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Serve.

(This was the homily I gave this morning, September 19, 2021. The readings were Wisdom 2:12, 17-20, James 3:16-4:3 and Mark 9:30-37.)

What about this child Jesus has his arms around? Can we picture Jesus taking a child, as an example of the vulnerable and needy, the people Jesus was telling us to care for? Was it a boy or a girl? How old? Laughing or crying?

I think Jesus probably did this more than once. This time it was in the midst of his 12 apostles, but maybe for a crowd of followers in another town he would say it again. “Whoever receives one of these receives me, and whoever receives me receives the One who sent me.” Before this story was written down in the gospel of Mark, it may have played out many times, with little girls and little boys, with crying children and laughing children, with children who had just had a bath and children who had just come from playing in the mud. And every time, you can just see that irrepressible smile on the face of Jesus, as some trusting little tyke does him a favor by serving as a prop for the point Jesus is trying to make.

Many of you have probably already heard me say the most fun you can have as a deacon is baptizing children. We get to serve in so many ways: preaching, serving at the altar, witnessing marriages, trying to comfort the sick and to feed the poor, and it’s all great. But there’s a particular joy in welcoming a new baby into the Church that you just can’t get anywhere else.

It occurred to me this week, preparing this homily, that maybe I enjoy the baptism of a child so much because it gives me hope for the future of the Church.

We commissioned catechists this morning at the 9:00 a.m. Mass. How fitting that they got to hear this gospel message, “whoever receives a child such as this in my name receives me.” The joy our volunteer catechists get from sharing the faith with our young people is something you can’t anywhere else, and passing on the faith to the next generation must give the catechists the same kind of hope and joy I get when I pour water on a baby’s head and baptize them in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Each child we welcome into the Church in baptism, each one we teach about the faith that connects us all, connects us to the future. Each one makes us collectively a little younger, lowering the median age of our parish a little bit, making our Church a little better equipped to endure into the future.

If we look around right now, we see many people living the second half of our lives. The Church we know and love has a lot of gray hair. You young people, I see you. Young adults, I’m really happy to see you. But we older folks outnumber you. We want you to outnumber us. The Church depends on us, her graying members, no doubt about it. We keep showing up; we keep writing checks; we put time and talent into the parish’s projects and ministries.

But we aren’t the people who are going to make this a vibrant, thriving parish in 25 or 50 years.

Or are we? What if the things we do today turn out to be what makes this parish a thriving, living embodiment of the love of God, for the next half a century?

We’re in the early stages of trying to build a new parish where there were two before, to unify and to grow, to discover the influx of new talent, to renew our Church. There is a men’s club meeting coming up tomorrow, and I want to be there, to discover guys who have more imagination than I do, guys who are more daring than I am, and guys who have the energy to make stuff happen. Big-hearted people who are willing to be people for others.

The scripture readings today are about small-hearted people. Especially the first reading, about the revilement of the just one. You’ve probably met people like this at work; I hope you have not met them here.
They don’t care about other people, and they don’t care about the future of a community, except when it’s the answer to questions like, What’s in it for me? How can I protect my turf, my own little kingdom?

When the small and mean come upon a good person, a generous person, a person for others, they don’t want to tolerate that person. The first reading today speaks in the voice of the mean ones: “Let us beset the just one.” See that good, talented, caring person? Let’s bring her down to our level.

The letter from St. James – the second reading today – tells us where that is coming from: “jealously and selfish ambition.” He gets it. Jesus got it, and he knew there were people like that, who were keeping an eye on him, and he knew they were out to get him. Walking through Galilee, he told his followers that his mission was going to lead to his death and resurrection, but even the 12 apostles fell into that “jealously and selfish ambition” trap – they wasted their energy arguing with each other over who was the greatest.

People want other people to be like themselves. Dishonest people and cheaters think everybody is dishonest and everybody is cheating. Good people think other people are basically good. The good can see other people in their best light, until you give them cause not to. Small-hearted and mean people always want to find small heartedness and meanness in others; they expect it. They think everybody is like them. They don’t want to see the best in anybody else. You can depend on them always to think the worst.

Well, God also wants people to be like he is. God designed each of us to be a good person, a generous person, a person for others. God made us to be like that.

God’s design includes a capacity for service and a capacity for suffering. Last week, Jesus said in the gospel that anyone wanting to follow him should take up his cross each day. Today he says the way to be great is to be a servant, to be the servant of all. The only way up is downward; the path that leads to glory goes through the cross. We’re on it.

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by bobslobig on September 19, 2021 • Permalink

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Tagged baptism, catechetical sunday, catechist, deacon, Mark 9, religious education, serve, service

Posted by bobslobig on September 19, 2021

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Drop what you’re doing.

(I gave this homily this morning. The readings were , Jonah 3, 1-5, Psalm 25, 1 Corinthians 7:29-31, and Mark 1:14-20.)

On Monday we celebrated the life and work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who said so many wise things. One of them was, “The time is always right to do what is right.”

This weekend we marched for life, and yesterday there was a women’s march, and a meme, a movement, is going around, raising awareness about how we have undervalued and mistreated our sisters: #TimesUp.

There was a scene in one of the Star Trek movies, where Mr. Chekov was in big trouble, so he was trying to get the crew of the Enterprise to beam him up, back to the ship where he’d be safe. The situation was dire, and he was worried, and he spoke into his communicator, “Captain, now would be a good time.”

My mother used a certain expression when she wanted us to know she meant business: “Drop whatever you’re doing, and come here.” It communicated urgency, immediacy. It meant, you are not doing anything more important than what Mom is calling you for. That might be dinner; that might be cleaning up some mess I left in another room; it might just be to help her out with something for a minute or two. It could be anything, but it could not be ignored. Drop what you’re doing and come. Right now.

When we heard that, we didn’t think about it; we didn’t compare our options or consider other plans. We just got going. There would be serious consequences if we heard that call and did not drop whatever we were doing and respond. And I have no idea what they were. I don’t know what would have happened if I had not come running. I don’t even want to know. I do have a sense that I am still here today because every time Mom said, “Drop what you’re doing and come,” that is what I did.

We have a story in this gospel today of Jesus basically saying to these fishermen, drop what you’re doing and come with me. And what did they do? They literally dropped the work they were doing, mending their fishing nets, and they left their own father in the boat with the workers. Just peaced out and followed. Bye, Dad!

What about us?

You may have heard me say that the scariest gospel reading is the one we heard a couple of months ago, at the end of November. It’s in Matthew, ch. 25: “When did we see you hungry, or in prison, or needing our help?” And the king says, whatever you did not do for the least of these, you did not do for me. I can’t hear that or think about it without getting a little shook up. And now that I’ve had seven weeks and the holidays to forget about it, today’s gospel comes along, and I picture Jesus saying to us, “Hi! I’ve got something I need you to help me with. Drop what you’re doing and come with me.”

What would we do?

These second graders who are preparing for their first communion, they know what they’d do. They live in the moment, and they’d say to Jesus, “Oh yeah; I’m coming with you.” But those of us who have any difficulty living in the present or being spontaneous, when everything we do is planned and orchestrated, even our daily prayer and reflection routines – if Jesus interrupts that routine, saying, “Come, follow me, and I will make you into something more meaningful than what you are now,” what would we do?

Would we consult our calendars to see what was coming up in the next hour or the next few days and politely thank him for the invitation? Would we suggest that maybe he could show us where he is staying another time, and go on with what we were doing?

Would we want to think it over for a while? My approach to life is a combination of procrastination and forgetfulness, so it’s kind of a small miracle when I get anything done. If we had a family coat of arms, the Latin verse on the scroll at the bottom would read, “Habemus temporem,” which translates, “We’ve got time.” I like to think about doing something. I go in for that part – thinking about it – way more than actually doing something, making a decision.

The planning, the considering, giving it some thought. Yeah, that’s my wheelhouse. But, doing it? Actually doing? Let me think about that and get back to you.

But this gospel challenges us, saying, okay, time’s up. “This is the time of fulfillment,” Jesus says. This is it. Right now is the acceptable time. Jonah told Nineveh they only had 40 days. Paul told his people at Corinth time’s up, the world we know is passing away. The kingdom of God is replacing the world we think we know, the world we’ve tried to struggle through and become comfortable in. It’s changing because of the work of Jesus, and Jesus is getting his work done by attracting people with different skills to come and contribute their skills to his service.

In the gospel story today, he wanted the fisherman’s skills, their patience and perseverance. Their knack and feel for where to cast the net and how to drag it bag to the surface full of a catch. He wanted hard-working team players, and apparently he also had room for competitive people driven to be the best at what they do. (Later on, these brothers James and John would argue with each other as they followed Jesus on the road, fighting over which one was the best.)

He’s going to transform these followers and their skills: In calling them to be “fishers of men,” Jesus means this, “I’m going to take the practical skills of your craft and put them at the service of the kingdom.” He did that with other people too: a tent-maker, an accountant, a tax collector, a rabble-rouser – a diverse collection of people who all could do something.

I see before me a diverse collection of people who all can do something. I see teachers, lawyers, doctors, writers, financial wizards, captains of industry. I see chefs and singers and dancers and artists, people who have within them a spark of God’s creative energy. I see competitive people who are driven to be the best at what they do.

Jesus is inviting us to do a job in building up the kingdom. He calls all of us to that. Jesus is getting his work done by attracting people with different skills to come and contribute their skills to his service. The job Jesus invites us to help him with is not so much about getting people into heaven; it’s more about getting heaven into people. It’s a great job. We can’t be hesitant to do it. It doesn’t necessarily mean quitting the job you have now (but it might). When I became a deacon, I didn’t quit on any of the vocations I had – I’m still a lawyer, and a father, and a friend, and a husband. But responding does mean wholehearted dedication and trust and not waiting any longer.

Christ has been inviting us all to help with the work of building the kingdom, and too many of us, instead of saying yes, have been thinking it over, trying to figure out whether it’s the right time, whether we can fit that into our schedules. “I have a lot on my plate right now, Jesus. Can you check back with me in six or eight months and see if I can get some other stuff under control first?” That is not the answer Jesus is looking for.

Let’s not procrastinate; let’s answer the call Jesus is making to us.

Stop waiting for a better time, the best time. Now is the acceptable time, this is the time of fulfillment. We are not doing anything more important, more fulfilling, than what Jesus is calling us for. The time’s up for thinking it over, for considering it.

“The time is always right to do what is right.” We all need to drop what we’re doing and follow.

Fifth Sunday in Lent: Troubled?

(My homily for March 22, 2015. The readings are Jeremiah 31:31-34, Psalm 51, Hebrews 5:7-9, and John 12:20-33.)

There is usually a line or a word in the gospel that kind of jumps out and sticks with you. Today, for most people, that would either be the image of the grain of wheat, or else it’s where Jesus says, “I am troubled now.”

Who here is troubled? You don’t have to raise your hands. If there’s anything troubling you, just stay in your seats. I am not going to make anybody’s troubles disappear; what I’m going to try to do is shine some light on them.

Light is one of the things I like most about Lent. The sun comes up earlier, and sets later, each day. A little more light comes each day. The traditions of the Lenten season shine some light into our souls. When I do without something for 40 days, I realize I probably didn’t need it as much as I thought I did. When I realize I have more than I need, I’m prompted to be more generous with those who have less, and to become more prayerful. The season also draws us back to the sacrament of reconciliation, which we need. Meanwhile, the weather improves, and we get outside more, and it’s not just to shovel snow. Baseball comes back, and basketball becomes like a fireworks show that we watch together, being reminded of how little we know and understand. The RCIA, the process for adult converts to the Catholic Church, revs up with increasing momentum and excitement as we get closer to Easter. It’s been a privilege for me and Julia to see the light of Christ shine through Zack, Beth, Ray, Austin, Collin, Luke and Rose.

There’s a reason the light grows during Lent: it’s so that we will be able to see the truth on Palm Sunday and on Easter. The death and resurrection of Jesus shine light on the mysteries of who God is and who we are.

Humanity has struggled all through our history to know God. For the people of Israel, the guidance of Moses was huge. The law gave people a way to know God better. But in the first reading today, the prophet says there is going to be a new covenant, a new way of getting to know God. What the prophet meant was Christ: The life of Jesus says, “Here he is. This is what God is like.” No longer will human understanding of God have to rely on books and stone tablets. In the person of Jesus Christ, we meet God in the flesh. We can get to know him.

In getting to know the person of Jesus, we also discover something essential about ourselves, because in him we also see what a real human being is. He is prayerful and caring, and he is about serving others. And yes, he is troubled, like us. Jesus in today’s gospel is troubled about preparing for his own death. He is vulnerable; he is conscious of all the good things in life, the things we all think are so nice to hang on to: friends, followers, a chance to make a real difference in the world. And Jesus knows he has to let them all go, that he has to trust the will of God. That isn’t easy. So he’s troubled. Could there be anything else in all of scripture better to show us the humanity of Jesus? The genuine human Jesus is troubled, vulnerable, in pain, yet he is committed and obedient.

So it’s both: the death and resurrection of Jesus is how God shows us God’s endless mercy and love for humankind. At the same time, Jesus is showing us how a real human being responds to the will of God.

The obedience of Jesus rights a very old wrong about all of us humans. The serpent in the garden of Eden told humanity, “Hey, you can be like God, by disobeying what God asks of you and putting yourself first. Try it, you’ll like it.” Jesus shows us that the way to be like God is through obedience, through laying down your own life, and not putting yourself first. He also invites us to try it.

And so we meet God in the flesh, and we meet him in other people. There are people who care for us and bring us life’s abundance and joys – they show us the love and mercy of God, the healing and feeding power that made Jesus famous. Then there are those we serve, the suffering, the dying, the lost and forsaken. They reveal to us the face of Christ on the cross.

It all happens because Jesus himself, though troubled, gave everything he had to serve others, … to serve us. He says here that whoever serves him, must follow him. Go where I am going, he says; “do this in memory of me.” When we cling tightly to our advantages and our privileges, Jesus tells us, that’s a death grip. He warns us that whatever we hold on tight to in this life, we’re going to lose. “Whoever loves his life loses it.” His way is to loosen the grip, to trust God, and let go.

Up close, a grain of wheat looks like a clenched fist, holding on tight, and turned in on itself. The grain has to die; it has to give up that grip, so that it can become part of a big field of new grain, so much more than it was. If we let ourselves fall to the earth like a seed, letting loose of our death grip on comfort, on wealth and privilege and others’ esteem, we will be able to become something greater too.

There is a cliché scene in lots of action movies where the bad guy holds up the bomb or whatever and yells, “If I go down, I’m going to take everyone down with me!” What Jesus says in this gospel is the opposite: “When I am lifted up,” he says, “I am taking everyone up with me.” And it’s not “if”, it’s “when”. The ultimate “up” is our resurrection – Jesus is bringing us with him into everlasting life. But the first “up” is the raising of his cross. That’s where we’re going, with him.

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Drop what you’re doing.

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