We Can’t, without love – 23rd Ordinary Time, Year C

So, one homily down, 29,999 (ish) to go!

The full Homilies are below, in English and en Español. I’ve also attached the original draft, and the “final” English and Spanish written versions, for posterity. 🙂

Some of my favorite moments of the ordination liturgy were…

• Bishop Coerver’s eyes when I made my promise to respect and obey him and his successors.
• The heartfelt hugs at the sign of peace with the Bishop and my fellow deacons.
• The kind and joyful smile in Bishop Rodriguez’s eyes when we exchanged a silent greeting after I shared a greeting of peace with Bishop Coerver.
• Bishop Coerver taking baby Elizabeth at the offertory to give her a grandfatherly snuggle.
• Re-discovering what an amazing camera ninja Kristin Bednarz is, and getting to see things from another perspective. I don’t know how she gets to all the right places at all the right times… bilocation?

As I served at my first masses, I learned (or re-learned)…

• I’m not loud enough. I knew this, but I thought I was making enough of an adjustment. I wasn’t.
• Serving with another deacon is something that requires practice.
• Stay flexible and alert.
• Wear a light shirt, but thick enough to soak up some sweat.
• We should burn people at the stake who donate attractive, but drippy flagons and pitchers for wine. (just kidding…mostly)
• A trained and attentive server is an incredible blessing.
• It’s a blessing to have a pastor who cares enough about the sacrifice of the mass to kindly offer suggestions and corrections.
• People are kind when they know you’re a baby Deacon. 🙂

As I prepared for my first homily, I learned…

• I’m going to talk more than I think I will, and interject little repetitions or interactions with the assembly. Those are going to add significant time as compared to a straight reading at home. I don’t want to just read them a homily, so I need to start with something too short, so that when I interject or repeat, I don’t go way over a reasonable time limit.
• I need to read the scriptures in both languages before I write anything. I was all ready to go with my super long homily, which I thought was not too long at all, then my friend, Deacon Adrian, mentioned that the Spanish translation of the gospel was significantly different.
• It’s worth getting other eyes on the homily before giving it the first time. I benefited greatly from Deacon Adrian, and my pastor, Father Jacob, reviewing my draft.
• My time frame this time was compressed, because I knew I wanted to have a rough draft ready, but finalize the homily post-ordination. In the future, I want to get feedback in sufficient time to apply it better. By the time I figured out I had three homilies (hate, love, and trust), it was too late to find a good ending for love, or a good beginning for trust, and just give the one homily. As a result, I could cut the homily on hate, but people had to listen to one and two thirds homilies on love and trust.
• I still need a good native Mexican reviewer for my Spanish homily. I shudder to think of who I may have scandalized with my awful accent and limited vocabulary augmented by google.
• People are kind when they know you’re a baby Deacon. 🙂

In English (La versión en Español sigue.)

Today’s readings tell us all about what we can’t do, don’t they?

• We can’t understand what God intends
• We can barely make plans for our day
• We can’t understand God’s timing, since for him 1000 years are like yesterday when it is gone
• Even St Paul knows he can’t make people do the right thing

And Jesus? Is he a beacon of hope for us today? No, not really. He tells us we can’t be his disciples. These are some of Jesus’s “hard sayings.”

• Jesus says we can’t be his disciples unless we love him more than anyone else… our spouse, our family, even ourselves.
• Jesus says we can’t be his disciples unless we carry our cross. And one does not simply walk about carrying a cross. One carries a cross to one’s crucifixion.
• Jesus says we can’t be his disciples unless we renounce all our possessions.

These are very “hard sayings.” And yet, it is what he says.

“If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.”

I have a long homily about hate, but I’ll spare you that. Trust me on this… Jesus is exaggerating to make the point – our love for him needs to be so strong, that all other love looks like hate, by comparison.

How much do we love Jesus? Do we love him more than our families?

• When we were kids, we did what we knew we were supposed to do when our parents were watching. Do we love Jesus enough to pray when nobody is watching to give their approval, or when everyone at school or work is watching us pray before we eat, and laughing?
• We visit our family on their special days. Do we love Jesus enough to visit him in the Mass every Sunday and Holy Day of Obligation, or even more often, if we can?
• Our mothers made us apologize to our siblings. Do we love Jesus enough to say we are sorry by going to confession?
• Would we die for our mothers, or for our spouse, for our children? What about for Jesus? Do we love him that much? That’s how much he loves us.

Did you notice Jesus didn’t say “I won’t let you be my disciple?” He said you “cannot be my disciple.” He is not saying it isn’t permitted, he is saying that it is impossible. He is not issuing a decree, he is just describing reality.

It is sometimes difficult to be a disciple. It is impossible without love. We might try to do the right thing for some other reason, but we’ll just be like the man building a tower who couldn’t finish, or the king that has to go surrender to his enemy. We might begin, and make a little progress, but we can’t finish without love.

And what about the cross? The cross is a sign of death, and an instrument of torture. How do we carry it?

One way we carry our cross is to “memento mori,” to, “remember death.” Saint Basil tells us

“By bearing the cross [Saint Paul] also announced the death of his Lord, saying the world is crucified to me, and I to the world, which we also anticipate in our very baptism, in which our old man is crucified…”

In baptism, we die to death and sin, and rise to a new life. Carrying our cross means to remember that death to sin, and our new life, and, of course, our eventual physical death. Not morbidly, but thankfully for that life.

The cross was not only a sign of death, but also an instrument of torture and suffering. Some suffering comes into every life. We wrestle with illness and death, with financial difficulties, with social conflict, with family problems, with addictions, with misunderstanding, with hatred, with imprisonment.

Other sufferings, like fasting, we take on intentionally to cooperate with God’s work in our hearts. How do we bear these sufferings?

The abuelitas tell us to “offer up” our sufferings. St Gregory the Great, whose feast day we celebrated last week, has some wise words on this:

“In two ways we bear our Lord’s cross, either when by abstinence we afflict our bodies, or when through compassion to our neighbor we think all his necessities our own.”

Sadly, we’ve mostly abandoned the discipline of fasting from food or abstaining from good things as a way of participating in God’s work in us, and we’ve forgotten the tradition of offering our sufferings for another’s benefit, or doing without so another can have what they need.

When my older sons, Bryce Meurer, and I had our long hiking trek in Philmont, I learned that St Gregory and the abuelitas are, in fact, wise.

It was only the second full day of our trek, and I thought I might die. I was ill prepared, overweight, and exhausted. I struggled up every hill, and nearly tripped on every pebble in my path. For some reason, I decided to pray the rosary. Perhaps because I was sure this was the moment of my death. I didn’t feel much better, but I didn’t die, and at least I had a distraction from my misery.

So, on the next leg of our journey, I decided to try and make some good use of my “suffering,” and I offered up my misery on behalf of another. As I prayed and meditated upon those mysteries, I started to feel better. I discovered I was no longer miserable. In fact, my overloaded pack seemed suddenly lighter. Before I knew it, I was skipping down the trail like a child, full of boundless energy.

I’m not guaranteeing that every time we offer up our sufferings for another, our burdens will become lighter. I do know, however, that Christ bore his cross for us out of love. I do know that my own difficulties are easier when I think less of myself, and more of others. I do know that if we remember we are dead to sin through baptism, and live with love and compassion, we will truly be “little Christs”, Christians, bearing our cross out of love.

We have to love Jesus more than anything, take up our cross, and the third hard saying of Jesus is must renounce all our possessions if we want to be his disciples.

What does it mean to renounce all our possessions?

We know there are some called to sell everything, give it to the poor, and follow Jesus. Is that how we’re all called? Is Jesus presenting some Socialist ideal like the very early church, who had all things in common, and sold whatever they had to be shared among the church?

Are we doomed to hell if we don’t renounce our possessions this way?

Saint Bede says no. He says there is a difference between renouncing all things and leaving all things. He says a few perfect people are called to leave everything, but it is for all the faithful to renounce all things. That is, to renounce love of them, so we hold the things of this world, but are not held by them.

In these “hard sayings” of Jesus, he is calling us to a well ordered love. Jesus is calling us to love him first, before our families, ourselves, and our stuff.

The readings from Wisdom, and the Psalm, and Saint Paul’s letter speak of trust, which is the result of love.

We cannot conceive what the Lord intends, but we trust that God intends love.

We do not know what is coming, but we know that God is our refuge.

We cannot anticipate God’s timing, but we know it is good, and that God’s kindness will lead us to shout for joy and gladness.

Paul trusts God, and sees that God has a bigger plan.

Trust in God means we trust that God intends love, and we trust  when God will manifest his loving kindness to us.

We can become frustrated or disappointed when things don’t work out for us the way we think they should and when they should. We certainly don’t want to wait.

But waiting is good for us.

When we were preparing to enter full communion with the Catholic Church, Sundays were torture. We always joined the rosary before mass. When we got to the Hail, Holy Queen, and spoke of ourselves as poor banished children of Eve, we truly felt it. We were poor banished children, unable to receive the Eucharist. Every Sunday, our desire to receive grew. At the time, I hated the wait. Now, I am so thankful for the waiting that created a yearning in our hearts to receive Jesus in the Eucharist. Every time I pray that prayer, my yearning for him is refreshed.

Often, when God asks us to wait, it is so we can delight more perfectly in the goodness God has in store for us.

God’s love is perfect, and God’s timing is impeccable.

In the collect prayer at the beginning of mass, we prayed for true freedom. True freedom is to love and to be free from disordered love. True freedom is to place our trust in God’s timing, confident in God’s loving kindness.

May our love and our trust grow, and our hearts sing along with today’s Communion antiphon:

Like the deer that yearns for running streams, so my soul is yearning for you, my God…

En Español (The English version is above.)

Lamento no hablar español con fluidez. Perdóname si sueno como un tonto, o si digo algo grosero porque … soy un gringo. Espero que me entiendas un poco. Practicaré y espero mejorar.

Las escrituras de hoy nos dicen lo que no podemos hacer.

• No podemos conocer los designios de Dios
• No podemos saber lo que el Señor tiene dispuesto
• No podemos descubrir lo que hay en el cielo
• No podemos obligar a otros a hacer lo justo

¿Y Jesús? Dice que no podemos ser discípulos.

• Jesús dice que no podemos ser su discípulo a menos que lo amemos más que a nuestras familias, e incluso a nosotros mismos.
• Jesús dice que no podemos ser su discípulo a menos que carguemos nuestra propia cruz, lo que solo haríamos si estamos en camino a nuestra crucifixión.
• Jesús dice que no podemos ser su discípulo a menos que renunciemos a todas nuestras posesiones.

Esos son “dichos duros.” Y sin embargo, eso es lo que Jesús dice.

“Si alguno quiere seguirme y no me prefiere a su padre y a su madre, a su esposa y a sus hijos, a sus hermanos y a sus hermanas, más aún, a sí mismo, no puede ser mi discípulo.”

¿Amamos tanto a Jesús?

• Cuando éramos niños, hicimos lo que sabíamos que era correcto cuando nuestros padres estaban mirando. ¿Amamos a Jesús lo suficiente como para orar cuando nadie nos está mirando para dar su aprobación?
• Visitamos a nuestra familia en sus días especiales. ¿Amamos a Jesús lo suficiente como para venir a misa todas las semanas?
• Nuestras madres nos hicieron disculparnos con nuestros hermanos. ¿Amamos a Jesús lo suficiente como para decir que lo siento en la confesión?
• ¿Moriríamos por nuestras madres o por nuestro cónyuge, o por nuestro hijo? ¿Y por Jesús? ¿Lo amamos tanto? El murió por nosotros.

Eso es lo que necesitamos para amar a Jesús. No está diciendo “No te dejaré ser mi discípulo”, está diciendo “no puedes ser mi discípulo”. No dice que no está permitido, dice que es imposible. No está emitiendo una orden, está describiendo la realidad.

Ser un discípulo es difícil, a veces. No podemos ser discípulos sin amor. Si tratamos de ser discípulos, pero no amamos, seremos como el hombre que construye una torre, que no puede terminar, o el rey que tiene que rendirse a su enemigo. Podemos comenzar y progresar un poco, pero no mas.

Amar a Jesús no significa que tengamos menos para nuestra familia. El amor no se mide, y Jesús no es codo. Cuando le damos a Jesús nuestro amor, él lo toma, lo hace más grande y nos lo devuelve, así que tenemos más para dar.

Jesús dice que debemos cargar nuestra cruz. La cruz es un signo de muerte y de tortura. ¿Cómo lo llevamos?

Una forma de llevar nuestra cruz es “memento mori”, o “recordar la muerte”. En el bautismo, morimos hasta la muerte y resucitamos a una nueva vida. Llevar nuestra cruz significa mantener esta muerte en la vanguardia de nuestra mente. No podemos ser discípulos de Jesús a menos que recordemos y creamos que estamos muertos al pecado, y amamos esta nueva vida que nos ha dado.

La cruz no solo era un signo de muerte, sino también un instrumento de tortura y sufrimiento. Algún sufrimiento entra en cada vida. Luchamos con la enfermedad y la muerte, con dificultades financieras, con conflictos sociales, con problemas familiares, con adicciones, con malentendidos, con odio, con encarcelamiento.

Otros sufrimientos, como el ayuno, asumimos intencionalmente por el bien de nuestra salud espiritual. ¿Cómo soportamos estos sufrimientos?

Las abuelitas no dicen “ofrecérselo.” San Gregorio Magno también tiene algunas palabras sabias sobre esto.

“De dos maneras llevamos la cruz de nuestro Señor … por la abstinencia afligimos nuestros cuerpos, o … por compasión con nuestro prójimo creemos que todas sus necesidades son nuestras”.

Lamentablemente, en su mayoría abandonamos la tradición de ayunar en un esfuerzo por participar en la obra de Dios en nosotros. También abandonamos la tradición de ofrecer nuestros sufrimientos a Dios para el beneficio de los demás, o prescindir de ellos para que otros puedan tener lo que necesitan.

Cuando mis hijos mayores, sus amigos, y yo tuvimos una larga caminata en Philmont, aprendí que San Gregorio y las abuelitas son, de hecho, sabios.

Era solo el segundo día completo de nuestra caminata, y pensé que podría morir. Estaba mal preparado, con sobrepeso y exhausto. Luché por cada colina, y casi tropecé con cada piedra en mi camino. Decidí rezar el rosario. Quizás porque estaba seguro de que este era el momento de mi muerte. No me sentía mucho mejor, pero no morí, y al menos tuve una distracción de mi miseria.

En la siguiente etapa de nuestro viaje, decidí tratar de hacer un buen uso de mi “sufrimiento” y ofrecí mi miseria en nombre de otro. Mientras oraba y meditaba sobre esos misterios, comencé a sentirme mejor. Descubrí que ya no era miserable. De hecho, mi paquete sobrecargado parecía de repente más ligero. Antes de darme cuenta, estaba saltando por el sendero como un niño, lleno de energía ilimitada.

No estoy garantizando que cada vez que ofrezcamos nuestros sufrimientos por otro, nuestras cargas se vuelvan más ligeras. Sin embargo, sí sé que Cristo cargó con su cruz por amor. Sé que mis propias dificultades son más fáciles cuando pienso menos en mí y en los demás. Sé que si recordamos que estamos muertos al pecado por el bautismo, y vivimos con amor y compasión, seremos verdaderamente “pequeños Cristos”, cristianos, llevando nuestra cruz por amor.

Este tercer dicho duro de Jesús es que no podemos ser su discípulo si no renunciamos a todas nuestras posesiones.

¿Qué significa renunciar todo lo que tenemos?

Sabemos que hay algunos llamados a vender todo, dárselo a los pobres y seguir a Jesús. ¿Es así como nos llaman a todos?

¿Estamos condenados al infierno si no lo hacemos?

San Bede dice que no. Él dice que hay una diferencia entre renunciar a todas las cosas y dejar todas las cosas. Él dice que algunas personas perfectas están llamadas a dejarlo todo, pero corresponde a todos los fieles renunciar a todas las cosas. Es decir, renunciar al amor que sienten por ellos, de modo que retenemos las cosas de este mundo, pero no somos retenidos por ellos.

Las lecturas de Sabiduría, el Salmo y la carta de San Pablo a Filemón hablan de confianza, que es el resultado del amor.

No podemos concebir lo que el Señor quiere, pero confiamos en que Dios quiere amar.

No podemos anticipar el tiempo de Dios, pero sabemos que es bueno, y que la bondad de Dios nos llevará a gritar de alegría.

Al igual que San Pablo, no podemos obligar a otros a hacer lo justo, pero podemos hacer lo correcto, nosotros mismos, y confiar en Dios.

Confiar en Dios significa que confiamos en que Dios tiene la intención de amar, y confiamos en que Dios elegirá manifestarnos su bondad amorosa.

Podemos sentirnos frustrados cuando las cosas no nos funcionan como creemos que deberían y cuándo deberían. Ciertamente no queremos esperar.

Pero esperar es bueno para nosotros.

Cuando nos estábamos preparando para entrar en plena comunión con la Iglesia Católica, los domingos eran una tortura. Siempre nos unimos al rosario antes de la misa. Cuando llegamos al Ave Santa Reina, y hablamos de nosotros mismos como los desterrados hijos de Eva, realmente lo sentimos. Éramos niños desterrados, incapaces de recibir la Eucaristía. Todos los domingos, nuestro deseo de recibir creció. En ese momento, odiaba la espera. Ahora, estoy muy agradecido por esa espera que creó un anhelo en nuestros corazones para recibir a Jesús en la Eucaristía. Cada vez que rezo esa oración, mi anhelo se renueva.

A menudo, cuando Dios nos pide que esperemos, es para que podamos deleitarnos más perfectamente en la bondad que Dios nos tiene reservada.

El amor de Dios es perfecto, y el tiempo de Dios es impecable.

En la oración colectiva al comienzo, oramos por la verdadera libertad. La verdadera libertad es ser libre para amar a Dios. La verdadera libertad es depositar nuestra confianza en el tiempo del Señor, confiando en la bondad amorosa de Dios.

Que crezca nuestro amor y nuestra confianza, y nuestros corazones canten junto con la antífona de comunión de hoy:

Como la cierva busca el agua de los ríos, así, sedienta, mi alma te busca a ti, Dios mío.

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