WISDOM!
BE ATTENTIVE!

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily is, “Wisdom! Be Attentive!”

If you have ever been to an Eastern Rite Mass in the Catholic Church, you’ve seen the priest or the cantor hold up the scriptures and then sing out, “Wisdom! Be attentive.”

When I heard that for the first time, I said to myself, “That is enough for me. You don’t have to say anything else.”

“Wisdom! Be attentive!”

That’s a great life message!

Pay attention.

Listen! Look! Learn!

Be aware of what’s happening. Better: after what happens, take the time to figure out what happened. How did you get to where you are today? What are your values? Where do they come from? What are your attitudes, insights and outlook and where do they come from?

Don’t miss anything.

Let’s be honest. Sometimes we don’t listen to the readings. We are not attentive. We’re often somewhere else.

Wisdom! Be attentive.

HERE IN CHURCH

Here we are in Church. The readings are read, but we’re not listening. I’m sitting over there in that cushy chair talking to myself about something else and miss both readings. I can read the gospel out loud and be somewhere else – even while I’m reading. How about you?

Wisdom! Be attentive!

HOLY FAMILY SUNDAY

Today is Holy Family Sunday. The Church instituted this feast in 1921 – to stress family – to be aware of family – to improve family life.

In this homily I would like to stress today that the family is a main source of life’s wisdom.

Look at your family. What wisdom did you pick up from your mom and dad? And if you had brothers and/or sisters, what wisdom did you learn from them? It could be from good experiences. It could also be from bad experiences.

For example, when I was a kid I saw an uncle show up at our house – especially around the holidays, drunk. I saw the pain and stress it caused. As a result, I have never drunk alcohol in my life – except a tiny sip of the wine at Mass – and a tiny, tiny sip at that.

Wisdom! Be attentive.

RACHEL NAOMI REMEN, M.D.
Rachel Naomi Remen has two books that are marvelous when it comes to learning wisdom from life’s experiences. She tells about what she has learned from family and from her job as Doctor – dealing with people who are sick as well as training future doctors.

If you are a reader, I’d recommend two of her books: Kitchen Table Wisdom and My Grandfather’s Blessings. A lady in the parish gave me the first book, Kitchen Table Wisdom and I found the second one at Barnes and Noble. Both are well worth reading – several times.

Her books, like the Chicken Soup for this and that books, trigger for me so many memories – especially family growing up moments – that call for personal reflection. Wisdom. Be attentive.
Let me give a few examples – and they will be the rest of this sermon from Rachel Naomi Remen’s books that I have read.

If you haven’t heard of her – and you want to know more – I have both books listed on my blog. They will be mentioned in this sermon. Just go into the St. Mary’s Annapolis Web Site – and go from there – or just type, “Reflections by the Bay” with my name in the Google box and “Presto!”

Here are the examples – I use them with the questions: “Listening to these stories, do they trigger any stories from your life? Looking at your life, what are your examples that you learned from?” Look at them and say, “Wisdom! Be Attentive.”

SIPS OF MANISCHEVITZ: L’ CHIAM!

Many years ago my grandfather gave me a silver wine goblet so small that it holds no more than a thimbleful of wine. Ex­quisitely engraved into its bowl is a bow with long ribbon streamers. It was made in Russia long ago. He gave it to me during one of the many afternoons when we sat together at the kitchen table in my parents' home memorizing phrases from his old books and discussing the nature of life. I was quite young then, no more than five or six, and when I became restless, he would revive my attention by bringing out the sacramental Concord grape wine he kept in the back of the refrigerator. He would fill my little berib­-boned wineglass with Manischevitz and then put a splash of wine into his own, a big silver ceremonial cup, generations old. Then we would offer a toast together. At the time, the only other celebration I knew was singing "Happy Birthday" and blowing out the candles. I loved this even better.

My grandfather had taught me the toast we used. It was a sin­gle Hebrew word, L'Chiam (pronounced le CHI yeem), which he told me meant "To life!" He always said it with great enthusiasm. “It is to a happy life, Grandpa?" I had asked him once. He had shaken his head no. "It is just 'To life!' Neshume-le," (1) he told me.

At first, this did not make a lot of sense to me, and I struggled to understand his meaning. "Is it like a prayer?" I asked uncertainly.

“Ah no, Neshume-le," he told me. "We pray for the things we don’t have. We already have life.”

"But then why do we say this before we drink the wine?" He smiled at me fondly. "Grandpa!" I said, suddenly suspicious. "Did you make it up?" He chuckled and assured me that he had not. For thousands of years all over the world people have said this same word to each other before drinking wine together. It was a Jewish tradition.

I puzzled about this last for some time. "Is it written in the Bible, Grandpa?" I asked at last. "No, Neshume-le," he said, "it is written in people's hearts." Seeing the confusion on my face, he told me that L'Chiam! meant that no matter what difficulty life brings, no matter how hard or painful or unfair life is, life is holy and wor­thy of celebration. "Even the wine is sweet to remind us that life it­self is a blessing."

It has been almost fifty-five years since I last heard my grandfa­ther's voice, but I remember the joy with which he toasted Life and the twinkle in his eye as he said L'Chiam! It has always seemed remarkable to me that such a toast could be offered for generations by a people for whom life has not been easy. But perhaps it can only be said by such people, and only those who have lost and suffered can truly understand its power.

L'Chiam! is a way of living life. As I've grown older, it seems less and less about celebrating life and more about the wisdom of choosing life. In the many years that I have been counseling people with cancer, I have seen people choose life again and again, de­spite loss and pain and difficulty. The same immutable joy I saw in my grandfather’s eyes is there in them all. [My Grandfather’s Blessings, pp. 77-78]

CHRISTMAS SHOPPING WITH DAD: THE GIFT

Every Christmas Eve when I was small my father and I would take the subway to downtown Manhattan and go shopping for presents for my mother, my aunt, my friends, my teacher, and other important persons in my life. These were special, even magical, times. Everything was decorated for Christmas. The windows of the stores up and down Fifth Avenue were magnificent, and some even had whole mechanical villages that moved or a mechanical Santa that waved. It was almost always cold, and the night-time streets were crowded with smiling people carrying beautifully wrapped packages, the women in furs and men in overcoats with velvet collars. Thinking back on it now after more than fifty years, it seems to me that I could see the joy in people shining in the streets. Christmas music poured out of every open doorway. In my memory, it is always lightly snowing, and everyone had snowflakes on their coats and in their hair.

We would start at Rockefeller Plaza and stare in awe at the enormous, beautifully decorated tree, debating whether this year’s decorations were more beautiful than last. They always were. We would watch the skaters for a while. And then we would move slowly down Fifth Avenue, stopping in every store, thinking of the people I loved, one at a time, looking at many, many things until I found just the right one for each one of them. At some point during the evening, my father would hand me his big gold pocket watch and tell me that when it chimed I was to come and meet him right where we were standing, and then I would go off alone in whatever store we were in to find his present. While I was gone, my father would do a little shopping of his own.

I got to stay up late, far later than my usual bedtime, and it was often close to midnight when we got home, our arms filled with boxes, each of which had been specially wrapped at the store. My mother always had cocoa waiting, and we would show her the beautiful boxes and tell her about the wonderful things we had found for everyone — but not, of course, what we had found for her.

It was a chance to think about each one of my beloved people, who they were and what might make them glad. I remember the indescribable feeling of finding each present and the joy of recog­nizing it as just the very thing. There was such pleasure in choosing the paper and the ribbon and watching it wrapped in a way that was as special as the person it was for. I loved finding these presents. It made me feel very lucky.

In thinking back, I realize that I never actually saw many of these presents opened. They would be mailed away or left under other people's Christmas trees. Somehow this never mattered. The important moment wasn't in the opening, or in the thanking. The important thing was the blessing of having someone to love. [My Grandfather’s Blessings, pp. 88-89]

VISITING THE GODFATHER
When we are seen by the heart we are seen for who we are. We are valued in our uniqueness by those who are able to see us in this way and we become able to know and value ourselves. The first time I was seen this way I was very small, maybe three. I had never met my godfather. He lived in another city and when it was clear that he was dying I was taken to his home so that he could see me for the first time. My mother told me that I was going to meet my godfather and that he was dying. I was so small I didn't get the time sense quite right and understood that I was going to see someone who was dead. I looked forward to this for days.

I remember the details of this meeting very clearly, especially my godfather's bed. It was very high, higher than I could see, and made of a dark carved wood. My mother had lifted me up. Lying there among the pillows with his eyes closed was a very old man.

He was completely still and so thin that the covers didn't rise up over him very much. She put me down next to him, between him and the wall. She was talking to me softly but I wasn't listening. I watched him with interest. Then his daughter called to my mother from the kitchen and she turned away and went out into the hall for a short time to see what was wanted. In those few moments, my godfather opened his eyes and looked at me.

I remember how blue his eyes were, and how warm. In a voice that was barely more than a whisper he called me by my name. He seemed to be trying to say something more. I was very young then but I knew that whispers meant secrets, so I leaned toward him to hear. He smiled at me, a beautiful smile, and said, “I've been waiting for you.”

My family were intellectual, formal, well-mannered people who were not openly affectionate or demonstrative. My godfather's eyes and his smile were full of a great love and appreciation. For the first time I felt a deep sense of being welcome, of mattering to someone. His hands were resting on the covers and, still smiling, he slid one a little toward me. Then he closed his eyes. After a short while he sighed deeply and was still again. I continued to sit there remembering his smile until my mother came back. She looked closely at my godfather and then snatched me up from the bed and ran with me from the room. My godfather had died.

My parents were deeply distressed about my being alone with my godfather when he died. It was the forties and they consulted a child psychologist to help me over the "trauma" of it. Yet my own experience had been quite different. It was many years before I could tell my parents what had really happened and how important it had been to me. [Kitchen Table Wisdom, pp. 149-150]

COUNTING ONE’S CHICKENS

When she was eighty-four and newly widowed my mother had come from New York City to live with me. Frail and very sick with a heart condition, her physical needs were complex and I had found her care overwhelming. Over and over she had sudden attacks of pulmonary edema, a sort of internal drowning from which I would rescue her by placing rotating tourniquets on her arms and legs and injecting her with morphine. On four occasions, she had a cardiac arrest in our living room. With the help of paramedics, I had resuscitated her each time and kept her going. In the last year of her life, these good people came to our house so often I knew many of them by name.

It was clear that time was running out, and I became concerned not only for my mother’s physical well-being, but also for the state of her soul. She was not a religious woman, and what rituals she observed seemed more like superstition than spiritual practice. I had read somewhere about the importance of encouraging old people to reflect on their lives in order to die in peace. Without such remembering it would not be possible to receive and offer forgiveness, uncover meaning and to complete a life well. I did not know much about such things then, but I believed what I had read and wanted the best for my mother. Yet every attempt I made to encourage her to reflect on her past and her relationships was rebuffed.

Some of my friends were involved in spiritual practices of various sorts, and one by one I had invited them over to talk with her their spiritual paths. A few even attempted to interest her in their ways. She listened politely to their enthusiastic discussions of such things as tai chi, mindfulness meditation, yoga, and vipassana. But afterward she would tell me that meditation just wasn’t for her. It was too quiet.

As she became sicker, I became more intent on my agenda. A nonmeditator myself, I even began to sit for fifteen minutes in the morning and invited her to sit with me. Surprisingly she agreed with enthusiasm, but every time I opened my eyes I would find my mother looking at me with great love. After a few weeks of this, I suggested that we abandon it but she refused, saying that she en­joyed having the chance to look at me for fifteen minutes every morning. Eventually I just gave up.

So I was overjoyed when one evening in the living room after dinner, my mother sighed and spontaneously closed her eyes for more than an hour. Once I had determined she was not asleep, I sat in silence with her all that time. When at last she opened her eyes and looked at me, I asked her what she had been doing. “Why, I was counting my chickens,” she said with a smile.

Meeting my puzzled look with a laugh, she told me that it had suddenly occurred to her as she was eating dinner (it was chicken) that she had eaten a chicken once or twice a week for many years. She had begun to calculate this in her mind: two chickens a week, fifty-two weeks a year times eighty-four years turned out to be more than 8,500 chickens. It seemed to her to be a great number of chickens just to keep one old woman alive. She had closed her eyes then to try to imagine what 8,500 chickens might look like. It had taken some time, but she had finally gotten a picture of them in her mind. It had been overwhelming. “All that innocent life”, said my mother.

She had begun to wonder whether she had been worth the sacrifice. And so she had begun to review her life, looking at as many of her important relationships as she could remember, examining her own heart and her own motivations. It had taken a long time, but at the end she had realized that, while she was certain that she had disappointed and even hurt people in the course of her life, she could not remember deliberately causing pain or harm to anyone, or resenting anyone else’s good fortune or even telling a significant lie. She smiled at me again. “I believe I have been worthy of my chickens, Rachel,” she said. [My Grandfather’s Blessings, pp. 74-76]

MYSTERY: PURPLE IRISES
I was late for what was to be my last visit with my mother. Pushing through rush hour traffic, tired from a long day at the office, I stopped to buy her some flowers. It was seven in the evening and the florist had no purple irises, my mother’s fa­vorites, and little of anything else. Sympathizing with my dis­tress, he offered me a bouquet of half-closed iris buds from his icebox, assuring me that they would open in a few hours. I took them and waited, irritated and impatient, as he wrapped them in green tissue. A strange-looking bouquet. Then I hurried on.

Carrying the flowers, I pushed through the heavy doors of the ward. A nurse was waiting there for me. “I’m so sorry,” she said. My mother had died a short time before. Stunned, I allowed myself to be led to her room. She lay in her bed, seemingly asleep. Her hands were still warm. The nurse asked if there was anyone I wanted her to call. Numbly I gave her the numbers of some of my oldest friends and sat down to wait. It was peace­ful and very still in the room. One by one my friends came.

Four days later I was three thousand miles away arranging for my mother’s burial. It was an unseasonably hot spring and New York City was at its worst, muggy and uncomfortable. The funeral director was a person of sensitivity and kindness. Gen­tly he went over the arrangements, assuring himself and me again of the details of my mother’s wishes which we had dis­cussed on the phone. Then he paused. “There was something that came from California with your mother. May I show you?” he asked. Together we walked down the corridor to where my mother lay in her closed pine coffin. Lying on the coffin lid, still in the twist of green tissue paper was the bouquet I had left in my mother’s hospital room on her bed. But now the irises were in full bloom. I remember them still with great clarity, each one huge and vibrant, seemingly filled with a purple sort of light. They had been out of water for four days.

It would be easy indeed to dismiss this sort of experience, not to make a simple shift in perspective or find a willingness to suspend disbelief for a moment. Not to consider adding up the column of figures in another way and wonder. The willingness to consider possibility requires a tolerance of uncertainty. I will never know whether or not I was once for a moment in the pres­ence of my Russian grandmother or if my mother used my final gift of flowers to make me a gift of her own, letting me know that there may be more to life than the mind can understand. [Kitchen Table Wisdom, pp. 323-324]

CONCLUSION

When we come to church, we come here to pray and to close our eyes and listen, look, learn, not only the scriptures, the Bible readings, but also the stories of our life that the feast or the Sunday or the readings trigger. Today, look at your family, where you come from. It’s filled with stories, it’s loaded with wisdom. Don’t miss it.

What is that wisdom?

“Wisdom: Be Attentive.”

Count your chickens.

See your irises come to full bloom.

I preached two versions of this sermon. The first version had just two stories from Rachel Naomi Remen, M.D. It didn't have energy. I was using a script. I wanted to tell the two stories I selected just as Rachel Naomi Remen told the stories in her books. That was at the 7 AM Mass. It was too dry and too long. So at the 10:30 AM Mass, I didn't use a script. I told the 2 stories I told at the 7 AM Mass and added 3 more stories - but all were presented in much shorter versions than in this text. It sounded better to me that way.

(1) Neshume-le means “beloved little soul. (p. 23) My Grandfather’s Blessings

*

HAMBURGERS FOR FIVE

Jeff walked over to his job space that morning – like he had done Monday to Friday for the past 16 years. He took off his jacket. As he reached to pull out his chair, he spotted his boss signaling him.

“Uh oh!’”

He had a feeling he hadn’t had since he was in the second year of high school. That time he had to go to the principal’s office. He had been part of toilet paper wad fight in the boys’ room – and someone squealed on him as one of the culprits.

“Uh oh! I wonder what this is all about.”

Sometimes we know – we just know – when everything is about to change for us – when everything is about to unravel.

The boss still standing – one hand on Jeff’s shoulder – said, “Jeff, I’m sorry. I have to let you go – along with 25 other people – today. This isn’t going to easy for any of you. I was at a meeting yesterday with the big wigs! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! I don’t know what else to say, Jeff.”

“Woo!”

And that’s all Jeff could say.

He didn’t see it coming. He saw the state of the economy. He knew millions across the country were losing their jobs – but he didn’t see this coming towards his desk.

He was the manager of the department. He was it – a key accountant for this medium size accountant firm – in this mid-size city. So he knew his job was secure.
It wasn’t. The whole department was being cut – and its various components would be absorbed by other departments – at this location and two other locations.

When the short meeting was over – the execution finished – the ax put back on the boss’ desk, Jeff walked back to his desk and sat. He had to sit. Head in hands, he began to sob.

Some knew what just happened, “Oh boy, Jeff too!” Some of them got their news by memo. Some knew it might be coming that morning for them as well.

Jeff – you’d expect him to call his wife Sarah – then and there. But he didn’t. He called her every time in their 15 year marriage at every up and down, every better and every worse. Not this time. Not yet. He had to go outside. He needed to take a walk. It was windy that first Monday morning of December. Most trees were empty; those with leaves had only dead leaves hanging on – trees waiting for spring – which was on the other side of a long winter ahead. Grey – slow moving – buffalo shaped – clouds signaled possible rain or maybe even snow. It was a bummer of a morning.

He walked and walked and talked and talked to himself.

He saw a church: Our Lady of Sorrows Church. He went in. He sat in the dark back of the church and inwardly cried to God for help. “God, we have 3 kids. God, this is going to wipe Sarah out. God, what am I going to do? God, Christmas is coming. I guess this is going to be our ‘no room in the Inn story.’ God, help me.”

The husbands of stay-at-home moms often say, “I” instead of “we” when there’s job trouble – when they are saying, “God, what am I going to do?” instead of “God, what are we going to do?”

Silence.

He sat there in the dark – for at least half an hour – all alone – except for the flickering red candles in the front of the church – silent prayers he thought for people out of work or out of sorts or filled with cancer.

On the walk back to the office, he saw a sign in a Wendy’s window: “Help Wanted.”

He said to himself with a smile, “Good! At least there are some jobs available. I can always do that.”

He went back to the office and started to sort out his stuff. What else do you do? By now others were talking with others – most in two’s and threes – most standing – but some people sat alone.

He picked up a newspaper – and checked out job listings. No luck.

He got on the computer and checked for any accountant openings. No luck.

He used his computer to come up with a resume. He sent it out to 9 accounting firms that he knew of in the area.

He made a dozen phone calls. No luck. He still didn’t call Sarah.

Others from time to time had lost their job and he would make a comment like, “Sympathy, hopes, best of luck”. It would be an automatic comment – the thing you say and the other really doesn’t hear – but they know you care – sort of like those words that come out of our mouth and heart at a funeral parlor when we go in there to pay sympathy and sorrow and respect and presence when a friend or neighbor has lost a family member.

*

It was now lunch time.

Jeff was direct. He grabbed his jacket – went to the men’s room – spruced up as best he could and headed for Wendy’s.

He entered – asked for the manager – told him that he was out of work – and needed a job. He got a job. He filled out the papers and said he would be there in the morning for his first training session.

He went home – but he couldn’t tell Sarah. He couldn’t tell the kids. He wasn’t good at poker – but he was good at faking this. Nobody suspected anything.

He simply said, “It was okay” to the “How was your day?” question.

Next day – suit and tie – Jeff headed for Wendy’s.

He liked it. Free food. New work. Different people – people he never really noticed or talked to whenever he went to a McDonald’s or a Burger King or a Wendy’s with the kids on the way to summer vacation or what have you.

*

It was now December 17th. He was there two weeks. He had learned to flip hamburgers like a pro. He knew how to read the monitors. He knew how to stock. He knew how to run the drive-in-window. He knew how to take orders – push all those buttons. In two weeks he knew where everything was. He was a quick read.

It was December 17th and Sarah and Mikey, Miggy and Molly, his three kids, still didn’t know their dad worked at Wendy’s – even though Molly his youngest kept saying, “Daaad you smell like a hamburger.” And he would simply say with a smile, “Oh I went to Wendy’s for lunch.” Then he would wink to himself and think, “Well, I didn’t lie!”

It was December 17th and in walked Pete – his old boss – into Wendy’s. They said, “Hi!” to each other. Jeff didn’t blush. He was surprised he didn’t blush. Pete put in his order and seeing Jeff very busy waited for his tray and then went over and got a seat where he could see Jeff working away with a smile.

After lunch Pete went up to Jeff and gave him his card. “Give me a call Jeff. Give me a call!”

After the lunch rush, Jeff took the card out of his shirt pocket. He noticed it was the name of a different company. He called Pete.

“Is that you Pete?”

“Jeff, amazing. You working in Wendy’s. I always knew you were a go getter.”

“Pete, hellooooo!, Christmas is coming and I needed to get some income.”

“Jeff, listen, I lost my job the day after you. But I called my brother-in-law and he had room for me in his company. It’s called ‘NewJobSeach Inc.’ Praise God. Praise God. Listen. Good news. If you want, there’s a job here waiting for you.”

“Pete, you’re kidding?”

“No I’m not. We’re processing all kinds of people looking for jobs and you’d be great at this – and you know how many people are out of work.”

“Woo! Wow!”

“Jeff, what time do you finish there today?”

“4:30!”

“Okay, can you come here on your way home this evening?”

“I’ll be there.”

“My brother-in-law and I will be waiting.”

Jeff got the job.

Jeff went home that December 17th evening. After the kids were gone to bed, Jeff said to Sarah, “I have to talk to you about something.”

Silence. Pause. Quiet.

“Sarah, I’ve been lying to you.”

Sarah remained silent.

Jeff started to cry.

Sarah didn’t know what to do – whether to fold her arms and just sit there or open her arms and hold him.

“Sarah I lost my job – and I was scared to tell you. That’s the bad news. The good news is, ‘I have another job.’”

He didn’t mention Wendy’s – just about this new job at NewJobSearch Inc.

And both held each other all through the night.

*

It was December 24th morning – and Sarah, Jeff, Mikey, Miggy and Molly were ice skating on a pond on the other side of town. On the way back – Sarah said, “Look there’s a Wendy’s. Let’s get something to eat for lunch.” And before Jeff could point out the Burger King on the other side of the street, the kids started yelling, “Yeah! Wendy’s, Wendy’s, Wendy’s. They make the best hamburgers.”

In they went. Jeff said, “I’ll get us a table. And hon, I’ll take just a Baconator.” He didn’t want to go near the counter – lest he be recognized. He sat in the back facing the outside windows – with his back to the cooking and counter area.

Soon, Sarah, Mikey, Miggie, and Molly came back with a tray with hamburgers for 5 on it – along with the manager and all the employees and they all clapped for Jeff.

“Great that you got another job. We sure miss you, Jeff. You were the best. Merry Christmas. Great looking family.”

There were hugs and introductions and then the workers went back to work – and the customers stopped watching and wondering what was this story about, this clapping and the celebrating at one of the tables.

Then there was silence.

Then Jeff said it, “Sarah, you knew, didn’t you?”

And she just smiled and said, “Merry Christmas Jeffrey. Merry Christmas Jeffrey. Women always know. Women always find out.”

Puzzled.

Jeff’s face was all puzzle and question mark.

“Okay,” said Sarah, “Several of my friends saw you in here working a dozen times. I wasn’t going to say anything till you said something. But once more I realized I have the best husband in the world”. At that the kids toasted their dad with their milk shakes, adding, “and the best dad in the world too. Merry Christmas Daddy. Merry Christmas!”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Merry Christmas!

[Picture is from the Tablet magazine - U.K.]

[Every Christmas since 1993, instead of a homily, I write a Christmas story in memory of Father John Duffy, CSSR, who died December 24, 1993]

[I hope I didn't "dis" anyone who works at McDonald's or Burger King, etc. and maybe Wendy's will make a $50,000 donation to our school for this promotion. Just kidding Wendy!]

GRACE GAUGE:
FULL, HALF FULL, EMPTY?

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily is, “Grace Gauge: Full, Half Full, Empty?”

When I was reading today’s gospel, the words, “Hail, full of grace!” hit me.

Mary is greeted by the angel Gabriel with those words.

GAS GAUGE

Then for some reason, probably the word “full”, I thought of the image of the gas gauge in every car. We look at it from time to time – and we say, “Ooops, I need to stop and get some gas.” And if we forget, modern cars do the “ooops” for us with the sound, “bing, bing, bing” or whatever our car does to warn us, “You need to get some gas.”

Then I said to myself, “Would it be far fetched to ask in a sermon, ‘When it comes to grace am I full, half full or half empty, or empty of grace?’”

When it comes to spirituality, I’ve heard people say, “I’m running on empty.” Or I’ve heard people say, “I need God more – grace more – prayer more – more meaning - in my life.”

So let me ask that question: “When it comes to grace am I full, half full or half empty, or empty of grace – or somewhere in between?”

GRACE

I assume it would be helpful to describe “grace”.

It’s not something – like fuel – but it could be described that way in a way. I say that because “grace” has so many meanings.

What fuels us? And in the second half of this homily, I’m going to ask, “What fools us?”

What is grace?

Grace is holiness.

Grace is being pleasing to both God and others.

Grace is ease and smoothness in movement – like a figure skater or a star athlete.

Grace means being calm and comfortable with oneself.

Grace means knowing God loves me. I am loved and lovable.

Grace means gift.

Grace means being grateful.

Grace means accomplished.

Grace means acceptance.

Grace means exempt – privileged.

Grace means being kind, compassionate, considerate, thoughtful.

Grace means these and much more.

So if I have these qualities, I might be described as graceful – full of grace – or somewhat graceful.

In today’s gospel text from Luke, what seems most powerful for me is the message, “Hail, full of grace! The Lord is with you!" These are the opening words of the Hail Mary prayer which we say over and over again. I love the sound of the Greek word “kecharitomene” – “favored one” or "graced one".

MARY

When we walk into a crowded room – say at a Christmas party or a family Christmas celebration, let’s be honest, there’s that one person we are so happy to see – our favored one.

When God looks at us human beings, he sees Mary. She’s the most highly favored one and God chooses her to be the Mother of His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ.

And Gabriel’s message scares this young woman. This greeting troubled her. So the angel says, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.”

God looked at human beings and was especially pleased with Mary.

The Catholic Church has stressed the importance of Mary in the story all through the years.

We see this in millions of statues, paintings, prayers and devotions.

The story does not stop with Mary. It starts with Mary – but Mary with her Jewish roots and story.

The story then becomes the Christ story – the one whom Mary brings into our world.

The story is Jesus – just as every mother and father know that the story is not them: it’s their children and on and on and on – and they are honored to be parents – bringers of new gifts to our world.

Mary is not God. God is God.

Pictures and statues are not Mary – just as pictures of our parents or kids on a book shelf or in our wallet or cell phone are not them. They just remind us of them.

And we don’t worship Mary. We honor Mary. We worship God. And for us Christians, when we say, “God” we’re moving into the Trinity – our great mysterious understanding of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

When Catholics miss who Mary is, we might have overreactions. We saw this in the Protestant Reformation when Mary was disgraced – thrown out of the life of so many Christians – because some Catholics stopped at Mary – and missed that Christ is the Savior – the Lord.

Mary is the one who brings Christ to the World.

Mary is the one who said at Cana, “Do whatever he tells you.”

Mary is the “Servant of the Lord”.

Mary is the one who was there in the background of the story – to support Jesus the Savior – as well as the growing Church.

Okay, now what?

PART TWO OF THIS SERMON – MY LIFE: FULL OF WHAT?
Let me now ask my opening question in a different way?

Looking at my life – what fills me?

Looking at my life – what am I full of?

I choose the words I’m using on purpose.

Here is where my gas gauge metaphor breaks down. We put one thing in our gas tank: gas. Of course it has additives – this and that – but basically we call it gas – or diesel fuel or battery power in these newer hybrid cars.

We put into ourselves – many things – and if we look at our life, we are full of this and that at different times in our life.

What is fueling me? What is fooling me?

What are the good energies of my life? What are the foolish things I’m chasing?

These are key questions I'm asking in this sermon.

As little children we are full of mom and dad. We are full of being fed and being noticed. We are full of the need for protection and security and we scream to get these things.

So the little child needs to be held by their mom and dad - to hear those heartbeats, to see those faces, to smell those scents that are so familiar. They want food – comfort – security – love.

We change. We grow.

The child starts becoming full of the world around them. He or she slowly wanders from mom and dad. What’s in the bottom drawer? The child wants to get at the piano and anything and everything. They are full of the world. Sticks and lipsticks. Jump ropes and soccer balls. Sky. Ocean. Water. Shiny amazing faucets – you twist them and out comes water. Amazing. Cell phones. Cars. Sharks. Blue Angel toy planes. Dolls. Wheels. Dogs. Cats. They move from being full of parents to being filled with their surroundings.

We change. We become full of ourselves – our bodies – feelings, emotions, worries about zits and changes and questions.

We change. We become full of others – school – sports – music – drama – fun.

We become full of worry: worry about relationships – love – highs and lows with parents and siblings – and other boys and girls. We worry about being admired and being mired in the pain of being dropped – and we become full of why others do what they do.

Then we become full of college – school – the future – jobs – making money – and on and on and on.

At some point we become full of another. If it leads to marriage, the honeymoon lasts 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 or more years depending upon all sorts of twists and turns in our story.

Then, if we are blessed with children, if we become full of children, we fill in our time nurturing them. We worry about earning and having enough money to give them a good home, a good life, a safe neighborhood, good schools and vacations and coaching and this and that.

At times we discover we're empty. There was no bing, bing, bing sound. We missed the warning signals. Our spouse gets caught up in the kids or their work or this and that – and we do the same. And sometimes there are mistakes. Or the kids are not listening and we feel more empty. Or we lose our job and we feel panic. What now? Sometimes we begin to understand what our parents went through when they were in the situation we are in now.

Somewhere along the line we realize the great value of friendships. It's a blessing when we realize it’s our spouse. Sometimes this doesn’t happen till the kids are gone. Sometimes our spouse is our best friend for a whole lifetime - lasting our whole marriage. It’s real and keeps on getting better. Sometimes it doesn’t last and we feel loneliness and angst.

And sometimes we get religious stuff. Sometimes we hear God or an angel say, "Hi" or "Hail!" Sometimes we hear, "Do not be afraid."

So there are God moments. It might be a vacation moment at the beach on an early summer morning when all the family are still sleeping and the ocean water is pounding the shore. We are overwhelmed with how our life makes sense. Or it might be making breakfast for the family – and all are in their jammies and all laughing. It’s might be a wedding or it might be a funeral. It might be a great Thanksgiving dinner. It might be a Christmas morning – or it might be just looking at a late December afternoon – with the light so different and so sideways.

Sometimes we get sick. We have cancer or need a heart operation. We feel so empty. We're scared. Or we might feel so ready for "Whatever." Whatever the reaction, we find ourselves praying in a new way for the first time in our lives.

Sometimes we are just sitting there and the movie of our life is playing on our inner screen and we realize, we are full of grace and we brought Christ to two out of the four of our kids – and maybe these other two will come around one of these years.

Hey Christmas is coming.

And we rejoice because we feel full of grace, gifts, blessings, so many unplanned things inside our being. And we get it –and we start making Christmas morning children souns, "Woo!" "Wow!" "Cool!" "No way!" "Oh my God, great!"

CONCLUSION

For David in the first reading, he only realizes the need for God – and a temple for God, when he’s settled in – and his enemies are gone.

For Christians, sometimes the Christmas story makes sense. It’s a great grace, a great gift, when we realize that Christ is born in a barn full of you know what – to tell us that Christ can be born in the messy mess of this person called me – when I full of so many straws and weird barn like sounds.

So once more, what does your grace gauge say: full, half full or half empty or empty?

DO NOT QUENCH THE SPIRIT!

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily is, “Do Not Quench the Spirit!”

It’s a message from St. Paul in today’s second reading from 1st Thessalonians 5:19.

“Do Not Quench the Spirit!”

Quench – meaning “to put out” – “to extinguish” a light or a fire, to blow out a candle or throw water in a fireplace – “to terminate” a fire or desire or thirst.

“Do not quench, put out, extinguish, terminate the Spirit – the Fire – the Light.”

The Greek verb used by Paul is “SBENNUMI” – “to extinguish”. I found it interesting that the Greek word “ASBESTOS” “not quenched’ – “not being extinguished” – has the same root [a + sbennynai].

Today is the middle Sunday in Advent – sometimes called, “Gaudete” or “Rejoicing Sunday”. It’s just like the middle Sunday in Lent, “Laetare” or “Rejoicing Sunday”.

Rejoice. “Do Not Quench the Spirit.” Don’t stop the “joie de vivre” [zhwah de veev-ra] – the joy of living. Don’t kill the spirit of imagination. Don’t stop the spirit of creativity in children – or anyone. Don’t lose the playful child inside of us adults.

Christianity is a religion of joy. “Humbug!” on the Scrooges and any sad faced Christians in our midst!

FIRST READING

Today’s first reading is from Isaiah 61. It is the great text that Jesus reads and preaches on in his inaugural address in Luke 4: 18-19.

“The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me;
for he has sent me to bring glad tidings to the poor,
to heal the broken hearted,
to proclaim liberty to captives,
and release to prisoners,
to announce a year of favor from the Lord
and a day of vindication by our God.”

Christianity is a religion of Glad Tidings - Good News – Godspell – Gospel.

Christianity is a religion of receiving a Spirit – the Holy Spirit – a Spirit of healing, forgiveness, liberty, release, favor – inside us – and then it erupts out of us as we become instruments of peace – as we go out and forgive, releasing grudges and bringing joy to each other.

Forgiveness is God’s favorite theme. [Cf. Luke 15.]

God favors us. Did you ever wonder if God has favorites? God does. It’s us. Experiencing this brings great joy!

Doesn’t the favorite student of the teacher, the favorite athlete on the team, the favorite neighbor on the street, the favorite child in the family, feel a special joy? I’m blessed. I’m favored. Pinch me!

That’s the message the angels sang over Bethlehem, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

Well, Jesus was God’s favorite. That’s the Good News that John the Baptist – “the voice of one crying in the desert, making straight the way of the Lord” proclaimed as we heard in today’s gospel.

John the Baptist was not the anointed one – not the Christ.

The word “Christ” is from the Greek word, “CHRIO” - anointed.

John the Baptist was the messenger – the proclaimer – the one who points out whom to look for – to discover the favored one – the Lord.

That’s what the voice from the heavens proclaimed at the Jordan – when Jesus was baptized, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

That’s the voice we hear at our baptism – when we are anointed – when the chrism – when the sacred oil is put on us – and the priest or deacon who baptizes announces, “He now anoints you with the chrism of salvation. As Christ was anointed Priest, Prophet, and King, so may you live always as a member of his body, sharing everlasting life.”

This message is powerful. Each person baptized, adult or child, is the anointed one, is the beloved – the one whom God is well pleased with.

And when this is authentic – real – felt – experienced – we follow suit – we treat others as special, God’s favorite – and on and on and on.

This is what happened to Jesus. He experienced this being loved, so then he went out and loved others – spreading that Good News by words and actions.

Hopefully, we have the same experience.

Love has a bounce!

St. Alphonsus – the founder of the Redemptorists – the priests in this parish – whose statue is up there – used to say, “God is crazy! “pazzo” in Italian, because He loves us so much. He’s crazy in love with us.

St. Alphonsus had a great revelation in his life. He was very scrupulous in his early years – thinking he was a great sinner – that everything was a sin. Then he experienced the love of Christ for him. His book, The Practice of the Love of Jesus Christ, can be summed up in the word “practice”. Jesus practices loving people. Unfortunately, St. Alphonsus became scrupulous again in his old age – but in the meanwhile, he had a great run on being loved and loving others – especially folks nobody was rushing to be with.

He simply did what Jesus did. He experienced himself and others as God’s favorite. That’s why he reached especially to those who felt like rejects.

I love the saying, “Each person is in the best seat.”

I love the words I’ve heard some people say well after their parents are dead – for example my sister Mary – “Our parents had 4 only childs.”

Rejoice. God sees each person as the only person.

Rejoice. God sees all persons as one person.

Rejoice. Heaven is when all persons are one in God – who is Three – who is One – who is Many – who is One. You think three persons in one God is deep mystery. There are billions and billions of people in God. It's called "The Kingdom of Heaven."

Rejoice.

Rejoice Christmas is coming – and Jesus is coming to us – again and again and again to make all this come – to make the Kingdom come – on earth as it is in heaven.

Rejoice a new calendar year is coming – and once more we’re going to have feelings of resolution, “This year I’m going to be more joyful, happy, alive, trusting, a giver, filled with God’s Spirit.”

Rejoice, “This coming year, I’m going to exercise more, eat better, read more, do more for others, pray more, enjoy more, listen more.”

When those feelings come up sometime around December 29 till January 1st, “Do Not Quench the Spirit.”

TODAY’S GOSPEL

Today’s gospel is from the beginning of the Gospel of John – and we heard that John the Baptist came and testified to the Light – so that all might believe in the light.

Rejoice. Christmas is a feast of Light.

Rejoice. Jesus, the Light of the world, comes into people’s minds and hearts in so many interesting ways.

Looking at your life, how have you seen the Light?

How have you been enlightened?

What have been your many Christ moments?

Take the image of candle light.

You’re sitting here in church and you’ve seen these four candles up here a hundred times through the years – but this year, a light goes on inside of you..

Suddenly you get the insight. This candle is me.

My life is like a candle. It only has so much burn time and the call is that I bring light to others.

Then I say to yourself, “I have a time limit. Oops.”

Then I realize time limits scares me. Then I start thinking, “No wonder I blow out the candle. I want a longer life. I don’t want to keep on giving, giving, giving.”

Then I laugh. Then I cry. Then I realize when I do this, I’ quenching the light, the fire, the candle, the Spirit – the meaning of life.”

Rejoice. I thank God for the light, the insight I just had.

CONVERSION MOMENTS

When I realize this I’m having a conversion moment.

Life is filled with conversion moments.

Life is filled with insight moments.

In The New York Times for yesterday, there was an obituary for Avery Dulles – the son of John Foster Dulles. Avery had a conversion. He became a Catholic. He became a Jesuit. He became a priest. He became a Cardinal.

One of the courses I took to get a master's degree at Princeton Theological Seminary, was given by Avery Dulles. It was on "Models of the Church" - which came out afterwards as a book. Besides getting an A, I found him to be very insightful – a delight. One day, someone in a next door classroom told a joke or said something very funny. The laughter came through the walls. Avery Dulles paused, smiled and said, “That will probably be the only laugh you’ll hear in this classroom this semester.” At that, we all laughed. He smiled even more. Then he added, “As my name indicates, I’m known for being rather Dull.” Well, I found him far from dull – simply one of the best teachers I ever had.

Talking about moments of light and insight, listen to what The New York Times says in the middle of Avery Dulles' Obituary:

His spiritual passage to Catholicism was like a fable. A young scholar with a searching mind, he stirred from his establishment Presbyterian family to face questions of faith and dogma. By the time he entered Harvard in 1936, he was an agnostic.

In his second book, “A Testimonial to Grace,” a 1946 account of his conversion, Cardinal Dulles said his doubts about God on entering Harvard were not diminished by his studies of medieval art, philosophy and theology. But on a gray February day in 1939, strolling along the Charles River in Cambridge, he saw a tree in bud and experienced a profound moment.

“The thought came to me suddenly, with all the strength and novelty of a revelation, that these little buds in their innocence and meekness followed a rule, a law of which I as yet knew nothing,” he wrote. “That night, for the first time in years, I prayed.”

His conversion in 1940, the year he graduated from Harvard, shocked his family and friends, he said, but he called it the best and most important decision of his life.

He joined the Jesuits and went on to a career as a major Catholic thinker that spanned five decades.
When I read that, I was trying to recall a moment from Thomas Merton' life. It might be in his book, The Sign of Jonah. He might have been going to a doctor in Louisville. He looks out the car window and sees a billboard with a Lucky Strike advertisement. It's Ash Wednesday, I think, and he sees the ash tip of the cigarette. The cigarette is going to continue burning. Then it will come to an end. It’s life. And then Merton, like Avery Dulles, realizes spring, new life, buds budding, are going to happen soon.

CONCLUSION

What are your moments of light and insight?

They happen every day. Ask God that you see them.

“Do not quench the Spirit.”

Rejoice when the Spirit whispers or yells in your brain, “Rejoice highly favored one. I see you and I’m calling you.” Amen.

IMPERFECT

The title of my homily is, “Imperfect.”

Life is funny. Jesus is funny. He knows life. He knows us.

Nobody is perfect.

The person who thinks they are perfect slips on the banana skin.

There is always something missing.

We’re sitting around with family and someone suggests playing cards. We go searching for a deck – find one – but surprise one card, the Queen of Hearts, is missing and we can’t find her anywhere.

So we decide to do a jigsaw puzzle. Everyone works on it for hours and hours and hours. Surprise we get to the end and one piece is missing.

Nothing is perfect.

Theirs is always something or someone missing.

Life is funny that way.

People want to go through life without any mistakes – to get a perfect score. Surprise, we make mistakes. We get lost. We get found. We get lost again. We misspell – miss names – miss appointments.

There are divorces – fender benders – a sister-in-law who gets drunk at every wedding.

We decide to go sailing. We get there only to discover we forgot to bring the key to the boat. The round trip to get home to get the key is twenty five minutes. We get it and we’re about ten minutes to the boat and it starts to rain with thunder and lightning.

People get zits and pimples – rips and stains.

We spill red spaghetti sauce on the while blouse or on a white table cloth and we spill it right in at our spot on the table. We try to hide the mess with a plate. It works, that is, till the perfect hostess comes up from behind us, picks up our empty plate and whispers a shrill, “Oooh, aren’t we the messy one?”

The meal is perfectly set up. The hors d’oeuvres go perfect. Everyone sits down. Surprise. We forgot to put out the forks.

There is always something or someone missing. Sometimes it’s us. We sin. We say the wrong thing – and we wish we could sink into the floor.

Relax. Jesus knows all about this. He missed what was missing.

100 is the perfect number in some systems. Then again, sometimes it’s 10. Sometimes it’s 5. Sometimes it’s 3. Sometimes it’s 2. Whatever the perfect number is, there is always seems to be one missing. One son becomes prodigal. Then when he is found, the other son won’t come in the house.

A lady had ten coins and loses one.

A shepherd had a long day. He’s all set for a long sleep, so he starts counting his sheep. Surprise - as we heard in today's gospel - one sheep is missing. It always happens. It’s life.

The Pharisees wanted to be perfect. They didn't want to look at their imperfections - the underneath bad breath of death. Jesus wanted be to die - to be grave - to dig within till they experienced new resurrection and new life. [Check out Matthew 23:27-28 and Luke 11: 37-44.]

The disciple wanted to be better than the other disciple: more important – more wise – get a better seat. [Cf. Mark 9: 33-37.] So Jesus kept dropping these hints about lost sheep, lost coins, foolish virgins and scared gift getters who buried their talents in the ground.

Jesus noticed some saw little kids as testy and pesty - and like crowds who wanted food, the disciples wanted Jesus to get rid of them. Jesus saw them as advertisements to what the kingdom and he was all about. We hear this in the section in Matthew just before today’s gospel text [Matthew 18:12-14].

Jesus also says, it’s all right to get into heaven missing a hand or an eye or walking in with a limp. That's certainly better than going to hell perfect with two feet and two hands and two eyes - and not being lame. [Cf. Matthew 18:1-14]

You have to laugh – especially with oneself – when we sin or when we’re late or when we make a mistake or when we’re imperfect.

Relax. Jesus was born in a stable.

Relax! Jesus says his Father comes looking for us when we are lost – when we’re dumb sheep. In fact, when we’re imperfect, that’s when we’re the perfect candidate for a God search till we’re found. In fact, being imperfect, having a good fall or sin is often the perfect time for people to find God.

Homily for 2 Tuesday Advent,

December 9, 2008