|
Homily, SMMCC
Helen Weber-McReynolds Lent, 3/20/22 Ex 3:1-7, 9-10,13-15; Ps.; Romans 2:1-11;Luke 13:1-9 Helping a child grow up requires a lot of patience. When kids are little, it’s easy to persuade them to do what you want, but as they get older, they need to learn to make their own decisions. This is appropriate and necessary. To learn to become responsible adults, they need to be allowed to make mistakes and then deal with the consequences. Our job as adults is to support them as they go through this process, allowing gradually more independence. It can be frustrating and nerve-wracking to watch children make the wrong choices and then have to help them get themselves out of trouble. It takes a lot of patience. But it’s so worth it, when things work out right, to see them succeed on their own, little by little. I think this is the idea with today’s gospel. The farmer was impatient and wanted to cut the fig tree down, but the gardener was willing to be patient and let the tree grow. He was willing to support the tree with fertilizer and cultivation, and to give the tree some time to become fruitful. The gardener is like God, like the ultimate patient adult to us. Except, unlike human adults, God never runs out of patience. God always gives us more chances. Sometimes people make lousy choices and there are truly disastrous consequences, for themselves and for other people as well. That was the other point of this gospel, I think. The people were asking Jesus the same question humans have been debating since ancient times-- does God punish the bad and reward the good? Why do bad things happen to good people? We have been asking ourselves in the past few weeks, why do wars happen? Why do innocent children get bombed in their beds at night? To me, Jesus offered this parable to answer, no, God’s behavior can’t be reduced to any human-contrived formula. Tragedies happen sometimes- sometimes due to selfish, cruel human choices; sometimes due to unjust systems we have constructed; sometimes just randomly. But not because God wills that we experience tragedy. To think that would be, as Paul said in the 2nd reading, to “hold God’s priceless kindness, forbearance, and patience in such low esteem that you are unaware that God’s kindness would lead you to repentance.” Repentance, conversion-- that is the real point that both Jesus and Paul are making in these passages today. They were emphasizing that ALL need to repent. No one can proclaim themselves on the “good” team and get a pass from repentance because they happen to have had no obvious troubles in their life. The Greek work for conversion, or repentance, that is used in both this Gospel, and in our second reading, is metanoia. Over the centuries, maybe because humans seem to enjoy controlling and punishing one another, repentance seems to have taken on the character of dwelling on our sins, self-punishment, and guilt. But to Jesus and Paul, metanoia meant a change of mind, turning back to God, forming a new relationship with God, and preparing to start a new life. As he was telling this story, Jesus knew that his own experience of God’s love was so profound that it inspired him to try to incorporate the same kind of love into his own relationships. He was trying to help his listeners, and us, to understand God’s love in the same deep way, and experience conversion, metanoia, into more deeply loving people ourselves. As Paul said, God shows no partiality. We all can be more loving. We all have an obligation to mend the world, to remedy unjust human systems and make things more fair for everyone. And God is patiently waiting to help us. Even Moses was called to metanoia, to conversion. Moses was the greatest prophet and leader in the Hebrew scriptures, but he was not without faults. As we can recall, the reason he was out in the middle of the desert herding sheep was because he had committed a murder back in Egypt, and had run away to escape prosecution. But as we heard in the first reading, while he was in the desert, Moses had some kind of experience of God that he likened to a flame that burned brightly, but without consuming the bush it had caught on. Light and heat, but without destruction. God had great plans for Moses, and the desert gave Moses the space to hear this message from God. He tried to refuse God, but God was very patient with him. “I am slow of tongue and slow of speech,” he said. I can’t speak your word to the people. So God gave him Aaron as a spokesman. “They will never believe that I have heard God speak to me,” Moses told God. So God gave Moses wonderous signs to perform. Moses in our passage today asked God, “Who are you, so I can tell the people your name?” God’s answer was, “I Am.” “What kind of an answer is that?” we can hear Moses asking himself. A fill-in-the- blank God! Finally, God said, “I am the God of your ancestors, of Sarah and Abraham, of Rebekah and Isaac, of Jacob, Leah, and Rachel.” In other words, I am the God of life, of your family, of the continuity of one generation after another. I am an ever-evolving God. I am love. I am creation. I am forgiveness. I am becoming more and more, as you are, God told Moses. As you can be, as all your people can be. Tell them, come to me, turn back to me, be my people. I will lead you from slavery to liberation, from sin and death to eternal oneness with me, with love itself. Repent, convert, turn around, evolve, grow. My love for you is limitless. Be one with my love. This Lent, I invite you to find some desert time, to listen to God, to reflect on God’s limitless patience with us, and to turn back. Turn back to God’s love, and incorporate it into your encounters with the people in your life. Start a new relationship with God, and incorporate God’s patience into your relationships. As Spring and Easter approaches, prepare to start a new life, of growth, of compassion, and of love. Homily
2/27/22 Daniel 13: 5-8, 19-23, 31-38, 41-49 Ps. 22, They Who Do Justice James 1: 19-22, 26; 1 Peter 4: 8-11 Luke 6: 39-49 I had written what I thought would be a very good homily for today, but world events have made it sound ridiculous. The war initiated by Russia against the people of Ukraine has taken center stage in the minds and hearts of all of us, and we have no choice but to address it. I’m sure you all have thoughts about it, so I will keep my remarks brief and then open this up for our sharing. The main message of our readings today is still applicable: we are called to avoid judging one another, to leave judgement to God. God has created us all in the divine image. Every person is equally beloved by God. Every Ukrainian child, every Russian soldier, every laboring diplomat, every Polish immigrant aid worker—equally beloved by God. Even Vladimir Putin—equally beloved. We can and must condemn certain behavior. We must stand up for peace and do all we can to protest the killing of innocent people. But we cannot condemn people. These reading tell us we have no right to decide who should live or die. Putin does not have this right, no one has the right to kill. We have the right to defend ourselves. Otherwise, we must leave final judgement, the right to live or die, to God. What we can do is to help one be better. We can come together, especially during times like wars, or like Lent, to study how we can love better and grow less selfish and less violent, as individuals, and as the human family. We can agree to examination of our own behavior, to prayer, and to giving whatever we can to help victims of all kinds of injustice. And we can commit to learning all we can about the situations of our family members around the globe and what we can do to make sure we are not contributing to the injustices that mar their lives. There is no excuse for the judgement that our own comfort and convenience outweighs another person’s ability to eat and work and live in peace. We must love as God loves us, to our ultimate capacity. We must help one another love better. Please, what are your thoughts? Homily, SMMCC
Helen Weber-McReynolds 2/6/22 Isaiah 6: 1-8, Ps. 138, 1 Cor 15: 1-11, Luke 4: 38-44 If you grew up in Catholic school, you probably remember Vocation Days. These were days devoted to the idea that everyone had a vocation. Everyone was called by God to some kind of mission, to spread God’s word and increase the love in the world. Unfortunately, the system was strictly delineated by gender—boys could consider priesthood, but girls could not. They could be sisters. Or, of course, there was always marriage or the single life. In the institutional church, the story is still the same. The reason we are all here today, celebrating liturgy with this particular community, instead of in a diocesan parish, is because we believe that God does not limit call to ordained ministry to only men. And we have found a way to actualize that call, whether the Vatican hierarchy is ready for it or not. We have felt the strength of the Holy Spirit’s call, and we have not turned away from it. At risk of rejection by the church we love, we have stepped forward to answer God’s call, to live our lives according to the teachings of Jesus, as we hear them. Our readings today all focus on people answering God’s call, as they heard them. Isaiah was called to prophecy, to deliver God’s truth to the people, as we read in this passage from the early chapters of this book. He considered himself not worthy of this task, but was emboldened to speak the word of God by God’s forgiveness of his sins. “Your guilt has fled. Your misdeeds have been blotted out,” the angel told him. So when God asked, “Who will go for us? Who can we send?” Isaiah said, “Here I am, send me!” God’s unconditional love moved Isaiah to answer God’s call. Though the Bible doesn’t say, we assume he spent the rest of his life calling others to proclaim God’s love, and calling for justice for any who were marginalized. Paul was called to be an apostle, (from Greek apostolos, “person sent”). Sometimes the word ‘apostle’ is used to describe missionaries, people sent to preach and teach to the unevangelized. Jesus named those he had sent out to teach in the villages two by two “apostles” on their return, according to all three synoptic gospels. They were delegates sent with authority, to heal and do as Jesus had been doing around Judea. Paul recognized he had been sent with authority to minister especially to non-Jewish people, to expand the range of believers beyond just the area where Jesus lived and taught. He also felt unworthy, but, like Isaiah, had been moved by the unconditional mercy of God, God’s “grace,” to speak to as many as he could, in as large an area as he could cover. In this reading he encouraged his congregation in Corinth to do the same, to recognize God’s love for them, so that they would also have the courage to proclaim the truth of Jesus’ teachings with their lives. Peter’s unnamed mother-in-law (maybe Gladys or Glaphyra, according to some historians) also was called by God. Because of the use of the Greek word diakonei in this passage, we believe she was called, not just to service, but to ministry. When the reading says she served them at table, we believe this implies she served them liturgically. Jesus cured her on the sabbath, apparently considering it urgent that she be able to carry out her duties. It was after the sabbath was over that he healed the others who were brought to the house. And of course, Jesus was called by God, for the most important mission of all. He was called to heal, preach, and enlighten his listeners on God’s loving plan for the world. The gospel says he ‘rebuked’ the fever Peter’s mother-in-law had, which implies they believed a demon caused the fever. The second part of our gospel today recounted how Jesus rebuked other demons as he healed people with various maladies. Medical understanding was very primitive then. I’ve always been puzzled by why the reading says, “Jesus told the demons not to speak, for they knew he was the messiah.” But if we think about what his listeners understood the word ‘messiah’ to mean, we can figure this out. When the people of Judea in those days heard the word messiah, they thought of a military leader who would liberate them from the Romans. They thought of the descendant of David, the most powerful warrior-king in their nation’s history, who was destined to restore the Jewish people to independence and glory. They thought of a leader who would call them to arms and establish a new government. But Jesus was called to be a different kind of messiah. His silencing of the demons was an act of non-violence. He spoke constantly of the reign of God, but this was to be a reign of love, of non-violent resistance, and of peace, not of war. He was not there to call his followers to their swords, but to call them to the greater power of transforming their society into one of justice for the poor and love for one another. Like Isaiah, Paul, Peter’s mother-in-law, and Jesus, I think we are all called to non-violence, service, healing, and proclamation of God’s love. I think we are called to reflect on how God’s unconditional love for us has given us new life, and how we can pass that love on to one another. Every tiny act of love adds to the collective love in the universe. Every selfless thought can help reduce the violence in our world. We can all help transform the world, a small step at a time. This can be a quiet, gradual, but very powerful revolution. We do all have a vocation, and there are no limits on how we answer God’s call. So what do you think? How are we called? What are we sent to do in this world? God's Word -- our Liberation!
Helen Weber-McReynolds, RCWP Nehemiah 8: 2-6, 8-10; Ps. 19; Rev 5: 1-5; Luke 1: 1-4, 4: 14-21 Homily, 1/23/2022 When we think of the law these days, I know I tend to think of the negative consequences of breaking the law. I think of enforcement, of judgement, of people getting a ticket or being put in jail if they don’t obey the law. But law can also be positive. It can be a way of teaching people how to model their behavior so that they have the advantages of freedom and happiness. I think it’s very interesting that since the previous President was elected, and especially since the 1/6/21 insurrection at our nation’s capitol, there is a new interest in civics. There are all kinds of programs and resources to help learn about the laws of our voting system and even how to run for office. These have reminded people how the foundation of our government is constructed, and what makes it a democracy, and how it differs from (or maybe is teetering towards?) an autocracy. We have been reminded, by reporters, legal experts, and political analysts, over the past 5 years, how our votes are counted and the mechanics of our elections, from the local precinct to the electoral college, and how important it is that we guard these systems from interference. The law has been a teacher about how delicate our freedom can be. Our Hebrew ancestors thought of law as teaching. The word for the first five books of the Bible, commonly referred to as the Books of the Law, is Torah. But the literal definition of torah in Hebrew is instruction, and other meanings of torah can be teaching, guidance, or direction. We can recall from the book of Exodus, that the people of God asked for a law to live by, for a code of ethics, to help and guide them in making life decisions. God did not impose the law on the people unsolicited, and the law was not just a tool meant for judgement. It was for guidance and teaching. In our first reading, Nehemiah was reintroducing the word of the Torah to the people as they returned to Jerusalem from exile in Babylonia. They wept at first hearing, realizing their shortcomings over the years. But then they celebrated with a festival of rich food and sweet wine, because they had relearned the teaching of God. They felt renewed in having a program of ethical guidance and justice parameters by which to rebuild their society. And it started with the reminder Nehemiah gave them about the festival—which amounted to, “Be sure to send a plate of food and a bottle of wine over to your neighbors who cannot provide for themselves.” A top priority of God’s law of love was that all of society must work together for the common good. The book of Revelation, from which our second reading comes, is thought to be a kind of coded account written for the people of the early church, to give them guidance and hope, but to avoid evoking persecution from the autocratic empire they were living under. It imitated the apocalyptic style of writing of the book of Daniel to help the early Christians look forward to better days, while maintaining belief in God’s love and the continued presence of the Christ among them. The message of this particular reading, about how the Holy One of God would unlock the scroll of God’s word, seems to be that the Christ reveals the truth of God’s word always and forever. We can continue to look to the teachings of Jesus and all the prophets for guidance and instruction. Our Gospel passage today recounts another presentation of God’s word, by Jesus. This is sometimes called Jesus’ first homily, though it was only one sentence long. He read the beautiful passage from the prophet Isaiah, announcing sight for the blind, release for prisoners, and good news for the poor. Then he said that this scripture had been fulfilled in the hearing of the people gathered there that day. In other words, Jesus seemed to say, the Spirit of God was upon him, he was anointed by God to bring this good news to the poor, and God had sent him to proclaim liberty to those held captive. But not him alone, we hear him say. Luke follows up, after this passage, by recounting how Jesus told the people that this good news was not only for all the faithful Hebrew people in the synagogue that day, but for all people, and cited several stories from the Hebrew scriptures of non-Jews who had heard and acted on God’s message of love. The people that day were not ready to hear that message, and reacted negatively, threatening to throw Jesus off a cliff. But the following passages in Luke testify that the people of the synagogue at Capernaum were more receptive, as were those in other synagogues around Judea. Jesus was already using scripture as a teaching tool here, early in his ministry. We are all anointed by God to spread God’s love, he was saying. We are all meant to help liberate one another from destructive, judgmental views of God, or from abusive religious practices that limit people from living the joy for which God created them. We are all called to open one another’s eyes to the limitless nature of God’s love, for all of us, and to the responsibility we have to share this love. We are especially called to share this good news with those most held captive by injustice, negativity, or the idea that they are unlovable. And we are called to not only share words, but also to send them a plate and a bottle of wine, if that’s what they need, recalling Nehemiah’s instruction, or to do whatever we can to help them materially. As Pope Francis has said, “You pray for the hungry. Then you feed them. This is how prayer works.” God’s word, then, truly is Spirit and life. It is our liberation from oppression, and our promise of God’s eternal love. It is the key to how we can relate to one another in love. It is the teaching we need to live the lives of joy God meant for us. Homily for 3rd Sunday of Advent: 12/12/21
Bishop Nancy Meyer Today we are weaving together the joyful 3rd Sunday of Advent with the beautiful and important feast for all of us, Our Lady of Guadalupe. Our CCL readings took the liberty of using the Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth since it is only scheduled once in the three-year cycle of the Sunday lectionary. As we consider Elizabeth and Zechariah and the pregnancy that ensued, known today as a geriatric pregnancy, must have put them in some confusion even as they accepted it. Mary, on the other hand, must have been mystified, uncertain and frightened with her particular situation. None of them, none of them knew what the future was going to hold with their acceptance of the call. Such uncertainty, the unknowing in a difficult political and social time. Their life path had been intersected by an “out of the blue” call from God that disrupted their lives. Each responded affirmatively and thus this call and response put them on a path of transformation. What they envisioned their life to be was radically changed. You are on a new path, is what the call from God meant for them. You are on a new path, now. Their response to the Holy One came out of deep contemplation that led to their ability to say yes. There always seems to be a struggle with a call or experience from God that leads us to a future that we had never imagined. We all know how that works because we live our life in the reality of Emmanuel, God-with-us. How will this discernment unfold to do what the call from God is asking? How will it impact not only myself but everyone I love and care about? There are a gamut of thoughts, feelings and gut responses as we ponder the invitation that our God extends to us! In another story we heard today, Juan Diego was interrupted on his journey by an appearance of Mary. He lived in the era after the Spanish conquest of the native peoples in Mexico and Central America. It was a difficult life and they were poor. Juan was an indigenous Native Mexican peasant and minding his own business. When Mary appeared to Juan she spoke in the language of the Aztecs. She wanted this poor man to go tell the bishop that she wanted a church build on the site that she appeared. This is where our story takes up this morning. When the bishop did not believe him, Juan decided to go around the hill on the other side so that he would not be visited by the Lady. No problem for Mary, she came to the other side of the hill. Juan was trying to be cooperative but the bishop was not going to hear of it from him, without a sign. His suggestion to Mary was to engage someone for this job that was held in higher esteem. Mary would have none of it and knows what being poor and called, costs in life. We know the rest of the story and the Castillian roses held in his white garment that fell at the feet of the bishop. A beautiful basilica was eventually built on that site. More importantly, Mary is the mother of all peoples of the Americas. She has brought together humans that were at bloody odds with one another under the cloak of her love. We do not know what happened to Juan for the rest of his life but I feel confident that his life was never quite the same nor was his relationship to the Holy One. The basilica of Guadalupe was the recent assembly of 1000 church leaders lay and religious, from Latin America and the Caribbean. This assembly called for “a more inclusive Church, one that pays attention to people’s realities, increased roles for women and excluded groups and combats clericalism.” The gospel, they reported, must be taken to the peripheries of society. Does this resonate with us? What a powerful message from this delegation that is part of the Synod that Pope Francis has called for in the entire church. This is a grace and a resolution proposed with vision and new life. Will this message be heard and acted upon as the Juan Diegos of today speak to the power structure? Our hope, my hope is that our many small, progressive, contemplative and outreaching communities will be messengers of God’s presence and action today in our life and world. This Advent season, we are called amidst the turmoil, and unrest that swirls around us to live in hope and welcome transformation. Mary, Elizabeth, Zechariah and Juan looked to their future not knowing what it would hold but quite sure that Emmanuel would be with them. We have the same assurance. Can we hear the words of Zephaniah: “Do not be afraid, my people. Do not be discouraged. God will take delight in you, calming and claiming you with love.” Be assured my friends in all of our miseries right now our God is with us. We must continue to make space in our hearts to welcome and hear the Holy One’s invitation. We are called to embrace the transformation in hope that will happen to us and for us. Homily, Advent, 11/28/21
Jeremiah 33: 12-16 Ps. Luke 3: 4-6 1 Thessalonians 3: 6-13 Luke 1: 5-25 Do you remember the song Anticipation, by Carly Simon? It starts out with the lyric, “We can never know about the days to come, but we think about them anyway.” It acknowledges that the future holds a large element of chance, so we really can’t predict it. By the end of the song, however, she has come to the conclusion that we can help create our own future by living fully in the present moment. By being present to one another in love, we use our time together the best we can, and so the song ends by repeating the beautiful line, “These are the good old days…. These are the good old days.” In other words, we shouldn’t procrastinate. We can’t wait until the perfect moment. This is the time to listen to one another and treat one another with respect and helpfulness. This is the time to love one another with all our hearts. These are the good old days. I think the same is true about the season of Advent. The word “Advent” is derived from the Latin word adventus, meaning “coming,” which is a translation of the Greek word parousia. It refers to arrival, waiting, preparing, anticipation. There are elements both of anticipation and memory to Advent. We treasure the memory of the birth of Jesus, God’s human presence in the world, and remember how he taught us to make God continually more present, by loving one another and working to make sure everyone shares in Creation’s riches. We also look forward to creating the Beloved Community, and come to realize that this moment now is when we can most make a difference in bringing love and justice to life. Part of life is chance. But we help create our own future, we help bring the Love of God to reality, by looking out for one another’s rights and putting aside our own selfishness, today, every day, not waiting for the perfect time to arrive. These are the good old days. We are making them the good old days by learning to listen to God and changing ourselves to love more and better. Advent gives us four weeks to think about what is still painful and missing in the world, and helps us think about making changes in our own lives to help make all our relationships more caring and just. Our readings help us focus on our ancestors in the faith, and their example in bringing God’s human presence to life. Today we heard about the courage and faith of Elizabeth and Zechariah, and the long wait they endured, until finally being reassured that they would play a vital role in preparing the world for a crucial moment, a time when God’s human messengers would speak truth to power. In the coming weeks, we will remember the roles their son, John the Baptist, and Joseph, and especially Mary had to play in revealing the reality of God’s love. We will recall the bravery they showed in going against social conventions to live their faith. And they will provide strong role models for us as we strive to bring God’s love to life in our everyday interactions. In our first reading today we heard from the prophet Jeremiah, who wrote as one of the people going through, and recovering after, the Babylonian exile. Part of his mission was to communicate hope in God to the people of Israel and Judah after Jerusalem had been destroyed. As we heard, he spoke in anticipation of the restoration of integrity and justice to the people’s land. And he spoke of God’s unending love for them, whatever happened. God still loves us, he said. Let’s make these days the good old days. And Paul, also, in his letter to the Thessalonians, spoke of his joy in hearing of the faith and love of the people of Thessalonia, despite the pain of their separation. You are making God’s love alive in your community, he told the Thessalonians. I am overjoyed to hear it. Jesus’ teachings are alive in you. You are working to make sure these are the good old days. So it comes back to us. How do we make sure these are the good old days, for everyone in our society, especially for those whom the system has been rigged against? Where can we start in our everyday lives? Can we take some time this Advent in prayer and meditation to make ourselves more aware and compassionate? Can we read and inform ourselves of ways to help correct injustices? We are called to help bring Christ to life in our individual lives. How do we help make these the good old days for ourselves and others? What do you think? I don’t know the real beginning of my journey to priesthood. Maybe it was my devotion to the Eucharist and the Church Year that I had developed from grade school days.
One thing I do know is that the convent was not the right fit for me. I stuck it out for 15 years, because I thought being a Sister of Mercy was what would fill my longing for some way to serve God and help people in need. When I was assigned to teach fourth grade in an inner city Catholic school I thought that would was be the answer. It wasn’t! Besides teaching, the sisters at St. Bridget’s visited the children in the homes, including some in public housing high rise apartments. I chose to visit one of the girls in my class. I had trouble holding my breath all the way up in the elevator to the eighth floor so I wouldn’t have to smell the stale urine. The father of the student I visited sat with a long whip next to him to deal with his children when they wouldn’t obey him. His children sat quietly in his presence. You can imagine how they acted when he wasn’t around. Some of the children lived in public housing row houses. One of my students lived in one that was across the street from where we lived. t The police staked out the place from the front window of the row house where the sisters lived. The police were looking for a drug dealer. There was never a dull moment. However at the end of the school year I was reassigned to a school in a middle class neighborhood. I figured I must have been a failure as an inner city fourth grade teacher. I was very upset. Within a few years I was teaching high school religion but that wasn’t really satisfying either. I chose to leave religious life and set out on my own. I taught high school religion and other subjects to fill up my schedule. But life was still not satisfying. I didn’t have the right romance either. It was then that I saw an ad in the National Catholic Reporter for a Director of Religious Education position in Indianapolis. I took it. That work was more interesting but I soon got tired of counting crayons and glue sticks. By that time I was married and still a DRE. I was reading in the National Catholic Reporter a lot of what was going on in the Church and was fascinated by the stories of women becoming priests in various places in the world like Czechoslovakia. There Ludmilla Javorova was ordained a Catholic priest by her bishop so she could minister to the priests in prison for their faith. She served in the underground Church during the Communist regime until Communist rule ended in 1990. Her courage and dedication were an inspiration to me. I followed her story. . About that time I attended a Call to Action Conference and actually met a real American womanpriest. I quizzed her about her preparation and her credentials I went to the Roman Catholic Women Priest booth in the Exhibit Hall, picked up literature, and went to a Mass the next day presided over by a man and woman priest. It was beautiful and felt like this was the way it should be. It was an ah ha moment for me. When I got home from the conference I read one of the books about womenpriestsI had bought and found the name and contact information of a womanpriest in the United States. I called her and asked her explain to me more about their ministry. When I told her about myself she suggested that I get a group together of those interested in women’s call to priesthood. I did that. It led to the celebration of the Feast of St. Mary of Magdala at a local Catholic high school in July 2009. Several of the people there expressed an interest in gathering again soon to pray and study together. That group formed the beginning of St. Mary of Magdala Catholic Community in Indianapolis. I was ordained a deacon in 2010 and a priest on April 15, 2012. My journey was complete. I had found a home where I belonged. I can live out my faith and serve others for as long I am able. Maria Thornton McClain, RCWP 2021 Homily 22nd Sun. OT B 20210829
Reflection: Our readings are not up-lifting. They are true and give a great message but they are downers in a week that supplied enough heartache for us. All of the readings provide sufficient fodder for our call to consciousness. We pray it ahead of our readings as preparation for the word of God. Homily: Amos does not appear often in the Sunday scriptures, but he is a colorful and resilient character. He asserts strongly that he is not a professional prophet. It seems that his original occupation was a herdsman or an agricultural worker. God called him to a new way of being. We might think about that for ourselves. What is God calling me to be or do at this time, at my age? The time in which Amos preached was one of peace and prosperity in Israel. This affluence was built on the backs of the poor. Amos preaches justice towards the destitute and because of this message he was thrown out of the temple by the priests. His message is as current as today, for me, for us. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel in his classic book, The Prophets: reflects: “What manner of (man) a person is the prophet?... To us a single act of injustice—cheating in business, exploitation of the poor—is slight; to the prophets, a disaster. To us injustice is injurious to the welfare of the people; to the prophets it is a deathblow to existence: to us, an episode; to them, catastrophe, a threat to the world.” A powerful and poignant reflection! The prophet is hypersensitive to the injustices of the world. For us we may shrug our shoulders and say that is how the world works. I may not like it but that is how it is. That is not how the reign of God works. Each of us in our small world needs to attend to the slights, the injustice, the abuse or misuse of humans and all creatures in our circle. That is what the gospel calls us to live and be attentive to in our little corner of the world. The Second reading from the book of James, along with Amos and our psalm song, make it clear that the exploitation of those who are poor and of the earth by the rich is a perennial problem. It seems that every generation tells the same story with different settings and with various characters. The exploitation of the earth is geometrically increased by industrialization and technology. Our earth and our environment are suffering. And so, we sang today: “Let justice roll like a river, and wash all oppression away; Come O God and take us, move and shake us. Come now and make us anew, that we might live justly like you.” That is a strong and powerful song and prayer that we just sang and prayed! There is so much being talked about with rules concerning personal freedom and rules for the common good. How do we discern what is of God? The rule of the Israelites to wash their hands after being in the market place is really a very good rule that would keep disease from spreading in the community. What began as a health concern became idealized as a ritual. It happens with people! Jesus was very clear, it is what comes out of a person that defiles one. What comes from the heart is what defiles us. It is what we say with our words, our actions, our internet posts, our unexamined choices that have not yet risen to consciousness. It is our heart that speaks and sometimes there is a demon lurking in there. Personally, it doesn’t take much to awaken the demons inside. A wise bunch of folks I know use the acronym HALT to discern the source of emotions getting out of hand within one. Hungry? Angry? Lonely? Tired? If I do a quick check and any of these are alive and well, a good laugh at myself solves the problem before I do any great damage to myself or anyone else. It is so important to be in tune with our bodies, emotions and the Spirit of the living Christ within us; that force of Love. There has been enough sorrow this past week to last awhile. Yet our call to be a prophet continues to challenge us at our deepest core through sorrow, discouragement and joy. The demons that dishearten us are always alive and well. Jesus promised us, “I will be with you always.” We continue to believe and live into this promise of presence and love. Homily, SMMCC
14th OT, and Independence Day 7/4/21 Ezek 2: 1-4, 7, 5; 3: 7, 11-16 Ps. 46: Be Still and Know Gal 1: 1-2; 10-12 Mark 3: 20-22, 31-35; 6: 1-6 What is a prophet and what does one look like in 2021? I think a prophet is someone sent by God to speak the truth that God’s love for all is unlimited and that God wills that all should thrive in justice. Perhaps a prophet today looks like the late Congressman John Lewis, who, along with MLK and other anti-racist heroes, fought racism, non-violently, his whole career. As you recall, he was injured so severely crossing the Edmund Pettis Bridge in 1965 that he spent several days in the ICU. And then in May of 2020, he was still in the middle of the prophetic struggle, appealing via speeches and Twitter posts for non-violence in the aftermath of George Floyd’s murder. Maybe a prophet looks like Jeanne Manford and Adele Starr, mothers of gay sons and co-founders of the oraganization PFLAG, which stands for Parents, Families, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays. At the 10th anniversary of the beginning of PFLAG, Adele Starr said, “We did it out of love and anger and a sense of injustice, and because we had to tell the world the truth about our children.” PFLAG has grown to more than 400 chapters with 200,000 members. Perhaps prophets look like the Catholic sisters and other activists and advocates working to help immigrants, like our friend Sr. Tracey Horan. The statement, "Everyone has the right to seek and to enjoy in other countries asylum from persecution," is enshrined in the United Nations’ Universal Declaration of Human Rights. These advocates recognize that people fleeing for their lives deserve help and dignity, not legal prosecution. Let us remember that the book of Leviticus says, “Don’t mistreat any foreigners who live in your land. Instead, treat them as well as you treat citizens and love them as much as you love yourself. Remember, you were once foreigners in the land of Egypt. I am the Lord your God.” (Leviticus 19:33-34). I think Rachel Carson was a prophet, standing up in defense of the earth, publishing Silent Spring in 1962, pioneering the environmental movement by advocating for legislation to outlaw the insecticide DDT. Prophets are often unpopular, even persecuted, because they call for radical change, bringing attention to injustice and the suffering of the disempowered, and questioning those profiting from or empowered by unjust, biased systems. Our first reading tonight portrays God as telling Ezekiel right up front that no one would probably listen to him. But Ezekiel delivered God’s message anyway, telling the people in exile in Babylon, in a later chapter, to act nonviolently, to not worship idols, to honor their relationship commitments, to engage in business ethically, and to feed the hungry and clothe the naked. Paul, likewise, in our second reading described being called by God to proclaim a message not his own, calling himself a servant, one obligated to speak whether his message was received well or not. He urged the people of Galatia to love one another and care for the poor, and not worry about forcing new Christians to observe the details of religious law. And then we read in the Gospel that even Jesus met suspicion and skepticism when he returned to Nazareth. He preached that God’s family includes everyone, even calling the women his sisters, just as he called the men his brothers, and he was accused of being in league with the devil. Those in power felt threatened by his huge following, and his teaching that all are equally loved by God, and that everyone deserves a voice in the community. So it seems that all these prophets delivered similar messages: that all are created equal, that all deserve to make a living wage and live a decent life. Sounds very similar to the message of the Declaration of Independence, approved by the Continental Congress of the US on this date in 1776, doesn’t it? And so we circle back to the idea that none of us are free until all of us are free. True freedom, the liberty to live in peace and be treated with respect, is what all these prophets have proclaimed, and is what all people desire. We are all part of God’s family, and we are all called to prophetically work to dismantle unjust systems so that all our family members can be truly free. So here’s to freedom, and to prophecy, and to continuing to live out the connection between the two. Homily, SMMCC
5th Easter, 5/2/21 Acts 16: 40; 17: 1-4, 12-12, 16-18, 22-24, 25-28, 32-34 Ps. 22 1 John 3: 1-2, 18-21, 23-24 John 15: 1-1, 4-5, 8 A few years ago, I was leading a backpacking trip with a group of high school-age Girl Scouts. We were camped on the shore of Lake Monroe, south of Bloomington, in the Hoosier National Forest, on a hot day in July. There were six girls, and they decided to take our 2 canoes and 2 kayaks out, and paddled around the lake for a while. Then they brought the boats close together, about 40 feet from shore, and hopped out of them, and just floated around for a long time, in their life jackets. They spent most of the afternoon out there on the lake, swimming, floating, and talking. I think the only reason they finally came back in was that eventually they got hungry. At the end of the trip, during our closing campfire, they all described that afternoon as an experience of intense unity. One girl said, ”I felt like everything had come together, right there in that little circle of boats. I felt like I was part of the lake I was floating in, and I felt like we had all become really close friends, and we were sharing a really cool moment.” Another said she felt as if she were one with the earth and the fish in the lake and the birds flying around, and the people she was with. They all said they had been sorry that afternoon had to end. They wish it could have lasted forever. I hope you have had similar experiences with friends, or family, maybe out in Nature, maybe around a dinner table, but feeling united and like everything had come together for you. I think this is part of what Jesus is describing the love of God is like, with the vine and branches symbol. God created every cell in our bodies, and loves us so much that we are always a part of God. We abide in God and God abides in us. As it said in our reading from 1 John, when we love others as God loves us, when we put our love into action to help one another, we bring forth the fruit of this beautiful plant, the sweet grapes of the life God created us for. Everything comes together. Paul and Silas, and other women and men disciples, at the beginning of the Christian movement, traveled around a lot, as we read from Acts today. They visited house churches, like Lydia’s, as well as synagogues, marketplaces, and shrines, meeting with Jewish people, Greeks, and people who worshipped nature-- people of all different faiths—to share the good news of the unlimited love of the One Creator God. Paul told them, as he tells us today, “The God who made the world and everything in it, is the God of heaven and earth. It is God who gives everything—including life and breath—to everyone. For in God, we live and move and have our being.” And then he added, to the Areopagites: “As some of your own poets have said, ‘We, too, are offspring of the Divine.’” And it seems like people must have identified with their message, must have experienced a sense of unity with this loving God, and the Jesus who embodied God, and the Spirit who was with them and between them as they spoke. They joined with Paul and the others, and passed the word of love on to their friends, and the Jesus movement grew. The people of Phillipi, Thessalonica, Berea, Athens, and the Areopagus, must have caught some of that feeling of everything coming together for them. Hearing the words of Paul and Silas and their neighbors, and seeing their loving actions, they must have sensed that God was there present with them. Like God is here with us now, and is with us always. Let’s follow the example of those early Christian women and men, and keep spreading this good news around. Homily, SMMCC
3rd Easter, and Earth Day, 4/18/21 Acts 4: 32-35 A Reading from A New Climate for Theology, by Sallie McFague A Ute Prayer 1 John 5: 1-6 Mk 16: 13-14; Lk 24: 35-48 We are all One. There once was a man named Lawrence Anthony, who lived in Zululand, S. Africa, and learned to calm traumatized elephants. He devoted his whole life to studying elephants, and other animals, and started several huge animal reserves. Once, when a herd of elephants became endangered by poachers because they kept escaping from whatever enclosure they were in, Anthony managed to calm the matriarch elephant, and saved all 9 in the herd from destruction. When Anthony died of a sudden heart attack, two elephant herds from his reserve spontaneously walked twelve hours to stand vigil around his house, similar to the way they mourn when one of their own number dies. After two days, they walked away, back into the bush. Scientists have no idea how they sensed Anthony had died. We are all one. After Jesus died and was raised, the apostles pooled their resources, and devoted all their time to preaching Christ’s living presence among them. We are all one. God has blessed us with an unbelievably complex and beautiful planet. We breathe oxygen, and give off carbon dioxide. Trees and plants breathe carbon dioxide, and give off oxygen. Every breath we take is a moment in the cycle of interrelatedness of all the plants, animals, and other creatures God has lovingly placed in this sphere of abundance we call Earth. We are all one. Indigenous wisdom is that if we are quiet and open our eyes and our ears, the Earth can teach us: humility, caring, courage, acceptance, selflessness, kindness, and many other truths. We depend on the earth, and the earth depends on us, for protection. We are all one. The love of God is this: that we fulfill the desire of God’s heart for the world. We are all one. Jesus, the Christ, came and lived among us as a human, possessing bones and flesh, hands, and feet, speaking, and eating, celebrating the beauty and complexity of the plants, animals, seas, and deserts around him, and forming relationships with many people. He was executed for daring to teach that God’s love for us is limitless, that God cherishes every single being on the Earth, and that our job was to love and protect one another, people, creatures, and planet, in the same unlimited way. Jesus’ life and his compassionate presence were so vivid to those who knew him, that they knew that it could never be extinguished, but would be alive with them, and for all generations after them, through all eternity. And because Jesus was alive, and we are all one, we can be alive, forever with the Christ, with the Earth’s Creator and with the Spirit of their eternal love, through every age, forever. We are all one. Holy Thursday, 4/1/21
Exodus 12: 1-8, 11-14 Ps. 107, Our Blessing Cup 1 Cor 11: 23-26 John 13: 1-17, 31, 33-35 By Helen Weber-McReynolds, RCWP We Catholics tend to call today Holy Thursday, but many Protestant communities call it Maundy Thursday, I recently learned the reason why. It’s related to the word mandate- mandatum in Latin, translated “commandment,” because of Jesus’ words in the Gospel we just heard- “I give you a new commandment. Love one another as I have loved you.” Jesus was about to perform the ultimate act of love, for all of us, and gave us all a mandate at the Last Supper to love one another in the same way. We find ourselves in a highly symbolic moment on this particular Maundy Thursday. Our situation tonight in the midst of a pandemic spurred at least in part by climate change is uniquely appropriate to the stories foundational to our celebration of Holy Thursday. There are some Old Testament scholars who conclude that the Exodus story is symbolic of a slave revolt against the cruel Egyptian Empire, touched off by an ancient catastrophic climate event which created its own public health emergency. They theorize that an aberrant El Nino Southern oscillation brought unseasonable warming to Egypt, causing a red algal bloom which poisoned the waters of the Nile. This killed fish and drove frogs onto dry land, causing insects to proliferate, which then infected cattle and people with various diseases. In other words, “a cascade of arthropod-caused and –born diseases,” as hypothesized by an article in the Yale Journal of Biology and Medicine. Jesus found himself immersed in a resistance movement against the tyrannical oppressive Roman Empire. In fact this story of people trying to escape exploitation by corrupt government had been repeating itself again and again throughout human history, and continues to do so today. Jesus stood up for those most singled out for abuse by the Romans, because they were Jewish, women, blind, or lame. The Realm of God Jesus preached was, like all apocalyptic movements, an ideal of equity, freedom, and mutual social support. It was and is a goal to shoot for, and an ideal of how to leave the suffering of injustice behind. That’s why the Exodus of Israel, renewed by Jesus as the “New Moses,” has been adopted by generations of oppressed peoples as a spiritual template, such as by enslaved Africans in the US, and exploited farmers in Latin America. Tonight’s Scriptures describe so beautifully how Jesus symbolically crystalized two essential elements of the Realm of God. First, he tied a towel around his waist and washed his disciples’ feet, ritualizing his service to us, and how we must pass it on to one another. Then he gathered his friends to break bread, giving us all a liturgy of mutual sharing, and gratitude to God, which can unify us with God and one another, over and over, to strengthen us for our own continuing Exodus journeys. Service and Communion with one another and God, to help us learn how to grow in love and liberate ourselves from human greed and selfishness—that’s what our Holy Thursday readings add up to. A mandate to witness how God loves us, how Jesus made that crystal clear in human flesh, and then to love one another in the same unselfish, non-violent, honest, liberating way. Readings from the Catholic Comprehensive Lectionary:
1 Kings 1:28–30, 32–35, 38–40; Ps. 45; Phil 2:6–11, Mark 11:1–11 by Angela N. Meyer, Deacon, RCWP Good evening, friends. As we gather on this Palm Sunday, I would like to invite us into a time of faithful questioning. Our readings today flood us with a vast variety of images, characters, actions, symbols, and theological movement. My first response in reading them was a sense of feeling overwhelmed. I’m not sure how I feel about them, much less how to preach them! In the very first sentences of our first reading, we are reminded that King David, the same man who the Bible tells us killed Goliath, wrote many of the Psalms, devoted himself to God (YHWH), and expanded the Israelite community, is a murderous adulterer. The very first words we hear in our holy Liturgy of the Word remind us that our text and tradition are marked by broken commandments and bloodshed. The King promises the woman he cheated with and killed for that her son, Solomon, will become his heir. This is the same line of succession that Jesus will claim. (Side note: we know nothing about Bathsheba’s participation in this murderous affair. We know that David covets her, sleeps with her, impregnates her, and has her husband killed so that he can marry her, but for all we know, she had no say or consent in the matter. Though she might have. The storyteller does not think it important to say. God strikes down the child begotten of their affair, and we are told Bathsheba weeps. To console her, David sleeps with her again, and this time; Solomon — the heir, is born. It seems the throne is important to the storyteller; however, we get to say what matters to us. What about Bathsheba?) Why have our lectionary editors reminded us of David’s transgressions before announcing what might otherwise be most important to us on Palm Sunday: the imagery and events of kingly succession? I think the feminist scholars of the Catholic Comprehensive Lectionary have thrown us an important curveball before highlighting Solomon’s kingly procession. We might gloss over the violent details by telling ourselves this is a tale that was written some 2500 years ago and adopt the stance of so many Christians that the “New Testament” is superior. It’s not violent like that. Jesus was “better.” I highly advise against this for multiple reasons. First, it is very anti-Jewish and it leads us to wrongly interpreting Jesus outside of his own Jewish context. Secondly, the New Testament depends entirely on its relationship with the so-called “Old.” Thirdly, the “New Testament” is not without its own contradictions, violence, and flaws. Neither is Catholicism, for that matter. We know that all too well. Finally, the Gospel writers evoke the powerful cultural memory of Solomon’s ride into Jerusalem to strengthen the claim of Jesus’s kingly inheritance. This connection is intentional. The people sing “Hosana!,” which means, “Save! We pray,” in Aramaic. “Blessed is the coming reign of the ancestral house of David and Bathsheba!” As Christians, I’m not sure how well we hear these words. “Blessed is the coming reign of the ancestral house of David and Bathsheba!” They are deep reminders of Jesus’ commitment and intentionality for his own community of people: the Israelites, those we now recognize as Jewish. And what about the leafy branches that people spread on the road in anticipation and celebration of Jesus’ arrival? The ones the Gospel of John specifies as “palms,” which gives us the name for our holy day? Their use echoes a similar celebration in 1 Maccabees: On the twenty-third day of the second month,[a] in the one hundred and seventy-first year, the Jews entered the citadel with shouts of praise, the waving of palm branches, the playing of harps and cymbals and lyres, and the singing of hymns and canticles, because a great enemy of Israel had been crushed. (1 Macc 13:51). Who was the great enemy of the Maccabees? The Seleucid Kings, foreign occupiers not so different from the Romans of Jesus’ time. As Judaism expanded under the reign of the Maccabees, religious differences emerged among Jews, creating theological and ideological divisions between the Hasmoneans, the Pharisees, and the Sadducees. Those differences eventually led to civil war, which weakened Israel politically and led to its conquest by Rome. This is the context and setting where Jesus enters the city, riding a mule, with Israelites preparing the way with cloaks, green branches, or palm fronds. So what do we do with this today? It’s so complicated. (Breathe.) When I was younger, I absorbed each reading with the attention of someone aching for the Word of God. I understood the Bible as the ultimate source of Truth, and I expected to only receive goodness and straight truths from it. Because God is Good, and Truth is obvious, right? It took a long time for me, and I suppose for many if not most of us, to begin to grapple with the reality that the Bible is extremely complex. Not all of its words are “good,” and its “truths” aren’t always easy to discern. Perhaps some words are warnings or calls to conscience. Perhaps some serve as reminders of who we are and where we come from. This can provide us a helpful and holy sense of identity, and also a sense of how we can learn from our ancestors and do better. As we move into Holy Week, we might ask ourselves who this Jesus is that we celebrate, mourn, and await. Much of Catholicism has been founded on the idea of Jesus as savior. It has also been a religion that has not only ignored but capitalized on the deep problems of patriarchy and womanizing in the Bible. And yet, today, we sing “Hosana,” and we await the one who saves. The one who bears witness to the history and traditions of the Israelite people. We do so with love, expectancy, and faith because of and despite the stories and religion that have formed us. And in just a few days, we will celebrate Jesus’ last supper, which he celebrated on the night of Passover. And I think it is important that we realize how deeply important that overlap is with Jesus’ mission and the intentionality of our Gospel writers. As my thesis advisor, Nancy Bowen, pointed out to me, if the Gospel writers wanted to announce the death and resurrection of Jesus for the primary purpose of the forgiveness of sins, they could have positioned the Last Supper, death, and resurrection around Yom Kippur, the Jewish feast of atonement. But they didn’t. Jesus’ passion coincides with Passover, the feast of liberation. Palm Sunday echoes songs of celebration from the Maccabees and associates Jesus with the one who will ascend to reign over Israel, a notion that flies in the face of the Caesar and occupying Roman Empire. It ultimately leads to his death on a cross: the standard Roman torture and execution device. Again, what do we do with this? Finding wisdom in the Bible means engaging in deep discernment. I think we are a community that practices this well. It requires less acceptance of “what is written” and more questions of “why” and “how does this really apply?” Today, we are called to ask: who is this Jesus we welcome into our lives? As we wave our palms, or place them before us, what space are we preparing for God? What space are we preparing for our community? What violence are we noticing in our own lives, histories, and ways? Who among us (like Bathsheba) is not being fully seen, and what hope do we place before God for liberating change? I would like to invite us all to pause now, and do our own pondering. Close your eyes if you feel comfortable, or soften your gaze upon something non-distracting, and take a few deep breaths. Stay in this space a moment, and ask yourself: what am I called to know, learn, feel, or realize, this Palm Sunday? Hosana! God save us, we pray. Follow Angela: https://medium.com/she-preaches-homilies-of-a-deacon/kings-affairs-murders-and-palms-a-deconstructionist-homily-for-palm-sunday-651a0bc36f4c Homily
SMMCC, 3rd Lent B 3/8/21 2 Chronicles 36: 11-12, 14-21 Ps. 137 James 4: 7-10 Mark 11: 12-21 Lent, I think, is a good time for questioning. We are building toward Easter, our celebration of the resurrection spirit of Jesus, and it’s a good time to take a look and ask, What do we need to change in our lives? How can we live the teachings of Jesus, and the shalom love of the God of our Jewish ancestors, more authentically? Where do we see lack of love and justice, inside ourselves, and in the world around us, and what should we do about it? Our readings today call us to this kind of questioning. All three bring our attention to examples of institutionalized injustice and corruption, and call us now to do what we can to help mend the world, and make it more fair and life-giving for every creature in it. The background of the first reading, from 2nd Chronicles, is the recent death of holy King Josiah, who had listened to the female prophet Huldah, and reformed the Temple, and lead the people of Jerusalem to resume faithful celebration of the feast of Passover. But by the time of King Zedekiah’s leadership, corruption at the Temple and exploitation of the people had again become so divisive that Jerusalem was unable to fight off Nebuchadnezzar’s armies, which were systematically conquering all the nations in the whole region. The last sentences of that reading help us understand the evil that was present. The people had not respected the law of Sabbath balance, of caring for their land, animals, and themselves, by taking rest, prayer, and contemplation, to maintain energy for making sure everyone had God’s shalom, had enough for livelihood and growth. The second reading, from James, likewise calls us to reject exploitation of others, and to love as God loves us. It is part of a letter that emphasizes solidarity with the world’s social outcasts, and calls the rich and proud to conversion from their oppression of the poor, to concrete acts of service. This is the book that teaches, “Faith without works is dead.” Our Gospel follows Jesus’ entry to Jerusalem, in the last few days before his death. He has spent the past three years encouraging the poor, sick, and marginalized to claim their space as beloved members of God’s family. Now Jesus enters the Temple to demand an end to its exploitative abuses. Historians tell us that the Jerusalem Temple then, during the annual Passover, attracted around 120,000 pilgrims, and over 18,000 animals were sold for ritual sacrifice. It was a place of holy worship, but also of commerce, finance, and imperial government. The annual Temple tax was collected there also, and it had to be paid in silver currency from the city of Tyre, since Rome did not allow the minting of Jewish coins, and the Jews considered using coins bearing the image of the emperor blasphemous. The moneychangers charged interests on these transactions, and the animal merchants marked up their prices for maximum profit. So the Temple’s outer court was also a place of usury and price-gouging. Jesus felt compelled to advocate for people who were convinced they had to hand over their hard-earned money to fulfill their religious obligation. I think another good question to ask ourselves during Lent is how our understanding of Scripture can grow. I have certainly heard interpretations of this gospel over the years which described Jesus’ actions in the Temple as violent, but I don’t see evidence of that. Catholic priest John Dear, who has written 25 books on non-violence and been arrested 75 times for non-violent civil disobedience, considers Jesus’ turning over the tables of the moneychangers a non-violent protest of Temple corruption. See if you can re-frame this account in your mind. Forget El Greco’s famous painting of Jesus attacking people, which John Dear holds is a mistaken interpretation. Imagine Jesus calmly walking in, inverting some tables, leading the animals out of the area, and telling the bankers to please leave. Dear points out that if you look at Mark’s account, as well as those of Matthew, Luke and John, there is no description of Jesus yelling, striking anyone, or destroying anything. John’s gospel describes Jesus using a whip of ropes, but only to move the cattle and sheep out of the court. The people selling doves he asks to remove them from God’s house. In Matthew, in the next sentence following the tables being turned over, the blind and lame rush forward to Jesus for healing, and children surround him, singing “Hosanna.” Surely vulnerable people would not have crowded around someone who had just violently trashed the Temple courtyard. In the part of Mark’s gospel that we did not read tonight, read tonight, Mark mentions Jesus’ reconnaissance of the Temple the evening before, probably to check out the situation and to plan his non-violent demonstration. On this 56th anniversary today of the March from Selma to Montgomery across the Edmund Pettis Bridge, we can recall the training civil rights marchers went through, to prayerfully plan their non-violent actions, and then to go home and pray about it some more before the actual demonstration. It sounds like that is what Jesus did here. We weren’t there and we don’t know exactly what happened, but I offer this alternative, non-violent reading for your consideration. So Jesus’ action in the Temple was definitely political, and subversive to the Roman Empire and the religious hierarchy of the Temple, but I doubt it was violent. On the contrary, as with Jesus’ every act, it is his call to us to stand up and non-violently protest dishonesty and exploitation. It was Jesus example to us to look out for one another, and to make sure all in our community have what they need to live a decent life. Which leads back to those Lenten questions— What do we see around us? Is it right? What should we do? Homily, SMMCC
5th OT, 2/7/21 Job 7: 1-4, 6-7 Ps. 147 1 Cor 9: 1-6 Mark 1: 29-31 The pandemic has given us a whole new outlook on work. For many people, work has acquired a huge overlap with home. There are lots of jokes about pajamas and Zoom meetings from closets. Meanwhile, medical workers and other front-line workers like first responders, those in food sales, and those in package shipping and delivery services, have found themselves spending much less time at home, while they meet increased demand. Many people in the restaurant and entertainment industries have not been able to work, or have had to be very creative in finding new ways to market their products. So “work” these days has taken on many new meanings. Work is central to our readings today. Life is hard work, for all these characters. Starting with Job, in the first reading. Now, in his past life, Job worked hard as farmer. But by the 7th chapter of this book, where today’s reading comes from, Job’s land, family, animals, crops, and everything else has been taken from him, and Job is hard at work trying to figure out why. Is life a game of reward and punishment, he asks? He doubts it-- God can’t be punishing him, because he has lead a very holy life. So why has he lost everything? He is in despair, and agonizes over this question and we’re not sure if he ever does completely work out the answer. For Paul, in the second reading, ministry is hard work, and he is standing up for his rights as a worker. He is claiming his position as an apostle, called by Jesus the Christ, and his right to support, physical and emotional, like being able to travel with his wife. He is seeking the same recognition and privileges afforded to the other leaders of the early church. Then, in the Gospel, Jesus is working hard, teaching, preaching, gathering disciples, and healing. In the next verses after this gospel, it says Jesus went and healed and taught in every village throughout that whole region, which was surely very hard work. But there is another hard worker here, Peter’s mother-in-law. In Greek, the word for mother-in-law is penthera, so a recent trend has been to name this woman Penny, short for penthera. Everyone deserves a name, after all. After Jesus raises Penny up from her sickbed, she gets right back to work, and the Greek verb used here is diakonei. The writer of the Gospel of Mark only uses this verb three times: to refer to Penny’s work, to refer to Jesus’ work, and to refer to the work of the women who stood at the foot of Jesus’ cross. They were Mary Magdalene, Mary, Salome, and some, again, unnamed, others, who had followed and provided for Jesus. It seems that Penny, Mary Magdalene, Mary, Salome, and these other women, in Mark’s mind, ministered as Jesus did. No office of deacon existed yet at that time, but we could say that these women were the first deacons. So life is hard work, for the people in these readings, as it is for us. Job’s grief is hard work. Jesus’ healing is hard work. Fighting for your rights is hard work. Ministry is hard work. Getting along with difficult people is hard work. Understanding why bad things happen is hard work. Bearing illness is hard work. Looking out for people who are not being treated fairly is hard work. I wonder sometimes if life is hard work even for God. Love is the work God has given us all to do. We are to love God, and love others as God loves us. Love is not hard for God. God IS love, as our Psalm attests to today, as when it says God numbers and names every single star in the sky. Even Job has figured out that God is love by the end of his journey, that God’s creativity and power of love far exceeds all human reason. So love is not hard for God. Love is very hard work for us, however, and we often refuse our work of love. After all, love requires empathy, and communication, and even respecting people we have a hard time identifying with. Sometimes it requires tough-loving people who have behaved destructively through accountability. Those are all very hard work for us. I believe God loves us so much, that God does not force us to love. God gives us the freedom to choose our own behavior, whether to love or to not. But God is always working to get us to cooperate in the ongoing creation of the world, in increasing the love in the world, in making sure all God’s creatures are loved and cared for. God does not use force, but rather inspiration, encouragement, persuasion. Even though we probably sometimes make these very hard work for God. The point of all this is that love is worth all the hard work. Love is the purpose of our lives, the way we reach communion with one another and with God. When we come outside of ourselves enough to truly love one another, we glimpse what today’s Psalm calls the peace of God. When we imitate the love of Jesus, binding one another’s wounds and healing one another’s hearts, we understand ourselves what it is like to be healed and how God’s goodness fills the earth. God is our hope, as it says in the Psalm, our bread, the wind that propels us, our fortress sure. Loving others as God loves us, day by day, becomes its own reward. This is truly, the work of our lives. Homily,
Epiphany, 1/3/21 Sirach 24: 1-4, 12-20 Ps. 72 Ephesians 3: 2-6 Matthew 2: 1-12 An epiphany, or sudden insight, can happen in a split second. As when a few months ago at 465 and 70 on the east side of Indianapolis, a tanker hauling jet fuel turned over on an exit ramp, started spilling fuel, and caught everything on fire. The driver managed to escape the truck and started running down the ramp. Not one, but three people got out of their cars and ran toward him to help, including a woman who had just had a baby 4 days before. They saw a human being on fire and realized he needed them. Or an epiphany can develop over time. Since the start of the pandemic, the number of people applying to and enrolling in Public Health degree programs has increased from 20-75%, depending on the school. The students involved say they want to be able to help solve complex biological, social, political, and economic problems, and help their own communities. Over the past year, I have learned two concepts that brought me epiphanies. The first was about the communication systems of trees. I learned that trees share messages about predators, food supply, and weather patterns, by fungi that connect their root tips. Trees in a forest are actually communities of organisms that work together to provide for the greater good of all their members. This reinforced for me the mind-boggling interrelatedness of all the elements in our cosmos-- plants, animals, water, air,-- everything, which we understand more and more, were created to work in harmony to support one another. The second was the idea of human intersectionality. This is the concept that we all have interconnected social categorizations such as race, class, gender, size, and physical ability that apply to us, individually and as members of groups, to create overlapping and interdependent systems of discrimination or disadvantage. So every person has a combination of factors making up their social location as more or less privileged. The tragedies of the deaths of George Floyd and Breanna Taylor and others in the past year have brought into focus the fact that some people have layers of disadvantage that multiply to actually put their lives in danger every day. By reading more, I have come to understand that these are layers of disadvantage manufactured by design over generations to empower some people by dehumanizing others. So I believe epiphanies are about welcoming the wisdom and love of God. Like many people, I no longer believe in God as a distant figure who occasionally, for reasons of his own, intervenes in our lives. Instead, I understand God as the Creative Spirit who made the cosmos, is alive in every atom of every being in it, loves all of creation without reserve, and wills that all should thrive in interdependent harmony. I think this God sometimes inspires us, nudges us, lures us, with ideas of how we can embody God’s unconditional love. To welcome God’s wisdom, I think it helps to have a regular spiritual practice that keeps us open and receptive to how God loves and how we can participate. The more open we are, the more we grow in unity with God’s purposes. Our readings today are about several epiphanies. They combine to remind us of the vital importance of welcoming others, and of recognizing the sacredness of all beings in the universe, as members of God’s body, no matter their faith or ethnicity or other categorization. Sirach tells us of Wisdom, an image of the promised Messiah, taking root in a people honored by God, but with a history of slavery and exile. Paul tells of the strength of his conviction of the equality of all in the sight of God’s love, Jews and Gentiles, calling all people co-heirs, members of the same body, and co-partners in the promise of Jesus’ human personification of God. Matthew wrote this birth narrative of Jesus to include magi who were not Jewish, but who recognized the sacredness of a child sent by God as a new kind of religious leader. And Matthew represented Mary, Joseph, and Jesus as refugees, after their visit from the magi, from an Emperor who felt his power was threatened by such a child. So these are all epiphanies, realizations, before our eyes and in our hands, of what Jesus was talking about when he taught the Reign of God’s love. They are crystalized moments of the heart of Jesus’ teaching—the in-breaking of God’s love here on earth. And they help us realize our own God-given capacity to convert our behavior toward generosity and kindness. To me, this is the meaning of the Incarnation, that God became human in Christ, to draw attention to the reality that, all along, since the beginning of creation, we as members of God’s body, have possessed the potential for the same love for God, and one another, and all of Creation, that God has for us. Reflexive moments of kindness for someone in need, or reflective processes of realization of how we can help the human community and the earth in general—we thank God today for messages of inspiration, clarity, and generosity that come to us and strengthen us as Christ’s hands, feet, eyes, and ears. We pray for openness and the courage to respond, when they dawn on us, like stars in the sky. Christmas Eve, 12/24/20
Prelude- John 2:1-5, 10-14, 18 Isaiah 60: 1-2, 4a, 5a, 15cd Ps. 96 Heb. 1: 1-3, 6, 8-9 Luke 2: 1-20 Thanks be to God for these magnificent readings, lights in our 2020 darkness! From Isaiah: “Rise in splendor, the Messiah has come.” From Paul’s letter to the Hebrews: “This Cosmic Christ is the radiance of God’s glory and the fullness of God’s being, sustaining all things with a living Word, with Wisdom.” Isaiah and Paul give us beautiful background for and reflection on the Christ’s coming. But let’s focus on the Gospel, and remember the powerful story of our Christian heritage: More than 2000 years ago, in a town called Nazareth, in Galilee, God somehow caused a young Jewish woman named Mary to have a realization that she would bring a son to birth. This son would be very special. The point of his life, Mary was inspired to believe, would be to teach and to prove that God is in every single being in the universe, and that all are in God. This son would teach and his life would witness to the fact that God’s love for humans and all the cosmos is unlimited, and that God wills that we transmit that same unconditional love to one another. So Mary set about bringing this son to life, with the help of God. She did what she had to do to avoid being stoned for being pregnant outside of marriage, by escaping to the hill country to stay with her relative Elizabeth for a few months. And after her son, Jesus, was born, she did everything she could to educate her son in the scriptures of their Jewish heritage, and the liberating words of the prophets. She sang him songs about the poor being lifted up, and the powerful being brought down from their thrones, the hungry being filled up, and the humble being greatly favored, by this God who loved every single atom of the universe with unfathomable love, and who expected us all to work to make our communities just and fair to everyone. 80 or 90 years later, this story of Jesus’ birth, which had been preserved by oral tradition, was written down by the evangelist we now know as Luke. Luke chose to use the ancient story form that had been used to announce the births of other important historical figures, such as the Emperors of Rome. These birth narratives had been described as supernatural, delivered by spirits or angels, heralding the child to come as the son of the gods, the personification of power and beneficence, and often marked by some new event in the heavens, like the appearance of a new star in the sky. These stories were meant to signify that this king would be the one to finally make peace on earth, and universal salvation for all people. So Luke’s story of Jesus’ birth is similar in form to these previous miraculous birth stories. But the radical, counter-cultural difference that Luke included is in the circumstances of the birth. The Caesars’ stories had foretold great palaces, huge armies, and conquering nations. But Jesus’ birth narrative described a very humble beginning. It told of Mary’s delivery in a livestock barn, and Jesus sleeping in a feed trough, about him growing up Jewish in territory occupied by Roman soldiers, and working as a carpenter in the footsteps of Joseph. These reversals are just the first of many Luke would include in this Gospel, which would describe prodigals being welcomed home, people sharing a few loaves and fish so that there was plenty for a great crowd, and women, the poor, lepers, and people suffering all kinds of afflictions, and forced outside the boundaries of society, being empowered and made whole. Luke used these literary forms and devices to magnify Jesus’ main teachings: that God loves especially those the world devalues, that all possess the power to bring God’s love to life, and that we are created to make the world a more loving, just, equitable place. Mary was created to bring Jesus to life. Luke was created to bring this story to life. We are each created to bring the Christ to life in yet a new way! Christmas, this wonderful holiday we celebrate every year at the time that light begins to return to the earth, is the commemoration of our call to make God’s love a reality to all the other beings we contact in the world. To let them know, with words if necessary, that we bring God’s love to them, and are working to bring God’s justice to reality. That is our legacy as followers of Jesus. That is our duty as creatures of our loving God. That is the joy of our lives as members of humanity, which the Christ shared with us. Our treasured image of the baby in the manger cries out this truth to us, today, Christmas, and every day! “Give comfort, speaking tenderly, comfort to my people.” This was God’s command to the prophet Isaiah in our first reading. God was asking Isaiah to encourage the people of Israel to make another exodus, from their exile in Babylon, back to their homeland. So Isaiah was to give comfort to the afflicted, the poor and powerless, and invite them back home. But he was also to afflict the comfortable, the more elite members of the Jewish remnant, who had figured out a way to cooperate with their Babylonian captors just enough to do business with them and earn a comfortable living. These Judeans were not as eager to pull up stakes and move back to Jerusalem, and Isaiah was to try to shock them back into consciousness of God’s benevolence, and their duty to pass it on.
“Give comfort, speaking tenderly, comfort to my people.” I think this is also God’s command to us today. It is God’s invitation to us to be prophetic, giving comfort to those afflicted by grief in our COVID exile, and try to help aid those in need due to lost jobs and closed businesses. But also to afflict the complacent and comfortable, those insulated by privilege and prosperity, to be aware of the pain of our neighbors and to work to correct the inequities of health care, educational opportunities, and government support that COVID has brought into such sharp focus. “Give comfort, speaking tenderly, comfort to my people.” It seems to me that people are putting up their Christmas trees earlier than usual this year. We need some comfort, in our COVID sorrow, reassurance that Christmas will still come, though we will have to celebrate it differently, and that we can still communicate our love to our family and friends, and still enjoy memories of happier holidays. And here we run into the paradox of comfort and sorrow, of kindness and grief. Because the truth is, and Jesus taught this, as well as other wise sages over the centuries, that the more we can enter to into our own grief and especially into the trauma and sorrow of others, the greater our capacity for gratitude, and our ability to reflect that gratitude in the form of kindness and care. Sharing one another’s losses has a way of stretching us to cultivate more compassion. Jesus’ sharing of human suffering enabled him to share the ultimate love with all of us, and empower us to pass that love on. To lift the valleys and smooth down the mountains that separate us, to build the Beloved Community, the new Jerusalem, a little higher and a little stronger and a little more generous every day. “Give comfort, speaking tenderly, comfort to my people.” Paul praised the Christians of Corinth for cultivating community, for passing on Jesus’ love and grace, for finding ways of forgiving one another and living in peace. For comforting one another in their common mission to build God’s love in their midst. “Give comfort, speaking tenderly, comfort to my people.” And the passages from Mark and John’s gospels both interpret Isaiah’s prophecy, emphasizing John the Baptist’s and Jesus’ new efforts to make straight God’s ways, to teach a new generation to bear with one another, sharing one another’s sorrow in order to give comfort and create a more just society. To afflict the corrupt and those too comfortable with empire, with a baptism meant to brace them with the fresh oxygen of the Spirit’s breath, and ignite their hearts with the Spirit’s fire. Let us be comforted this Advent. Let us wait in hope, though our hearts break for each COVID casualty. Let us search for ways to be prophets to one another, to comfort and to confront, to stand for compassion, as well as for reform and transformation. Let us speak tenderly to one another, embodying the voice in the desert, preparing God’s ways of love. “Give comfort, speaking tenderly, comfort to my people.” Homily
1/19/2020 Angela Meyer Given the opportunity to preach for our beloved, progressive, inclusive, predominantly white Catholic community on the eve of MLK Day, I prayed first with the words of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. who prophetically spoke out to an assembly gathered at Riverside Church in New York on April 4, 1967 and declared it is not enough for us to be Good Samaritans. It is a weighty statement: “A true revolution of values will soon cause us to question the fairness and justice of many of our past and present policies. On the one hand, we are called to play the Good Samaritan on life’s roadside, but that will be only an initial act. One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho Road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life’s highway.” It has been 52 years since Rev. King delivered that address, and his words remain every bit as critical today as they were back then. One question we must ask of ourselves is: who are we on today’s Jericho Road? In a system as complex as ours, it may not be so easy to see. In our lectionary readings¹ for January 19th, we are being asked to notice who our modern Jericho highways and byways are hurting. If we are really open to this holy quest, we will inevitably discover that what brings comfort to some of us actively afflicts many. Even more difficult, perhaps, is the reality that many of us have complex relationships of being both abused and “protected” by the systems that we live in. Our modern Jericho Road is complex, built and framed upon centuries’ of minority discrimination and oppression. The result is that we are living in a deeply injured world that is crying out in the wilderness for freedom from the sins of colonialism, racism, sexism, heterosexism, discrimination against folks with disabilities, xenophobia, Islamophobia, antisemitism, and more. This is a painful process. And yet, we are called as Church to help identify and untangle this mess. It is an overwhelming task. So where can we begin? Our lectionary readings for the day suggest we can begin by listening and discerning who we are. CTU professor C. Vanessa White reflected, “the most crucial clue to the knowledge of God is to be found in the honest and most total knowledge of self.” This is an observation that goes very well with today’s readings, and it begs a few questions. Who are we, how are we in our world, and are we making space for God’s presence? Who are we? Specifically, here at St Mary of Magdala, we are a people whose full humanity has been rejected by the Catholic Church. We are women, LGBTQIA folk, and allies who refuse to let patriarchal norms continue to afflict our lives and those of generations to come with the evils of sexism and heterosexism. I would like to suggest that this offers us a baseline for contemplating the ills of racism. For example, as an RCWP congregation, we are aware of the deprivation of women’s voices in scripture, church history, liturgy, and ordained sacramental ministry. The history of Catholic Christianity has always been told through a predominantly white Eurocentric male lens. Women still cannot vote. Even when it comes to talking about theological and ecclesial issues affecting Catholic women, deliberations and decisions about our lives and bodies are made by men. Oh, and women aren’t allowed to preach at Mass. Not all Catholics perceive these factors as injustices, not even all Catholic women. Depending on where I post this homily, I will probably be spammed with “heretic” comments. This makes unraveling the embedded sexism within the church exceedingly difficult. Not until an overwhelming number of Catholics decide that the power of the assembly of God’s people is worth saving from the perils of institutionalized sin will we advance toward healing of this Jericho Road. My ability to preach at a Catholic Mass is only possible because of the work that faithful Catholics have been doing for decades in an ongoing battle for gender equality. The only reason our congregation exists is that a small number of bishops decided to combat misogyny embedded in the very fabric of Catholicism and ordained seven women to the priesthood on the Danube in 2002. Later, they ordained 2 of these women to be bishops to enable the continued ordination of women to the Roman Catholic priesthood, and Roman Catholic Women Priests (RCWP) began. Since that time, several devout Catholic women in Indianapolis have stepped into the light of their priestly calls, become ordained, and along with several others, formed Catholic communities intent on inclusiveness. How are we in our world? When we gather in these small communities, we remember who we are as Christ-followers, and we stand in solidarity with our deepest held beliefs. This is exactly the same thing that happens in each of our readings today. Our scriptural heroes all demonstrate deep awareness of self and commitment to the work of God, especially in the face of serious oppression. We know what it means to fight for sex and gender justice in the Church. Our very existence is both a protest and a living example of what Catholicism could look like globally if we rid our institution of these specific injustices. As we prepare to celebrate the legacy of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., let’s think about how we can match our fervor for gender justice with a fervor for racial justice in our communities. Just as the church needs to hear and heed the voices and leadership of women, the world needs to hear and heed the voices and leadership of black, indigenous, and people of color (BIPOC). We cannot have a balance and equality of humanity without it. Dare we imagine a world rid of sins of racism? How are we making space for God’s presence? We know that — just like rooms full of aging white Bishops can’t solve “women’s issues” while keeping us silent doing the chores of the Church — the sins of this nation afflicting BIPOC cannot be solved in white corporate headquarters and the white halls of Congress. Just as we demand equal participation as women and LGBTQIA folk in Church, we must give space, attention, and funding to BIPOC until their voices are heard and have equal representation and opportunity as local, state, and national leaders. What if we don’t? Our reading from Daniel shows us exactly what a world of mindlessness, inequity, and oppression looks like. Bible scholar Hector Avalos² points that “As soon as the instruments sound, the pagans genuflect en masse before a lifeless image without a second thought. In effect, [they help] to portray those pagans as a version of Pavlov’s dog.” Listen again to how absurd this passage sounds if we make a few modern adjustments: The National Broadcast Alert system proclaimed: “Nations and peoples of every language, when you hear the sound of the fireworks, trumpets, cymbals, clarinets, trombones, and all the other musical instruments, you must fall down and worship the golden image which Nebuchadnezzar has set up and will appear on all of your phones and devices.” In the disrupted world, we are living in, this sounds ridiculous and downright creepy, doesn’t it? (Anyone seen Runaways season 3, episode 6?) I’m not sure how far-off it is, though. How many times a day are modern lives disrupted by the rings, bells, and beeps of handheld devices? How conditioned are we to attend to their alerts? How do they shape our thinking and behaviors? But I digress. Thankfully, our Judean heroes of this story know how to cope with the assault of mob-mentality. To them, the fear of dying in a fiery furnace is nothing compared to the terrible alternative of losing who they know themselves to be: people of God. I think it’s easiest to put ourselves in the position of Shadrach, Mesach, and Abednego. Daniel did such a good job making mob-mentality look simple-minded and stupid; there’s no way we want to be part of that. Plus, the reality is that most of us have experienced some form of oppression. If nothing else, we have stood our ground in support of women’s equality in the Catholic Church, even though it means that we may have lost our welcome within the institution. We have been true to ourselves and the call of our God. At least this has been our intention. We are like Shadrach, Mesach, and Abednego. However, Hector Avalos also challenges us to meditate on ways we still might be in a supportive role to Nebuchadnezzar's of our own times. When we live within a power structure, the only way to bring conscientiousness to mindless oppressive systems is through contemplation and very hard work. We do that by practicing the skills we wish Catholic Bishops had by decentering ourselves. We have to learn to recognize our own biases and know ourselves deeply. We must also allow ourselves to listen to the stories, histories, and experiences of others, especially BIPOC. We have to be willing to be in relationship with others in a way that challenges and changes us. This was a really tough homily to write. It is hard to bring up a problem that feels so immense that it overwhelms us, and a homily doesn’t fix much — but maybe it can help us have more conversations. If we don’t know anything else to do to help break down the problems of racism and othering in our world, we can start right with learning more about ourselves with respect to racist structures. We can be prayerful and self-reflective. We read books and articles written from the vantage points of other cultural groups, and we can listen to others with an intention to deeply hear and learn. And still, that doesn’t mean it is easy. For the sake of truth, we have to walk willingly into pain and discomfort just like Shadrach, Mesach, and Abednego had to walk straight into the flames of Nebuchadnezzer’s furnace; and we have to believe, like the story tells us, that God will join us, save us, and walk us right back out into a changing world. On that day, as Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. famously quoted: “justice will roll down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.” Let us make way for our God. ¹ Jane Via and Nancy Corran, eds., “Readings for January 19, 2020, 2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time & Martin Luther King Jr. Observance,” The Comprehensive Catholic Lectionary, https://www.inclusivelectionary.org/. ² Avalos, Hector. 1991. “The Comedic Function of the Enumerations of Officials and Instruments in Daniel 3.” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 53 (4): 580–88. Homily
by Helen Weber-McReynolds, RCWP Gen 21: 8-1-, 14-21; Ps. 128; Gal 4: 4-7; Matt 2: 13-15, 19-23 When we used to celebrate the Feast of the Holy Family when I was younger, I remember the message usually being that the Holy Family was perfect in every way and we, especially children, should aspire to be perfect as they were. We were told to be obedient to our parents, and never argue with our siblings, and always behave like angels in school. And I remember thinking that perfection was way too much to expect. I thought, if no fighting with them was expected, God should have given me different sisters. Of course, now we are all adults and my sisters and I are all very close friends. And now, as an adult, I also realize that no family’s life is perfect, not even that of Mary, Joseph, and Jesus. Being a family can be very messy! And our readings certainly illustrate this. Starting with the first reading, from Genesis, we see complications and drama from the very beginning. Abraham had two wives, with the tension between them; and two sons; and Abraham is left with the agonizing decision of choosing between them. This story also mentions slavery, sexual exploitation, infertility, jealousy, domination, and verbal or physical abuse. Abraham and Sarah’s family life was certainly filled with controversy and passion. Far from perfect. Yet Abraham and Sarah are considered the father and mother of our faith. They established the covenant from which descended the people of Israel. Then in our Gospel, we recall the story of the Flight into Egypt. The story of Mary, Joseph, and Jesus truly is the definition of a refugee family, leaving everything and everyone behind to prevent their son being killed by a corrupt ruler. If we read between the lines here, we can almost hear the tortured decision-making Mary and Joseph must have gone through. What should they do? Where should they go? Would they be safe in Egypt? How long would they have to stay? Would they be able to make a living there? Would they ever see their families again? The author of Matthew’s gospel uses the literary device of an angel delivering these messages, and maybe that happened, but I would bet it was not that easy for Mary and Joseph to discern God’s will for them. Our friend Angela remarked the other day that she wished Mary had kept a diary and she wished she had a copy of it. That would have helped make many confusing aspects of Mary and Joseph’s story much clearer. What we do know is that they were brave enough to cooperate with God in delivering the Messiah, the human incarnation of God, the Christ. So these are not idealized families, but real flesh-and-blood families with problems we can relate to. Yet they managed to do God’s will and deliver God’s message, and even God’s son, to all of us. And because Jesus was born, both human, and divine, he made all of us part of God’s family. Our second reading brings this together. In it, we heard Paul say: “When the fullness of time had come, God sent from God’s own being, a child, born of a woman… so that all might be adopted by God… we are all God’s offspring, God’s own.” We know that Jesus worked to create a new family of God for all those who had no family. And now it is up to us to continue that work. To try to somehow make everyone we contact feel included and loved, no matter who they are. It’s a tall order, but we have one another to work with, all our family members to share the load. The world is full of drama and human complications, but our job is to try to clear those aside, and help continue the ongoing birth of Christ every day. Who do I need to talk to before it’s too late? What do I need to do before it’s too late? Before we move? Before I die? Those are the questions today’s gospel has for me. What about the lesson a busy young woman named Emma almost missed on the bus she took to the airport on her way to a meeting in London for work. It was a crisp fall day and she was glad for the bus ride. She always looked forward to that half-hour ride to collect herself before she faced the long plane ride. That day would be spent trying to solve people’s problems with the new computer program she had designed. She found an aisle seat near the front of the bus and sat down to get her thoughts together for the day ahead. Suddenly the woman sitting next to her turned and said: “I bet it’s cold in Chicago.” Emma turned curtly said: “Yes, I guess it is.” The woman kept asking questions and talking for several minutes. The woman finally said, “I’m going to Chicago to bring back my husband. We were married 52 years and he died suddenly. I’m bringing his body back.” Emma put her book down and looked her in the eye this time. She reached out and held the old woman’s hand. They talked and talked. Soon the bell sounded for Emma’s stop. She collected her coat and carry-on bag and stood up. A young man took the seat where she had been. Soon the old woman turned to him and said, “I bet it’s cold in Chicago.” All Emma could do was say a little prayer hoping that the young man would pay attention to her. We’re all rich, aren’t we? We all have family and friends we can count on. We have our education, even about the history of women’s ordination. We are finding ways to live our belief in justice for all. On the other hand, we’re all kind of poor. We need help. We need to be healed. We keep finding new areas where we’ve been caught up in our own wants, big and little. Today’s other two readings have the same theme. Amos warns his listeners not to be like those who live in luxury, gloating over their self-importance, unaware that the vast majority of people are poor. The First Letter to Timothy, probably written by a disciple of the Apostle Paul, takes a different tack. His advice to the wealthy is to “put their hopes in God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment.” The eighteenth-century preacher, John Wesley, interprets vv. 17-19 by saying, “’ The love of money’ we know, ‘is the root of all evil’; but not the thing itself. The fault does not lie in the money but in them that use it…” Think of all the good things that money can do, like pay for a trip to the Symphony. The money then spreads out to the players and their families, to the children who participate in the symphony’s special programs for them. This helps children of all economic groups appreciate beautiful music. What about using some money for supporting young people, especially women, so they can study for the priesthood. Of course, there are lots of groups that serve those in need that call to us for help. On the other hand, we can waste money, thinking of ourselves first, complaining about how charities waste funds as an excuse not to take the time to give to any of them. The best way is to live life in a spirit of gratitude. That will guide our use of our money, our time and our attention. Yes, “I bet it is cold in Chicago!” Let’s back up a little. How do you see money as the root of all evil? What are your thoughts on positive ways to use money? Maria Thornton McClain, RCWP Homily from 9/15/2019Wow. What a big set of readings for a first homily!
HOMILY – JUNE 16, 2019, TRINITY SUNDAY
Did you know that the Trinity has the potential to change our relationships, our culture, and our politics for the better? Think about it – the mystery of Trinity is in the code of everything that exists. The mystery of love, the mystery of the flow of love that is the essence of the Trinity is something we can never completely understand. The essence of Trinity is the continuous flow of love, an outward expression of each aspect of that love. Let’s use the analogy that comes from St. Bonaventure (1221-1274) to help us picture this. He described the Trinity as a fountain fullness of love. Picture three buckets on a moving waterwheel. Each bucket fills (ideally from the top for the most effective process) and empties out, then swings back to be filled up again, just as God the Lover, empties into the Beloved, nothing held back. The Beloved empties into the Loving Spirit, nothing held back and the Loving Spirit empties into the Lover, nothing held back. The reason they can empty themselves is because they know they will be filled again. The essence of the universe is infinite love. Thus divine love gives everything it’s dignity. Sometimes that dignity is easy to understand. Sometimes it isn’t. For e.g., Dignity is the name of the Catholic group for gay and lesbians for a reason – to stress the value of all people whatever their sexual orientation. Think of the different races and the dignity they deserve and how many white people work hard to deny them their rights, leading to many having poor nutrition, education and working conditions. Jesus modeled how to face others, looking out to them with love, whoever they were, whether they were criminals or outcast for some other reason. We can translate that in our day to, for example, women who have abortions, Many of them see it as a loving thing to do. The same with divorce. If we show the same kind of love Jesus did, it could lead to the transformation that real Christianity calls for. One way to express the opposite of love is that if someone doesn’t believe that the center of the universe is infinite love, that person lives in a scarcity model where there’s never enough – food, money, security and so on to go around. That person can’t risk letting go because they’re not sure they’ll be refilled. If they’re protecting themselves, they can’t let go in love. Sadly this is the pattern of almost all human institutions. On the other hand, think of people you know who are marginalized, oppressed, “p0or,” “ mentally disabled.” Don’t you often see that they have the divine qualities of emptying themselves out of love? They want to be in mutual relationships. They find little ways to serve others. Whatever is going on in God is, as Richard Rohr calls it, “a flow, a radical relatedness, a perfect communion between Three - a circle dance of love. God is Absolute Friendship. God is not just a dancer; God is the dance itself. This pattern mirrors the perpetual orbit of electron, proton, and neutron that creates an atom, which is the substratum of the entire physical universe. The author of the very beginning of the bible got it right, writing that “Everything is made in ‘the image and likeness of God’ (Genesis 1:26-27).” People filled with the flow of love will always move away from any need to protect their own power and will be drawn to solidarity with the powerless, the edge, the bottom, the plain, and the simple. They have all the power they need—and it always overflows, and like water seeks the lowest crevices to fill. No wonder Christians begin their spiritual journey by being dipped into water. From elementary particles in the atom, through atoms in molecules, molecules in cells, cells in organisms, organisms in societies, to social actions and even ideas—all of them being organized as systems--the Trinitarian image, as a Community, has been present and growing. The conclusion for the religious person should be that the world is God’s most personal work, therefore something for us to know and admire and revere, to take part in, to contribute to creating—since it is made as a self-creating universe. When it comes to our image of God. Instead of the idea of the Trinity being a theological conundrum, it could well end up being the answer to Western religion’s basic problem, that rules are all that matters. Instead it’s really all about relationship. That is the essence 0f Love! This is participating in the divine life. How do you do this is your life? Where and how do you see and admire it somewhere else? Maria Thornton McClain, RCWP June 16, 2019 6/2/19 Acts 2: 1-14a, 15-18 Ps. 104 Rom 8: 22-26 Luke 24: 36-49a “We are Parthians, Medes, and Elamites, people from Mesopotamia, Judea, and Cappadocia…Yet we hear them preaching, each in our own language, about the marvels of God!” We are Judeans, or converts to Judaism, Arabs, Greeks, Romans, yet we hear the same God speaking to us. We are wealthy, we are slaves, we are farmers, merchants, teachers, and make our living by fishing, yet these Galileans, proclaim we are all one in the same Holy Spirit. Today, we speak Hebrew, and Spanish, and Arabic, and Haitian Creole, and German, and Tagalog, yet these followers of Jesus, they are speaking our language. We are women and men, and transgender, and intersex, and gay and bisexual, and these Christians want all of us to know their God’s love. We are immigrants, we are refugees, we are migrant workers, we are undocumented, yet we are all animated by the same spark of life. We are Republicans, Democrats, conservatives, progressives, socialists, and environmentalists, yet Christ’s followers recognize us as siblings and family. They see not only all people, but all of God’s creatures, as endowed with dignity. We are women whose rights are threatened, we are children who have been abused, we are young black and brown men disproportionately incarcerated, we are addicts longing for recovery, we are differently abled people who can’t find jobs, yet Jesus said we will be healed together as one. We are all different, but the promised Spirit has been poured out upon all of us. And if we open our eyes, we can see the tongues of fire. Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful, and kindle in us the fire of your love. Send forth your Spirit, and they shall be created: And you will renew the face of the earth. So, how do you see the Holy Spirit acting in our world? |
Helen Weber-McReynolds ,
RCWP, Pastor
Maria McClain,
RCWP, Retired Pastor
Angela N. Meyer, RCWP Brownsburg, IN community
|
RSS Feed
