20th Sunday in Ordinary Time: The Canaanite Woman
August 17, 2008
Imagine you or someone in your family has just had a serious health problem that has depleted your cash reserves, or your son or daughter has been accepted to a good university and now you have to pay for the tuition, or someone totaled your car and the insurance company didn’t give you enough money to buy another car. Whatever the circumstance, through no fault of your own, you need money.
Your neighbor tells you about a wonderful loan officer at the local bank, so you make an appointment to see him. You walk into the bank and when you say that you want to see the loan officer the person at the front desk is very rude to you. Then you go to the loan officer and he says that there is no way that you are getting a loan from this bank. Your skin is the wrong color, you don’t wear nice clothes, you’re a woman, you have a tattoo.
How would you react? In your deepest need, you’ve gone to someone you believed would help you and instead, you’re insulted. Because you are somehow different, you’re not welcome at the bank. Now I don’t actually want you to tell me what you would have done in that situation – after all, we are in church.
But think about how the Canaanite woman in the gospel today must have felt. Her daughter was very ill – tormented by a demon. She had heard about this wonderful and powerful man – Jesus – who could surely heal her daughter. “Help me” she said. Jesus responded by saying that it was not right for him to heal someone who was a Canaanite – a pagan – because his mission was to the Jews. And he didn’t say it very nicely: “It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs.” This would be like the loan officer saying: “You are not the kind of person that we loan money to.”
Jesus wasn’t being a nasty person – he was making a point. In a very dramatic way he was saying: “I was sent to preach first to the Jews – and that’s very important. But – my message is for everyone. The kingdom of God is for everyone.” In the second reading, St. Paul gave us that same sense of really wanting the Jews to accept the gospel of Jesus. He said that although he was going to preach to the gentiles – the non-Jews – with all his energy, he was hoping that at least some of the Jews might hear his message and accept Jesus Christ. In some ways, the idea of inclusiveness that we heard about in the gospel and from St. Paul is stated in an even more radical way in the first reading, written long before the birth of Christ. Isaiah said that if non-Jews believed and lived according to the principles of justice and righteousness (the principles that the Jewish religion was based on), they could even come into the temple. It was unheard of that non-Jews would enter the temple, and yet that’s the invitation that Isaiah was making.
It’s important for us as Catholics to understand this part of our history. For the first decade after the death of Jesus, the followers of Jesus were Jews – the apostles were Jews. With that understanding, the reactions of the apostles in the Gospel, and even the reactions of Jesus toward a non-Jewish woman who asked for help were understandable – sort of.
The word Catholic means universal – it means everyone is welcome – and the readings today celebrate the “catholic” or universal character of our church.
So what can we learn from the Canaanite woman? We can learn that even when we don’t feel especially welcome in the church or even by God, we truly are welcome. The Canaanite woman, who was clearly on the outside, discovered this, but only because of her strong faith and her persistence in asking for Jesus’ help.
I think sometimes, we who are Catholic (we who are on the inside) don’t even feel welcome in our own Church. Well, look around – go ahead – look at the people around you. These are your fellow Christians – believers in Jesus Christ – just like you. And we are all part of the Catholic (universal) family – the Church. We don’t call ourselves the Catholic individuals, we are the Catholic Church. Our faith is not something locked up inside us – our Catholic faith connects us with each other. When you come to Mass, you’re usually greeted at the door. At the end of Mass, you’re greeted again as you leave. During the Mass, we turn to each other and offer a sign of peace. These are more than just symbols – they are real ways that we share God’s love with each other and express our connectedness with each other in Jesus Christ.
If the loan officer had understood that he and the person who needed a loan were members of the same family, he wouldn’t have insulted the needy person who came to the bank for help.
When Jesus responded to the Canaanite woman, he wasn’t insulting her. He was testing the woman’s faith. And after being rejected, the woman demonstrated her great faith by her persistence. In the end, Jesus praised her faith and healed her daughter. He invited her in.
The message of today’s readings is that we have all been welcomed into God’s family. Many of us (hopefully, all of us) have accepted that invitation. As members of Christ’s body – the Catholic Church – we often turn to God in times of need – as we should. Just like the Canaanite woman, our faith should give us the strength to appeal to God in times of need. We know that sometimes God doesn’t respond in a way or on a schedule that satisfies us. But just like the Canaanite woman, we must have faith and persistence. God will respond to the members of his family – and you can take that to the bank.
Separation (18th Sunday in Ordinary Time)
August 7, 2008
I’m sure most of us have been at a shopping mall when we heard someone announce over the loudspeaker: “We have a little boy here who’s lost his mother (you notice this usually happens to little boys?). He says his name is Billy. Will Billy’s mother please come to the information booth?” If you’ve ever seen the children waiting for their parents at the information booth, you know they usually look very anxious and they’re often crying. The mothers are frantic – usually more upset than the lost child. And when the mother finally arrives at the information booth, mother and child collapse into each others’ arms, and life returns to normal (whatever normal is when you have small children).
In about a month, school will be starting again. Especially for the children going to school for the first time – maybe kindergarten – there may be some tears and anxious moments. Older children may be going away university – leaving home for the first time – again, despite the excitement of starting a new adventure, there may be some difficult times when parents and children realize that they will now be far apart. One of my sons is leaving for a job in Texas in a couple of weeks and I’m already missing him.
When we’re separated from people we love, whether by accident (like the little boy who got lost at the shopping mall), or because of school, or jobs, or even death or divorce, we grieve – we feel like something’s missing. Now, separation is a fact of life, especially in the very mobile society we live in. We can try to deal with separation – through telephone calls, occasional visits, e-mails, and even prayers.
St. Paul understood separation. He traveled constantly, preaching the Gospel and building the early Church. His letters, especially the beginnings of his letters show how he missed the people he met and communities he helped to establish.
He posed an interesting question in the second reading today: “Who will separate us from the love of Christ?” He asked whether hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or the sword would separate us from the love of Christ. And this was not just some abstract theological question that he was posing. He had a lot of experience with hardship. In his second letter to the Corinthians, St. Paul wrote: “Five times at the hands of the Jews I received forty lashes less one; three times I was beaten with rods; I was stoned once, shipwrecked three times. I traveled continually, endangered by floods, robbers, my own people, the Gentiles; imperilled in the city, in the desert, at sea, by false brothers; enduring labor, hardship, many sleepless nights; in hunger and thirst and frequent fastings, in cold and nakedness.” He also appears to have had some sort of chronic illness. He spoke about a “thorn in the flesh” given to him by an angel of Satan. Clearly, when St. Paul talked about hardships, he was speaking from a wealth of personal experience.
So what did he mean when he said that these hardships would not separate us from the love of God? He was probably reflecting on the fact that even though his travels meant that he had to be separated from the people he met and the communities he loved, he always knew that he was connected to God, that he was loved by God, and this would never change, regardless of where he was and what happened to him.
I think he was also telling us that hardships are not a punishment from God. Some people thought back then – and still do today – that when bad things happened to them, it’s because they did something wrong. St. Paul turns that idea upside down when he says: “No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.”
He may also be talking about our own temptation to separate ourselves from God when things get tough – when bad things happen in our lives. Bad things happen to all of us. Some of these things we bring on ourselves, like the clogged arteries that I have in my heart. Sometimes other people do bad things to us, like the daughter of my cousin who was killed by a drunk driver, or the guy who stabbed and beheaded another man on a bus in Manitoba this week. What a sad irony that we heard this news story the same week we read about Jesus hearing of the beheading of John the Baptist. But clearly, some of the bad things that happen are the result of evil things that people do to us. But some things just happen, like a young, promising student of mine developed leukemia. When these things happen, we can be tempted to separate ourselves from God by saying: “God could have done something to stop this. God could have cured the leukemia. Why did God put that drunk driver on the road the same time my cousin’s daughter was driving home from work? Why did God let that guy kill the other man on the bus?”
We act as if God is sitting in his big chair looking down on earth saying: “Oh, Deacon Pat needs a lesson in humility – I think I’ll give him heart disease.” Or: “Sandy hasn’t been going to church every Sunday – I think I’ll take her daughter from her. Let me find a drunk driver to help me out.” A good and loving God would not do this! My God would not do this! Yet, as all of us know, and as St. Paul told us today, these things happen.
So where was God when the doctors split my chest open to bypass those diseased coronary arteries? He was there in the hands of the surgeon, in the nurses in the ICU. Where was God when my cousin’s daughter was killed? He was there in the people who helped my cousin grieve, and was at her side as she struggled to put her life back together. He was there to welcome her daughter into heaven.
St. Paul tells us today that we all will face trials in our lives. It is the nature of our world that things come and go, and we will experience separation. The people and things that are important to us today may not be here tomorrow. That doesn’t sound like good news, and yet St. Paul’s words are among the most comforting words in the Bible. Comforting because they speak about the permanence of God’s presence and God’s love in an impermanent world.
He says: “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life,
nor angels, nor rulers,
nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers,
nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation,
will be able to separate us
from the love of God.”
Amen.
Weeds & Potatoes (16th Sunday in Ordinary Time)
August 7, 2008
I remember a bumper sticker that I saw several years ago that read: “It’s hard to fly like an eagle when you’re surrounded by turkeys.” At the time I was working in a very large organization, and my department was badly fractured. There were two opposing groups, and the two groups had very different opinions about many things. We, of course, were certain that we were the “good guys” and the others were the “bad guys.”
As I look back on those times, I am amazed, and a little ashamed that I spent so much time moaning and complaining about the antics of the “bad guys.” One of my favourite (and least fruitful) activities was to gossip about the “bad guys” with one or more of the other “good guys.” All of these things destroyed our morale, and took away time that we could have spent doing productive work.
Now, if I could read your minds, I think some of you would be thinking: “Yeah, I worked at a place like that – there was constant bickering and fighting.” You might call it “office politics.” If you’re a student, you might be thinking: “My class at school is like that, everyone’s in their own little group and they never get along with each other.” But some of you – the wise ones – are probably thinking: “Why did you get sucked into playing the game? If you were hired to do a job – why didn’t you just do it? Why did you waste your time worrying about what everyone else was doing?”
Wouldn’t it be great if everyone respected each other? Wouldn’t it be great if everyone was pulling in the same direction? Wouldn’t it be great if everyone worked for the common good? Well, yes it would, but Jesus told us today in the Gospel that life just isn’t that way. He told the story of the farmer who planted good seed in his field, and then someone came along and planted weeds. The farmer, of course, is Jesus. Jesus plants the good seed. You remember from the creation story in the Book of Genesis, God created people, “and they were good.” God made us good. But we know that there is evil in the world: evil in our workplaces, evil in our schools, evil in government, and so on. Now, in the parable, the farmer was asked whether his workers should pull up the weeds, but the farmer said: “No, let them grow up together, and I’ll separate the good from the bad at harvest time.”
I think there are a couple of messages here. The first is that we will always have to deal with evil people. I’m not talking about people who are different from us – people with different lifestyles, or different likes and dislikes, or different customs, or different religions. People who are different from us are not necessarily evil. Thank God for differences. But clearly, some people (to a greater or lesser degree) act with evil intentions – and we will always have them with us. As I said, we can moan and complain and gossip about these people, or we can get on with being good people – good like God made us. That doesn’t mean that we should ignore evil in the world. We sometimes have to confront sinful people and situations. But in doing this, we should not compromise our relationship with God.
And I think that’s the other message. By letting the grain grow up with the weeds, God was showing confidence in us. God believed that we could still grow in love and goodness despite the evil that is all around us.
It reminds me of a garden I had once. I rototilled a really big garden one year. I remember Laura warning me that we would have trouble weeding it. “Don’t worry” I said: “Each of the kids can take a couple of rows and we’ll be fine.” And we were fine, until we went on vacation. When we came back we could barely see the plants among the weeds. So we had a choice to make. Do we reclaim our garden from the weeds, or do we just let it go? Now I’d like to say that when I decided to just let it go, I was following the advice in the gospel today, but that wouldn’t be entirely honest. What I found as fall approached was that many of my plants were completely overtaken by the weeds, and we had a hard time finding some of them. But amazingly, some of them did really well. Mostly it was the potatoes that did well. I guess they were content growing underground while the other plants and weeds were busy competing for the sun.
So maybe that’s the lesson – be like a potato – don’t try to compete with evil – just try to be good.
But I think we sometimes worry about how we can be good in a world that contains so many bad things. Not all of us can change the world in major ways. We can’t all be Mother Teresa. But Jesus told us that we don’t have to do things that make the evening news, or the Western Catholic Reporter. He gave us this comforting advice in the parables about the mustard seed and the yeast. The mustard seed started small and grew into a plant that could eventually support birds’ nests. The small bit of yeast leavened the entire loaf of bread.
I was at a funeral a couple of months ago and I was listening to a son eulogize his mother who died in her late 50s. He talked about how his mom used to bake cookies so that he and his friends would have something to eat after school. His friends stopped over often – not just for the cookies – but for what the cookies symbolized. The cookies were symbols of the love and hospitality of this humble and wonderful woman. The cookies, the smile, the sympathetic ear were the mustard seeds – the pinch of yeast that were so small, but had such a profound effect.
Pope Benedict spoke recently in Australia, when he was welcomed to World Youth Day. And I think his words speak to the gospel today – to the need to grow in holiness in spite of the “weeds” – the evil that we find in our lives. His words are as relevant to adults as they are to our young people.
The Pope said: “Young people today face a bewildering variety of life-choices, so that they sometimes find it hard to know how best to channel their idealism and their energy. It is the Spirit who gives the wisdom to discern the right path and the courage to follow it…In this way, the Spirit enables men and women in every land and in every generation to become saints. Through the Spirit’s action, may the young people gathered here for World Youth Day have the courage to become saints! This is what the world needs more than anything else.”
So in a world where good and evil grow side-by-side, let us soar like eagles in spite of the turkeys – let us be mustard seeds – let us be that pinch of yeast – let us be potatoes – let us be saints.
15th Sunday in Ordinary Time – The Bowflex
August 7, 2008
If you watch infomercials on television, you’ve probably heard of the Bowflex. It’s an exercise machine. To use it, you connect pulleys and handles to tubes of different strengths and do various exercises. If you watch the ads, people who use the Bowflex get strong arms and shoulders, they get those “six-pack” abdominal muscles, and it seems that everyone on television who uses the Bowflex has become good-looking.
I visited my brother in Alaska a couple of weeks ago, and noticed that he had a Bowflex in his living room. All of the tubes were neatly tied with a Velcro belt, and the machine was so close to the wall, that you couldn’t use it – I know, I tried. So it was clear that he wasn’t using his Bowflex – he was passing up the opportunity to have massive arms and shoulders, and to become better looking. And if he had a six-pack of abdominal muscles, they were hidden pretty deep.
I’m sure you hear the commercials for fitness centers around the Christmas holidays. They’re aimed at people who were at one too many Christmas parties and can’t fit into their clothes very well any more. So they make a New Year’s resolution, and sign a one-year contract with the fitness center, and go religiously, four times a week – for about three weeks. I think they come to realize that it’s easier to drink a six-pack than to develop a six-pack.
I have my own story like this – and my boys remind me about it at least once a year. Many years ago, I decided that it would be great to learn fly fishing. I don’t know if I had been to the sportsman’s show or if I had just seen that movie: A River Runs Through It.” But I could just see myself casting: two o’clock, ten o’clock, two o’clock, ten o’clock. So I went out and bought a rod and reel for myself and for the two boys. I bought a book and a DVD, and flies – the whole bit. I even went out in the front yard with the boys to practice casting. I actually went fly fishing once with a friend of mine and managed to catch a cold. That was the end of my fly fishing career – and my boys won’t let me forget it.
Why do we do that? You might say it’s human nature to get excited and then lose interest. But Jesus was talking about this aspect of our human nature in the gospel today. He talked about this farmer who was planting seeds – and he was throwing seeds everywhere – good soil, bad soil, into the weeds, on the rocks. We might wonder why Jesus would be talking about such a careless farmer, but, of course, the farmer represents God, and the seed is the Word of God. He’s telling us that the Word of God is spread far and wide – even in places where it’s not likely to grow. So the farmer isn’t careless, he’s hopeful. You remember Father Paul talking about the importance of hope last week – well, apparently God has hope too – hope in us regardless of our circumstances.
Now Jesus talked about us as the soil. He realized that some of us are in such difficult situations that we are not likely to even hear the Word of God. The birds that came to eat the seeds and the weeds that strangled the young plants represent sin and temptation, and possibly our circumstances. Some people in such tough situations that it’s difficult to respond to the Word of God. And, of course, there’s the fertile soil – deep and rich and able to support the growth of God’s grace – bearing fruit 30-fold and 60-fold and even 100-fold. These are ridiculous yields. Imagine a farmer getting 100 times more canola from an acre of land than he expected to get. Yet Jesus tells us that this is what we can expect if we truly hear the Word of God and respond.
But the soil that reminds me of the Bowflex, and the fitness membership, and the fly fishing, is the rocky ground. Jesus said that there wasn’t much soil, and so even though the plants sprang up quickly, they were scorched by the sun and withered. They didn’t have a root system that would see them through the difficult times. My brother bought his Bowflex with the best of intentions, and I even noticed a schedule that he had on the side of his fridge that said he would work out on his Bowflex at a certain time each day. I was very excited about fly fishing, but my fly fishing rod quickly made its way to the depths of our garage, and I actually had to borrow this fly rod from one of our parishioners, Henry Caza so I could bring it here today.
When God scatters his seeds, we call it Revelation – God revealing himself to us. What the parable today tells us is that we have to respond to God’s Revelation, but to have a meaningful response, we have to have roots. And maybe that’s where my brother and I went wrong. I think my brother got a good deal on his Bowflex at a garage sale and thought: “Hey, that looks like a good idea.” And I watched a movie about fly fishing and thought: “Hey, that looks like a good idea.” In both cases, we had only a superficial commitment.
When we think about our spiritual lives – about our response to God’s Word – how can we make sure that we have good, deep soil? I was blessed to journey with the RCIA group this past year. These people had made a conscious choice and a serious commitment to become Catholics. They attended two-hour sessions each week, and did readings between sessions. They were building a rich foundation. Many of us were fortunate to see them baptized at the Easter Vigil.
We’ve been given many gifts to help us enrich our spiritual foundation. We have the Scriptures, the liturgy, sacraments, the love of family and friends – but we have to be able to receive these gifts. I guess we have to have the mind of a child. You see, children understand that they are dependent – that they don’t know everything – well, at least small children. How often have we heard Jesus say that we must receive his Word like a child? If we think that we know everything, then we can’t receive his Word. It can’t influence our lives. We can’t be transformed.
You’ve heard Father Paul talk about the five-year plan that Archbishop Smith announced to re-evangelize the Catholics in the Archdiocese. Archbishop Smith wants us to enrich our soil – extend our roots – reconnect with the excitement that our faith can bring to our lives.
So do this for me – actually, do this for yourselves. Find a spiritual Bowflex, and make a commitment to it. Not a superficial commitment, but a profound commitment. Commit to reading one book of the Bible each month. Commit to saying your morning and evening prayers each day. Commit to reading a spiritually uplifting book – there are plenty of them available. Commit to monthly confession. Commit to saying the rosary once a week. Pick something that will build your foundation and help you to grow even when the sun scorches your leaves – even when times are difficult.
Who knows, you may even develop a spiritual six-pack.