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?

Genesis 18, 20-32 + Psalm 138 + Colossians 2, 12-14 + Luke 11, 1-13

There is something very intimate at this moment in Luke’s Gospel. The request of the disciples is not a “show me how you do that” sort of request, and the response of Jesus to their request reveals just how intimate and how seriously he takes their request. It also shows us just what mattered to them about this man they have left all things to follow. They never ask him to show them how to cleanse lepers. We never hear them say: “How did he do that?” when the blind are given their sight or there is suddenly food for countless numbers of people who flock to hear him in the desert. But at this point in their journey to Jerusalem they finally go to the heart of their experience. It seems to me that suddenly they know that all those other things that are going on happen because this man knows how to pray, and they want to know that secret.

I’m not absolutely certain, but I don’t think the culture and the society in which these events took place was much like ours when it comes to prayer. There is a prayerful quality about the Jewish people that seems to keep a running conversation going with God all the time so well revealed in the written prayer of this ancient chosen people that we call the Psalms. There is a balance of praise, thanksgiving, petition, intercession for others, and simply awe all woven into the psalms these people sang all day long in the synagogue and probably at work. In that prayer, there is almost always a distance from God, a respect that establishes a relationship between creature and created, Lord and servant, powerful and powerless.

The disciples knew those prayers. They were in the Synagogue all the time. Probably more than once a day. The disciples also have come to realize that there must be something more than those prayers, something more that inspires, strengthens, enables, and encourages their friend and teacher, so they ask.

What he gives them is not a formula of words. If that were the case, I suspect that there would be no difference between the prayer we find in Luke and the prayer we find in Matthew. The formula would have been too important to abbreviate or elaborate. What he gave them was an intimate opportunity to share in the relationship he had with his Father; a relationship that had all the power to enable him to  do the Father’s will bringing forgiveness and healing, joy and peace.

That relationship is established by the first two words, and everything flows from that. OUR FATHER! That’s the prayer. That is the relationship that empowers, heals, brings peace, and relieves every need. But don’t be too quick to jump on that word: “Father.” Notice that the prayer does not begin by saying: “MY FATHER?” In fact there is no singular personal pronoun anywhere in this prayer. Not one of them. There is no “me”, or no “mine” anywhere in the prayer.” It is always “our” and “us”.

The intimacy I find in this prayer is not just a look at the intimate relationship between the Son and the Father that encourages the Son to call “God the Almighty”, “Creator”, “King of the Universe”, and all the titles we find for God in the Psalms a “Father”; there is also the intimacy developing between the Son and the disciples and between the disciples themselves that brings them to say: “Our.”

Think of it for moment. Think about how prayer still has the power to bring us together. All you have to do anywhere in the world when prayer is called for is say those two words, and Christian people everywhere, Christian people of every communion and tradition suddenly are one – sharing through those words the intimate relationship that Jesus came to establish. It’s not about bread, temptation, or forgiveness. It is about unity and the intimacy of fellowship in Christ, through Christ, and with Christ.

Think of it for another moment. When we pray like that, we pray with Christ. It was his prayer. We pray as children of God, one with Christ. When we pray like that, we pray as one people, God’s only people. When we pray like that, we are never alone. Think how often we offer that prayer and how often others must be doing the same hour by hour, minute by minute all over this earth. When we pray as Jesus taught us, we join them in prayer, in praise, in thanksgiving, and in the work of Christ that brings forgiveness and peace. In prayer, we are never alone.

Ave Maria Catholic Church, Parker, CO

Genesis 18,1-10 + Psalm 15 + Colossians 1, 24-2 + Luke 10, 38-42

My second assignment as a priest in 1971 was to a High School in Oklahoma City which, in those days, was owned and for the most operated by the Sisters of Mercy. I was 29 years old with shoulder-length red/blond hair reluctantly assuming the assignment the Bishop had insisted upon over my hesitation as Chaplain to the Sisters and Administrator and Faculty member. There were 38 sisters living in the house at that time. While it was, in retrospect ,an important and formative time of my life, there were times when I felt like Job. I celebrated Mass 7 days a week for 38 Sisters of Mercy. Far too often Luke10, 38 would come up in the lectionary. Preaching this text in a convent with 38 sisters with an age range of 27 to 90 was something to be avoided. There was a Martha and Mary in every pew. I dreaded this text., but in time, even with the help of the Sisters, I’ve gotten a little deeper into it.

The heart of this story is found by turning this scene around. Forget about contrasting Martha and Mary. There is another figure in this story, the guest. Paying attention to the guest is more important than getting into some controversy over Martha’s behavior or Mary’s. Too often used by contemplatives, to justify their spirituality or life-style, we miss something more important.

Disciples of Jesus are always hospitable like both Martha and Mary. I can’t imagine that Jesus would have stopped there had it not been for Martha’s cooking. There is no reason to think that Martha threw down her apron and walked out of the kitchen. The focus for both Mary and Martha is Jesus, the guest. The story becomes then a reminder that we are all perpetual guests of a loving and divine host. As guests, our possessiveness and selfish attitude toward this world’s goods and resources are kept in check. We are guests on this earth, in this creation; guests of the Creator who has welcomed us and provided for us.

Just as at Cana’s wedding feast, the guest suddenly become the host. Those who welcome this divine guest will inevitably discover that the guest always becomes the host. It is Jesus who comes hungry to this home in Bethany, and he ends up feeding those who have welcomed him. He gets invited to a wedding, and he ends up providing the wine. What we learn from Luke’s Gospel today is that this divine guest still feeds us. It is the Word of God that provides nourishment for us, and a life devoted to hearing that word is first of all concerns. That guest on this earth and in this life is still here to feed us and becomes the very food of this Eucharist. The guest who who is welcomed, the guest who coms hungry for us, still feeds us. It’s like that story of the woman at the well. He comes thirsty with no bucket, and ends up providing living water for the woman at that well. She is the one refreshed by his presence and his word.

I think this Gospel proposes that Martha and Mary should be seen as one person – the person who receives Jesus Christ. There is a balance proposed here, between dong and being, and a disciple of Jesus learns the difference. There is a call here: a call to the integration of work and play or of action and prayer. Having just told the story of Mercy in the Good Samaritan parable, Jesus now affirms that discipleship is not all about doing, but also about being; in this case, being hospitable, being good guests, and gracious hosts in the spirit of Abraham and the style of Jesus.

Now what we discover in this chapter of Luke’s Gospel is not just a lesson in hospitality,. The lesson comes not from word, but from example. The stories of Jesus feeding crowds abound in the Gospel. His mandate to apostles: “Feed them yourselves” comes off the page into the face of those who always think someone else will or should take care of the hungry. The response of Jesus to the needs of those who came to him is never just “spiritual”. He raises a dead girl, and tells the parents, “Give her something to eat.” All through the Old Testament, God is the Divine host who feeds and sustains those who wander the wilderness. Once in their promised land, they always remained there as guests  in God’s eyes. Their prayer and their feasts celebrated the Table God had set before them.

In Jesus, Israel’s divine host became incarnate, and the Old Testament quality of hospitality was seen in the images he used for the reign of God as a banquet and in the way he was found at dinners, feasts, and banquets with sinners, Pharisees, and folks like Martha and Mary. While Martha and Mary may seem to be the host, it is, in the end, Jesus who feeds them with his presence and his word. He went there hungry, and ends up feeding them with his presence. With that reminder from Luke’s Gospel, we gather here again and again to be fed by the one who gives us His flesh to eat. We are the guests here fed so that we might feed others so that no one will ever be hungry where disciples of Jesus gather in his name.

Ave Maria Catholic Church Parker, CO

Deuteronomy 30, 10-14 + Psalm 69 + Colossians 1, 15-20 + Luke 10, 25-37

There are many layers to this parable that Jesus uses to test the one who walked up to test him. At the point in the story where Jesus begins the parable, the scholar of the law who is probably some kind of know-it-all thinks he can disgrace this “no-body” from Nazareth with his questions. As the story unfolds, their little sparring match comes out even, at which point, Jesus takes the upper hand and tells this parable which shifts this passage from a dialogue about the law to a very different matter altogether.

The first two people to pass by the injured man have the law on their side. In fact, they do the right thing by passing him by. To have helped him would have run the very real risk of becoming unclean and violating the laws of purity. The law keepers cannot help – they do not help, and they are justified in doing so. I suspect to their credit, they probably went on by muttering something like: “Someone ought to do something.” Isn’t that what we always say when see something wrong and excuse ourselves from doing something about it? “Someone ought to do something!”

So as the story goes on, someone does do something. Someone comes along and does the right thing in spite of having every reason to do nothing. Samaritans were subject to the law just as much as the others, so it isn’t a matter that this Samaritan was not expected to keep the rules and observe the law. What’s remarkable here is that someone does do something when there is every excuse for doing nothing. So this parable can speak a challenge to all of us who hide behind rules and regulations as an excuse for doing nothing, or who keep on insisting that “someone should do something” when we are the ones who should.

Now we are always accustomed to hearing this parable from the point of view of the Samaritan since he has been held up for generations as the hero of the story. The Jews at the time of Jesus who were hearing this parable however could never have identified with the Samaritan, and in spite of his courage and generosity, they would never have focused on him as the point and center of the story. They would have identified with the man in the ditch. The surprise to them, the challenge of this parable is that a stranger, a foreigner, and even an enemy responded to them, and in that culture of reciprocity it meant that the man in the ditch owed something to the enemy!  This is something else to think about; another level of this story.

Hearing this story as if it was a one-time event dulls its edge, and it removes the story from the living word of God. It is a parable that has a shocking twist that ought to shake us up and get us thinking just as much today as it did then. This parable is a provocative invitation to conversion. It’s not about becoming do-gooders. It is about the possibility that enemies might become neighborly to each other, that even someone we dislike or despise might be better than we are when it comes right down to doing the right thing. It is about raising the question not only of who is our neighbor, but who is our enemy and why do we have any? It asks the question of how we expect to be worthy of the kingdom we have enemies to begin with.

The view of this story from the ditch is probably the best way to hear it, and every reason to tell it.

Ave Maria Catholic Church, Parker, CO

Isaiah 66, 10-14 + Psalm 66 + Galatians 6, 14-18 + Luke 10, 1-12, 17-20

About three years ago I went down to Haiti to visit an orphanage that the parish where I served was helping to support. Even though I was only going to stay for five days, I packed very carefully. I knew about the terrain, so I took extra shoes: simple ones for the flight, easy to slip on and slip off through security, and two other pairs for walking on that rocky, dusty terrain. I counted out my meds carefully, taking a few extras in case I dropped any while removing the child-proof caps that only children can open. I packed some energy bars, and then I presented myself to the Oklahoma State Department of Health and spent an enormous amount of money being inoculated for every known bacteria, bug, bite, sting, and virus known to man in the long history of medical science. I felt like a pin cushion but confident that Hepatitis A, B, C, D, E, F & G, Tetanus, Malaria, and Papa Doc’s Revenge, and even the common cold had been conquered. I carried much more than the peace of Luke’s Gospel. In comfort I flew to Port Au Prince arriving at the International Airport, and then after a frightening taxi ride which simply drove me around to the other end of the runway, I boarded a small plane for the short flight over the mountains to the other side of the island. I should have known that an adventure was beginning when I noticed that there was no door to the “flight deck” as some would call it. The pilot simply leaned back and turned to shout directions to us never thanking us for choosing that airline. I suppose it was because we didn’t have a choice. Once the eight of us were on board, the pilot shouted that we were overweight. I was ready to volunteer to walk, but before I could raise my hand, they began to throw luggage off the plane onto the runway. The second piece of luggage to hit the ground was mine. After about six more pieces, the engines started and we flew off to Les Cayes. I had nothing. No shoes, no meds, no shirts, sandals, not even a walking stick. Believe me, there was no chance I was going to move from house to house. When I got to that orphanage, I stayed put. They promised to send my luggage on the next flight, but they failed to tell me that the flights only go to Les Cayes every three days!

So I wonder, who is going to bear witness to the joy and mystery of our redemption: the likes of me, so prone to place my trust in what I can pack and haul around rather than in God? Or will it be a traveler so light and unburdened that all around will be amazed and imagine how wonderful it is to rely on a God who, as today’s Prophet suggests, would carry us in her arms and fondle us in her lap as a mother comforts her child.

In this Year of Faith when all the church is called by our Holy Father to a time of new evangelization, perhaps we might better evangelize the world by our trust, our simplicity, and the light-weight way we travel through this life unburdened by the baggage of anger and revenge, bitterness and grudges we will not surrender. All that stuff really does make us over-weight and it keeps us from being free as God made us: free to trust, free to go where He sends us, and free to carry one another burdens. In the presence of disciples like these, the kingdom draws near.

This kind of life is one of joy, and as the story goes, those who have given it a try return rejoicing. Their joy is not the consequence of what they have done, suggests Jesus to them, but rather the consequence of what they have become: true citizens of the Kingdom whose names are written in heaven. They do not return with some solemn sense of having fulfilled a weighty obligation, some duty they have been assigned. They come back full of joy because they have cooperated with God in lessening the destructiveness of life. I think this joy is the inner energy of handing on the mission, the excitement that comes from sharing something wonderful, life-giving, and unique.

A wise Egyptian poet, musician and artist living in the first half of the 20^th century wrote these words:

I slept and dreamt life was joy.

I awoke and saw life was service.

I acted and behold service was joy.

One of the wonderful things about our faith built upon the Living Word of God is that we can sometimes sit with it and imagine wonderful things. Imagine that Jesus Christ, lover of the earth, was filled with this joy when he smiled and whispered in the ears of the people who would continue his revelation until the end of time, “Your names are written in heaven.”

Because you are here in prayer, in praise, and in thanksgiving; because you have come back to this church after a full week in the world of work, study, and play, you are those people he has sent. The world must be a little better and know Christ a little more because you were there, so be confident that your names are written in heaven.