Year Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Wis 11:22-12:2; Ps 145:1-2.8-11.13-14; 2 Thes 1:11-2:2; Luke 19:1-10

Throughout most of the summer and into the fall we’ve been making our way with Jesus in St. Luke’s Gospel from his native Galilee to Jerusalem. Three things bear noting up front. First, in the Synoptic Gospels (i.e., the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke), Jesus makes only one journey to the holy city. Second, the so-called “Journey Narrative” comprises slightly less than half of Luke’s Gospel. Finally, like last week, our Gospel today, which tells of Jesus’ entry into Jericho, from where he turned westward and made his way up the mountain to Jerusalem, it is a despised tax collector who shows what it means to be justified by Christ, that is, saved.

What’s in a name? After all, a name doesn’t make us someone we are not. For example, “Hope” might be a depressed, negative woman and “Christian” may live an utterly faithless life. The name Zacchaeus means “righteous one.” But due to his occupation as a tax collector, his fellow Jews certainly did not consider him to be righteous. In Jewish society under Roman rule tax collectors, who were probably Jews, as Zacchaeus seems to be, were notorious public sinners. As a chief tax collector of a city or area, Zacchaeus would have paid the Romans for the license to collect taxes. Once the license was issued, he would then pay the amount levied by the Romans before collecting taxes from the local population. Anything he collected over and above what the Romans levied was his profit. It is not too difficult to see the corruption inherent in such a system. It was no doubt through exploiting this unjust system that Zacchaeus became wealthy.

Upon learning that Jesus was passing through town, Zacchaeus had a burning desire to see him. It is likely Jesus’ fame preceded him. But it was Jesus who took the initiative when, as he walked through Jericho, he looked up into the sycamore tree and said: “Zacchaeus, come down quickly for today I must stay at your house.” Zacchaeus responded without hesitation. He scrambled down and received Jesus with joy (Luke 19:5-6). Upon witnessing this, the crowd grumbled: “[Jesus] has gone to stay at the house of a sinner.” It was Zacchaeus who responded to their compliant, saying, “Behold, half of my possessions . . . I shall give to the poor, and if I have extorted anything from anyone I shall repay it four times over” (Luke 19:8). In addition to giving a generous gift to the poor, Zacchaeus offered to repay what he had extorted more than the required amount. According to the Law of Moses, one is required to restore what was taken through robbery or fraud by repaying the principal and adding one-fifth (Lev 6:4-5).

Please note that Jesus did not place any pre-conditions on his announcement that he was going to stay at Zacchaeus’ house. He did not say, “Zacchaeus, if you make a generous offering to the poor and repay what you have extorted more than the Law requires, I will come stay at your house.” Zacchaeus, upon hearing Jesus was going to enter under his roof, seemingly converted and made his offer in response. I don’t think it’s stretching things too far to suggest that Zacchaeus’ offer was his thankful response for receiving Jesus. In other words, his offer has something of what we might call a “Eucharistic” feel to it.

You see my friends, in Zacchaeus we have a paradigm of how one becomes a Christian; which is by grace through faith. Just as Zacchaeus, in going to see Jesus, discovered his own identity as a truly “righteous one” despite his wicked ways, it is Christ who fully reveals us to ourselves (Gaudium et Spes, par 22). We are gathered here because of our desire to receive Jesus in Holy Communion together. Therefore, the question to us is: Does our receiving Jesus make us as grateful Zaccaheus?

Today we also heard in our first reading from the Book of Wisdom: “you love all things that are and loathe nothing that you have made” (Wis. 11:24). Further on in our first reading we heard God is the “lover of souls” (Wis. 11:26). Jesus calling Zacchaeus by name is a wonderful example of what these words mean. Zacchaeus’ response also indicates that, despite the graciousness of God’s gifts, there is always an implied mutuality.

Respecting our freedom, of which He is the author, God does not force Himself on us. A good example of what I mean by implied mutually is what we pray in the Our Father: “forgive us trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” This implied mutuality is probably best illustrated as receiving a gift. Because God’s mercy is a gift, our refusal to respond to God’s grace does not cancel out God’s gracious offer. We call this offer Mercy. Jesus himself is Divine Mercy. During this Jubilee, we have a great opportunity to receive mercy and then to give it. Mercy is never really received until it is given.

As we approach the end of this Year of Grace, which we will mark in a few weeks’ time by celebrating the feast of Christ the King, which, this year, will also bring the Jubilee of Mercy to a close, it bears noting that our second reading reminds us that Christ will come again. His return to judge the living and the dead is an essential article of Christian faith. With the election a little more than a week away, as a Christian citizen of a free republic, it is critical for you to thoughtfully and prayerfully reflect on how best you can best bring the light of the Gospel to bear on our nation through your vote.

By God’s grace, in his encounter with Jesus, Zacchaeus immediately grasped what it meant to follow Jesus, to be his disciple. He did not grasp this by understanding a series of theological propositions to which he gave intellectual assent. He comprehended by faith, which is our response to grace. Grace is God’s saving initiative towards us. Pope Benedict once taught: “there is no authentic celebration and adoration of the Eucharist that does not lead to mission. And mission presupposes another essential eucharistic trait, namely the union of hearts.” As Pope Francis has insisted over the course of this year’s Jubilee of Mercy, the Spiritual and Corporal Works of Mercy are how we carry out our mission.

As we receive Jesus in this Eucharist may our hearts be united and our lives changed. And as we recognize the Lord in the bread and in the wine and invite him under our roofs, let us not fail to recognize him in those in need, who St. Teresa of Calcutta called Jesus in a distressing disguise. As the Body of Christ, it is our eucharistic mission to fashion an ever more merciful world day after day, as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

Leonard Cohen on the ascesis of marriage

I am currently reading Sylvie Simmons' I'm Your Man: The Life of Leonard Cohen, which was published in 2012. At 82, Cohen is still alive . In fact last Friday, 21 October, his eighty-second birthday, he released a new album: You Want It Darker. Cohen is certainly not a model of monogamy and commitment when it comes to his relationships with women. But I was struck the other evening when I read what Cohen had to say about marriage at the time he was having the second of his two children with Suzanne Elrod and feeling a little trapped while living quite domestically with her in Montreal. During this time he was interviewed by journalist Malka Marom for the CBC. The interview took place in a garden shed in back of Cohen's house, which he had converted into a writing room. Marom recalled, "Soon after I set up the recording equipment, Leonard's hand went right underneath my skirt." Apparently that was as far as it went and Marom didn't feel threatened. According to Simmons, after Cohen's blatant act, Marom "asked him about his views on marriage and monogamy, given the imminent arrival of his second child with Suzanne." Cohen responded:

I think marriage is for very, very high-minded people... It is a discipline of extreme severity. To really turn your back on all the other possibilities and all the other experiences of of love, of passion, of ecstasy, and to determine to find it within one embrace is a high and righteous notion. Marriage today is the monastery; the monastery is today's true freedom

Cohen admitted that it was cowardice and fear that prevented him from marrying the mother of his children.

Our Friday traditio is the title track off Cohen's new album, "You Want It Darker," which I can only describe as a song about an undeniable dimension of love. This track was produced by his son, whose mother is Suzanne:

Also featured on the track are Gideon Zelermyer, a Jewish Cantor from Cohen's hometown, Montreal, and the Shaar Hashomayim Synagogue Choir. The chanted Hebrew word you hear in the song transliterates as either Hineni or enni, and translates as "Here I am." It is a word addressed to God by Moses in Exodus 3:4 when God calls him by name from the burning bush, saying, "Moses, Moses." It is also spoken by Isaiah to God after he hears God ask, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?"

Humility, humiliation, and God's mercy in real time

Today's Gospel, Luke 18:9-14, is one of those that really needs to no interpretation in order to be understood. Perhaps all that really can be said about this passage has been said for more than a millennium by the Jesus Prayer: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Perhaps, as Roman Catholics, we don't even need to search that far afield, but only need turn to our own Eucharistic liturgy: Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed. In either case what is important is that Christ has mercy on us; he says the healing word. You see, the problem with the Pharisee was that in his estimation he did not need God's mercy. He was not in need of a savior. In his view, his "righteous" acts justified him before the Almighty.

The commentary by the inspired author prior to his relaying Jesus' parable makes the point: [Jesus] then addressed this parable to those who were convinced of their own righteousness and despised everyone else (Luke 18:9). I think despising everyone else is implicit in being convinced of my own righteousness. Of course, the irony is that despising anyone else, let alone everyone else, eviscerates whatever righteousness I might have. Righteousness, rightly grasped, can never be realized by strict observance of a set of rules, from meticulously obeying prescriptions and proscriptions, checking the boxes on the checklist of holiness.

I should not come to Mass out of some sense of obligation to God, that is, to keep a rule, to obey the precept of the Church that bids me to assist at Mass on Sundays and holy days of obligation on pain of mortal sin. Like the tax collector, my need for God's mercy given to me in and through Jesus Christ should bring me to Mass Sunday after Sunday on holy days, if not more often. The same is true for going to confession. I am bound, again, on pain of mortal sin to confess my sins and receive holy communion at least once a year. I don't know about you, but my need for God's mercy is made manifest way more than once a year, just as my hunger and thirst for righteousness, for Christ-like-ness, needs satisfying more than once a year.

Due to circumstances and commitments, prior to yesterday evening's Sunday Vigil Mass, I hadn't served at the altar for a few weeks, which is very unusual. At the beginning of Mass, instead of the reciting the penitential litany, my pastor opted to pray the Confiteor. Just as my bishop did when I served at the Cathedral, my pastor likes the deacon to lead this penitential prayer by saying "I confess to almighty God..." During the pause between the priest saying something like, "Brothers and sisters, let us acknowledge our sins, and so prepare ourselves to celebrate the sacred mysteries," and the beginning of the Confiteor, litany, or the other penitential act, I silently pray the Act of Contrition. Being caught a bit off-guard by praying the Confiteor instead of the litany, rather than pause, I began praying the Act of Contrition out loud. As started to recite it, I looked at the congregation and wondered why they weren't joining me. About a second later I realized what I was doing, stopped, and began the Confiteor.

I don't mind admitting that praying the Act of Contrition instead of the correct prayer was humbling for me. I am a deacon who takes doing everything I do during the Mass very seriously. It is important to me to do all things a deacon does correctly and well. It's fair to say that I take pride in so doing. This disposition, at times, causes me to be mentally critical of others who, while serving at Mass, sometimes flub up. After the Collect, as we sat for the for the first reading, I began mentally berating myself, one might say, humiliating myself, for my mistake. By the grace of God I caught myself, remembering what C.S. Lewis wrote about humility: "True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less." It was pride, too, that caused me to begin laying into myself. Without a doubt, at the Mass I was privileged to served at this morning, the Confiteor came out loud and clear, but not without a wry smile and a silent "Thank you" to God.

Like most every other Christian, I suppose sometimes I am the Pharisee and sometimes I am the tax collector. As a result, my prayer today is to be more like the tax collector and less like the Pharisee. As we heard in our first reading from Sirach: "The prayer of the lowly pierces the clouds; it does not rest till it reaches its goal." Our Psalm response perhaps teaches this even more clearly: "The Lord hears the cry of the poor."

Deacons and priests need to work together

Yesterday I mentioned that last weekend, along with my brother deacons and many of their wives, I was privileged to once again participate in our diocese's annual weekend-long deacon retreat. It's always a joy to see, spend time among, and talk to many of my brother deacons. One thing that remains clear to me after nearly 13 years of being a permanent Roman Catholic deacon is, generally speaking, priests don't care much for permanent deacons. As in most things, there are certainly exceptions. I don't make this observation in an accusatory way, or because something has recently happened in my own ministry that pissed me off. I make it simply as an observation over nearly 13 years of ministry. For what it's worth, I firmly believe it's something that can be overcome and rectified if it's given the attention it deserves. In my experience, not much caring for permanent deacons is true both of more and less traditionally-oriented priests. It seems this not much caring for deacons takes two forms, which I will seek to set forth in a very generalized manner.

In the first instance a permanent deacon isn't deemed by the priest to be ministerally competent. Lack of ministerial competency, which does not necessarily, or even usually, imply utter incompetency, usually results from inadequate initial and/or the utter lack of on-going formation, as well as the lack of genuine opportunities to serve, opportunities that allow the deacon to hone his skills. In such cases the priest dismisses him as not being up to the task. Of course, the fact that many priests eschew on-going formation themselves- something that shows in their ministries, often taking the form of the outmoded "Father knows all, makes the decisions with little or no consultation, and does all the things that really matter" view of ministry- is usually overlooked. About those deacons who may be ministerally incompetent, remember, no deacon is even accepted as a candidate for ordination without a strong recommendation from his pastor!

The second generalized instance involves a deacon who was initially well-formed and who actively seeks to improve his ministerial skills. These deacons are often viewed as a threat, as a competitor, someone to be kept in his place by various means. This often holds true despite the fact that people in most parishes are pastorally under-served. But there is no need to compete or priests to feel threatened by competent and active permanent deacons because the pastoral need in most parishes far outstrips the parish's pastoral capacity, even when one thinks about priest(s) and deacon(s) working together at something like full capacity. There are reasons why, by-and-large, Catholics no longer seek pastoral advice and counsel, spiritual direction, if you will, in matters affecting their lives, even when it comes to complex moral issues such as in-vitro fertilization, marriage preparation and counsel, end-of-life issues, etc. In other words, even in matters that seem to call for pastoral consultation and input as a serious Catholic prayerfully discerns what to do, or seeks assistance in trying times, people seem to grasp there is often not much to be gained from seeking pastoral advice, which assumes it's made available when they seek it. This is a challenge for the Church across-the-board.

How both of these states-of-affairs are typically made manifest is the refusal of priests to have anything substantial to do with deacons assigned to their parishes, choosing instead to keep them at arms length. In many situations, it seems, the best a permanent deacon can hope for is a kind of benign neglect that gives him a certain list of things to do which he is then left to do with little or no interference. In my own diocese I aware of permanent deacons willing, able, and ordained to serve who are given either trivial or, in some instances, nothing to do. In short, when it comes to ministry, many permanent deacons are under-employed, which is not only to their own detriment, but that of the entire parish and, in the aggregate, the detriment of the entire Church. Collaborative ministry requires communication and partnership. As in all such relationships, be they personal, professional, or pastoral, these require effort, work, and no little creativity. At minimum the fruitful collaborative relationship between priests and deacons requires a view of pastoral ministry that involves deacons. Fruitful collaborative relationships don't just happen, they require leadership and initiative.

It's surprising to me that priests working with deacons and deacons working with priests does not seem to be given much emphasis in either priestly or diaconal formation. What often passes for this in diaconal formation is for the deacon to be utterly deferential in every way to the priest(s) he serves alongside. While it's not the job of the deacon to play loyal opposition or be a divisive force within the community, much less to play devil's advocate, such an utterly deferential attitude can seriously compromise a deacon's diakonia. A deacon should not reject his pastor's authority, but he shouldn't be shy about speaking up when it's the right thing to do. Ideally, such speaking up is done at a time and in a place when and where it is not divisive for the community, but useful. This means such times and places must exist.

One thing I've never understood is what in reality is a priests' convocation being billed as "Clergy Convocation" while excluding deacons. Why do deacons and priests of a given diocese not come together, say, once a year for a convocation together, an actual Clergy Convocation? Are there dioceses that do these kinds of things? How often do the clergy of a parish, even if it's one priest and one deacon, get together to discuss ministry to the parish and build fellowship with one another in order to foster koinonia in the community they serve? Why is communication often done through intermediaries, like parish staff, and not directly, even in relatively small parishes? Deacons and priests working together strikes me as a matter of great importance for the Roman Catholic Church in the United States and other countries that have a well-established permanent diaconate. I think we're overdue for this matter to be given its due.

"Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true"

Last weekend, along with my brother deacons of the Diocese of Salt Lake City, I was on retreat in beautiful Park City, Utah. During our afternoon break on Saturday, after hitting the gym, I did something I do far too rarely, as one priest to whom I confessed recently told me- relaxed. What did I do? I went to my beautiful hotel room, featuring a colorful autumnal (another word I can't pass the chance to employ) view of the east side of the Wasatch mountains, I brewed a cup of coffee, turned on the Cleveland/Toronto baseball game and read the "Review" section of weekend 15-16 October edition of the Wall Street Journal.

I know, I know, I'm a wild man who, at 50 (nearly 51), needs to slow down, throttle back. Truly, this is the kind of thing I don't do often enough. It was so nice I briefly considered skipping Evening Prayer and the social hour, but I resisted taking things that far.

Vienna, Austria

Reading the "Review" section of the WSJ, I ran across a brief article by Sophia Amoruso, a 32 year-old fashion entrepreneur, who spoke to journalist Marc Myers about Billy Joel's song "Vienna." The short piece was entitled "Out of the 'Vienna' Woods. The article originally ran on Tuesday, 11 October.

In the piece Ms Amoruso discusses her fairly long history with the song, to which she danced with her Dad at her wedding. From what I could tell, her marriage lasted less than a year. Short-lived marriages are not the subject of this post. What is the subject? I guess it's the power of songs, how music helps us make sense of things.

Post-divorce, "Vienna" is no longer about leaping into life’s next phase but waiting for life to reveal itself over time. Hearing the song makes me feel as if I’ve taken a step back and I’m sitting on a bench, observing life go by instead of rushing into it.

I know now that life has all kinds of things in store for me if I just let it play out. I also have no regrets about the divorce. As long as I can look back and understand how I got here, I’m good

Billy Joel's "Vienna" is our Friday traditio.

"Her sin is her lifelessness"

Readings: Exo 17:8-13; Ps 12:1-8; 2 Tim 3:14-4:2; Luke 18:1-8

In today's Gospel reading prayer and faith are inextricably linked together by Jesus himself. It seems fitting to hear this teaching during the month we dedicate in a particular way to praying the Rosary more and more intensely. The Most Holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary isn't merely one means among many we have at our disposal to pray always, but a major means to pray persistently, to call out night and day, entrusting to the unique and irreplaceable intercession of the Blessed Virgin our petitions and prayers, our hopes and aspirations, our worries and our cares.

I think sometimes, like those to whom our Lord addressed the teaching the Church addresses to us today, we worry that we're pestering God, bugging him, by praying each day for many of the same things over the course of weeks, months, years, or even decades. I think parents, like St. Monica, are especially prone to repetitive prayers on behalf of our children. Perhaps, like St. Paul, we experience some thorn in our flesh, some need, that drives us to God. Jesus doesn't only tell us not to worry about pestering God, he urges us to persist in so doing. By entrusting our prayers and petitions to the intercession of our Blessed Mother we can be confident our prayers are heard. Because the month of the Rosary precedes the month during which we remember our beloved dead, which month begins on All Hallows eve, followed by the solemnity of All Hallows and All Souls, I would add that praying through the intercession of the saints, too, is another expedient and important means we have of praying always and doing so from within the communio sanctorum.

Our reading from 2 Timothy tells of the importance of knowing the Scriptures. One way of knowing the Scriptures from the inside is to practice lectio divina. This passage from 2 Timothy also tells us why it's important to know the Scriptures: they "are capable of giving you wisdom for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus" (2 Tim 3:15). It bears repeating often - even as Catholics- we're saved by grace through faith in Jesus Christ. But faith cannot be a passive endeavor, something as slight as giving mental assent to a proposition. Faith is not a non-binding resolution that we merely ratify. Because it requires living in such a contradictory manner, faith requires the wisdom that we can only receive through divine revelation.

In our reading from Exodus what is Moses doing if not interceding for Israel? Being human, not divine, Moses needed the help of Aaron and Hur to keep his arms stretched out. It wasn't the nails that enabled Jesus to keep his arms stretched out on the Cross until the battle was won, it was his love. But even as his love kept him on the Cross, he prayed. What did he pray? A prayer from Israel's and, subsequently, the Church's prayer book: a psalm. Particularly, Psalm 22, which begins:

My God, my God, why have you abandoned me? Why so far from my call for help, from my cries of anguish? My God, I call by day, but you do not answer; by night, but I have no relief (Psalm 22:-3)

No doubt you're familiar with these words. You're probably less familiar with how But Psalm 22 ends:

All who sleep in the earth will bow low before God; All who have gone down into the dust will kneel in homage. And I will live for the LORD; my descendants will serve you. The generation to come will be told of the Lord, that they may proclaim to a people yet unborn the deliverance you have brought (Psalm 22:30-32)

Jesus is the deliverance God wrought and has brought. We, reborn through baptism, are the descendants who serve God. Prayer is a service to God and others. It is the way love of God and love neighbor are fused together, which is why prayer and faith are inextricably bound together.

Traditionally, on Sundays we pray the Glorious Mysteries of the Rosary. The fourth Glorious Mystery is the Blessed Virgin's bodily Assumption into heaven. The fruit of this mystery is the grace of a happy death. It's difficult for me to imagine a happy death without prayer. When the Lord returns, whether it's to definitively establish God's reign, or merely to bring us to himself, will He find faith? Too often the biggest obstacle to prayer is setting aside time to do it and, when the times arrives, to actually pray.

In concert with what Bob Dylan sings about Shakespeare's Ophelia in his epic song "Desolation Row," you can only keep your eyes fixed on Noah's rainbow while peeking into desolation row. Why else do you think we pray to the Blessed Virgin: "To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve: to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this vale of tears"? Prayer is the language of God's kingdom. Fluency in prayer is the only way we can dwell there happily. God's kingdom is not just a community; it's a communion. In God's kingdom we can only speak what is true, good, and beautiful. It's where we're known as we've always longed to be known. This is why the first step of prayer is rid yourself of all dishonesty, pretense, and superficiality. Baring your soul through prayer not only to God, who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, but to our Blessed Mother and the saints is an important language lesson, the way you already belong where you hope to dwell forever.

And Death Shall Have No Dominion

Bob Dylan ergo Dylan Thomas:

And death shall have no dominion. Dead man naked they shall be one With the man in the wind and the west moon; When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone, They shall have stars at elbow and foot; Though they go mad they shall be sane, Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again; Though lovers be lost love shall not; And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion. Under the windings of the sea They lying long shall not die windily; Twisting on racks when sinews give way, Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break; Faith in their hands shall snap in two, And the unicorn evils run them through; Split all ends up they shan't crack; And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion. No more may gulls cry at their ears Or waves break loud on the seashores; Where blew a flower may a flower no more Lift its head to the blows of the rain; Though they be mad and dead as nails, Heads of the characters hammer through daisies; Break in the sun till the sun breaks down, And death shall have no dominion

Dylan Thomas