Imprudent politics: ends and means

I think that the Affordable Healthcare Act (AHA), known politically as "Obamacare," is one of the worst pieces of legislation passed during my lifetime. Meant to bring about the long overdue reform of healthcare in the U.S., thus providing access to quality, affordable healthcare to everyone, it has wound up being a financial and administrative albatross, a drag on our national economy, which is trying to recover from the greed-driven financial meltdown of 2008. I hope everyone would agree that having tens of millions of people in the U.S. without access to quality healthcare, especially preventative care, was a problem that our nation needed to grapple with and to solve. Anyone eager to repeal the AHA needs to be able to clearly articulate how they are going solve this difficult problem.

It also bears noting that the way the Affordable Healthcare Act was passed, ram-rodded through by a narrow majority, one that was not willing to debate either the content or consequences of the bill (remember then-Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi's infamous quip that the bill had to be passed in order for anyone to what was in it?), or make any compromises, is perhaps one of the worst moments in the recent history of the U.S. Congress, an institution rife with such prudential lapses. Worst of all, as the president, in his remarks yesterday about the impending shutdown, which has now come to pass, by vigorously invoking a woman's "right" to contraceptive coverage highlighted, yet again, what I find to be the most odious aspect of the AHA, which cannot merely be fobbed off as inadequate conscience protections, the bill's utter disregard and disrespect for the consciences of millions of U.S. citizens, which, in my view, constitutes nothing short of an assault on human conscience with an eye towards the evisceration of conscience in the realm of human sexuality.

The foregoing was a necessary prelude to what I have to say about the sheer irresponsibility of those who have worked so hard to shut the government down, primarily the Republican leadership of the U.S. House of Representatives. The Affordable Healthcare Act is not a wildy popular law. According to a recent CNN/ORC International survey, conducted over the weekend, fewer than 1 in 5 people in the U.S. believe their families will be better off after the bill goes into effect. 40% believe they will be worse off and 41% believe they will be "About the same." Hardly a ringing popular endorsement of this problematic law, but not an outright repudiation either. A Washington Post-ABC News poll indicates that 63% of people disapprove of how "The Republicans in Congress are handling negotiations over the federal budget," while only 26% approve of their histrionic tactics and scorched-earth strategy.

When it comes to politics and morals, it is important not to be fooled into confusing ends with means. One of our worst societal afflictions is our increasing inability to make important distinctions. This increasing inability makes us easy prey for sophists. If modern politicians are anything, with very few exceptions, they are ideologically-driven sophists, shilling for themselves and the wealthy interests that finance them. As a result, there is almost no attention paid to what truly serves the common good. I believe that the end of either repealing, or seriously altering, some of the unacceptable and burdensome aspects of the AHA remains a laudable and even necessary goal. However, the means congressional Republicans are using to accomplish this end are unacceptable because they are both self-serving and short-sighted. After all, What is to be gained by adding to our nation's economic uncertainty? What is to be gained by making our public discourse more polarized? Where is the bi-partisan group, consisting of members of the House and Senate, who will present "The 10 Amendments Aimed at Fixing the Affordable Healthcare Act," which takes seriously the conscientious concerns of millions of U.S. citizens, while seeking to alleviate the financial burden on medium and small-sized businesses, and the heavy administrative burden levied on healthcare practitioners, even while preserving access to affordable, quality, preventative healthcare for everyone?

When politics becomes a zero sum game, everyone loses. In the U.S. politics has become a zero sum game. As a result, today we have all lost.

Year C Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Amos 6:1a.4-7; Ps 146:8-10; 1 Tim 6:11-16; Luke 16:19-31

Our readings today seek to challenge our complacency by telling us in no uncertain terms what it truly means to follow Christ, what it means to lose your life for His sake, seeking to bring about what we continually pray for: that God’s will be done on earth as in heaven.

Last week we heard Amos’ denunciation of the rich of Israel, who obtained their wealth through dishonest business practices, thus denying people the just fruits of their labor. This week we read about the luxurious lifestyle that such dishonest practices afforded these same rich, who Amos denounced for trampling “upon the needy and the poor of the land” (Amos 8:4).

It is important to note that not all people who enjoy financial success have profited by cheating, or that all wealthy people neglect the common good. Such an assertion is simply false. But as perhaps the wealthiest society in world history, we often seem very unconcerned about anything that does not involve our own prosperity and/or satisfy our wants and desires. What our readings today zero in on is the very human tendency to be concerned only with our own welfare, to define our interests, be they personal, national, or religious, only by what benefits us as individuals, as a nation, or even as the Church.

So provoked was he by this neglect of the poor that Amos gave a warning to Israel, not one to be realized by God suddenly getting angry and shooting lightening bolts out of the sky in the manner of a pagan deity, à la Zeus, or Thor, but a warning to be realized as the natural consequence of neglecting the common good: the demise of Israel, the society on whose existence the prosperity of these rich folks depended.

My friends, we live at a time when the gap between the rich and the poor is increasing both globally, as well as in our own country, a state-of-affairs that has only gotten worse these past five years, since the global financial meltdown, which was clearly the result of just the kind of greed Amos denounced in ancient Israel. During his recent visit to the town of Cagliari, on the island of Sardinia, a place, like so many poor places worldwide, that has disproportionately suffered over these past five years, speaking to a group of workers, Pope Francis made what I can only call a prophetic denunciation:

Referring to the suffering caused by the seemingly universal idolization of money, the Holy Father said that this is not only a problem in Italy or in certain European countries, but “is the result of a global decision, of an economic system… centered on an idol called ‘money.’”

“God,” the pope continued, “did not want an idol to be at the center of the world but man, men and women who would keep the world going with their work. Yet now, in this system devoid of ethics, at the center there is an idol and the world has become an idolater of this ‘god-money.’ Money is in command! Money lays down the law!"

The recently departed Episcopal priest and writer, Robert Farrar Capon once began a homily he delivered in a wealthy parish in the Hamptons, a well-known playground of the East coast rich, by setting a $20 bill on fire and saying, “I have just defied your God.”

By telling the story of Lazarus and the rich man, Jesus, the ultimate prophet, considerably upped Amos’ ante. It is important to note that the audience for this story is a group of Pharisees, the devout Jews who constantly challenged Jesus and his teaching on the Law, not a group of politicians. So, this teaching is directed first to Israel and by extension the Church. The story of Lazarus and the rich man is a very dramatic story and one without nuance, ambiguity, or paradox, those elements that characterize so much of the Lord’s teaching.

Lazarus, a poor beggar, covered with sores, languished outside the gate of the house of the wealthy man, while that man lived well. The rich man completely ignored Lazarus in his suffering, refusing to even give him scraps from his table, which Lazarus would have gladly eaten. Then Lazarus dies and, in due course, as we all must, the wealthy man dies. Then the tables are turned and the rich man begs Father Abraham to allow Lazarus to ease his suffering, if only just a bit. Notice that it is not Lazarus who refuses to come to the aid of the rich man, such a refusal would be petty revenge, which has no part in the life of a Christian. It is Abraham who refuses to allow Lazarus to do so, pointing out the chasm between them, which represents God's justice.

Let’s not fool ourselves into thinking that calling for a Church closer to the poor, a less worldly Church, is a new thing, first conceived of and called for in recent months. Why, just this past Friday, we observed the memorial of that champion and servant of the poor, St. Vincent de Paul. During his last Apostolic Visit to his native Germany, speaking to a large group of that country’s most influential Catholics, those engaged in politics, commerce, culture, etc., Pope Benedict noted that history teaches us that “when the Church becomes less worldly, her missionary witness shines more brightly.” He went on to observe, “When the Church is liberated from material and political burdens and privileges,” she is able to “reach out more effectively and in a truly Christian way to the whole world” and live “more freely her vocation to the ministry of divine worship and service of neighbor.”

What did Pope Benedict mean by living our “vocation to the ministry of divine worship and service of neighbor”? I think he meant something like this- Mass is not an end in itself. This is clearly shown by the fact that the word “Mass” comes from the Latin word missa, meaning to be dismissed, or, more in keeping with our baptismal vocation, to be sent. After all, one of the marks of Christ’s Church is that it is apostolic, which means it is composed of those the Lord calls only in order to send. Do we not call Catholic ministries “apostolates?” My friends, if the love we seek to show God through our worship does not translate into a deeper love for our neighbor, expressed through loving service for the sake of God’s kingdom, then there is a huge gap in our lives that needs to be filled.

In his 1967 encyclical, Populorum progressio, Pope Paul rhetorically asked how the love of God abides in a person “who has the goods of this world and sees his brother in need and closes his heart to him” (par. 23). He then cited St. Ambrose, who, writing to a rich man, insisted, “You are not making a gift of what is yours to the poor man, but you are giving him back what is his. You have been appropriating things that are meant to be for the common use of everyone. The earth belongs to everyone, not to the rich” (par. 23, which cites Ambrose's De Nabute c. 12, n. 53). On this basis Pope Paul concluded, “No one may appropriate surplus goods solely for his own private use when others lack the bare necessities of life” (par. 23). Jesus tells us in a very clear way that when people lack life’s necessities it is not, properly speaking, an act of charity to give them what they need to live, but an act of justice. He also reminds us that God’s justice will ultimately be realized.

Cor ad cor loquitur...:

... Jesus teaches us to have His Sacred Heart. Or, in the lovely words of Audrey Assad's amazing song, "For Love of You," (think of this as a late Friday traditio) which was inspired by a passage from Gerard Manley Hopkins, S.J.'s poem "As Kingfishers Catch Fire"- "It's Your sacred heart within me beating."

There are three things I want to share this morning. One thing that has nurtured me throughout what has proven to perhaps the most spiritually challenging week I have had in a long time, along with two other things, which compliment the first, one of which I received this morning by "accident."

The first thing is a well-known passage from St. Matthew's Gospel with which Fr. Felix Just, SJ began our annual Diocesan Deacon's Retreat last weekend. Our retreat had three distinct phases: Come/Abide/Go. Being slow, I have yet to get beyond Jesus' invitation to "Come unto Him."

While the passage he gave us was longer, I was really drawn to these three verses, a word of the Lord for me, as it were: "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light" (Matt. 11:28-30).

Who among us, if we are really being honest, is not (all too frequently) weighed down by life's heavy burdens? Further, who among us does not long for the heavenly rest, like that we read about in Hebrews 4:6-11? This is the rest Jesus offers us today. To attain this rest (remember faith is our response to God's initiative- what good is belief if it does not move us?) we must take Jesus' easy yoke, which is a light burden, upon ourselves and lay down the heavy burden we daily try to shoulder and "learn" from Him.

The Greek word translated as "learn" in this passage is manthano. Like all words, especially Koine Greek words, given that, when compared to modern standard English, the number of words is quite small, manthano has several related meanings. Sticking with what is perhaps the most neutral meaning, manthano means to increase one's knowledge. While Jesus in this passage does not directly say, "learn from me and here is what I will teach you...," after inviting us to learn from Him, He tells us that He is "gentle" (other translations use "meek") and "humble in heart." While one must be careful about these things, it doesn't strike me as too big a stretch to assert that what Jesus wants to teach us is gentleness and humility. It seems, too, that learning from Him results in my heart changing ("change of heart" is the meaning of the word "repent"- which is not explicitly used here). I am convinced that He wants to make my heart gentle and humble, like His Sacred Heart.

The Greek word translated as "gentle," or "meek," is praus. Praus refers to that disposition of heart that enables us to accept that how God deals with us is good, without disputing or resisting. A disposition exhibited by Job at the beginning of his afflictions: "Naked I came from my mother's womb, And naked I shall return there. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away. Blessed be the name of the LORD" (Job 1:21); "Shall we indeed accept good from God and not accept adversity?" (Job 2:9). The inspired author of the Letter to the Hebrews also encourages his readers to cultivate this same disposition, especially in Hebrews 12:6-9 (I commented on this passage in my post for the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross).

The word "humble" is a translation of the Greek word tapeinos, which literally means "not rising far from the ground." I can only speak for myself, but when it comes to being gentle and humble I frequently rebel, have an almost violent reaction (I am prone to cry out thing like, "Lord, are you paying attention to what's happening here?"). My resistance, my lack of meekness, gentleness, my pride are why this week has proved to be such a struggle and a burden.

The second thing is from my dear friend, Fr. Peter Nguyen's blog about his fellow Jesuit, Alfred Delp. Specifically his translation of Fr. Delp's diary entry for 9 October 1938, written during Delp's tertianship. I was struck by the final two sentences of his entry for that day:

From my haste and hurry I arrive through a personal conversation with my God. To love Him, to understand Him, and to find myself in Him.

I notice this immediately, as I become more peaceful and relaxed under the nearness of God in this 2nd retreat. As the ancient fluidity of the Spirit again reveals, and I am glad

My only comment here is, "Amen. Lord deliver me from hurry and haste, from my sinful tendency to elevate the urgent over the important. Nothing is more important than You, O Lord!"

Finally, the "accident." As I set out to pray Morning Prayer today I switched from my one volume breviary, which only contains Evening and Morning Prayer, to Volume IV of the complete Liturgy of the Hours, which contains all the offices. Being used to just finding the appropriate day (Saturday, Week I), reciting the Invitatory, and proceeding to recite Lauds, I began, "accidentally," reciting the first Psalm of the Office of Readings, which was Psalm 131:

O Lord, my heart is not proud
nor haughty my eyes.
I have not gone after things too great
nor marvels beyond me.

Truly I have set my soul
in silence and peace.
As a child has rest in in its mother's arms,
even so my soul.

O Israel, hope in the Lord
both now and for ever.

As if that were not enough, here is the Psalm prayer:

Lord Jesus, gentle and humble of heart,
you declared that whoever receives a little child in your name receives you,
and you promised your kingdom to those who are like children.
Never let pride reign in our hearts,
but may the Father's compassion reward and embrace all who willingly bear your gentle yoke

I am grateful that after a week of resistance and rebellion that God, in His infinite goodness and because of the merits of Jesus Christ and the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary, St. Joseph, St. Stephen, St. Martin, St. Gianna Molla, St. Edith Stein, Servant of God Cora Evans, my Guardian angel, and I am sure many others, perhaps even Alfred Delp, has not abandoned or forsaken me. This morning I truly recite the Confiteor from the depths of my heart in joy and gratitude. It's because despite my smallness, my stinginess, my hardness, and resistance that Christ lets His Sacred Heart beat within me that tears come to my eyes.

Servant of God Cora Evans in the news

I was surprised this morning to come across an article in the U.K.'s Daily Mail about the cause for the canonization of Servant of God Cora Louise Evans, a LDS convert to the Catholic faith. The Mail Online article, "Little known housewife who 'suffered stigmata and slipped into comas where she walked with Jesus' is put on path to becoming California's first saint by Vatican," was derived from an extensive piece written by Mark Emmons for San Jose's Mercury News: "Vatican considering Santa Cruz Mountains mystic for sainthood."

As both of my longtime readers know, I have posted about Cora twice before- here and here. You can learn much more about Cora Louise Evans by visiting The Mystical Humanity of Christ website.

In one of her ecstasies, Cora was granted a vision of Purgatory. Among the insights she was able to report was this one: "Purgatory is a state of perfection. Could anyone then excuse themselves? Would that be perfection? Could anyone blame a friend? Would that be perfection? Would anyone wish revenge? Would that be perfection? None of these faults enter into the minds of the Purgatorial just. I was given knowledge to know that in the eyes of God no one sins alone. Everyone helps in the path of perfection or in its hindrance."

There is an approved prayer, granted an imprimatur by Archbishop George Niederauer, to offer petitions through Cora's intercession:

First - Visit the Blessed Sacrament

Cora prayed that she would be given the same gift as Saint Therese, the Little Flower, spending her heaven on earth doing good. But, first visit the Blessed Sacrament.

Second - The Prayer - Ask Cora to intercede in your behalf

Dearest Jesus, You blessed Cora Evans with many supernatural mystical gifts as a means of drawing us to a deeper and more intimate union with your Sacred Heart through Your Divine Indwelling, Your Mystical Humanity. I ask You through her intercession to help me in my special request (name the favor) and my efforts to do Your will here on earth and be with You, Your Blessed Mother, Saint Joseph and the whole Court of Heaven forever.

Third - Say three times

The Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory be to the Father.

Listening to Amos and Jesus

Helping the poor is part and parcel of being a Christian and is a hallmark of any community that claims the name of Christ. Like everything else it is often easier to assist "the poor" in the abstract than it is to recognize someone in need right before your face and feel convicted by that person's concrete need.

It is true that many people are poor in non-material ways, making it important for us to recognize their need and discern how best to help them too. Nonetheless, there are materially needy people in our midst. Many Christians in need would never think of turning to their brothers and sisters, their parish or congregation, for help. The reasons are many and varied: they don't know specifically who to ask, or how the community might help them, they feel that asking for help would be looked down upon, jeopardizing their standing in the community, etc. The latter of these is the most heartbreaking because it cuts across many issues, whether it's needing material assistance, or struggling with some addiction or compulsion, too many Christians believe that being a Christian means having your act together. In reality, being a Christian means exactly the opposite- recognizing that you don't have your act together, at least not completely. Stated differently, it is easier to recognize another person's need when you are conscious of your own need and have some experience with how your need is met.

As a deacon I have long felt that not enough of my ministry, my service, is devoted to serving the poor. It's not that I feel the bulk of the service I give is useless, perhaps just a bit incomplete. I was very struck by our reading from Amos this past Sunday. I am also struck by the one from Amos, the sheepherder and sycamore tree cultivator from the Southern Kingdom of Judah, who God called to prophesy to the Northern Kingdom, for this upcoming Sunday, as well as by the Gospel for this Sunday; the story of Lazerus and the rich man. Cutting to the chase, Amos' message was that acting justly is more important than ritual. In other words, if worship does not result in taking care of the widow, the orphan, the person in need, then what is it good for? If ritual and worship do not have this result, then it is truly empty. If our love of God expressed in worship does not result in loving our neighbor, then we can't even truly say that we love God, at least not nearly to the extent we should.

I am not coming at this in a self-righteous way. These thoughts provoke me tremendously, which is why I am writing this. The need of just one poor person is so great that it can quickly discourage someone who wants to help. As Bl. Teresa of Calcutta observed, "Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love." Let's be honest, for many of us the challenges of our own lives are enough for us, some days too much for us. It's in doing what we can for someone in need and doing it with love that helps us maintain a hopeful disposition, even as it makes us aware of how much human need there is.

Alms-giving, along with prayer and fasting, are the fundamentals of any authentic Christian spirituality. As I have shared several times, I am convinced that there is a connection between these three disciplines. Personal prayer, deep prayer is interior. Alms-giving, which includes selfless service to others for Christ's sake, is exterior. I believe fasting connects these two and bears the tension these generate. I am also convinced that there is more than a theoretical relationship, a correspondence, between these disciplines and the theological virtues: love corresponding to faith, alms-giving corresponding to love, and fasting corresponding to hope. Prayer can take, needs to take, various forms. The same is true of alms-giving. But fasting is an anchor of sorts. Sure we can "fast" from many things, especially those things that get in the way of prayer and alms-giving, in the way of our personal relationships (i.e., watching t.v., being on-line, etc), but the spiritual discipline of fasting, which includes abstinence (abstaining from certain foods and certain kinds of food), is about eating less food, even non at all.

Richella Parham, in wonderful resource, A Spiritual Formation Primer, which she composed for Renovaré, shared an insight about fasting that I was rather struck by. After noting that the devil tempted Jesus with food after His forty days of fasting in the desert, she pointed out that how this is usually explained, even in preaching, is that after fasting for 40 days Jesus was hungry and so particularly vulnerable to being tempted by food. She concedes that this was likely at least part of the devil's calculation. I would add that we have to keep in mind that Jesus was free, like we are free. His response was not pre-programmed and inevitable. Parham asks, "what if those 40 days of fasting actually made Jesus stronger? Jesus was not fasting to make himself weak so that his resistance to the devil would be impressive. He spent that time fasting so that he could devote himself completely to being with his father. After 40 days of unbroken communion with God, Jesus's spirit was in a state of great strength, not weakness. I think that resisting the temptations of the devil was actually pretty easy for him at that point."

In addition to people I have encountered personally as of late, I was struck by something else I read recently on the Christianity Today website about the provocation of living as a "rich Christian in an age of hunger."

Where have I been? What have I been up to?

It's been an entire week since I posted anything here. I have been meaning all year to step back, to post a bit less, like last year. But 2013 has been such an eventful year in the world as well as in my own life. I didn't even post a Friday traditio last week. I can't remember the last time I did not. My reason for that is that just today the deacons of the Diocese of Salt Lake City concluded our annual retreat.

It is always a great joy to gather with my brother deacons, together with our wives, for a few days each year. Our retreat master was Fr. Felix Just, SJ, who serves as the Executive Director of Loyola Institute for Spirituality in Orange, California. I can't imagine how wonderful it must be for Catholics in Orange County, Los Angeles, and beyond to have such a place. This is the second year in a row that we have a had a Jesuit retreat master from Loyola. Last year our retreat focused on Ignatian spirituality and discernment. This year, Fr. Just, who is a New Testament scholar, took as our theme "Abide in/with Me," a focus on St. John's Gospel (our bishop, John Wester, has "Abide in Christ" as his episcopal motto). I was excited to learn about Fr. Just's personal website, Catholic Resources, where he makes many of his Scripture resources available for free. As both of my readers know, I focus a lot on Sacred Scripture, on the inexhaustible riches the inspired texts contain for us. One can no more "completely" master Scripture than one can come to a complete, definitive understanding of God, who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

One aspect of the retreat I personally found most fruitful was using no electronic media whatsover at anytime (i.e., no Android phone, no computer, t.v., radio, etc.). Prior to heading for our retreat on Friday afternoon, I printed Fr. Antonio Spadaro, S.J.'s entire interview with Pope Francis, which appeared in the U.S. in America magazine, as well as on their website, under the title "A Big Heart Open to God." In addition to being able to spend quite a bit of time in personal prayer, I read this interview along with the Scripture texts Fr. Just gave us to meditate and pray with (I also finished re-reading N.T. Wright's Simply Jesus- I was almost done) during my time alone on the retreat. Rather than even try to summarize the effect all of this had on me, let me just say I came away greatly blessed, refreshed, and encouraged. I am sure I will have a few things to post arising from from my reading of the interview with the Holy Father and our retreat. If you have not yet, I urge you to read the pope's interview its entirety. In addition to being greatly interested in what I will call his cultural formation (i.e., what literature, music, movies have moved and influenced him), even while he discussed it in the context of his own life and ministry, I was struck by what the pope had to say about discernment.

Old and New Testaments, by German artist Rudolf Koch (1876-1934- from http://catholic-resources.org/Art/index.html)

Finally coming to our readings for this Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, the operative word both for this week's readings and next week's, on which I will preach, is challenging. This is not only true of our Gospel readings, taken from the sixteenth chapter of St. Luke's Gospel, but extend to our two readings from the Book of the Prophet Amos, which strike me as smacking more than a little of what the pope is trying to convey to the Church, especially to the her ministers (i.e., people like me). What do I mean? In answer, I offer this much-quoted passage from his interview:

I see clearly... that the thing the church needs most today is the ability to heal wounds and to warm the hearts of the faithful; it needs nearness, proximity. I see the church as a field hospital after battle. It is useless to ask a seriously injured person if he has high cholesterol and about the level of his blood sugars! You have to heal his wounds. Then we can talk about everything else. Heal the wounds, heal the wounds.... And you have to start from the ground up (second ellipsis in original- first added by me)

From our first reading for today: "Hear this, you who trample upon the needy and destroy the poor of the land," proclaims Amos before describing the ways in which the needy and poor are trampled upon and ending with this- "The LORD has sworn by the pride of Jacob: Never will I forget a thing they have done!" Of course, the "they" to whom the prophet refers are those who trample on the poor and needy.

Dear friends, we'll see what the coming week has in store for us. In the meantime, may the peace and blessing of Almighty God be with you all.

Jesus' prodigal parable is provocative

Blogga-logga-logga-doodle all day. Well, no, not really. What prompted a third post in one day? An exchange begun by my dear friend Fred with a comment on my last post. His first and subsequent comments provoked me (an utterly good thing- the provocation was not to anger). I am deeply appreciative of such exchanges. I realize that it is easy to come across as defensive, but it is not always the case that I am. While it is true that I am not going to abandon my position merely as the result of being challenged (like a boxer who, seeing his opponent come to the center of the ring when the bell rings for the first round, simply drops to the canvas), I welcome the chance to clarify, deepen, hone, sharpen, and, when warranted, abandon a speculative position in the confidence that I have come to a deeper understanding as the result of such an exchange.

I think it bears noting that the point I sought to make in my last post was quite simple: in order for there to have been a party in the first place, the prodigal son had to return to his father's house, that is, repent, have a change of mind/heart, turn around. This in no way violates the integrity of Jesus' parable. If the prodigal son had not come to the realization that he was better off working even as a servant for his father than he was in the far away country fighting pigs for food then we would have no parable. As obvious as this may sound, I am convinced that it is important to it point out. To apply this as I might in a homily, I could ask you, dear reader, the same question I pose to myself- What pig trough do you prefer to eat out of instead of being fed at the Lord's table?

That this point is important to comprehend is shown by Jesus' words at end of the first of the preceding two parables: "I tell you, in just the same way there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need of repentance" (Luke 15:7). I do not think it is a case of engaging in so-called "scrip-torture" to see the irony in these words of Jesus- that there are not ninety-nine righteous people in the whole wide world who have no need of repentance. If there were, they, too, would rejoice heartily in the repentance of a single sinner because, well, they are righteous. The first two parables also show us that the Lord, while not violating our freedom, does not merely passively wait for us to return, but actively seeks us out.

I think I can describe my approach, without being too inaccurate, as an Ignatian one. It is interesting and useful, at least for me, to look at Jesus' most common parables, like that of the Prodigal Son, from the perspective of, say, the older brother, who is not an evil person, not by half.

Why? Several reasons, foremost among which is my tendency to be like the older brother. I think it is easy to over-identify with the prodigal and to oversimplify the story by just rushing to the conclusion, "We're all prodigals," and leaving matters there. What? Nobody ever acts like the older brother? It is certainly true that we are all prodigals. Despite that, we also tend to act like the older brother at times, sort of in the same ridiculous mode as Jonah. I also take this approach because the pre-canned grasp of the unveiling of God's kingdom in the parables often does not provoke a sense of wonder in me.

The older brother's response, if we are honest with ourselves, is very understandable to us, all too understandable, which is precisely the problem. In the end, I think we have to realize that we can't take the stance of the older brother because, like the prodigal, we are sinners in need of forgiveness, even before standing outside the party huffing and puffing, a ridiculous act, which only adds to our woes.

What we take away is up to us, but is no less important as a result. Jesus does not tell us whether the older brother went into the party and the inspired author does not tell us how many, if any, of the Pharisees that heard Jesus tell this parable changed their mind that day. Not to sound smug, but I really don't care because both of those things are beside the point. What matters to me? Whether and how the parable moves me and what resistance I offer to being thus moved. Even if I am not moved at all, or successfully resist the Lord's pull, He'll take another shot next Sunday. I am still trying to address the concern that far too often, in my view, the take away is that no response is required.

This brings me back to my main point: faith does not require a response, it is our response to God's initiative towards us. As such, it is a free (i.e., not compelled, pre-programmed, or inevitable) response, even if one, as we saw in Lumen fidei, that takes many surprising forms, arising, as it does, from real people living real lives in the real world.