hy You’re Always Exhausted—and the One Ancient Promise That Fixes It

Praised be Jesus Christ…. Now and for ever!

I thought I’d start off my sermon this morning with a sort of mental exercise. This will be more difficult for the adults, but then it’s not intended for them anyway, so…too bad. 

I want you to imagine that it’s night time and you are ready for bed--on time. (This may actually have happened to some of you recently.) Your teeth are brushed, your bed is made, you have your Incredible Hulk jam-jams on.

What’s the last thing you do before you turn out the light? (Again, I’ll bet this happened to you—maybe even recently.). I’ll bet you’re so proud to be going to sleep on time for once that you decide to reward yourself with a little treat: you pick up your phone or your laptop or gamestation or your playbox or whatever it is and you say to yourself, “I’m early for bed. My homework is done. As a reward, I’ll just play a few minutes of Clash Royale before I hit the snooze highway.”  Maybe you even go so far as to turn out the lights. But first…you decide to look at a TikTok video or a Snapchat reel or whatever. Just for a minute or two—just to let your brain rest before you go to sleep.

Three hours later, you look around and realize it’s 1 o’clock in the morning. So you figure, “Well, I’m gonna be exhausted tomorrow anyway. I might as well play to this next level or watch this next video or send this last text.” Two hours later you realize you’re only gonna get four hours of sleep. Power sleep, right? Except that when the alarm goes off, you feel like death.

Oh forget mental exercise—we might as well admit it: this happened to you LAST NIGHT.  Your whole night was swallowed by Minecraft, and frankly today is pretty much going to be a loss as well. So you’ve decided to go to bed extra early tonight. But first—one level of Clash Royale. And so the cycle repeats itself, and you wind up stumbling through your days half awake, half interested, half engaged, and frankly, half alive.

Miserable one that I am! Who will deliver me from this mortal body?  Son of David, have pity!

We have entered the season of Advent, and we are waiting for Jesus to come wake us up.

And Isaiah promises exactly this awakening.

“But a very little while…and the desert shall be changed into an orchard…
On that day the deaf shall hear the words of a book; and out of gloom and darkness, the eyes of the blind shall see. The lowly will ever find joy in the LORD, and the poor rejoice in the Holy One of Israel.”

Truth be told, sometimes life does feel like gloom and darkness—like an endless video game or a whole series of TikTok videos with no real depth. We stumble around like blind men. We stumble around half awake, circles under our eyes, waiting for something big to happen that will change our lives.

But the Good News (with a capital G and a capital N) is that’s what Advent is about—the arrival of the One who opens blind eyes and wakes up weary hearts.

As Jesus passed by, two blind men followed him, crying out, “Son of David, have pity on us!”and Jesus touched their eyes and said, “Let it be done for you according to your faith.” And their eyes were opened.

You and I, we are the two blind men—wandering around in our own gloom, crying out for help, hoping for something better than the empty glow of a screen at midnight. And Jesus gives us what Isaiah promised: sight, clarity, joy, a new beginning.

Now imagine a second scenario:

You’re in your jam-jams (maybe you’ve grown out of Incredible Hulk.  Maybe these are Fantastic Four jam-jams).  You’re ready for bed, and instead of reaching for your phone…you reach for a Bible. You feel silly doing this, and part of you cries out that you need that video to fall asleep. You need to play a level of your game to put your mind at rest. You worked hard all day.  You deserve a video game.  But instead, just this once, you read a sentence or two of Scripture. Maybe even these words of Isaiah:

“Out of gloom and darkness, the eyes of the blind shall see.” Or Jesus’ words to the blind: “Do you believe that I can do this?” Then you turn out the light and fall asleep.

—Or you don’t fall asleep. Maybe you lie awake till one in the morning, twisting and turning. In which case, you wind up in the exact same spot! Except this time, you didn't allow TikTok to keep you awake.

This time, you stuck it to the man—the tyrant Isaiah talked about. You stayed awake on your own terms, not because the algorithm enslaved you, but precisely because you refused to be enslaved.  And that’s a kind of martyrdom.

When this happens, sleep or no sleep, the world gets a little brighter. As your walk across campus, you suddenly realize that some of the trees have leaves on them, and among those leaves there are birds, and above the birds there are clouds, and that there’s a whole world to be seen and enjoyed.  Suddenly, you start to see things other people don’t see. You have a certain insight that other guys don’t have. Girls start to look at you a little differently because they notice there’s something different about you. Your head isn’t full of Internet memes. You don’t care about the latest TicToc trends.  You really listen to them when they speak, and when you speak, you give real advice.

Now I can’t promise this will come all at once. Or that it will come easily. Or that it won’t take some of work. But I do promise joy and peace. Because Isaiah tells us: “Those who err in spirit shall acquire understanding, and Jesus tells us: “Let it be done for you according to your faith.”

So tonight, before you go to sleep, instead of reaching for your phone, reach for Christ—even clumsily, even half-asleep—He will reach for you. And He will open your eyes.

In the name of the Father….

DIGGING YOUR SELF-ABASEMENT, PART II

 Praised be Jesus Christ…Now and Forever

In my last homily, I outlined for you the first six steps of the Ladder of Pride as preached by Saint Bernard.  As promised, I’ve outlined the last six steps, and I’ll read them to you now.  Again, they sound strangely familiar—as though Saint Bernard had written them for me.  And what's more, it’s not a real Christmassy theme, but I’ll try to make it up to you at the end of the sermon; though this is, after all, the twenty-second day of Advent, and Advent is a penitential season…so perhaps you can think of this as your last chance to be penitential before Christmas.
     You’ll recall that the first six steps were CURIOSITY, FICKLENESS, GIDDINESS, BOASTING and SINGULARITY.
THE SEVENTH STEP IS PRESUMPTION. Once monk thinks he is better than the others, then he’ll start to put himself first: the first in line at dinner, the first to be consulted.  In fact, he shows up even when he isn’t called. He interferes without being asked. If he is told to do some ordinary task, he refuses with contempt. A man with such an intellect should never be distracted by lesser things.
      Now, you can imagine that a man who is so free to give advice can hardly avoid making a mistake every now and then. But will he admit his fault? No way! A man who can’t believe he’s wrong certainly won’t let anyone else believe it. If therefore, when he is corrected, you see him making excuses, you will know he has dropped another step to...
     THE EIGHTH STEP: SELF-JUSTIFICATION. There are many ways of excusing sins. You can always say: "I didn't do it." If that doesn’t work, then: "I did it, but I was perfectly right in doing it."  If it was clearly wrong, you can say: "It isn't all that bad." And if it was absolutely harmful, you can fall back on: "I meant well."   And last of all, if your motive was downright malicious, feel free to take refuge in the tried-and-true excuse of Adam and Eve: just say that someone else made you do it.  When you see a man defending an obvious sin like that, you know he’ll never bring it to his confessor, and has thus descended to…
    THE NINTH STEP: HYPOCRITICAL CONFESSION.  There are those clever sinners who, when they are caught in their lies and know that if they defend themselves they won’t be believed, find a very subtle way out of this tricky situation: with downcast eyes and an obsequious posture, they squeeze out a few tears if they can.  Then, stuttering through sighs and groans not only admit to what they did, but actually exaggerate their guilt. They accuse themselves of such incredible evils that their accuser begins to doubt the charges he knew for certain just moments before.
    A proud man, you see, will use humility as a disguise when he wants to escape punishment. And you will know he’s a fraud because, at the slightest reproach or penance, this man begins to murmur and growl and get bent out of shape. Judge for yourself the state of this man's soul: His fraud has failed him, his peace of mind is gone, his reputation has been tarnished, and his sin is unforgiven.  There are only three steps remaining to such a man: truly, God may yet rescue him and inspire him to submit to the judgment of the community; but such a character finds this a very hard thing to do, and instead, usually takes an attitude of blatant insolence.  In desperation, takes that fatal plunge. He has already shown his contempt for his brethren by insolence, and now his contempt for superiors flashes out in...
    THE TENTH STEP: OPEN REVOLT. (Let’s pause here to take notice that the twelve steps of pride may be grouped into three classes; in the first six, you’ll recall, the monk expresses contempt for the brethren, the next four showed contempt for the superior, but the last two, on which I have not yet touched, show contempt for God.). If a monk refuses to live in harmony with his brothers or even to obey his superior, what is he doing in the monastery except causing scandal?  And so he rebellious monk has reached the tenth step of pride and will leave the monastery altogether.
     Thus he arrives at THE ELEVENTH STEP which is FREEDOM TO SIN.  This monk no longer has a superior nor brethren to respect, so with fewer qualms he happily gives himself up to his sinful desires which in the monastery fear and shame held in check. He has no abbot or community to hold him back, but he still keeps some scant fear of God. His conscience still gives a little grunt every now and then, however faint; he makes a few half-hearted resolutions.  He still hesitates a little when he does evil... no, he doesn’t plunge headlong into the lake of vice but feels his way into it slowly, step by careful step, like someone stepping into cloudy water.
    Little, by little, he becomes fully emersed in…THE TWELFTH STEP: THE HABIT OF SINNING, because where conscience is dulled, habit tightens its grasp. The unfortunate man sinks into the depths of evil, is entangled in vices, and is swept into a whirlpool of sinful longings while his reason and the fear of God are forgotten.  At last, "the fool says in his heart: There is no God."  Good and evil mean nothing to him now.  He seeks new ways of sinning. The plans of his heart, the ready words of his mouth, the works of his hands, are at the service of every impulse.
    Those who are still in the middle of the ladder--whether going up or down--get tired with the effort of it, torn now by the fear of hell and now by the attraction of old habits. (Only at the very top and the very bottom is there a free and effortless course, upward to life or downward to death; bounding on in the effortless energy of love, or hurried, unresisting, by the downward pull of avarice.) So we can call the twelfth step 'the habit of sinning', by which the fear of God has been lost and replaced with contempt.   "For such a one," says St John the Apostle, "I would not have anyone pray." What then, O Blessed Apostle, is he to despair? One who really loves the sinner will still weep. Let him not dare to pray--nor cease to wail.

I know.  It’s all very depressing.  So in the spirit of Advent--and to help you remember the Twelve Steps of Pride, I wrote a little Advent Carol. There are twelve verses, but I’ll just sing you the last.  I call it, The Twelve Days of Advent:

On the twelfth day of Advent, Augustine preached to me

Twelve chronic sinners,
Eleven freely failing,
Ten souls revolting,
Nine fake confessions,
Eight bad excuses,
Seven wild presumptions,
Six smug assumptions,
FIVE “I’M UNIQUE!”
Four boasting brags,
Three giddy giggles,
Two moody humors,
And a question that I really didn’t need.

(Yeah.  It needs work.). Well…if you didn’t like it, I also wrote [to the tune of "Here Comes Santa Clause"]
Here comes pride again, here comes pride again,
Marching down its way…. 

      And [to the tune of "Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree") 
 O prideful heart, so dear to me,
You start with curiosity.

And if that doesn’t work for you, (yeah.  I was up all night) there’s always [to the tune of "Deck the Halls"]

Climb the steps of pride with folly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la!
Curiosity’s enthralling,
Fa la la la la, la la la la!
Fickleness will leave you spinning,
Fa la la, la la la, la la la!
Giddiness begins the sinning
,Fa la la la la, la la la la!

May you have a very merry Christmas, and "may you be blessed who believed that what was spoken to you by the Lord will be fulfilled.”

In the Name of the Father…

DIGGING YOUR SELF-ABASEMENT, Part I

12 STEPS OF PRIDE: PART I

(Sermon to the Passionist Nuns of Ellisville)

Praised be Jesus Christ...Now and forever.'

As you all know by now, I consider myself an expert on humility. I was explaining this to a guest of the monastery a few weeks ago; and after he left, he sent me a book:  “Saint Bernard’s Steps of Pride”.  I’m sorry to say, I didn’t start reading it until last night.  But it reads like Saint Bernard saw into my soul.  It was so distubingly accurate, that I spent last night re-writing it as a letter to myself—and never wrote this morning’s homily.  So…you may consider this the first in a two-part series of sermons on pride: two parts, because I’m only half-way through the book.  So this morning’s sermon will be simply a re-telling of Bernard’s first six steps.  The second will be the rest of the steps.  And it will be up to you to figure out how this relates to our readings.  I’m thinking of turning this into a book, and the working title is:

"DIGGING YOUR SELF-ABASEMENT: SAINT BERNARD’S TWELVE-STEP GUIDE TO PRIDE
 It's just a working title, mind you.  Anyhow, like I said, I’m not entirely sure how this relates to this morning’s gospel, except to say that “when you see these things happening, know that He is near, at the gates.”

1THE FIRST STEP of pride is CURIOSITY.  How does it show itself? You see a guy who up to this time had every appearance of being an excellent monk. Now you begin to notice that wherever he is, his eyes are wandering, his glance darts right and left, his ears twitch. Some change has taken place in him; every movement shows it. 'He winks with his eye, nudges with his foot, points with his finger' (Prov 6P12). These symptoms show that his soul has caught some disease. He used to watch over his own conduct; now he is just watchful of everyone else. Oh, man. If you gave yourself the attention you ought, you wouldn't have so much time to look after others.

THE SECOND STEP is FICKLENESS.  Before long, the monk who observes others instead of attending to himself will begin to see some as his superiors and others as his inferiors; in some he will find things to envy, in others, things to despise. His eyes have wandered and so his mind follows. … One minute he is full of envious sadness, the next childishly glad about some excellence he sees in himself.  One moment he is sulky and silent except for some bitter remarks; the next sees a full outpouring of silly chatter. Now he is laughing, now doleful; all without rhyme or reason. 

Thus we will proceed to the THE THIRD STEP OF PRIDE which is GIDDINESS.  The monk that has fallen this far, is so saddened every time he sees the goodness of others, and so impatient with humiliation that he will be in a constant state of distress. So he finds an escape in false consolations…he has retired into a happy cloudland…where he never takes anything seriously.  "It's no big deal" he tells himself.  Watch a guy like this, and you will notice that he is over-cheerful in appearance, swaggering in posture, always ready for a joke, any little thing to get a laugh.  At times he simply can't stop laughing or hide his empty-headed foolery. He never takes anything seriously. He is like a bladder pumped full of air that has been pricked and squeezed. The air whistles out through the tiny hole with squeaks and peeps. The rule of silence will not let this monk relieve himself of his vain thoughts and silly jokes. They gather pressure inside until they explode in giggles. In embarrassment he buries his face in his hands, tightens his lips, clenches his teeth. It is no use! The laughter must burst out, and if his hand holds it in his mouth, the laughter erupts through his nose.

THE FOURTH STEP IS BOASTING When vanity has swelled the bladder to its limits, a bigger vent must be made or the bladder will burst. As the monk's silliness grows, laughing and signs are not enough outlet, so he is full of words; and the swelling spirit strains within him. His hunger and thirst are for listeners... At last the chance to speak comes.  He asks the questions--and gives the answers; cutting off anyone who tries to speak. When the bell rings for prayer and it is necessary to interrupt the conversation, hour-long though it be, he seeks a minute more…His aim is neither to teach nor to be taught, but to show how much he knows…He warmly recommends fasting, urges vigils and exalts prayer above all. He will give a long discourse on silence and humility and each of the other virtues--all words, all bragging… If you hear him, you will say his mouth has become a fountain of wit, a river of smart talk. He can get a laugh out of the most serious man in the room. 

When a man has been bragging that he is better than others he would feel ashamed of himself if he did not live up to his boast and show how much better than others he is. And so he descends to THE FIFTH STEP: SINGULARITY.  The common rule of the monastery and the example of the seniors are no longer enough for him. He does not so much want to be better as to be seen that way. He is not so much interested in leading a better life as he is concerned with appearing to do so…He is more complacent about fasting for one day when the others are feasting than he is about fasting seven days with all the rest. He prefers some petty private devotion to the whole night office of psalms. While he is at his meals, he casts his eyes around the table to be sure no one is eating less than himself.  He is never at rest. He wonders what others think about the appearance of his face, since he cannot see it.  He is very exact about his own behavior and slack about the common exercises. He will stay awake in bed and sleep in choir. He makes sure that those sitting outside know he is in there modestly hiding in a corner, clearing his throat and coughing and groaning and sighing.  Some are misled by his worthless singularities and they preemptively canonize him, confirming the poor guy in his self-delusion. 

THE SIXTH STEP IS SELF-SATISFACTION  All this time, he has been swallowing the praise that others give him. He is quite complacent about his conduct and he never examines his motives now; all he needs is the approval of others. He thinks he knows more about everything than anybody, and so, when they say something favorable about him he believes them--against his own conscience. Now he not only makes a show of his piety, but he actually believes that he is holier than the others. It never occurs to him that their praise might be given to him out of ignorance or kindness; his pride says to him, "You deserve it."

Well, brothers and sisters, “when you see these things happening, know that He is near, at the gates.”

In the Name of the Father...

THREE ADVENTS

 

Praised be Jesus Christ…now and forever.

 

Two days ago, Father Athanasius, a few seminarians, a few students, and I completed our 5^th Annual Penitential Pilgrimage for Sins Against the Holy Eucharist.  We hiked 18 miles from Saint Louis Abbey to the Shrine of Saint Joseph, downtown.  The first year we did it, I swore I’d never do it again.  The second year, I figured I was in better shape than I was the first year.  (I wasn’t).  So the third year, I made arrangements to have someone pick me up half-way through (he didn’t).  And the fourth year, I figured I had finally learned from my mistakes.  (I hadn’t).  This year wasn’t so bad.  Maybe it was the cool weather.  Maybe I had finally achieved that heroic victory over self.  Or maybe it was the painkillers.  But after eight hours of walking, I didn’t feel like I wanted to die…until the next morning, when I discovered that every muscle from just under my shoulder blades to just behind the pads of my toes was frozen stiff.  Yesterday morning, I didn’t feel like the hero of the day before.I had to do this sort of Frankenstein maneuver just to sit up and get my feet on the ground.  Then I spent the rest of the day walking like Charlie Chaplin.  As usual, Father Athanasius had some chirpy advice about stretching or ice or something, but I ignored him, because I was in too much pain.  Besides which, I had my own regimen of physical recovery which involved well…mostly…falling over and cursing.  But it worked!  Within 48 hours, I had progressed from what medical professionals call the Frankenstein stage to the Charlie Chaplin stage, to what I am calling the Mussolini stage, where you just do a sort of duck-step with your face screwed into a grimace…and now I think I’m able to move more or less like a normal undead human being.

All of this means, of course, that Thanksgiving is over and that the penitential season of Advent has begun.  The Church has set off on a new liturgical year.  On this first Sunday of Advent, we begin to count the days separating us from Christmas, and we are invited by Holy Mother Church to reflect on the reality of our Christian vocation and the many ways we’ve fallen short.  Jesus, after all, has entrusted us with the mission of attracting other souls to holiness.  So this is the time to root out any behavior that conceals or obscures that vision of holiness.

Our own soul has to be set in order before we can begin to attract others.

            "Our greatest need,” wrote Fulton Sheen, “is for someone who will understand that there is no greater conquest than victory over self; someone who will realize that real worth is achieved not so much by activity, as by silence...who will, like a lightning flash, burn away the bonds of anxiety which tie down our energies to the world; who with a fearless voice, like John the Baptist, will arouse our weak nature out of the sleek dream of unheroic response; someone who will gain victories not by stepping down from the Cross and compromising with the world, but who will suffer in order to conquer the world.”      

            So you see, we don’t just look forward to Christmas—we NEED it.  And we need it in three doses.   Firstly, we are looking forward to the memorial of Christ’s birth in Bethlehem; secondly, we are looking forwars to the birth of christ in our souls.  And lastly, we are looking forward to the coming of Christ at the end of time.  We tend to think of the first much more than the second or third, and we do a good job of celebrating Jesus’ birthday; but the spiritual Bethlehem is just as important . . . It was this second birth of Christ in the soul that Saint Paul insisted on when he wrote to the Ephesians, begging them to let Christ dwell in their hearts by faith and that they be rooted and grounded in love. This is the second Bethlehem, or the personal relationship of the individual heart to the Lord Christ.”

            Only then, having rejoiced in these two advents, can we look forward to the third, when Jesus will come in power and great glory at the end of time—when everyone will finally get what’s coming to them—when people will die of fright in anticipation of what is coming upon the world, and the powers of the heavens will be shaken.

“The liturgy of Advent, therefore, helps us to understand the meaning of the mystery of Christmas,” wrote Saint John Paul II. “Because it is not just about commemorating a historical event. Instead, it is necessary to understand that the whole of our life must be an ‘advent,’ a vigilant awaiting of the final coming of Christ. Advent is an intense training that directs us decisively toward him who already came, who will come, and who comes continuously” in our souls.

In the Name of the Father…

 

More Cholos

           “Stay awake, for you know neither the day nor the hour."  This parable of the bridesmaids is the last of Jesus’ warnings that we should be vigilant.  He will come to us when we least expect it.  In the middle of the night, perhaps—or when we’re tired or grumpy or stressed out or annoyed.  The Bridegroom will come, he says, but not necessarily when we expect him.  And not necessarily in a form we will recognize. 

            I spent three weeks of my summer in Long Beach, California helping out at Holy Innocents Parish.  It is in an area that is, as one of its parishioners explained to me, “as ghetto as it gets.”  Long Beach is hard core inner city. Snoop Dog is from Long Beach.  And it’s also where I met my first cholo.  

            You see, fireworks are illegal in Los Angeles, which means the street gangs, who clearly have nothing against illegal activities, put on the fireworks displays. Since Covid, I am told, it has evolved into something of a competition—each inner city neighborhood looking to outdo the others—Compton vs. Long Beach vs. Inglewood vs. Watts—to the effect that, from dusk till dawn, the sky is saturated in every direction with the most incredible displays of pyrotechnics I’ve ever witnessed in my life—rockets, roman candles, multi-shots, fire-fountains, small arms fire, hand grenades, cherry bombs.  (I’m not joking.  This is a recording I made.)  

             I drove out to a friend’s house to see it.  But at two o’clock in the morning, it was still in full swing—and I had to go to bed.  Problem was, the gangs had most of the streets blocked off—for, you know, safety reasons—so I had to drive past a couple of informal, gang-sponsored road blocks.

            Anyhow, I get in my car, and I’m working my way toward Holy Innocents Parish on Copeland and 20th Street, and to get there, I have to drive straight through an enormous flock of cholos.

Now, for those of you who, like me, have not grown up with cholos, the Oxford English dictionary defines the term as a descriptive of  “a young man belonging to a Mexican American urban  subculture associated with street gangs and a fashion style characterized by its distinctive blend of baggy pants, plaid flannel shirts, bandanas, oversized jackets, classic sneakers, and face tattoos.”

            Well, the cholos stopped my car and requested that I exit the vehicle.  Mind you, I am dressed in the full monk habit, so when I get out of the car, one of these young Hispanic gentlemen looks me up and down and says to me, “Hey, what ARE you, Homes?”

To which I responded, “I’m a priest.”

            Now the guy I’m talking with has a tattoo of a teardrop under his left eye, and a smiley face on his neck with the words “Smile now. Cry later.” Around it.  And I’m trying figure out what that means for me, when one of his buddies shouts over, “No he ain’t.”

            So I say, “Uh…Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater, et Filius, et…”

            “Wait! Wait! Wait!” shouts the cholo with the teardrop tattoo, “Let me get my kids.”

            “Yeah, me too,” says another.

            And pretty soon, I’m blessing grandmothers, girlfriends, rosaries, holy medals…one guy says to me, “Man, I don’t have anything to give you.”  As if he hadn’t already given me one of the greatest experiences of my life.

            About an hour later, after I had a beer with them, we all took selfies, and they packed me a grocery bag full of tamales.  Then they cleared the street, and I drove on home, thinking “The earth is full of goodness.”

            Now, the reason I’m telling you this story is because I didn’t get the feeling these were church-going individuals.  I don’t think anyone would call them “wise” in any worldly sense.  But “the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength” and when they saw a stranger in their midst, they saw the face of Christ.  They saw Jesus in me when I couldn’t see Jesus in them.  The Bridegroom came to them in the middle of the night…and like the wise bridesmaids, they were ready.  Mind you, this wasn’t about me.  They never even asked my name.  But they were prepared to reverence Christ in me.

           “Stay awake, Homes” I can imagine them telling me, “for you know neither the day nor the hour." And it’s true.  I didn’t expect to see Jesus that night on the street in Long Beach California.  But I did—and he had a tattoo on his neck and a teardrop tattoo.

         

Cholos and Dostoyevskiy

  

Praised be Jesus Christ…now and forever!

   If you’ve been watching the news, then you’re probably as depressed as I am.  It just seems like everything is falling apart.  When I start feeling like this, I call to mind something one of our old monks used to tell me:  “Don’t be upset when there’s bad stuff in the news. At least the bad stuff is still newsworthy. Be upset when good things become newsworthy.”  And he was right.  Two days ago, I returned from California, which I’ve always thought of as the epicenter of weirdness for the universe.  But I met some great priests out there, and I saw good people leading lives of heroic virtue.  (Go off script here.  Tell cholo story). And these folks, I’m glad to say, never make the news because, as far as I can tell, they are the norm.
    Now, a few months ago, I started reading “The Brothers Karamozov.”  And I feel obliged to admit that I hate it. Personally, if there isn’t a good explosion within the first few pages of a novel, you’ve lost me—and the closest this book has come to an explosion (I’m only 300 pages into it) is that some kid threw a rock at one of the characters.  Frankly, I feel like throwing rocks at all of the characters. It’s just one interminable conversation after another. 
   The reason I’m still reading it is because on page 272, a priest named Zosima gives a sermon that’s given me some hope. It’s basically a diatribe about how horrible the world has become, which, I suppose, ought to make me more depressed.  Except that it was written 150 years ago and it sounds like it was written yesterday—which means things actually haven’t actually gotten that much worse.  So I’ve decided to plagiarize Dostoyevsky for my sermon this morning.  I’ve replaced some of the words, and I’ve skipped a paragraph here and there, but what follows is it…basically:

    “My friends,” says Father Zosima, “what is the priest? In the cultivated world, the word is nowadays pronounced by some people with a sneer, and by others it is used as a term of abuse, and this contempt for the priest is growing. It is true, sadly, that there are many slackers, gluttons, deviants and freeloaders among priests. Educated people point to these and say: “Priests are lazy, useless members of society; they live on the labor of others; they are shameless parasites.” 
     And yet how many meek and humble priests there are, who yearn for holiness and peace! These are less noticed, or we pass over them in silence. But how would theses educated people be if they were to discover that from these meek priests the salvation of the World will come!
   That is my view of the priest, and is it false? Is it too proud? Look at the people we call “sophisticated.” Has not God's image and His truth been distorted in them? Sure, they have science; but in science there is nothing but what is the object of sense. They want to base justice on reason alone, and in doing so, they have already proclaimed that there is no crime, that there is no such thing as sin—which, mind you, is consistent, for if you have no God what is the meaning of sin? They reject the spiritual world altogether, dismiss it with a sort of triumph, even with hatred. They have proclaimed the reign of freedom, especially of late, but what do we see in this freedom of theirs? Nothing but slavery and self-destruction! For they say: 
    “You have desires—satisfy them.  You have the right to be happy. Don't be afraid of satisfying your desires.  In fact, you should multiply them.” That is the doctrine of the modern world. And they call it “freedom”.  But what is the result of this multiplication of desires? In the rich…isolation and suicide; in the poor…envy and murder; for they have been given rights, but have not been shown how to use them. Our leaders tell us that the world is getting more and more united, more and more bound together in brotherly community, as it overcomes distance and sends thoughts flying through the air.
     But instead of gaining freedom, we have sunk into slavery, and instead of serving the cause of brotherly love, we have fallen into disharmony and isolation. For what can become of a man if he is a slave to his desires? He is isolated, and has no concern for the rest of humanity.  We have succeeded in accumulating a great mass of objects, but our joy in the world has grown less.
   And what cruelty we show to our children!  We give them machines for companions.  But is that what a child's heart needs? He needs sunshine, play, and good examples all about him, and at least a little love. There must be no more of this, my friends, no more torturing of children, rise up and preach that, quickly, quickly! 
     Of course, I don't deny that priests sin. To be sure, the fire of corruption is spreading visibly, hourly, working from above downwards. The spirit of isolation is coming upon us all.
    But God will save the world as He has saved it many times. Salvation will come from the people, from their faith and their meekness. People do still believe in righteousness.  Deep down, they have faith. See in one another the image of Christ, and it will shine forth like a precious diamond to the whole world. So may it be, so may it be! 

In the Name of the Father…

 

PETER LOOKED INTENTLY AT HIM

Acts 3:1-10

Peter and John were going up to the temple area

for the three o’clock hour of prayer.

And a man crippled from birth was carried

and placed at the gate of the temple called “the Beautiful Gate” every day

to beg for alms from the people who entered the temple.

When he saw Peter and John about to go into the temple,

he asked for alms.

But Peter looked intently at him, as did John,

and said, “Look at us.”

He paid attention to them, expecting to receive something from them.

Peter said, “I have neither silver nor gold,

but what I do have I give you:

in the name of Jesus Christ the Nazorean, rise and walk.”

Then Peter took him by the right hand and raised him up,

and immediately his feet and ankles grew strong.

He leaped up, stood, and walked around,

and went into the temple with them,

walking and jumping and praising God.

When all the people saw him walking and praising God,

they recognized him as the one

who used to sit begging at the Beautiful Gate of the temple,

and they were filled with amazement and astonishment

at what had happened to him.

 

This is our first reading at mass today, and this morning, when I read it , it reminded me of a story that my friend, Walter Hooper, told me.  Walter was C.S. Lewis’ secretary, and they were walking down the street at Oxford and passed a panhandler.  Lewis reached into his pocket, pulled out some change, and threw it in the beggar’s hat.

         “Why did you do that?” says Walter, “You know he’ll just take that money to the pub and buy a drink with it.”

         “Well,” says Lewis, “That’s what I was going to do with it.”  

 

So that story reminded me of something that happened to me when I was seventeen.

 

You see, my sister worked for five years at a homeless shelter in Galveston, Texas, and I was driving her to a soccer game one afternoon, when we stopped at a light where a panhandler was wearing a sign that said, “Will work for food.”  As he came walking up to the car, I tried to avoid eye-contact.  But my sister, who was in the back seat, rolled down the window.  “Kristen!” he shouted, and stretched out his hand, “You got a dollar for me?”

         “Jimmy,” she says, “You know I’m not going to give you money.”  All the homeless people in Galveston have the same name, Jimmy, because it helps them avoid the authorities.

         And Jimmy laughs and says, “Yeah, I’d spend it on crack.” Then he reaches into the car and pats her on the head.  “You have a good day now,” he says.

         And she says, “I’ll be praying for you.”

         So we’re about three blocks on, and I said to my sister, “You rolled down your window to tell him you weren’t going to give him money?”

         And she says, “I know where he can get food.  He’s a client.  Money isn’t what he needs.”

         “So what does he need?” I say.

         “Eye contact,” she says. “He needs to be treated like a human.”

         So a few blocks later, there’s another panhandler at the light, and I go to roll down my window, and she shouts, “Don’t do that!”

         And I say to her, “I was going to make eye contact.”
         And Kristen looks at me like I’m about three years old, and she says, “No, stupid.  That’s mean. It’s like you’re faking him out. Just smile, wave, and shake your head.”

         “But you rolled down your window,” I said, and frankly, my feelings were a little hurt.

         “I rolled down my window,” she says, because Jimmy is my friend.”

         Now, what strikes me about this passage from Acts of the Apostles is not that they cure a crippled beggar, but that Peter looked intently at him…as did John.  That he in return looked intently at them…and that…Peter took him by the right hand.

We are told that the crippled man spent the rest of the day “walking and jumping and praising God”…and I have to wonder if he did that because he could walk…or because Peter shook his hand.

         If I’d shaken the hand of the first Pope, I’d have been jumping up and down too.