From The Pastor

Easter Sunday, 2021

St. Theresa family,

It’s so easy to be misled by the words “the first day of the week.”   All too easily we can imagine the women at the tomb of Jesus moving in the dawn of a quiet Sunday world.  The reality is that they made their journey in a world waking up noisily to the beginning of another busy week.  That morning for them was what Monday morning is for us!  That can teach us something immediately: that it is precisely in the busy reality of our lives that you and I have to seek the Lord.

“They came to the tomb.”   They came seeking the dead body of Jesus.  So often we do that.  We don’t do it literally, but we do it thinking of Jesus as a long ago figure, attractive, courageous, inspiring, but essentially separated from us by centuries, shut up in the tomb of history.

“They found the stone rolled away from the tomb,” The stone which blocks our search for our Lord is anything which prevents our seeing that Jesus is not a dead memory but a living Lord.  Sometimes it’s the way in which we were taught about Jesus.  He may have been presented to us as a fascinating historical figure, but however fascinating he is not a risen, living reality.   Not until our Christian faith has been moved beyond being merely history or information or knowledge of the Bible do we discover the stone has rolled away for us.  We realize that Christian faith is not about someone lying in the tomb of the past; it is about one who is capable of being our friend.

“Why do you look for the living among the dead?”  We are all strongly tempted to seek what is living among things that are dead.  Sometimes when we have had to leave a place we love we spend a long time searching for remembered experiences.  Sometimes when we have been bereaved we lose the capacity to live in the present, and live in the past with that relationship.  What we are looking for is love as a living thing, but all we can find in the past is the shadowy memory of a dead love.

“Returning from the tomb…to the eleven and to all the rest.”   The journey for every Christian must be from the deadness of mere information about Jesus to membership in the living body of Christian fellowship.
Come Monday morning may we all share the joy of Resurrection of the living Christ with a world hungry for something different, something better.

Happy Easter,

Fr. Larry

April 1, 2021

Holy Thursday Message

Dear St. Theresa family,

“Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows…he was wounded for our transgressions; he was bruised for our iniquities…; and with his stripes we are healed.”    Isaiah 53: 4-5

A thought for Good Friday.

St. Augustine observed: “Two criminals were crucified with Christ, one on the right, one on the left.  One was saved; do not despair.  One was not; do not presume.”

Let’s think for a moment of the one who was saved.  About him and his crimes we know virtually nothing, but about criminals and crime in general we know a great deal.  We know, for instance, that most criminals are in jail by virtue of their poverty rather than their criminality; rich criminals are rarely imprisoned.  We also know that all crimes ultimately are one and the same, because all criminals, whether or not they go to jail, conform to Raskolnikov, hero of Crime and Punishment and the prototype of all criminals.  More convincingly and poignantly than any other literary figure, Raskolnikov demonstrates that crime is only superficially, legally breaking the law; more profoundly, morally, it is rending the bond of love.  And the punishment for crime is not the physical isolation imposed by barred windows and thick walls so much as the spiritual isolation imposed by the walls of hearts grown so thick with anger, bitterness, guilt, and hate, that love can barely break in and enter.  Crime is rending the bond of love. Punishment is experiencing the bond of love torn in two.

That make Raskolnikov the prototype of all of us, for which of us has not torn apart the bond of love?  And which of us has not known ensuing loneliness?  Those of us who have experienced the deepest sin know that to speak of its loneliness in terms of a cross is to exaggerate but a little.  So some of us, at least, can identify not only with Raskolnikov, but with the thief on the cross whose physical suffering is an outward and visible sign of an inner and spiritual agony.

What else do we know about crime?  We know that crime hurts not only the criminal and the victims.  For every Raskolnikov there is a Dounia (his sister,) as Sonia (his girlfriend.)  For countless criminals there are countless mothers, fathers, wives, friends, children, who are wounded for their transgressions, bruised for their iniquities.   And with their stripes they heal their loved ones; to restore a criminal to the society he has abandoned, those already deeply hurt must continue to pour out their love until the walls of isolation are swept aside and hearts are washed clean of all bitterness, guilt, and hate.  Who said love costs nothing?  It costs everything.  We’re talking of forgiveness, and forgiveness is suffering love.

Consider how immeasurable the love of God, and against such a love measure the pain that must be God’s whenever we tear apart the bond of love.  Never think of sin as breaking some law; think of it rather as breaking God’s heart.  Yet despite the hurt, God continues to love us, knowing that only by doing so can God heal and restore us.  When we begin to understand that, can we understand the person and work of Jesus.   “God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself.”  “God so loved the world” ---not was offended by it, angry at it, the way we so frequently are---no, God is divine and therefore “so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son that whosoever should believe in him should not perish but have eternal life”; be reunited---that’s what atonement is, being made at one again with God and ultimately with our neighbor.

In the midst of all his many physical sufferings on that Good Friday, Jesus continues to pour out his love.  Even as the nails are being driven into his hands his cry is, “Father, forgive…”
It is at this moment that Jesus meets the thief.  The thief is on his cross because he cannot love; Jesus is on his because he can only love.  The thief is in spiritual pain because he has isolated himself; Jesus is in spiritual pain because he cannot separate himself from others.  Then, he whose heart is full of guilt sees that of all people Jesus is the most innocent, and hears, of all things, the innocent praying for the forgiveness of the guilty. Such suffering love proves too much: his own heart begins to melt.  He cries out, “Jesus remember me,” and Jesus does and performs his last miracle when from his cross he heals another on his.

The most powerful image on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel is God reaching down from the heavens to touch the finger of Adam’s upraised hand.  But once torn, the bond cannot so easily be restored, for sin has its punishments and forgiveness its cost.  The bond is forged anew only in the agony of two crosses, when we from our cross stretch out our arm to Christ and he, from his, stretches out an arm to us.
“Jesus remember me!”
“Truly, I say to you, this day you will be with me in Paradise.”

Grace and peace,
Fr. Larry

March 26, 2021

Dear St. Theresa family,

This Sunday we once more walk with Jesus on the way to the Cross. We begin by welcoming him to Jerusalem waving our palms and shouting “Hosanna!”

Come Thursday night we go upstairs to the Upper Room and wash feet and join him at a table that will become the center of our worship life. It is where we are inspired to serve others in his name.  We receive his Holy Presence as he is given to us in his precious Body and Blood.
We think about how he stays connected to us each week in this way giving us himself for strength. 

On Friday, we walk the walk he walked hearing the words of those who mocked him, imagining the betrayal, wondering why he doesn’t just snap his fingers and make everything right. 
We watch him stand with dignity against the forces of violence and oppression. 
We stand by witnessing his sacrifice and ask for strength to stand peacefully but forcefully for all those who are crucified by rejection, poverty, or oppression in our schools, cities, and world. 
We stand with those who stood with him, by his side and at his tomb.  And we walk away knowing that there must be more.

On Saturday night as the sun sets on the second day of his time in the tomb, we hear the story of salvation in the Hebrew Scripture readings as they tell of God’s repeated attempts since the beginning of time to save us to bring us back, bring us home.  We sing the psalms that David wrote reminding us of who we are and where we are going. We mark the progress from darkness to light, from slavery to freedom, from despair to hope as the Bible reveals the plan of salvation.  And then, with a burst of light and the peal of bells, Jesus is risen, Christ conquers all! Death no longer has any power over those who believe.  The new water reveals new life.  For those who are ever faithful to those who are barely faithful the promise is the same.
We discover that there is more…far more.  Please join us.

The Day of Resurrection dawns and the Church rejoices with thanksgiving for eternal life.

Palm Sunday Vigil at 5pm.
Palm Sunday 7:30, 9:00*, 11:00am
Holy Thursday at 7:00pm*
Good Friday at Noon*
Great Vigil of Easter at 8:15pm
Easter Day 7:30, 9:00*, 11:00am*

*livestreamed.

March 15, 2021

Dear St. Theresa family,

Read 1 John 4: 7-12.

         “In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us… Beloved, since God loved us so much, we ought to love one another.”

This is an important text in the New Testament, possibly one of the most critical.  It makes it clear that our love for others should have no other impetus than the love we have already received from God.  Thomas Merton writes in Seasons of Celebration:

“If a person has to be pleasing to me, comforting, reassuring, before I can love him, then I cannot truly love him.  Not that love cannot console or reassure!  But if I demand first to be reassured, I will never dare to begin loving.  If a person has to be a Jew or a Christian before I can love him, then I cannot love him.  If he has to be black or white before I can love him, then I cannot love him.  If he has to belong to my political party or social group before I can love him, then I cannot love him.  If he has to wear my kind of uniform, then my love is no longer love because it is not free: it is dictated by something outside itself.  It is dominated by an appetite other than love.  I love not the person but his classification, and in that I love him not as a person but as a thing.  I love this label which confirms me in my attachment to my own label.  But in that case I do not even love myself.  I value myself not for what I am, but for my label, my classification.  In this way I remain at the mercy of forces outside myself, and those who seem to me to be neighbors are indeed strangers for I am first of all a stranger to myself.”

Holy Spirit, save us from closed communities of special interest, a faith that judges and demonizes, and our blindness to your great commandment that we love one another as we should love you; with all our mind, all our heart, and all our strength.

Have a blessed weekend,
Fr. Larry

 

March 6, 2021

Dear St. Theresa family,

“Freedom” and “individualism” are buzz words we hear with great regularity.  Their meanings seem to be largely subjective which means the use of them in conversation can be interpreted freely and often to the benefit of the individual rather than to any constructive end.  Among so much else, it makes discussion of political issues a minefield.  Alexis de Tocqueville, a French aristocrat, and observer of all things American wrote a book in 1840 titled: “Democracy in America.”  In it he writes:

“The citizens of America feel no longer bound to their fate by a common interest; each of them, standing aloof, thinks that he is reduced to care for himself alone.”

This reads as if it could have been written today.  He goes on to point out that whereas selfishness originates in blind instinct, individualism is more of a “mature and calm feeling” that originates in the mind just as much as in the heart.  He points to a worrying paradox stating that although individualism is essentially democratic, it is also a threat to democracy since it leads people to identify less and less with other people at large.

“Individualism, at first, only saps the virtues of public life; but in the long run it attacks and destroys all others and is at length absorbed in downright selfishness.”

In fairness it must be pointed out the word “individualisme” as a French word has negative connotations which colors Tocqueville’s attitude.  The American concept of individualism is very much the opposite.  It is fair to say that it is a distinguishing trait to which we can attach any number of extraordinary accomplishments.  I suspect that this early 19^th century Frenchmen was more concerned about the results of undisciplined (for us we can read un-Christian) living.   It is the kind of detachment that leads to a culture of narcissism which I believe is at the heart of the culture of consumption, immediate gratification, and hedonism.

Since I am spending Lent with Thomas Merton I sought him out for a word on this.

“If individualism and subjectivism are so widely suspect among us, there is perhaps a very good reason for it.  We live in a climate of individualism.  But our individualism is in decay.  Our tradition of freedom which, as a matter of fact, is rooted deeply in a Christian soil, and which in itself is worthy of the highest respect and loyalty, has begun to lose its genuine vitality.  It is becoming more and more a verbal convention rather than a spiritual conviction.  The tendency to substitute words about freedom for the reality of freedom itself has brought us to a state of ambivalent spiritual servitude.  The noise with which we protest our love of freedom tends to be proportionate to our actual fear of genuine freedom, and our guilt at our unconscious refusal to pay the price for freedom.”

About freedom to be hungry for the kingdom of heaven St. Luke writes:

“Then (Jesus) looked up at his disciples and said:
            ‘Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.

            Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled.
            Blessed are you who weep for now, for you will laugh.
Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you,
revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man.  Rejoice on
that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven.
for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets.
            But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.
            Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry.
            Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep.
Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did
for the false prophets.’”

Merton’s Prayer

Father, you enjoin me to give up everything to follow you.  You teach me that the price of genuine freedom is to become poor and hungry for the kingdom of heaven.  Freedom for your disciples is freedom to do justice and liberate our neighbors, as we liberate ourselves from whatever keeps us fettered in ignorance of your command to love our neighbors as ourselves.

Merton’s challenge:

What does spiritual freedom mean in your life?  What is keeping you from being free to love God and serve your neighbor selflessly?  More positively: how did you become “free to serve”?


Grace and peace,
Fr. Larry

Fr, Louis (Thomas) Merton was a Trappist monk at Gethsemane Abbey in Kentucky.
His spiritual writings are among the most popular works of the 20^th century.
 

March 2, 2021

Dear St. Theresa family,

Today I am reminded of the importance of little victories.
One of our eighth-grade boys came over to me after mass and with a wide smile announced that he had just had his braces removed.  A genuine experience of joy for that young man who has not only been freed from the nuisance of orthodontics but has a bright rank of straight teeth to show for his trouble.  I congratulated him and complimented him on persevering.  I suspect he is going to spend most of the day with that smile on his face.

I had forgotten the feeling of being released from a mouth-full of metal work as
it’s been since the middle of the last century that I had anything to do with braces,
the monthly visits to the orthodontist, the inability to chew anything harder than mashed potatoes, the daily routine of head gears, rubber bands, and the general
embarrassment of a smile featuring a tangle of wires.  Etched in my memory is the day I had my braces removed. It was as if a whole new world had been opened.  It didn’t matter if anyone else noticed or cared, it was my victory over that necessary nuisance.  What a difference from the buck-toothed countenance that betrayed my hillbilly ancestry. But how much sweeter the victory when a teacher made my day with a kind remark about my new smile.

All of us have such little victories from time to time.  Maybe it’s the day you stepped on the scale and those ten pounds you have been trying to shed were finally gone.  When someone noticed it made all the sacrifice worthwhile.  It is something we can offer others as a gift.  Perhaps it’s an accomplishment one of the kids brings home.  Whatever the victory it’s worth a little celebration.  In a time like this when there is tension, disappointment, and anxiety the acknowledgment of small accomplishments can brighten an otherwise cloudy day, a word of encouragement or acknowledgment can be a great tonic.  No great effort involved other than just the briefest expression or comment.  St. Therese of Lisieux once said: “Do little things with great love.”

Blessings for a good week,

Fr. Larry
 

February 25, 2021

Dear St. Theresa family,

It is the second week of Lent.  This year I have decided to spent time with Thomas Merton.  While in grad school I would sneak away heading south through Bardstown Ky. for a few days with the Trappists at Gethsemane.  My fondness for the abbey lay mostly with its isolation, the ancient rhythm of the monastic prayer offices and the fudge for which they are famous. Thomas Merton (Fr. Louis as he was known there) was a monk of the abbey from 1941 until his death in 1968.  His writings are exceedingly popular among my favorites is Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander written in 1966.  In it he addresses many of the pressing issues still with us today.  For this Lent I have chosen his Seasons of Celebration with daily mediations.
For the first week he writes about fasting:

Fasting is not merely a natural and ethical discipline for the Christian. It is true that St. Paul evokes the classic comparison of the athlete in training, but the purpose of the Christian fast is not simply to tone up the system, to take off useless fat, and get the body as well as the soul in trim for Easter.  The religious meaning of the Lenten fast is deeper than that.  Our fasting is to be seen in the context of life and death, and St. Paul made clear that he brought his body into subjection not merely for the good of the soul, but that the whole man might not be “cast away”…Fasting has a part in the work of salvation, and therein the Paschal mystery.  The Christian must deny himself, whether by fasting or some other way, in order to make clear his participation in the mystery of our burial with Christ in order to rise with Him to new life.

Prayer
Remove from my heart its malicious tongue that does not speak of peace but only of war and hate.  Let me recognize by your grace and teaching the sins of my mouth, the harm I do so casually by my malicious words.  Let me fast this Lent from all talk that puts down my neighbor, reviles my perceived enemies, and creates division instead of community.  Lord, make my mouth an instrument of your peace.

How can you “fast” from thoughts and speech that harms others, the community, and yourself?

Have a blessed Lent.

Fr. Larry
 

February 2, 2021

Dear St. Theresa family,

Read Mark 1: 29-39.

Somebody ought to do a study of Italian lifestyles because they eat pasta and gelato like there is no tomorrow and no one seems to be overweight. The contrast to our American life is dramatic. Driving down any major road reveals something about what sort of people we are.  Fast food.  Even the grocery stores are selling fast food.  Their success is insured because we know what we want, we want it our way, and we want it now. We are people in a hurry.  We don’t take time to cook; we can’t slow down to eat, and we no longer spend time together at the table. Nor is it just meals we rush through: we rush through much of life. We want not only instant dinner but instant success and instant solutions to problems.  I think that accounts for the enduring popularity of Superheroes.  Their adventures never involve planning or wondering, uncertainty or waiting…just a hero who swoops in clad in a bright costume solving problems and dashing off again.  That’s how we like our heroes-fast and flashy.

That’s very much true of religion as well.  Many of the churches we see growing today offer that sort of approach to faith: simple, unambiguous answers, some offer healing on the spot, perhaps even promises of immediate success in business… very appealing.  We’d like Superman to save us, to solve our problems, to erase our sorrows. The people of Jesus’ day were no different.  They too were impressed by miracle workers offering instant cures.  They too looked for a hero to save them.  No wonder they were drawn to Jesus.  Here was someone special—a wonder worker, a healer, perhaps the solution to their problems.  Here was one who could say the word and make it all better.  But Saint Mark knew that Jesus was more than that, and for that reason he tells us something peculiar in chapter one verse thirty-four: Jesus “would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him.”  Over and over in St. Mark’s gospel, Jesus seems to want to keep his identity a secret.  Why?  Why doesn’t he want anyone to know who he is?

The answer lies in how people saw him—miracle worker, healer, or better put, magician.  At the beginning of his ministry, his acts revealed him as one with power, a superman doing mighty things, reaching out and curing instantly.  But miracles were only part of the story.  Jesus knew that those who saw him only as a wonderworker would miss the real meaning of his life.  Therefore, he commanded silence until the rest of the story could be told, the story which leads to the cross.  It was not that he wanted to hide his identity.  Rather, it was that he wanted to reveal it fully, and that would be possible only after his death and resurrection.  Only then could he be known as more than a performer of miracles.

To us, Jesus’ silencing of the demons serves as a reminder.  We, too, look for cures, miracles, and speedy solutions.  The Word responds by pointing us toward the rest of the story.  To a world which wants a superman, Christ comes not with a cape but with a cross, reminding us that there is more to it than that.  God offers us not a hero but a savior, not magic tricks but victory over death.  And when we look for fast food, Christ offers real food, himself; body and blood given and shed for us.  That’s who Jesus is—healer, wonder worker, one with authority—all those things, but only because he is also the one who has passed through death to bring us new life. That is the rescue that is offered.  It does not involve easy answers or instant solutions.  Instead, it comes through struggle and pain but leads ultimately to victory.

Back to thin Italians.  They walk everywhere.

Have a blessed week,

Fr. Larry
 

January 18, 2021

Dear St. Theresa family,
 
A quick Bible study to start the week.  Take a moment and read the Book of the prophet Jonah.  It’s just a little over two pages long so it will not take long.  This is a great read to devour before Lent.  Here you have the reluctant prophet and a big city full of sinners called the Ninevites and it’s not without humor.

One of my favorite humorous aspects of the Bible is the unexpected faithfulness of the outsider, the other, the enemy if you will.  If you know the stories of Balaam, Ruth, and the Good Samaritan then you should recognize in the residents of Nineveh a stock character.  In contrast to the insider, Jonah, who hears God’s word and repeatedly disobeys, the Ninevites hear a one-sentence sermon with no mention of God and repent on the spot…everybody, the king, his subjects, and even the livestock.  Apparently the key to faithfulness is responsiveness. 

In the story, however, Jonah is a hard guy to defend. Called by God to prophesy to Nineveh, he got on the next boat headed in the opposite direction and nearly got everybody on board killed before God sent a taxi in the form of a whale to turn Jonah around and spit him in the right direction.  It wasn’t just that Jonah was afraid to be a prophet.  He might have said okay if God had sent him someplace nearby like Jericho or Shechem, but Nineveh was simply out of the question.  It was the capital city of the Assyrian empire, now known as Iraq—which was as hostile to Israel then as it is now.

Jonah didn’t want any part of it and for good reason.  He knew what usually happened to God’s messengers, and truthfully he had no desire to participate in Nineveh’s salvation.  If the city was going to hell, let it.  He wasn’t going to intervene. But God had a different idea which Jonah finally realized he was going to be a part of whether he liked it or not.  So, the second time God sent him to Nineveh he went, not because he had a change of heart but because he knew he had no choice.  His only consolation was thinking how delicious it was going to be, pronouncing judgment on all those Ninevites.  They had devastated Jewish cities and killed Jewish people. They had deported all those who survived and taken them home to be their maids and gardeners.  If Jonah was doomed to become their next victim, he would at least make sure he got in a few licks of his own before he went down. Jonah knows how evil they all are, how richly they deserve God’s judgment, and he cannot wait to get started. 

“Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” he shouts.  He might have been warming up to something considerably longer than that, but no one will ever know, because no sooner does he get that sentence out of his mouth than the whole city repents on the spot.  “Yes!” they shout.  “We believe!”  The king orders a fast and leads them all out to change into sack cloth and ashes, and there stands Jonah all alone in his tent before he has even broken a sweat. Meanwhile, the Ninevites cry mightily to God, God decides to spare them after all, and the revival is proclaimed a howling success. And with the world’s shortest sermon, Jonah has accomplished more than all the other prophets put together.

This has converted the biggest city in the enemy empire.  He should be happy, right?  No.  He is so angry he could die.  The last thing in the world that Jonah wants is for the Ninevites to be spared.  He wants them all to go up in smoke and, more important than that, he wants to be right.

Everyone in this story repents except Jonah.  The Ninevites repent, God relents, even the cows and goats repent.  Jonah slinks off to the outskirts of the city and hopes God will decide to destroy it after all, because he cannot accept the possibility that God’s idea of justice might not coincide with his own.
There is a divine sense of humor loose in this story, however, and even Jonah’s sulking cannot keep God from playing with him.  While Jonah sits hunkered down in his hut, watching the city hopefully for some sign of earthquake or fire, God appoints a castor oil plant to grow up over his head and shade him from the heat of the sun.  Jonah likes this very much.  He likes this as much as he did not like what happened in Nineveh, but his happiness is short lived.  The next day God appoints a worm to attack the bush and Jonah once again threatens to die, as if this will ruin God’s day or something.

“Is it right for you to be angry about the plant?” God asks him.  It’s a trick question, although Jonah doesn’t seem to notice.  If he says no, it really is not right for him to be angry about the plant, then he is admitting that what happened to the plant or the Ninevites or to Jonah himself is really God’s business, not his own, and that the job of deciding how the world should be run is already filled.  And if he says yes, it is right for him to be angry about the plant, then he throws open the way for God to compare the fate of the plant to the fate of a whole city full of people so that Jonah can, perhaps, get just a glimmer of his own pettiness.

“Is it right for you to be angry about the plant?” “Yes,” Jonah says, “angry enough to die.” If you have never felt like that yourself, then you probably will not get the punch line of this story  or that story from the gospels and the parable about the laborers, you know, the one where those who came late were paid as much as those who arrived first.  Both stories poke a hard finger in the ribs of those of us who want God’s mercy for ourselves and God’s justice for other people.  We rejoice when undeserved blessings come our way.  Even when we know the blessings that come to us have been delivered to the wrong address, there are not many of us who will send them back.  We thank God and quickly carry them inside, but when we look out the window and see the delivery person carrying an identical package next door to those really unpleasant people who sit on the porch drinking beer after beer in broad daylight and whose children look like they belong on a UNICEF poster, well, we tend to resent that.  Undeserved blessings are only supposed to go to the deserving, apparently.

We are such bookkeepers!  And God is not.  When the Ninevites repent and the people we judge most harshly receive the mercy of God, then it becomes painfully clear that there is something inherently unfair in the notion of grace. God does not keep track of things like we do.  God does not spend a lot of time deciding who is worthy and who is not, like we do. God doesn’t give any of us what we deserve but what we need, and it is hard—very hard—to trust God’s judgment on that score. 

I don’t know a child in the world today who appreciates the favors a parent shows toward a brother or sister.  Never mind that the favored one is hurt, or sick, or lost.  There is a clock and a calculator in every child’s head.  Spend five minutes more on his homework than on her homework; hand over a nickel more to this one than to that one and you know what comes next.  “That’s not fair!” No, it isn’t fair.  Its grace. and I really believe that those of us who get offended by the divine distribution of it have simply forgotten who we are.  We think we are the righteous prophets, sent to pronounce judgment on the skuzzy Assyrians.  That’s how we see it and we make the mistake of thinking that that is how God sees it too.  What we cannot know is that just maybe—from where God sits, we are all a mess.  Some of us clean up better than others and some of us have figured out how to manage our fears by doing good works, but when you get right down to it, we are all Ninevites only I don’t think God would put it like that, because those are all human labels full of human judgments.  From where God sits, I expect we look more like hurt, sick, lost children, all of us in deep need of mercy.  So, is it right for us to be angry?  If Nineveh is spared, who won’t shout Hallelujah?  Only those who do not know who they are or whose they are.

Lent is coming…40 days God gives us faithful ones to respond.
Grace and peace,
Fr. Larry
 

January 15, 2021
on Wisdom

Dear St. Theresa family, 

Even though we have taken down the tree, packed away the stockings and put thoughts of Christmas behind us, Epiphany is still here, and the nativity scene continues to reside in the sanctuary as a reminder. Epiphany being the revelation of who Jesus is will continue for some weeks. So, forgive me if this letter seems to find me stuck in the holidays! 

I believe it was Henry David Thoreau who claimed that for every virtuous person there were nine-hundred and ninety-nine patrons of virtue. In a similar way it may be said that for every person who is truly wise there are at least nine-hundred and ninety-nine who are merely clever. Since we have traditionally referred to the Magi as “wise men,” and as the difference between wisdom and cleverness is crucial, let’s see if we can find it by asking the question: “What made the Magi Wise men?” Surely they were educated, but it is just as certain that education alone cannot make a person wise. 

Often it’s all too obvious that the wisdom of those who are not educated is matched only by the folly of those who are.  In fact, in the rarefied reaches of today’s scholarship, wisdom is often lost in knowledge, as knowledge is lost in information.  T.S. Elliot wrote:
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance, 
All our ignorance brings us nearer to death; 
But nearness to death, no nearer to God. 
Where is the life we have lost in the living? 

That’s the business of the wise; to rediscover that which has been lost and found and lost again and again: the meaning and deep purposes of life. These are not automatically uncovered or even sought for in today’s education, which is so often for a living, not for life. In school you can find out everything about the world, except “Why?” Why is a religious question, whether or not you give it a religious answer.  A wise person, then, is always looking for the meaning and deep purposes of life and knows that meaning is apprehended on a far deeper level than it is comprehended. That there are truths in the presence of which the mind can play an all-important legislative role, but not a creative role. 

A wise person knows that there are truths the mind can grasp, but there are others, more important ones, before which human beings can only bow down. Those wise men did not come to study the child, they came to worship. So let us say that they were wise because they recognized the importance of a religious question and were willing to go a long way to find the answer. Of course, they weren’t the only ones looking for the child. 

King Herod, too, was interested, if for very different reasons. He wanted to kill, not worship. Herod was certainly clever, but nobody had ever accused him of being wise. So perhaps we can go on to say that as opposed to cleverness, wisdom is always rooted in compassion. Someone once asked Gandhi, “What do you think of Western civilization?” He answered, “I think it would be a good idea.” His answer suggests that civilization is nothing more than a long process of learning to be kind. Someone once said that “The highest expression of civilization is not its technological or artistic achievement but the supreme tenderness that people are strong enough to feel and show to one another.” 

It’s interesting to note that according to this idea only the strong can be truly tender. If our civilization is breaking down, as it appears to be, it is not because we lack the brain power to meet its demands but because our feelings are being dulled. What our society needs is a massive and pervasive experience in re-sensitization. Rooted in compassion, wisdom always respects the importance and fragility of individual life, and cares for all individuals, in the manner of Christ, as if all were one.

According to tradition, the wise men came from different countries, and they came, of course to worship him who was to be the light to all the nations. A wise person, then, knows that the most significant thing you can say about human difference is that they are not that significant. What is significant, and needs desperately to be made manifest, is the oneness of humanity.                                                                           
Epiphany is our celebration of the light of Christ as it reaches its brightest point. But the light we remember and celebrate was no blazing sun. It was more like a laser-like pinpoint piercing the darkness. A wise person accepts the challenge of the darkness and develops an ability to see at night. 

It is safe to say that not much of significance is clearer in our world than it was in the world of the wise men. Good and evil continue their incestuous relationship. As always, nothing is easier than to denounce the evildoer, and nothing more difficult than to understand him. It is of course emotionally satisfying to be righteous with that righteousness that nourishes itself in the blood of sinners. 

But God also knows that what is emotionally satisfying can also be spiritually devastating. And it is spiritually devastating to claim more light is shed by God upon the human situation, to project a brief, narrow vision of life as eternal truth. 

Life doesn’t sit around to have its portrait painted, and besides, who could ever catch its shimmering depths? The wise men do not pretend to know it all. They know that you don’t have to think alike to love alike. The message they read from the star is that only love makes sense, and not much else makes any difference. So, somewhere on the list of your New Year’s resolutions, resolve to be a new crop of wise men and women who will go to great lengths to find life’s meaning and deep purposes; who will never forget that wisdom is rooted in compassion; and who, instead of cursing the night, will develop an ability to see in the dark, in order to follow that God-given light that no darkness can overcome. 

Prayers for a hopeful New Year, 

Fr. Larry
 

January 11, 2021
The meaning of "greatness"

Dear St. Theresa family,

Mirrors are ruthless.  Occasionally I have the startling experience of catching a glimpse of myself as I pass by one with my first reaction being “who is that old man and why is he in my house?”  Very quickly, of course, the mystery is dispelled with the once again grim reminder that there is a considerable gap between how I perceive myself and what the rest of the world sees. It shouldn’t surprise me as I see this reality every time I brush my teeth.  I guess I’ve gotten used to that and have failed to realize that there is always more to see than meets the eye.  Incidentally there was far more of me in the quick glimpse than I cared to see.  Note to self…cut the carbs.

But that’s not why I’m writing today.  We have been shocked by what happened at our Capitol last week. Regardless of our politics and whoever it is we believe should be at the helm of government, any person of goodwill can agree that there was nothing of that event for which they could be proud. Many of the people in the Capitol who were engaged in the mayhem wore hats with the words “Make America great again.” This is a very subjective statement and it should make us consider the meaning of greatness. About the word great, the dictionary offers; larger than others of the same kind, of considerable duration, extensive in time and distance, significant, important, meaningful, eminent, distinguished, noble, excellent and more. Considering these, it seems that the United States meets these descriptions. However, nowhere in the dictionary entry on this word is the word perfect used. Looking at each of these dictionary definitions there is no finality implied.   A thing can be larger than others of the same kind and still have room for growth and significant improvement.   Many things are meaningful but not definitive.  We know from the Bible in 1 Cor. 12:31 that excellence is not an end unto itself or St. Paul would not remind us of a more excellent way.  Extensive time and distance prompts children to cry out with impatience “are we there yet?”   And, of course, Jesus reminds us in Luke 22:25 that the “great ones” need to be careful about how their presence is felt!

“Make America great again” asks the question: at what point and time in our past do we wish to return?  Perhaps it is not a place or time since each has had its own significant challenges but rather a document.  The framers of the Constitution wrote in the Preamble: “We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity do ordain and establish this constitution…” A “more perfect union.” This has not only been the goal of our Constitution but also our faith. What can be said of our country can also be said of our religion.  They are both great.  But their greatness is only revealed when we embrace the totality of them, the great writings that reveal the goals and benefits.  In terms of our country that means the Constitution.  In terms of our faith it means the Gospel. For both the term “more perfect” implies a process to be engaged.  For our country it means keeping before us a vision of the common good and the greater good.  As Disciples of Christ it means daily asking ourselves “Am I loving the Lord my God and my neighbor as myself?  

These few words today are simply an observation. Along with everyone else I’m still processing in my mind the events and significance of last week.  While many wish to rush to judgment on these events, my experience with the mirror reminds me there is a gap between what is seen and what is known, and I know with certainty that I need to strive with more resolve for a more perfect union in every way recognizing that there is always a cost associated with greatness and without exception that cost includes sacrifice.

Praying for unity and peace,

Fr. Larry

2020 Messages From Fr. Larry