and ended up dropping out. He did not have “active” grace.

Jesus goes on to say in this gospel that our opportunity is limited. Of course we could die, or in fact lose our minds to Alzheimer's disease. But it seems as though God in a way can give up as well. In the old testament God “hardens pharaoh's heart” so that he resists the requests of Moses. But in the end, pharaoh hardens his own heart. And we see Judas as well; did God give up on him when he had totally rejected Jesus? I think it's a real possibility; if we go through life making no effort to actualize God's graces, does he stop? Surely there is always mercy, but only if we turn back to him.

Jesus also makes it clear that just listening to the gospel, going to church on Sunday, doing other pious acts is not enough; we have to cooperate with God's grace with faith, hope and indeed with love, because grace is God loving us, and he does so so that we will love him back.

Sometimes Jesus says things that imply that the vast majority of mankind will be saved. He talks about the fact that he came to save all men, and being God, can he be denied? In the consecration at mass, our priest repeats the words “for you and for many”. Jesus compares the word of God to a leaven that eventually leavens all the bread dough. But there are many passages which suggest otherwise, perhaps this being one, or the story of the penitent tax collector, or the story of the rich man and Lazarus. You can pretty much read these the way you want. What you can't do, according to Jesus, is be saved without your own struggle, a struggle like an athlete in training, a violinist preparing for a major concert. Your salvation is a gift of God, but you have to grasp the gift through your efforts. Another saying from Saint Augustine, “God chose to create you without your willing it, but chooses to save you only through your willing it.”

Have a plan of life. Daily private prayer and a little spiritual reading; weekly holy mass and communion: regular and frequent confession; periodic recollection through a retreat or a mission to see how you are doing. And its a good thing to have someone to talk about faith with; it helps clarify our thinking and nourish our enthusiasm. Then the grace that is waiting to break through and turn you into a disciple, into a saint, will be unleashed.

Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle C

Luke 12:49 - 53
When we hear today's gospel, it doesn't sound like the Old Familiar Jesus.  In fact, it doesn't sound like Jesus in other parts of scripture, where he says things like “Peace I leave you” or “Peace be with you” or the peace I give is not like the peace the world gives.”  Here, he tells us he did not come to bring peace, but division.  He wants to set the world on fire, he wants to begin this process of setting family members against each other; he wants this so badly that it causes him anguish because it isn't happening already.  So what is going on?
Well, Jesus does bring peace.  In Hebrew that word is “Shalom” and is more than a truce between enemies.  It conveys rest, satisfaction, completeness, fulfillment.  And we have any number of saints to look at to see that giving oneself completely to Jesus results in just that kind of peace.  Saint Augustine, was raised by a Christian mother and pagan father in a time when most of the time you would not be baptized until you were an adult and made that choice.  Before his baptism as an adult, he flirted with different religions, taught philosophy had a son with his common law wife.  One day he had a mystical experience in which a child-like voice told him to take up and read.  He had a copy of Paul's letter to the Romans, and his eyes fell upon the line, “let us live honorably as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness, not in debauchery and licentiousness, not in quarreling and jealousy.  Instead, put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.”  After that he embraced Christianity wholeheartedly and soon became a priest.  Later in his life he would talk about his own experience and remind us that “Our hearts are restless until they rest in thee, O Lord.”  There is something about that kind of profound peace that those of us who aren't saints yet yearn for.  And there are so many other examples; We even see this happen with the apostles who after Jesus' death go from a fearful bunch hiding from the Jewish mobs to people who preached openly in the temple.  And we see martyrs cheerfully going to their deaths, because they have this peace.  So Jesus does bring peace, he brings shalom, to those who accept it.
But in this gospel Jesus is not talking about that kind of peace, and he is not saying that it is his intention to divide people.  He is predicting what will happen, though , and telling us that every human being who chooses to truly follow him can expect trouble, can expect that even those nearest and dearest will not understand.  And we see that happening as well. 
We know that following Jesus is counter cultural; it always has been, because the world is full of so many wonderful things, so many pleasures; and we all believe it is better to be wealthy than to be poor; and to be admired rather than ignored, and to be successful rather than to be a failure.  And yet Jesus on the cross is in pain, is poor, owning nothing but a loincloth; is ignored or even spit upon by those passing by, and is definitely a failure at being the kind of Messiah his people were expecting.  And yet he tells us to take up our crosses and follow Him.  Of course he promises that if we do this we will have eternal life, and if we don't we won't, but most of us are quite happy being of the world, because we think there is a compromise here.  We can have the good things of the world and still have eternal life.  I'm hoping that is true, needless to say, but I wonder how things will be when I am forced to make a choice, a hard choice, a choice that will divide me from my loved ones, or from the things that I love. 
And then I wonder what kind of Christian I really am?  How does Jesus see me?  I'm a pretty bland sinner.  When I go to confession, I have a hard time coming up with new sins; it's always the same old ones – I put off stuff I should have done, I spend more time on the computer than is good for me, I let my mind wander when I am praying – and I can't really think about anything that is terribly serious, although I know that that is probably true of most of us.  If I'm a typical penitent, it's a wonder the priest doesn't run screaming from the confessional out of sheer boredom.
But what if I had to confess what I have failed to do?  I passed a ragged man holding a cardboard sign saying “homeless vet”  and looked away.  Maybe he was faking it, but I guess if I had a choice I wouldn't spend my day like he does.  Or I think about someone who is going through a hard time and tell myself it won't be much help if I call her up with some words of comfort.  Or I feel the urge to extend my ministry as a deacon to a new venture, and decide not to.  Or here's one.  I write a line as I am composing this sermon and realize it would probably hurt someone's feelings so I cross it out and think of something less threatening.  I think if I had to confess all the times I've failed to live up to what Jesus calls us to do, it would be a long confession. 
I think this is what causes Jesus to express his frustration.  He knows he has a limited time to teach his disciples, and while he realizes that the moment is soon coming when he will take away the sins of the world through his sacrifice, he wonders whether it will make a difference.  One of the things about working in a nursing home is finding so many people who were raised Catholic, went to Catholic schools, even raised their children Catholic, but when asked about whether they belong to a church reply that they dropped out, they are indifferent, they are spiritual but no longer religious.  And if I were with Jesus I would say, “but look at all the people who still go to Church!  Look at all the great Saints that followed you and still follow you!”  And he would say, If that person was the only human being on earth, I would have still died for him, and it breaks my heart that he is rejecting what I want to give him. 
Today's gospel reminds us that if an outside observer could not tell whether we were a Christian or not, then we are doing something wrong; and it tells us that if our attempt to follow Christ causes us a little discomfort, we are on the right track.