IMPACT

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily for this 5^th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A - is, “Impact.”

I   M   P   A  C   T! - “Impact.”   I  M  P  A  C  T!

That’s the theme that hit me when I read today’s readings.

“Impact.”

WE KNOW WHAT IMPACT MEANS

We know what impact means.

When we walk into a room - something happens - well not always.

Better: when we walk into some rooms - something happens.

When we come home - up the driveway - into the office - into the classroom - into the doctor’s office - into church - down the aisle - something happens.

I call it the “Oh yes!” or “Oh no!” vote.

I'm sure none of us want to get the "What a jerk!" or worse vote.

Through the years the 1/3-1/3-1/3 rule has always helped me.

1/3 like you; 1/3 don’t like you; 1/3 don’t care.

I was kidding myself with that rule - because I just read in The Tablet, a British Catholic magazine different numbers. In a letter to the Editor a Father Terry Martin was replacing an outstanding priest. He was telling another priest that this appointment made him nervous - that is, till this other priest said, “Terry, five per cent of the people will love you, five percent will hate you and the other 90 per cent just want to come to Mass.” [1]

I like those numbers better. 

So here we are at Mass and my homily is about “Impact.”  

May Jesus impact 100% of us today.

FOR STARTERS: OUR WORDS HAVE IMPACT

I remember a priest saying out loud: “I was walking down the aisle - as the singing began - and I heard someone say, “Oh no!”

I guess one of the 5 per centers was loud that day.

Then he said, “I heard those two words for the rest of  the Mass.”

And I thought to myself, “You’re still hearing them!" Bummer.

Maybe there’s an advantage to having poor hearing.

When I heard that comment I remembered a poem by Countee Cullen called, “Incident”.

INCIDENT

Once riding in old Baltimore,

Heart filled, head-filled with glee,

I saw a Baltimorean

Kept looking straight at me.

Now I was eight and very small,

And he was no whit bigger,

And so I smiled, but he poked out

His tongue, and called me, “Nigger.”

I saw the whole of Baltimore

From May until December’

Of all the things that happened there

That’s all that I remember.[2]

For starters, words have impact.

I remember a moment during a men’s weekend retreat - from around the year 1980. It was Saturday evening and we were having an open forum.  There were about 85 men were in this big room. I don’t remember what triggered the following - but I remembered the words that followed.

An old guy in the back of the room - raised his hand - stood up and said: “There we were at the kitchen table - many, many years ago. My older brother and I were in grammar school. We were sitting there - with our dad.”

“My dad said to my older brother. ‘You’ll be graduating from grammar school next June and we’re going to get you into a great high school. Then you’ll graduate from high school and you’ll go to a great college and then you can become anything you want. You’ll be a great engineer, doctor, lawyer. You’ll going to do great things with your life.”

And the man then said, “Hearing that I said to my dad, ‘Dad, dad, what’s going to happen to me?’"

“And my dad turned to me and said, ‘You? You’ll never amount to anything.’ And pointing to his shoe, my dad said, ‘You’re not worth the sole of my shoe.’”

Silence. Silence. Silence.

Silence filled the room. 

And the man was crying. Then he said, “And my dad was right. I never amounted to anything.”

More silence.

The impact of that moment has stayed with me some 30 plus years now. I’ve often thought about that man and those men. I’m sure that was the most powerful retreat moment in their years of coming on retreat  - well for some of them - I hope more than 5 per cent of them.

I know that made me revisit the old saying we heard as kids: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.”

Obviously, the opposite is true.

In fact, words might hurt more than sticks and stones.

So take some moments this week and reflect upon the words of your life - the words that have impacted you.

What was the worse thing anyone ever said to or at you?

What was the nicest thing anyone ever said to you?

How did that impact you?

Why come to church? 

Isn't it to bring into our ears the words of Jesus - to bring into our being Jesus who can heal us? Isn't it to walk out of this church after Mass today and make an impact for good in our world this week?

TODAY’S READINGS

Today’s first reading doesn’t  talk about impact directly.[3]

Today’s gospel talks directly about  impact.[4]

Today’s first reading talks about sharing our bread with the hungry, sheltering the oppressed and the homeless, clothing the naked and not turning our back on our own.

Today’s first reading talks about removing false accusations and malicious speech - then …. Then Isaiah says if we do that -  our light will break forth like the dawn - our wounds will be healed - our being whom we are supposed to be will happen.

Today’s gospel has Christ using 2 images - 2 metaphors about impact.

We know when there is salt on the potato chip or pretzel - just watch people lick the salt on a big pretzel - and see their smile.

We know when there is a light on in the room.  We know when a car coming towards us in the dark has its bright lights on. Impact.

We’re flying at 14,000 feet - at night over the ocean - and it’s all dark down there. But if there are not clouds we might spot a boat with it’s lights on - or another plane in the beautiful black sky - but if we go over land - we know where the cities are.

So Jesus tells us in today’s gospel: “A city set on a mountain cannot be hidden.” Impact.

IMPACT

So Christianity - Christ - Church - wants to have people all over our world who make an impact for goodness, kindness, giving, all over the world.

Earlier I spoke on the power of words. I said I disagreed with the old saying about sticks and stones will break our bones - but names will never hurt us.

On the other hand, there is an old saying we all seem to still agree upon. We hear it repeated in our words at least once a week, "Action speaks louder than words."

I love it that salt and light don’t have a mouth.

I love it that they both are silent.

Yet we know it when the light is on. Yet we know it when there is salt on the table - or the potato chip - or those big delicious pretzels with the great salt licks on them.

Christ wants every office, every work place, every family, every classroom, every team, every group, every organization, every bookclub, every parish, to have at least one Christian.

As Paul says in today’s second reading: It’s me. That person is me. I walk into every room I enter into proclaiming Jesus by my life. He says that he comes with fear and trembling.[5]

Exactly - we should fear and tremble because our lives can make a difference for good or for bad - by the words we say - but especially by the example we set on the table.

We should have fear and trembling because there are people out there who are impacted by our words - by our silent example - by our lives - for a lifetime.

CONCLUSION

I was watching the opening ceremonies for the Olympics Friday night. Putin and Russia want to make an impact for goodness around the world - for all the people around the world watching. The TV talked about the negatives …. dogs in the street - a tough history - buildings not finished - human rights abuses - anti gay stuff - etc. etc. etc.

They are hoping the Olympic Moment in their country has a positive impact that outweighs the negatives.

Don’t we all? Don’t we all.

Doesn’t Christ as well?

So this day, this week, let’s be salt and light on the tables in the rooms we’re in - that people will know without knowing it - that’s what we’re there for. 

Salt and light: there when wanted; there when needed. 

OOOOOOO

NOTES:

[1]  The Tablet, February 1, 2014,  Letters, page.18

[2] Countee Cullen [1903-1946]

[3] Isaiah 58: 7-10

[4] Matthew 5: 13-16

[5] 1 Corinthians 2: 1-5

SECOND  CHANCES 

Poem for Today  - February 9, 2014

THE FISH

I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of his mouth.
He didn't fight.
He hadn't fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely. Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age.
He was speckled with barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
and infested
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green weed hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
- the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badly-
I thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
- It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face,
the mechanism of his jaw,
and then I saw
that from his lower lip
- if you could call it a lip
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels- until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go. 

© Elizabeth Bishop

TIME TO LOOK IN THE MIRROR

Poem for February 8, 2014

LOVE AFTER LOVE

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life. 

© Derek Walcott

REVERSE THEOLOGY

The first shall be last ....
Sorry! The pay is the same, no matter
what time you enter the vineyard ....
Lost sheep, coins, and children are found ....
Rocks and sins are dropped ....
When insulted, turn the other cheek ….

When needed, go the extra mile….

Give the shirt off your back ....

Forgive seventy times seven times ….

Sometimes there are weeds

that grow along with the wheat!

Get used to them….

Plant mustard seeds ….

Blessed are the poor in spirit ….

The treasure, the pearl, is there,

so keep searching. If you’re wise,

or if you're blessed, you’ll find it ….

God is not what you expect ….

God starts as a baby ….
God is Jewish with a name "Jesus" ....

God ends up as if a criminal on a cross ….

In the meanwhile, God walks around as

a king who washes feet 
and allows a woman to wash his feet
and dry them with her hair .... Now
that's different - and add some perfume ....
God pushes peace and in the meanwhile
don't miss the birds of the air - and 
smell the flowers in the fields ....
Jesus  feeds the hungry with bread and fish ….

Serves the best wine last ….

The crazies know who he is ….

Those with their nose in the air don’t….

Reads faces, eyes, minds, hearts ….

Heals the blind, the lame, and the deaf….

Eats with sinners and dines with them….

A carpenter who knows where the fish are ….

Someone who knew what love really is:

giving yourself like you’re bread -

so others can eat you up - and as a

result we can all be in communion

with each other…. and surprise,

you better get used to this one:

for wine to become wine,

you’re going to be crushed….

© Andy Costello, Reflections 2014

IS IT GOOD TO BE THE KING?

INTRODUCTION

The title of my homily for this 4^th Friday in Ordinary Time is a question for all of us, “Is It Good To Be The King?”

Or Queen for that matter?

TODAY’S READINGS

The topic came up because in today’s 2 readings we have stories that come out of the life of two different kings.

The first reading is from the Book of Sirach. It’s a summary of praises for King David. For these first four weeks of Ordinary Time we’ve had readings from the 1^st and 2^nd Book of Samuel - all stories that lead up to the Great King David of Israel - who ruled for 40 years.[Cf. Sirach 47:2-11]

Today’s gospel features a story about King Herod the Tetrarch - one of the 4 King Herods in the Scriptures. This is the one who has John the Baptist beheaded.[Cf. Mark 6: 14-29]

MOVIE

In the movie History of the World, Part One, Mel Brooks is the king.  In some of the scenes - I can’t mention innuendos, etc. at Mass - he uses the line, “It’s Good To Be The King.” a few times.

He kisses and cheats and looks to the movie camera and says, “It’s good to be the king.”

We see him as king playing chess on this big tennis court size chess board - and as king he cheats - and takes extra moves - and once more he looks into the camera and says, “It’s good to be the king.”

I’ve heard people use that line down through the years - as a joke line.

The title of my homily is the question: “Is It Good To Be The King?”

ANOTHER QUESTION

Another question: does everyone sometime in their life wish they were someone else?

When we were teenagers did we want to have the other person’s look, clothes, money, car, friends, parents?  Did we wish we were so and so who got all A’s - and it was no effort?  Did we wish we were better athletes, had better skin, no acne?

As we got older, did we wish we were so and so when it came to having the better job? The better life choice? The home, kids, spouse, lawn, car, parties?

TO BE ONESELF

The wisdom teachers constantly tell people: “Be yourself!”

To try to be someone else - disaster.

Parents have told their kids that from the beginning of time.

I’ve been hearing these past two years the saying: “It is what it is.”

Does anyone apply that to themselves? I am who I am.

I always liked that as God’s answer to Moses at the Burning Bush. A voice tells Moses that he has to go back and face the Pharaoh and tell him to set the Israelites free - and Moses asks the Voice, “Wait a minute. Who are you?”  And the Voice says, “I Am Who Am.”

That’s basic person:  “I am who I am!”

I love the saying, “Be who you is, because if you be who you ain’t, then you ain’t who you is.”

I am who I am - wrinkles - sags - and body nags.

I am my story - so far. We can revise our history - even lie to ourselves - but I am who I am.

BACK TO BEING THE KING

King David was King David.

When I was stationed in New York City, way back when, I noticed in the paper a talk by a Rabbi - about King David.

What I still remember about the talk was this: the power of the pencil.

David got great reviews - even though he was a disaster as a father and a disaster as a husband.

His fans - revised his history - for centuries.  He was basically a smart guerrilla fighter - who took over most of the Israel territory.

He had 17 sons - who ended up as a cast of some horrible characters - one raping his sister - and many of them fighting each other.

David had Uriah killed - in order to get his wife: Bathsheba. I loved that her name was BathSheba - because he spotted while she was taking a bath - and wanted her. Did he say: “It’s good to be the king?”

No. Because that got him in big time trouble - and everyone knew what he did.

Did anyone want that much power? Probably.

Would we want to have that much power?  Would we want to be king, boss, someone other than ourselves? Maybe.

King Herod the Tetrarch - the Herod in today’s gospel - the one who had John the Baptist beheaded - dumped his first wife - the daughter of King Aretas - because he wanted to marry Herodias the wife of his half-brother Herod Philip. Later on - around 36 AD - his first wife’s father, Aretas wages war against Herod - but lost.

Does anyone want to be king, mayor, governor, president? Yes.  Does anyone want to be them now - and not be themselves? Maybe.

I love it that on the chess board the king is one of the weakest of pieces - compared to bishops and knights - and the Queen!  I think the game has that sense of humor to it.

I love it that checkers - seems to be more an American game - when any pawn can make it to be a king.

Do people who read People magazine want to be like the people in the magazine? Is that why it sells? I don’t know.

CONCLUSION

The title of my homily is, “Is It Good To Be The King?” 

However, in this homily, I want to ask the basic question: “Am I happy to be me?”

I can only be me. 

I can do life my way.  

I can do my life better ways. 

I can always be a better me - but I can only be me. 

Might as well make peace with reality and go - and grow - and flow from there.

IT'S NOT OVER 

TILL IT'S OVER 

Poem for Today - February 7, 2014

CLOSED PATH

I thought that my voyage had come to its end
at the last limit of my power,-

 that the path before me was closed,
that provisions were exhausted
and the time come to take shelter 

 in a silent obscurity.

But I find that thy will knows no end in me.
And when old words die out on the tongue,
new melodies break forth from the heart;
and where the old tracks are lost,
new country is revealed with its wonders. 

© Rabindranath Tagore

STILL  LOOKING  

Poem for Today - February 6, 2014

SANDPIPER

The roaring alongside he takes for granted,
and that every so often the world is bound to shake.
He runs, he runs to the south, finical, awkward,
in a state of controlled panic, a student of Blake.

The beach hisses like fat. On his left, a sheet
of interrupting water comes and goes
and glazes over his dark and brittle feet.
He runs, he runs straight through it, watching his toes.

- Watching, rather, the spaces of sand between them
where (no detail too small) the Atlantic drains
rapidly backwards and downwards. As he runs,
he stares at the dragging grains.

The world is a mist. And then the world is
minute and vast and clear. The tide
is higher or lower. He couldn't tell you which.
His beak is focused; he is preoccupied,

looking for something, something, something.
Poor bird, he is obsessed!
The millions of grains are black, white, tan, and gray
mixed with quartz grains, rose and amethyst. 

© Elizabeth Bishop