Sunday, October 17, 2010

21st Sunday after Pentecost

Ephesians 6: 10-17 / Matthew 18: 23-25


There comes a time when fans of comic book heroes step back and confront, in a bit of disbelief, a fundamental question of the whole drama. Why should it be that our heroes do not find a way, once and for all, to put an end to their archvillains? Why is Lex Luthor, even when his evil plots are foiled, only put somewhere from which Superman knows perfectly well he can and will escape? Why does Batman do the same with Joker, knowing that Arkham Asylum simply will not hold this homicidal maniac within its walls? It is not as though they do not have the power to do so. Superman could, at any moment, effectively put an end to Lex Luthor, and the Joker is ultimately only a mortal man, as capable of meeting his maker as any other.

Closer to our daily life, we often find ourselves asking this question not of super-powered heroes and their nemeses, but of our bosses, our superiors, our bishops, and even ourselves. How can the boss know what he knows about such-and-so yet seem to do nothing about her? When will the superior put his foot down and call back to obedience those brothers whose obedience to the Rule is not only less than stellar, but positively corrupting of the community? Why doesn't the bishop act decisively to end the countless abuses of teaching and worship in his diocese? If only I were in charge ...

Now, if the real problem were our neighbors, the wayward, even mean-spirited sons and daughters of Adam and Eve, if they were in fact the enemy, then a refusal to call them to heel or crush them underfoot might well be a sign of a failure of governance, a failure to exercise just rule. However, in this life, even the most wicked is still potentially a son of God the Father, our brother in Jesus Christ, befriended by the Holy Spirit. Restrain their wicked behavior, yes, call them to repentance, certainly. Even so, however much they stand in our way, however much they have set their faces against us, they are not our enemy.

As St Paul reminds us, our wrestling is not against flesh and blood, but against principalities and powers, against the rulers of the world of this darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in the high places. Human wickedness, however dire or baleful, is a sign of tragic collaboration which can be, and by God's grace for many will be, overcome. It is rather the Devil and his angels, those twisted spirits freely and irrevocably bent away from the Lord God, who are our enemy. Upon them we may freely pour our hatred, the righteous hatred of a spirit conformed to God's Sacred Heart that looks upon final, unrepentant evil with hatred and loathing.

But, what does that hatred for the dark spirits look like? In fact, it looks like patience and a willing suffering of the ills inflicted upon us, all the while loving our neighbor and hoping for his conversion. It means preaching the Gospel with a gentle urgency, longing for the conversion of our our hearts as well as the hearts of those who hear our proclamation, yet accepting with calm assurance the rejection even of our best efforts, trusting the provident love of God to accomplish all according to his good pleasure. In the end, the armor we put on, the shield we bear, and the sword we wield are our uncompromising refusal to be made into the image and likeness of the Evil One. To fight the unwholesome, rebellious angels means to embrace Christ alone as our hope, to find in him and in his patient love of sinners the very source of our own life.

This is the angelic warfare into which every one of the baptized has been enlisted. The weapons of our combat have been put before us. Are we ready to take up the fight?

Sunday, September 26, 2010

domenica, 26a settimana (anno C)

Amos 6.1a.4-7 / 1 Timòteo 6.11-16 / Luca 16.19-31

C'è qualche cosa bene conosciuta in psicologia che non notiamo le cose che vediamo giorno per giorno. Naturalmente possiamo vederli; i nostri occhi non cessano di funzionare. Tuttavia, la luce che entra nei nostri occhi non fa impressione espressiva sulla nostra memoria. Che cosa passa davanti ai nostri occhi, non possiamo dire in verità che l'abbiamo veduta. Viviamo e ci comportiamo come se non sia stata là.

Nulle Scritture di oggi, Dio ci presenta a noi questo stesso problema, non al livello ottico, ma al livello morale e spirituale. Gli israeliti nel tempo del profeta Amos non potevano vedere il loro pericolo. Consideravano la loro ricchezza come segno del beneplacito di Dio Onnipotente, ma non hanno aperto i loro occhi ai overi nel loro regno. Forse semblavano e si pensavano essere religiosi, ma erano andati lontani dalla legge di Mosè. Al fine, Dio li condannò andare « in esilio in testa ai deportati. »

Al livello personale, Gesù ci raconta la storia dell'uomo ricco e Lazzaro, l'unico nelle parabole che si chiama per un nome proprio, e ancora il ricco, come i ricchi israeliti del tempo antico, non vide il povero. A noi, è incredibile! Lazzaro non era nelle tenebre, non era invisibile. Sarebbe stato impossibile di non vederlo! Il « stava alla sua porta, coperto di piache » ed « i cani ... venivano a leccare le sue piaghe. » Al fine, il ricco morì ed è andato « in mezzo ai tormenti. »

Non è che Dio non amava il suo popolo, Israele. Non è che Dio non voleva avere l'uomo ricco nella sua presenza.Piuttosto, a condizione che l'uomo ricco non potesse vedere e rifiutasse vedere Lazzaro, il povero, ed a condizione che rimanasse il genere di persona che può godere di questa vita fissa alla destra di sofferenza dinanzi ai suoi occhi, un'eternità con Dio sarebbe intollerabile per lui quanto il fuoco inestinguibile.

Fratelli e sorelle in Cristo, siamo regalati alla stessa decisione. Andiamo a fare le stesse cose giorno per giorno e, per questo, mancare di vedere i poveri, i bisognosi, ed i soffrenti nel mezzo della vita nostra? « Nessuno fra gli uomini — disse San Paolo — ha mai visto [Dio] né può verderlo. » Ma coloro che Dio ama, li vediamo ciascun giorno. La prossima volta che vederemmo il caro figlio, la diletta figlia, i poveri dilettissimi di Gesù, che andiamo a fare?

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[Again, apologies to speakers of Italian out there who might to well to say a prayer or two for the improvement of my grammar!]

Friday, September 24, 2010

venerdì, 25a settimana (anno IIo)

Qoélet 3.1-11 / Luca 9.18-22

Tutto ha il suo momento, e ogni evento ha il suo tempo sotto il cielo.

A tutto il mondo gli piaciono le vacanze, lasciare tutto il lovoro, tutti i doveri, tutte le cose che quotidianamente abbiamo bisogno di fare agli altri a fare:
  • lavare i vestimenti
  • cucinare ogni giorno
  • leggere e scrivere i documenti interminabili all'ufficio
e anche i doveri più pesanti ma più importanti:
  • lavare e vestire nostra nonna che non può farli per se stesso
  • cercare soldi per sostenere la famiglia dopo essere subito disoccupato
  • pregare come sappiamo che dobbiamo
Tutti questi possono essere onerosi e sarebbe un piacere di lasciare a qualcun altro.

Ma Dio dice che tutto ha il suo momento. Forse non abbiamo bisogno di fare niente e potremo aspettare il tempo che ha ogni evento ... sotto il cielo. È indubbiamente vero che ogni quello che Dio vuole succedere, succederà, quando vuole e come vuole. Quindi, dobbiamo fare niente?

Nel Vangelo, Gesù domanda ai Suoi discepoli di fare una proclamazione della loro fede. Allora, loro fede è venuta da Dio, venuta da Gesù stesso, e la risposta di San Pietro — « Sei il Cristo di Dio » — era possibile soltanto grazia alla rivelazione piantata nel suo cuore per Lui che li ha domandato. Ma, ciò nonostante, Gesù domandò. Non è che qualcosa che Lui voleva non poteva succedere senza la risposta di San Pietro. No, ciò che voleva, ciò che vuole oggi da noi, è che nostre azioni, nostri atti, nostra forza, nostra fede, sapienza, e carità siano gli strumenti in quelli e per quelli la Sua voluntà sia fatta.

Carissimi, Dio ha stabilito il temo er ogni evento sotto il cielo, e fra questi eventi sono le nostre proprie azioni per avanzare il regno di Dio. Fratelli, che andiamo a fare oggi a dare la Parola di Dio il suo momento? Sorelle, che abbiamo bisogno di fare questo giorno per rispondere con San Pietro a far fede al tutto il mondo delle notizie gioiose del Vangelo di Cristo Gesù?

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[Apologies to any native or fluent speakers of Italian out there! This is my very first homily in Italian, and I have presented its text, warts and all. Hopefully, I will improve bit by bit. Suggestions and corrections, speaking the truth in love of course, are altogether welcome.]

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Buongiorno Italia, and (with luck) more posts

For those few of you out there actually reading this, I wanted to let you know that I have moved from the Show Me state to the Eternal City. I will be spending the next few weeks, however, in Siena, trying to do something with my Italian, which is to say, intending to improve it and prevent its inevitable slide into Spanish.

In any event, I also hope to get back to posting more often, so perhaps you will see some internet preaching from me soon ...

Monday, August 23, 2010

Dominican Novices in Denver

On Sunday evening, the Dominican province of St. Albert the Great received ten men into the novitiate. Please pray for them and for continued blessings of vocations to our province!

Of course, it would be great if you could pray for them by name:

Br. Isaac
Br. Benedict
Br. Raphael
Br. James Peter
Br. Vincent
Br. Benjie
Br. Samuel
Br. Nathaniel
Br. David
Br. Joseph

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Solemnity of Our Holy Father Dominic


O spem miram quam dedisti mortis hora te flentibus,
dum post mortem promisisti te profuturum fratribus:
Imple Pater quod dixisti, nos tuis juvans precibus.
Qui tot signis claruisti in aegrorum corporibus,
nobis opem ferens Christi, aegris medere moribus.
Imple Pater quod dixisti, nos tuis juvans precibus.

Ora pro nobis, beate Pater Dominice.
Ut digni efficiamur promissionibus Christi.

Oremus.
Deus, qui Ecclesiam tuam beati Dominici, Confessoris tui, Patris nostri, illuminare dignatus es meritis et doctrinis: concede ut ejus intercessione temporalibus non destituatus auxiliis et spiritualibus semper proficiat incrementis. Per Christum Dominum nostrum.

Amen.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Saturday of 14th Week (Year II)/Memorial of the BVM on Saturday

Isaiah 6:1-8 / Matthew 10:24-33

In 1990, the spacecraft Voyager 1, having completed its work in the solar system, turned back to the Earth to photograph our world from across the gulf of 3.7 billion miles of the void of space. In this photograph, the Earth appears as a small speck, a pale blue dot from which the photograph has received its name, a mere pixel against the immensity of the universe. Inspired by this photograph, Carl Sagan, astronomer, astrophysicist, cosmologist, author and atheist, wrote a book titled after the photograph in which, among other things, he dismissed as unjustifiable hubris and irrationality the continuance of belief that the human race has some purpose in the universe, that indeed the universe is made for us, rather than to see ourselves as the tiniest motes of insignificant dust in a remote backwater of the galaxy. As he said in a commencement address in 1996:

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena ... Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves ... It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world.

On Sagan's view, the scientific sense, at once frightening and humbling, that we are in a freefall with nothing to hold us up in a universe coldly indifferent to us, our goals, our dreams and our deeds, stands in contrast to what he takes to be the religious (and thus, to him, superstitious and irrational) view of the world, viz. that the universe is small and tidy, reflecting easily our own experiences of tellurian reality, with the human race at its physical and moral center. That we live, in other words, in a universe made for us.

Yet, in this regard, Carl Sagan had gotten it all backwards. On his atheistic view, while the universe may have no ultimate purpose, nor we have any purpose within it, nonetheless our goals and actions are no less important than any other activity of any other part of the cosmos. If we feel small, we cannot surely be unimportant since there is nothing in itself important or unimportant except as we choose to deem it so.

On the other hand, it is the religious view that is in truth profoundly, even disturbingly, decentering. In the face of a majesty and glory of the living God, the prophet Isaiah can merely proclaim in dread: Woe is me, I am doomed! Behind Jesus' teaching about the worth of a sparrow or the counting of hairs upon our head, there surely lies the anxiety in his audience that in a world of divine purposes, our lives and actions are surely not center-stage, not of lasting significance, of no account to the august vision of a majestic God who guides the course of the cosmos.

Indeed, it is only from this latter perspective, only when realizing how fully we ought to expect our own lives to be of no account in a world governed and directed by God Most High, that the vision of Isaiah and Jesus' teaching about divine providence can have their full impact. Now we see the joyous news that despite what we might imagine, despite the awesome glory of God, he yet seeks out a messenger of dust and clay to bear his Word for the saving of his people and of all the peoples of the world. Despite the grandeur of God's purpose, he nonetheless cares to count the very hairs of our head.

This means that all of our affirmations and denials, all of our actions on behalf of or rebellions against the purposes of God are never insignificant. In a world where the fate of the whole cosmos turned on the simple affirmation of the Maid of Nazareth, a pale blue dot in the remote backwaters of Palestine, we cannot afford the adolescent rebellions of insisting that we make our own meaning nor the self-serving sloth of retreat, assuring ourselves that in our smallness we cannot mean anything to the grand sweep of the stellar void. Like the Virgin, like Isaiah, we have been called in our nothingness to bear the Word to the world. When God seeks a messenger, are we ready to say and believe in the world of the prophet: Here I am, Lord, send me!