Habakkuk 1,2-3,2,2-4 + Psalm 95 + 2 Timothy 1, 6-8, 13-14 + Luke 17, 5-10

My family lived in a home with a mulberry tree in the front yard. The tree was planted between the sidewalk and the street: a narrow strip about four feet wide. The developer, who obviously knew nothing about mulberry trees, probably planted them because they grow fast. In no time at all the street was a tunnel through mulberry branches; and by that time no one could not walk safely down the sidewalk because the roots of the trees pushed the concrete up and away from the street. It was a mess. As the one who had to mow the grass in that yard, I knew that the roots were everywhere right on the surface, and they were huge. So every time I hear this image, I get the point. That tree isn’t going anywhere which is probably why it was once so popular in Oklahoma where the wind comes sweeping down the plain! That tree is still there after 40 years, and the concrete sidewalk as been moved three times. It would not surprise me to hear that the house was now even a few inches higher. Mulberries don’t move. They do the moving. There is a lot to think about then with this two verse saying for apostles and for an apostolic people.

This story is a wonderful example of the extreme exaggerations common to that culture at the time. “Pluck out your eye if it is a cause for sin.” is a perfect example of this kind of story telling. In this style of exaggeration then, Jesus proposes the impossible: moving a mulberry tree! His point is that even the smallest amount of faith can make the impossible possible because, and this is the point, faith relies on God. Faith does not rely on human resources alone. God could move that tree, but no man alone could move it. When we finally get that right, finally understand that faith is about relying on God, not about what we can do, then all this makes sense. Yet our world and our times think that everything has to be big and powerful. “That is the way to get things done” thinks this world. Jesus suggests otherwise. Little faith, mustard seed faith, is all that is necessary. We don’t need a lot, we don’t need big faith. We just need enough to rely upon God. That is all.

Then comes a second and much more complex story. At first, we are almost conditioned to wonder about this master who seems so demanding and unreasonable toward a servant who has worked all day. However, the master is not the point or focus of the story. Forget him. This is a story told to disciples, not to masters. The apostles ask for increased faith,. There we go again: thinking that it takes a lot, or big faith, but the response of Jesus is to propose the attitude of a “servant.” It might even help to know that the word Luke uses in Greek is the word for “slave”; a much more significant word than “servant.”

What is remarkable about this servant is that he worked all day in the field, and then assumes household duties at night preparing and serving a meal. All of this without overtime pay or any particular recognition or affirmation. For disciples who are looking for glory and fame, a particular place or seat at the banquet of eternal life, this message is important. For us who sometimes slip into thinking that we can earn our way into grace, or that things we do will provide us special recognition by God now or on judgement day, there is a very powerful and important point to this story. It seems like we are always looking for extra credit like we may we have done in school. Service, no matter how well performed is not going to get us somewhere. It will simply be evidence that we know who we are and what is expected of us as servants. It doesn’t sound too exciting. It won’t draw a lot of attention. It never seems to bring any particular rewards. It’s just a little thing, doing what is expected, but it is what is asked of us. It is the foundation of greatness. Do well with little things, and more will be given.

This is a very real and practical message to young people and old people, to students, to mothers and fathers to teachers and all of us. Learn how to do the little things well. Don’t worry about winning awards for doing what you do because of who you are. Little things matter, and little things done well with a little faith will with the help of God have great consequences.

Amos 6, 1,4-7 + Psalm 146 + 1 Timothy 6, 11-16 + Luke 16, 19-31

There is only one way for you and me to hear this parable. We are not Abraham. We are not Lazarus or the Rich Man. They are dead. We are not necessarily the Pharisees either. We are this rich man’s brothers, and according to Abraham who speaks with great authority, we have Moses and the Prophets. There will be no other signs and no wonders to teach us, just the Word of God.

This story, unique to Luke’s Gospel is probably not a parable because one of the characters has a name (which never happens in a parable): and what a name it is! “Lazarus” meaning, “God is my helper.” The rich man has no name inviting us into the story, into the character, into his experience. He is really something, and in spite of how his life has ended and where he is, he just doesn’t seem to get it. Look at his behavior and how he talks. He speaks to Abraham as though Abraham is his peer, and in spite of his situation, he thinks Lazarus is his servant. He wants Abraham to send Lazarus first to serve him with a drink of water, and then when Abraham refuses, he comes back again with the preposterous proposal that Lazarus should leave his comfortable place and go to those brothers who still remain behind. This guy just doesn’t get it at all. This story turns on the people who do not get it, and as the Word of God, it speaks to those who have Moses and the Prophets (The Word of God) with the hope that we will get it.

This story invites us to see what wealth looks like and what poverty looks like, and it invites us to look deeper and to look within. The rich man is described by externals, his dress and his food. It’s all shallow. He is only what he looks like and how he dines. There is nothing more to him; no depth, no soul, no compassion, no ability to see beyond the gate of his comfortable house. He cannot see a future and where this will all lead. The great chasm is already there in his blindness. Lazarus on the other hand has something the rich man lacks, an identity, a name that reveals his soul, the depth of his life in his relationship to God. The rich man has no relationships at all outside of his brothers who we can assume have been dining with him walking in and out of that gate oblivious of Lazarus. The rich man is not condemned because he is rich. He ends up in torment because he thought it was all his. Lazarus is not in blessed comfort because he was poor. He is rests in blessed comfort because he never forgot that God was his helper.

Wealth then consists of fine things and plenty to eat, but it does not seem to make one “Blessed” like Lazarus or provide what Lazarus has,  “comfort.” In fact, luxury has little to do with long-term happiness, and  it is no substitute for blessed comfort.

I find it fascinating that when Abraham talks to the rich man, his address is in the passive voice grammatically, but the rich man doesn’t get that either. “You received…” says Abraham, not you earned or you deserved Abraham simply says, “you received.” I think that one of the things the rich man received was Lazarus, but he didn’t get that either. The rich man’s wants keep him from being attentive to what others need.

I want and I need to hear this story as if I am one of this man’s brothers. There is no other way for it to bring life and hope to this world. I want and need to hear this story now because this nation of which I am a part is eating itself to death and living in luxury with Lazarus at the gate. It makes me think of the people just a little ways away on an island called, Haiti. Is at our door step, brothers and sisters, the poorest nation on the earth. I want to hear this story now so that I never think that I earned anything and always remember that everything I have is a gift that I have received.

I want to remember the ancient wisdom of John Chrysostom who said this in a sermon hundreds of years ago: “Remember this without fail, that not to share our wealth with the poor is theft from the poor and deprivation of their means of life. We do not possess our own wealth, but theirs.” ……..and speaking about us, Abraham said: “If they will not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded if someone should rise from the dead.”

Amos 8, 4-7 + 1 Timothy 2, 1-8 + Luke 16, 1-13

Until something hits us right in the face most of us are content to live quite simple and shallow lives in the immediate moment. It is a comfortable kind of existence where we find it easier to survive in a world filled with danger and uncertainties of all kinds. “Denial” is what we call it; a life-style that marks our time in history quite clearly. It often takes the loss of a job, a health crises, or the death of a loved one to wake us up with the question of what lies ahead. Until something like that happens, we just keep our heads down plugging along day by day hoping that the future will take care of itself. No it will not take of itself. It will be the consequence of what we do today.

I think that mothers and fathers get a less frightening opportunity with the birth of a child. I can’t tell you how often I have watched and listened to new young parents reflect upon their experience of bringing a human life into this world with all the responsibility and new dreams of the future. It is the one unavoidable moment when they must look ahead, way ahead, and adjust their lives for the future.

This is what Jesus speaks of today a world not so much different from our own. The man has lost his job, and while he may have known that it could happen at any time, he’s never thought about it or worried about. The future has always been just that: the future, a time that never seems to arrive. But, then it does, and it will not take care of itself.

The Living Word of God still speaks to all of us who live in a comfortable kind of denial about a future that never quite seems to come.
This Living Word of God speaks to all of us who have jobs and possessions, opportunities, talents, and skills.
This Living Word of God raises the same question that Jesus raised to those gathered around him. It is raised again by Luke writing to a church that had grown comfortable in their present lives. Their earlier anxious readiness and anticipation of the end, of the second coming, was slipping away. They had forgotten that an accounting would be asked of them.

In a general way, this Gospel gives reason to restore that awareness. It is a wake-up call like being written up at work, or discovering that our blood pressure is high or cholesterol is climbing. It calls us believers to look up and look ahead, to remember that this is not all there is, to live not just for today, but for tomorrow. There is here no condemnation or any suggestion that there is something wrong with wealth, riches, and possessions. There is however, a question raised about how those are to be used, and a proposal that they would best be used with regard to a future that will come.  For the wise, what we do with what we have no matter how much there is or how little is the issue.

Prudence is a virtue found in the wise, and it is an appropriately developed virtue in disciples of Jesus. Not a fearful caution and leaves one afraid to act, Prudence is a way of acting and behaving, of relating to things and people with regard the the future.

For people of faith, like you and me, that future leads us to a steady and constant nurturing of a spiritual life; a life that will survive on and on into the future. The lives of faithful believers, disciples of Jesus, are not split into the physical and spiritual, or for that matter into the present and the future. Their lives, the lives of the wise, are integrated into a wholeness that brings them to live in the present as though it was the future. They live today the way they hope it shall be forever. Their spiritual lives are integrated into their physical lives knowing that what is good for the soul is good for the body, and what happens to the body affects the soul. It gives them a way to judge and measure what pleasures and how much pleasure is good and what is harmful, because what feels good may not actually be good.

This is the wisdom of prudence. It suggests to us who seek that wisdom that the use of what we have today has consequences for the future, for our very soul, and for the kingdom of God both now and when the time comes for an accounting. The future will not take care of itself.

Exodus 32, 7-11, 13-14 + Psalm 51 + 1 Timothy 1, 12-17 + Luke 15, 1-32

Those scribes and pharisees complain because they think Jesus should be eating with them. They don’t think that those tax gatherers and sinners deserve the attention and the presence of Jesus. They are the good and holy ones who deserve the pleasure and privilege of eating with Jesus. They think Jesus owes them his attention and favor.

Now look how this thinking and this attitude of privilege frames our Gospel today. It starts with the good and holy scribes and pharisees complaining; and it ends with the good, loyal, hard working son complaining in the same way. He deserves a party, the fatted calf, but the father waits and runs out with ring a robe for that other one who does not deserve it. It’s not fair!

As I say that, I am reminded of my little five year old grand nephew with whom I spent two months this summer. Other than, “I didn’t do it.” The next most frequently heard saying from his lips was: “It’s not fair.” It was his constant compaint when his older brother got to do something, play longer, or stay up later than he did. I would say to him: “Who told you life was fair? Get over it. It is not a matter of what you deserve. It’s a matter of what you do when you know it’s not fair.” Then he would look at me, wrinkle up his forehead, and walk away disgusted. The poor child is growing up under the impression that he deserves things because he is cute and clever, and that when he behaves nicely he is going to get some prize when in fact, good behavior is nothing special. When he looks at me like that, I think I know how God feels, and certainly how Jesus felt as the scribes and pharisees complained: “It’s not fair.” I think I hear that older son saying the same thing.

It’s a troubling and challenging situation in this fifteenth chapter of Luke. Troubling to people like you and me, the faithful ones who pray, attend Mass, contribute, and listen to God’s Word. It’s challenging too because often we are tempted to think we are not getting what we deserve, God is not attentive to our prayers, while others who don’t go to church or do not seem to lead holy lives and make any sacrifice for the work of the church get along just fine and sometimes have it better than we do! It’s not fair!

So we tell once again these Gospel stories in gratitude and wonder. Grateful first of all that God is not like us who are always measuring out so carefully what is deserved, fair, and just. Because this world over which we have authority is anything but fair and just to those we judge to be undeserving.

Grateful too because we have the undeserved faith to receive this revelation about God and share the joy of those who are lost, rather than sink into complaining resentment.

There is something awesome and wonderful here too in these stories that reveal a God whose grace and love surpases even justice. These stories sustain our hope that  our God will wait and watch for us to get over ourselves and rejoice with him. The saddest thing about this last story we know so well is the refusal of the older brother to come into the party and share the joy. The refusal to rise above complaining resentment over God’s gracious love still threatens us, but yet there is hope and promise found in this eucharist we celebrate. Shared enough in the spirit of this Gospel, we are drawn, tempted, teased, and invited to joy for the truth is, we too have been found in spite of ourselves.

Wisdom 9, 13-18 + Psalm 90 + Philemon 9, 10,12-17 + Luke 14, 25-33

Our Lady of Lebanon Maronite Church, Norman, OK

It was Monday of this past week when I was driving down to Norman (Oklahoma) for dinner with some dear friends when a segment of “All Things Considered” came on the radio. For me it was an interesting piece about the struggle of the Amish people with some technology of these times, particularly with computers and the internet. The reporter was clearly fascinated by some inconsistencies among various Amish communities and obvious compromises some Amish were making with technology that allowed them to be competitive in business. In one of the interviews, a gentleman spoke of the Amish lifestyle in terms of a pilgrimage which required going lightly through this life.

I had  spent a considerable amount of time in the study of these chapter fourteen parables anticipating this week’s Gospel proclamation. Luke’s use of these parables for the faithful he is addressing tells us a lot about what they were facing in that second generation after Pentecost and Christ’s return to the Father. Their persecutions were real. The challenge and the cost of their discipleship with Christ and their loyalty to one another was a serious matter and often times a dangerous choice. People would come and go. Their commitment to Christ and the followers who bore his name was not to be taken lightly, and we know from the writings of the early Church Fathers that many would fall away, give up, and leave the community when the challenge was too great. These caused disputes in families, and probably ended in sad alienation.

As I listened to that Amish gentleman speak of his spirituality, he used the word, “pilgrimage” to describe the way he uses and relates to technology. If it furthers with his pilgrimage and his relationships with other pilgrims, it’s good. If it comes between him and his goal or interferes with his relationships, it’s bad. Suddenly, the light bulb above my head came on, and I got it! I remembered again where Jesus was in Luke’s Gospel and in  what context these parables were spoken. Jesus is on his pilgrimage. He is headed to Jerusalem. Out of his own experience he speaks to us in the context of our pilgrimage, and remembering and living like people on a pilgrimage through this life and this world begins to give these parables some meaning with wise counsel. Perhaps it is not so much about relationships with family or connections that give us security and privilege or about planning for the future as it is about simply remembering every day, all day, that we are just passing through here, and what we do and how we do it will make a difference on whether or not we get to our destination.

These parables are told to us by a pilgrim, someone on the way to Jerusalem, on the way to the Father. These parables are told to fellow pilgrims going the same way. They are shared with the wisdom of experience and the insight of Divine Grace. They remind us of the truth that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line; and that wandering around and around distracted by a thousand little things that often do not have anything to do with where we are going and who we really are always runs the risk of getting us lost.

For the master, Jesus, and for those who accompany him on the way to the Father, discipleship is not a part-time job, and the journey will not allow detours, stops and starts. There can be no doubt from the way disciples live and how they spend their time and use their gifts about where they are going, and what they judge will get them there. The image of these parables provides us all with a good measuring stick by which we can determine as the old Amish man decided, what helps and what does not; what keeps me focused on the journey, and what keeps me close to those companions I have along the way.

This measure can be applied to everything: to what we spend our time doing, to what we think we need, and how we nurture and sustain the relationships we have around us, where we are right now and later today, and what inspires us and what confirms our identity as disciples of Jesus. A life focused on buying power, prestige, what we wear and how we look, on who we know because they can get us what we want is not the life of a true pilgrim. They already have what they want, and they have nowhere to go. Parents, this is what you have to give your children. It is more important than an education that will put them on the fast track to wealth and the illusion of security. Give them the vision of the journey and show them how to be noble and holy people focused on the only thing that matters and will get them to the Father. Young people, this is who you are, and this is how you make decisions about what really matters, and who you should have as your friends. You will not make the journey successfully with anything or anyone who takes your gaze off the Kingdom of Heaven.

The message of the parables of the builder and the king is similar to that saying about the ploughman, who must give his full concentration to his task: “No-one who puts his hand to the plough and looks back is fit for service in the Kingdom of God.” (Luke 9:62).

Sirach 3, 17-18, 20, 28-29 + Psalm 68 + Hebrews 12, 18-19, 22-24 + Luke 14, 1, 7-14

It would be very easy to sit back and think that this episode in Luke’s Gospel is all about pride and humility. There is plenty here to reflect upon in that regard, but there is a lot more about this story that addresses our lives and behavior these days than pride and humility. As I was sitting with this text and imagining the dinner, my mind wandered to the very popular British Series: “Downton Abbey” where many events of the day and much of the lives and values of the characters are revealed over grand sumptuous meals. Somehow those meals reveal a great deal about those times, the people, their values, and their sense of self.

Much the same thing is taking place in the home of this Pharisee. Jesus is there, and so are we. In the light of His presence we learn a lot about the guests and the host; and we if we want this Gospel to come to life, we might place ourselves in both roles. We are always guests at the divine table. We are also often the host who invites, nourishes, and provides for others. Read in this way, we can do some serious reflection on just what kind of guests we are, and how we behave as a host. Perhaps, and very likely, Luke is retelling this story for the sake of his community wanting them to think about their behavior at Eucharist. We can allow Luke to do the same for us and broaden the image even wider, because we not only feast at the Eucharistic Banquet, but also at the Banquet of Life on this earth.

The whole idea of places of honor is called into question by this Gospel. Jesus takes offense at the whole idea of privilege. Does someone have a “right” to be invited or included? If they find themselves invited, is there some “right” to sit in one place or another? This is serious business for those who find themselves at the table. It is no privilege, it is a gift. No “rights” are included, he seems to say to the guests. Then he speaks to the host about who is to be included, and the same principal applies. For us believers, any thinking about a “host” ought to remind us of the Divine Host who must be our model. Since God, the Divine Host does not seem interested in “privileges”, then how is it possible that those who are made and live in His image would do otherwise?

We know how this works and what it means. It happens all the time. “What am I going to get out of it?” is always the issue when it comes to choices: choices about who to invite, who to serve, who to welcome, or who even who to acknowledge. This question has no place in the lives of disciples of Jesus. There is no pay-back in this life other than the pay-back of knowing we have come closer to life in the Kingdom of God as Jesus models for us.

Perhaps to get to the heart of this Gospel, we simply need to go back to the table where we learned to pray; the table in our homes with brothers and sisters, Mom, Dad, and anyone else who pulled up a chair at that table. Sadly in these times, such tables are too few with fast-food meals eaten in the car on the way to or from some meeting or game. Too few are the meals where people sit together and talk without the TV or Phone texting, or Video games for children to keep them quiet.

While her sons were away during a war, my Grandmother always insisted that any soldier who was at the Fort alone on a Sunday or holidays be brought to the house. It made no difference where they were from or what color their skin. Around that table were people I never saw before and never saw again. The custom passed down to my own generation, and I grew up in a home were people joined us for dinner. There we learned to pass the bread so that everyone had a piece. When someone came unexpectedly, we knew to take a little less so that there would be enough to go around. It was never a matter of whether or not the guests deserved a share. The rule was simple, everyone who came got a portion of what was provided. I grew up with people who lived the same way, and many times I was invited at the last minute, and there always seemed to be enough with people who understood this Gospel story.

It’s not all about pride and humility. It’s about eating. It’s about being a guest, and how to be a host. It’s not about rights and privilege. It is about gratitude, and a right attitude about the abundance in which we find ourselves, how we share it, as well as how we feel about being at that abundant table. This is what Jesus revealed at that dinner in the house of a Pharisee; and it is what he reveals to us again today.

Isaiah 66, 18-21 + Psalm 117 + Hebrews 12, 5-7, 11-13 + Luke 13, 22-30

Understanding the question in light of the times is not difficult. It was a very measured world. There was only so much to go around, and when it ran out, that was all there was. It worked that way with food and everything else, and there was never really a “lot” of anything for those people. So the question brought to Jesus is not unusual for someone who was trying to figure out how this message of Jesus was going to work out.

If you look at the long history of our faith, most of the great spiritual writers were of the opinion that few would be saved. Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, and many others believed that not many would “get to heaven.” This may have been based upon their judgement of their times, their own lives. Their expectation carried on until just about my time. Many of us who are over 60 remember very well the catechesis of our age which insisted that we might not get to heaven, that it was very, very difficult, that only the most heroic, people like the saints, especially the martyrs were the only ones sure to be saved.

The consequence of this was a lot of scrupulosity, very narrow minded, rigid and almost paranoid spirituality that led us to hope that at best we might must slip into “purgatory”. That would be our best hope! “O Lord, I am not worthy.” was the style of prayer. “Have Mercy on us, O Lord.” was the theme of our spirituality.

Then sometime around the late 1960s, perhaps stirred by the Holy Spirit through the Vatican Council, things changed. Personally I don’t think the Council had anything directly to do with it. There were other factors at work at that time in history as the wealth of the world was increasing along with literacy, and a kind of world view that was marked by secularism. At any rate, the change is noticable. Now, instead of “few” being saved, “few” if any are lost. Heaven has become a kind of all-inclusive place where everyone will be found. When you come to think about that idea, you ought to begin to wonder then why did God bother to send Jesus and what in the world was his suffering all about. If everyone was going to be saved, and I mean everyone, none of that would have been necessary.

Perhaps both ideas miss the point. Perhaps what Jesus would reveal to us is that it is not a matter of few or all, but rather that another question ought to be asked. The issues is not, “how many”, but simply how, and that is how he responds. The fact of the matter is both “few” and “all” lead to trouble. Thinking that “few” will be saved leads to a kind of odd and unhealthy spirituality. This plenty of evidence for that case. Thinking that “everyone” will be saved leads to a very secularized existence that lacks any kind of real and deep spirituality. There is more than enough evidence to support that as well

The response of Jesus leads each of us to ask the right and only question: “How am I going to be saved?”

Now the “narrow” gate or “narrow” door does not mean you have to squeeze through a tiny opening. There was a gate into the city of Jerusalem that was very small. It was a way of protecting the city and keeping invadors on camel or horseback from riding on in with their weapons. The only way through that gate was to simply dismount and walk through. There was a way in, but it took some doing. It’s like any other thing great an noble we might want to accomplish. There is a way. It takes practice. You can’t just cruise your way along, do your own thing, or wait for someone to do something for you.

If you want to be a great musician, you practice, and that means you sacrifice a lot of free time, pleasure, and anything else that keeps you from practice. If you want to succeed at athlectics, you practice. You spend hours on the court, on the course, and you listen to the coach doing what he says. A lot of people these days have “coaches” or “trainers”, and nothing comes of it if you don’t follow the instructions.

So it is with us and the Kingdom of Heaven. There is a way to be included. Forming our lives into the life of Christ is our narrow door. It’s not a life of pleasure and self-serving interest. It takes practice: a life time of it. Engaging in that practice will keep us from getting caught up in the secularization of this age, and lead us into a deep and profound spirituality that this world lacks today as it chases after every shallow and silly idea that comes along. Only Christ and His way, His Life of Sacrifice and Love is the answer to the question.

Jeremiah 38, 4-6,  8-10 + Psalm 40 + Hebrews 12, 1-4 + Luke 12, 49-53

The other day I was in the car with my sister and her two grandchildren who are 7 and 5 years of age. They had been arguing, and the noise of their conflict was beginning to get on the nerves of those of us in the front seat. My sister declared a time of silence that was to last until we reached their home. We had to stop for her to pick up something along the way. I remained in the car with the boys, and as soon as she was in the store, the silence was broken. We laughed and talked, teased, and giggled until she reappeared at the car door, and silence resumed. As she buckled the seat belt, she said: “It’s a good thing you kept quiet.” A little voice from the back seat said: “We talked.” and I was in trouble. But “enforcer” has never been my strong suit no matter what anyone may choose to say. The little guy spoke the truth with a kind of innocence that betrayed two things: he was not really afraid, and telling the truth set him free from suspicion.

For more than forty-five years I’ve been praying with people in the Sacrament of Confession, and it has led me to conclude that there is not a person alive who doesn’t have a big problem with the Truth! We lie. We hide the truth, and we hide from the truth. We don’t like to hear it spoken. This denial of the truth is contributing in a very powerful way the polarization of this world and this nation. We prefer silence to the truth, and most of us live in a constant state of denial: denial of the truth. The trouble with this sort of thing is that it puts us at great distance from the One who is the Truth.

When poor old Pilate stood in front of Jesus and said: “What is Truth?” He could not face the fact that he was standing in front of the truth: the truth about himself, the truth about his life, his version of Justice, and the very truth of Jesus Christ. Because of the fact that we live in denial of the truth about who we are and for that matter about who God is, we live a little bit like Pilate who would not see the truth, feared it, and would rather wash his hands and blaim someone else than admit, accept, and embrace the truth.

The fire that Jesus came to ignite is the fire of truth, and the revelation of that Truth will cause divisions and strife. It always has, but it’s not because of Jesus. The goal of Jesus was not to create division, but to bring about acceptance of the truth. Those who tell the truth usually pay a great price. The prophets in the Old Testament were truth-tellers, and they all had trouble for it. Some paid with their lives. The truth tellers among us still are often outcasts avoided by those who would prefer to live a lie. Those who tell the truth are often embarrassed, frustrated, and angered by the challenges they face with the truth. Ask anyone who has been a “whistle-blower” at the work place, and you’ll get the picture. This age in which we live likes the lie, and when truth begins to be discovered, there is trouble.

The paradox of all this is that we are drawn to the truth. I think it’s why at our lowest level we are often suspicious and doubtful of things we hear and are told. We always want to know the truth. We are restless and something in us seeks the truth even though we often don’t want to hear it.

The truth always reveals what we most want to hide from ourselves and from others. We are sinners. The moment we start to hide, to run, to deny, to lie to ourselves about this, the further we will find ourselves from Jesus Christ. The Incarnation of Jesus Christ is the Incarnation of the Truth that breaks into this living lie which continues to suggest to us that there is really no such thing as sin, and if there is, we’re not involved to any great extent. Which of course, is the greatest of all lies. As I said once before, in this day and age, no one anymore has “sin”, we just have “issues”. When you smile at that thought, you are beginning to acknowledge the truth.

With the coming of Jesus Christ, the dividing line is revealed, not so much between the good and the bad, but rather between those who live in the truth and those who hide from the truth, deny the truth, and who might even insist that there is no truth. The remedy that leads to truth is proposed in the second reading today, that Letter to the Hebrews. It is worth reading again throughout this coming week.

When we stand before and within the truth, we shall discover that God’s love is in proportion to the forgiveness he gives. The greatest sinners who confess their sin and embrace the truth are the ones who always seem to know, really know, the love of God. They are like the little guy in the back seat who knows that if he tells the truth with someone who loves him, he will enjoy even more of that love, and live a very joyful life free of fear, free of doubt, and free from the darkness of sin, deceit, and lies. It is still and always will be so: The Truth shall set you free.

Wisdom 18, 6-9 + Psalm 33 + Hebrews 11, 1-2, 8-19 + Luke 12, 32-48

Often when people comment to me about a particular homily saying that they feel as though I was speaking directly to them, I think to myself (and have sometimes said aloud), “That’s because I’m really always speaking to myself.” With this Gospel today, it occurs to me that the same thing may be happening with Jesus. When Peter asks that question, “Lord, is this parable meant for us or for everyone?” I wonder if Jesus was not thinking: “I’m talking about myself here. If you want to follow me, pay attention.”

Let’s remember that this parable in Luke’s Gospel is set during the Journey to Jerusalem during which Jesus has spoken of what is to come there. Very dramatic parables have been used like the Samaritan story, significant conversations have taken place with Martha and Mary, followed by an instruction on prayer making these far more than simply nice Bible Stories. When you think about what is shortly to happen in Jerusalem, these are the final instruction of Jesus to those who will remain. These are lessons left to us by a man walking to his death. These lessons are his treasure, and they ought to stir us up a bit on an August weekend. He is teaching us about care for our neighbors which might well include our enemies (wondering as I did here a few weeks ago why we would have any). He is teaching us about prayer and what really matters in this life. He is drawing us into himself, sharing with us what he must be thinking about as he makes his way to Jerusalem where he will forgive enemies, pray to his Father, and give up everything to possess the Father’s final and best gift, eternal life.

“Much will be required of the person entrusted with much, and still more will be demanded of the person entrusted with more.” While he is speaking to us, I truly believe he is speaking to himself as well. No one has been entrusted with more by God than Jesus Christ, and much was demanded of him. He must have known and believed that. As he entrusted so much to us who remain, he reminds us that much will be demanded of us as well. This is not just a matter of wealth and possessions. It is also a matter of faith with the expectations that we bear witness to and share what is entrusted to us in faith. True discipleship requires a depth of faith beyond ordinary measure.

People of faith, like you and me are called to a higher level of responsibility. We are called to be models of hope and of courage that comes from deep faith and lives consistently lived after the pattern of Jesus Christ. That courage which rests upon hope is what we see in Abraham in the first reading today. Knowing the long and rich tradition of Abraham surely shaped the faith of Jesus as he grew in wisdom and grace at a home in Nazareth. Abraham’s faith fulfilled his deepest hopes, and that is exactly what we see again in Jesus Christ. His faith in His Father fulfilled his hopes, and so it must be for us as well.

We cannot live as if this is all there is on this earth. The faith with which we have been entrusted gives us hope, and constantly directs our attention and shapes our values in terms of what is yet to come. “Entrusted”, “Demanded”, “Required” are strong and emphatic verbs that leap off the page at us who sometimes are tempted to be more interested in what we can get rather than than what we can give; in what we can keep rather than what we can share. Thinking that God’s generosity stops with us, and that what we have been given is all for us marks a failure of discipleship and stewardship.

The one who has been given the most has shown us how to live with what has been entrusted to us. The one who has been given the most has shown us what is required by his life of hopeful service, of prayer, and courage. Learning from Him, following him, and remaining one with him should leave us fearless and without concern when the time comes for the demand.

Ecclesiastes 1,2 – 2.23-33 + Psalm 95 + Colossians 3, 1-5, 9-11 + Luke 12, 13-21

 Two questions raise a couple of troubling human issues in this scene from Luke’s Gospel:

1. Who appointed me a judge or arbiter between you?”
2. Who will get what you have prepared for yourself?

The man shouting out from the crowd pulls us into a very real human conflict that all of us have probably seen, and some may have actually experienced: the fighting over money and resources within a family when there is a lot to go around. “Tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.” There is a little cultural issue here we ought to keep in mind: the first son got everything. So right away, it looks as though this is a younger brother. It is doubtful that the older brother had any obligation to divide the inheritance. In other words, someone is asking for something for which they have no actual right. This is what makes it easy for Jesus to brush off the request. But maybe he really isn’t brushing it off. Perhaps he is suggesting that the present system is not in accord with the values and way of God’s reign. And so, with that, Jesus moves toward the second question with what I think is a very sad story.

Two men here: one has nothing and asks for a share. The other has everything and he dies with it.

The second man is lonely, isolated, and in my judgment, a tragic figure. What I find “tragic” is that he talks to himself as though there is no one else to talk to or listen to. He is so busy talking to himself that, in a sense, he can’t hear his brother asking for a share. Listen to that dialogue. He talks to no one but himself. He is probably so paranoid and so anxious about keeping everything that he listens to no one and talks to no one.

The story wouldn’t be so sad if it were not that it continues to be lived. Families break apart, relationships are destroyed, and courts are filled with family squabbles and law suits over one inheritance after another.  Those who have are still talking to themselves scheming over ways to keep what they have. I am frequently struck by this when in the car I dial past “talk radio” on the way to finding some good music. These people are all talking to themselves. They only listen to those who say what they want to hear reinforcing and offering no challenge to their privilege and power. It’s like an echo chamber!

Let’s suppose for a moment that these two men are brothers, even though Luke never suggests so. If the parents of the older brother had left their estate in order, the younger one may never have been crying out for a share. As a pastor for so long, I can’t begin to tell you how often I have seen family relationships unravel because parents acted as though they were never going to die, failing to be good stewards, and waiting too long to provide for a just distribution of their estate. On the most practical level, this story is a wake-up call to everyone who has not yet prepared for their passing from this life. It makes me wonder, as a pastor, how well someone is prepared spiritually when the material things are sometimes left in such a mess. The second question of this Gospel might well be directed to them, and I wonder, why would you let the courts distribute what is left when you die?

In the end, we can stand outside of this Gospel as observers watching as people build bigger storage units, fill their attics until they sag, and stuff their garages full until the cars sit outside. We can also watch part of the human family that has not received a share of what the Father has provided cry out for justice. However a real disciple of Jesus is not really called to be an observer standing outside the Gospel. So, we may also stand inside this Gospel and answer for ourselves the second question that really asks what we are going to do with what we have. The second man in this story has no friends, but a lot of money. He might be better off with a few more friends and a little less money.

We have inherited a great deal from a provident and loving God who has lavishly bestowed a great deal upon us. Why in the world, how can it be possible that anyone would be left asking for a share?