Saint Joseph's Young Adult Faith Community

Father Andy’s homily at St. Joe’s: The Happy Jesus

Fr. Andy Boyer, St. Joe's pastor

Has it every struck you how really very happy Jesus was? How contagious was his exuberance and delight in life? True, Isaiah the prophet did call him “a man of sorrows, familiar with grief.” And, yes, he did weep openly over stubborn, defiant Jerusalem and at his friend Lazarus’ tomb, too. And he bled agonizing tears in Gethsemane. But in reading through the Gospels, we find that those were the exceptions. The very first sign of the kingdom that Jesus performed, his first public miracle, was at a party, a wedding celebration at Cana.

He loved to tell stories about feasts and celebrations. And he also told lots of funny stories. Stories about very prim and proper pious people swallowing camels whole while taking great care at the same time to strain out tiny gnats with their teeth. And about Pharisees puffing out their chests, looking up to heaven, and thanking God that they were like no other. And now in today’s Gospel Jesus looks up at the birds flying high and free in the warm air currents of the Galilean hillside, just happy to be alive. And he also admires the flowers thriving in the rich Galilean soil carpeting the hill he’s sitting on, and he breathes deeply, and he loves it all – this good, beautiful, rich world that his heavenly Father has created. Jesus’ spirituality was opposite to those philosophers who take such a negative view of this world as a place of gloom and shadows and suffering, those who argue that the true philosophy is to escape this sad world and its suffering, to find our way out of the meaningless circles of existence into nothingness. No, Jesus delights in the beauty and the joy and the energy of this glorious world which God has created so good. And it is this world view of Jesus, this philosophy of life, his own happy experience of life that we see in his teaching this morning:

“Look,” says Jesus, “Look at the birds of the air, soaring free and without a care in the world!’ Not that they don’t work. It’s been said that no one works harder than a sparrow to make a living. And yet, says Jesus, they don’t bother sowing crops, or reap-ing, or storing away in barns – they don’t have a care in the world – because your Heavenly Father feeds them! Are you not much more valuable than they? Of course you are! And look again!” says Jesus. “See how the lilies of the field grow! Not a care in the world. Yet I tell you that not even all those Oscar nominees who will parade up and down the Red Carpet this evening in all their splendour, will be dressed like just one of these!“

So here’s my command and my invitation,” says Jesus, “Don’t let that sneaky thief called worry steal your joy. Don’t even worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Stop being so anxious and start living totally in the present, like the birds of the air, like the lilies of the field!”(Pause). And yes we can say, “Jesus, that’s not exactly practical. The lilies and the birds don’t have car payments to worry about, taxes to file, utility bills to cover, children’s university tuitions to prepare for. And once I have paid my bills, then I’ll probably also be wanting a bigger plasma TV, or a better car. “How much is enough?” someone asked John D. Rockefeller. His response? “Just a little bit more.”

And Jesus says, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and rust eat away at that dream car of yours, and where thieves break into your home and steal your prized possessions.” Now we need to be clear what Jesus said and what he did not say. Jesus did not say, “Do not store up treasures on earth.”(Period). Some have heard Jesus saying that it is un-Christian to have a bank account, or to own a home or a car, or to put away RRSPs for retirement. But what Jesus clearly does say is, “Stop storing up treasures on earth for yourselves.” That’s why Jesus puts it so very bluntly: “No one can serve two masters. You cannot serve both God and money.” When we store up for ourselves we find ourselves enslaved to what we’re hoarding, and which one of us has not felt the need to defend our storing up treasures for ourselves on earth?

Who of us would not need to confess that we have tried to serve two masters? Who of us hasn’t tried to insure ourselves against the worries of tomorrow by storing away treasures for ourselves? (experience of Kenya mission). I wonder when we’ll finally figure it out that it really isn’t our circumstances that cause us anxiety – it is not the rise in global terrorism, not bad harvests or global warming or inflation or rising interest rates or my bank account balance.

No, what really causes me anxiety is the moth and the rust in my own heart. We live in a world addicted to worry, a world that finds its energy in anxiety. Living totally without worrying sounds to us almost as impossible as living totally without breathing. When we have so much stuff to worry about, this call to release our anxious grip falls hard on our materialistic ears. This is why the command of Jesus, “Do not worry,” is such a Good News promise of freedom and joy. Jesus does not say, “Look at the ostrich with its head buried in the sand,” but rather, “Look at the birds of the air!” Jesus is inviting us to share in his happiness, his delight in each new day. To celebrate the goodness of God, here and now.

Even in work with joy, because as human beings we have to continue to sow and to reap harvests, and even store away where appropriate, yet with joyful abandon and carefree delight, living in the moment, just as Jesus did. Yes, the bills will have to be paid, and we may still wonder if we’ll be able to balance the books to the end of the month. But know this: the God who sees each sparrow fall has promised, “I will never ever leave you nor forsake you.” Are we willing to believe that God meant what he said? Are we willing to trust God? Will we follow the example of the sparrows, of Jesus himself, and focus on the task at hand, now, in the present? Will we let all tomorrow’s worries remain in the tomorrow ? “If that isn’t a recipe for happiness, I don’t know what is!”

Deacon James Kubina’s reflection at St. Joe’s: God alongside us

St. Joe's

From the very beginning of the month of November, when the weather is turning increasingly cold and bleak, we are invited to think and pray about all those who have departed before us throughout the ages (all Saints and all Souls Day). We also remembered this week those who have died to protect our freedom on Remembrance Day. We may also be reminded of our own mortality, that our own time is limited. And now, as the liturgical year comes to a close, the lectionary presents us (as it does every year at this time) with readings connected to end-times, sombre and stark apocalyptic narratives which can leave us very uncomfortable, perplexed or indifferent, since they seem to allude to or describe events which are far away in the future and far from our communal radar screens. On first glance, it seems that there isn’t any Good News in the Gospel today!

     I heard a story once that reminded me of today’s readings – especially our first reading.  A man was living in the Canadian prairie with his daughter, and one of the great problems about living on the prairie was the fear of prairie fires which rage through and destroy everything in their path. Well, their fears became real when a huge prairie fire broke out, and the father realized that there was nowhere that they could run because they were surrounded by fire.  So the father started his own fire with his frightened daughter, and watched as the area burned, and then he took his daughter into the centre of the area that had been burned already.  He knew that the approaching fire would not touch this area because there was nothing left to be burned. He spoke gently to his very frightened daughter and told her not to be frightened, that the flames could not get to them because everything combustible had already been burned.

     If we look at the first reading today, it is a lot like this story.

     “See, the day is coming, burning like an oven when all the arrogant and all evildoers will be stubble; the day that comes shall burn them up.” Malachi sees what the father had seen and warns the Jewish people about the impending fire. But then Malachi, like the father, tells the Hebrews that they have nothing to fear: “For you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness shall rise, with healing in its wings.” By their faithfulness to the Lord God, the Hebrews would be protected from the fire.

     We, too, as followers of Jesus, are burning our field, protecting ourselves from the larger disaster which is to come. We will have nothing to fear.

     What we need to know about Luke’s Gospel, however, is that when Luke wrote, all of the predictions of Jesus had already come true. This passage was written after the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple in 70 AD and Luke is trying to interpret the theological meaning of the terrible event. Luke’s descriptions of some of the end-time warning signs are not much help: famines, wars, earthquakes and so on have always been with us and will be with us for some time to come. Although persecution is not a reality for most of us, there are still times and places where one is called to truly suffer for faith. I think for example of the Christian communities in the Middle East which we heard two weeks ago were killed in Iraq because of their faith. Locally in Canada, I think of how our faith is under siege when new debates and rules emerge about outlawing crosses and prayer in classrooms, forcing us to speak up and protect our faith practices. But trying to figure out when the end of time really will happen is a useless and distracting enterprise; no one knows when that will occur anyway and so all that matters is that the Lord finds us doing what we are supposed to do.

     But these readings are not here to inspire fear. Like the father who calmed his daughter by saying the fire couldn’t touch her in the burned area, Jesus tells his disciples: “Not a hair of your head will perish.  By your endurance you will gain your souls.” This is a positive reassuring message; this is a message to inspire us to stay steadfast, to stay constantly ready, eagerly waiting for His return; each day is part of our journey, our eyes fixed on the horizon, on our return to our origin, united with God in heaven. And no matter what our struggles and difficulties are, physical, emotional, job loss, family tensions, marital or relationship problems, maybe we are getting older and getting more aware of our own mortality, we can stand assured that God is walking alongside us and will give us the strength to get through the tough times. All we need to do is to trust in God.

     Here are some words found written in the prayer book of St Teresa of Avila:

     “Let nothing disturb you, nothing make you afraid. All things are passing. God is unchanging. Patience achieves all things. For the one who possesses God, nothing is lacking. God alone is enough.”

Christopher Adam–Reflection for University Mass–26 September 2010

In today’s Gospel reading, we see the key elements of our beliefs come together in a powerful parable. We discover how we can express our faith by simply showing compassion for all of God’s creation. Jesus found himself in a society and culture that tended to value legalism, appearances and superficial respectability above all else. If we place this parable into the context of the broader Gospel message, the rich man’s rejection of Lazarus, while he dines with fine food in the finest attire and mingles with the literati, epitomized a worldview where living a life of faith was tantamount to keeping a myriad of rules, and being able to appear amongst others in society as one who manages to meander through an impossible legalistic maze with both ease and success.

But believing that God is more interested in some form of earthly perfection based on our ability to abide by legislation, rather than us choosing the succinct golden rule of compassion for all, indicates an impoverished understanding of God’s grace. The real risk is that we get caught up in the details and that we fail to see the forest from the trees; we fail to see God’s creation, camouflaged as it is by the scaffolding of respectability that we wrongly think holds it all up. 

Jesus’ message in today’s reading is undoubtedly direct and his depiction of the rich man perhaps even seems a little harsh. But what he’s telling us is to replace disingenuous piety, a judgmental view of others based on a legalistic understanding of salvation and to finally stop keeping a ledger of our personal good conduct and trespasses—hoping that we don’t end up with a negative balance–and focus instead on solidarity with the weakest in society. In the parable, the rich man dehumanizes Lazarus and allows his bubble of wealth to blind him to the fact that Lazarus too is created in the image of God. Jesus, however, restores his humanity, by simply calling him by his name throughout the parable. We are called to see the presence God in the weakest, the abandoned and in the forsaken and to understand that our relationship with Christ is strengthened infinitely more by living a life of compassion, than by attempting to live a life of perfect virtuous conduct and by balancing the books.

In some ways, we—as a society, living in a developed, peaceful and stable country—represent the rich man today, in a world where 10 percent of the adult population holds 85 percent of the world’s wealth. By any measure of wealth, we in the developed world resemble the rich man, rather than Lazarus. It is certainly accurate to point out that few students are wealthy and many struggle with tuition fees, the rising cost of books, exorbitant rent and impending loan repayment. But if we only consider how fortunate we are, in comparison to those in the southern hemisphere or in developing countries—who  hardly have the luxury to worry about the challenges of a university education—or if we considered how fortunate we are from a historical perspective, that we live in relative peace and political stability—then we must truly consider how Jesus expects us to reach in solidarity and with compassion to the suffering.

But if we look at Jesus’ depiction of Lazarus closely, we see that we are not only called to show compassion because of his economic condition, but even more so because he is rejected and marginalized by society. Lazarus looks different, he is physically ill—possibly disabled–and probably comes from a lower class background. Jesus calls us to walk with all who are discriminated against in society and ejected from institutions or shunned by leaders, simply because they do not fit into the frameworks of “respectability,” and “propriety” that we have built. Jesus tells us that sometimes we need to think outside those confines and frameworks if we are to truly address issues of injustice in our society. We need to open the doors of our church community to people of different traditions, backgrounds and lifestyles and accept them for who they are, rather than attempting to project onto them who we think they should be.

We can and should apply this to our church, located a mere blocks from a part of downtown Ottawa that struggles with a myriad of social problems. If we are to truly live Christ’s message of compassion, then we must welcome those struggling with drug addiction, with alcoholism or involved in prostitution. Where people feel dehumanized by their condition or their environment, Jesus asks us to restore their humanity by simply showing compassion, with no strings attached.

The story of Lazarus shows us how God is often most present in times of suffering; He does not leave us to our fate, nor does God simply watch us dispassionately from a distance. One story perhaps expresses the presence of God in suffering the most poignantly is a passage in author Elie Wiesel’s largely autobiographical book Night. Wiesel was born into a Hungarian Jewish family and as a boy; he was deported along with his parents and siblings to Auschwitz in May 1944 from the Transylvanian town of Máramarossziget, in what was then eastern Hungary. Elie Wiesel’s mother, father and sister were all killed in Auschwitz; Elie’s father was actually beaten to death by the concentration camp’s officers after being marched to Buchenwald.

Wiesel, though raised in a practicing Jewish family, questioned the existence of God in his suffering and in the suffering of others around him in the death camp. Wiesel was torn, as he struggled with the feeling of abandonment by God.. “For the first time I felt revolt rise up in me. Why should I bless His name? The Eternal, Lord of the Universe, the All-Powerful and Terrible, was silent. What had I to thank Him for?” He elaborated on his crisis of faith and the grim realization that the horrors of the Holocaust were destroying his faith in God. “”Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dust. Never shall I forget these things, even if I am condemned to live as long as God Himself. Never.”

But little did Wiesel know that one of the most horrific moments in Auschwitz were yet to come and that it would this moment of total despair that would lead him to realize God’s real presence in suffering. On one night in the camp, Wiesel and the other prisoners witnessed the execution of three Jews—two adults and one child. As the gruesome hanging took place—and as an innocent small child was sent to a painful, horrible death, an inmate in the camp kept asking aloud where God was in all of this?

One day when we came back from work, we saw three gallows rearing up in the assembly place, three black crows. Roll call. SS all around us, machine guns trained: the traditional ceremony. Three victims in chains— and one of them, the little servant, the sad-eyed angel.
     The SS seemed more preoccupied, more disturbed than usual. To hang a young boy in front of thousands of spectators was no light matter. The head of the camp read the verdict. All eyes were on the child. He was lividly pale, almost calm, biting his lips. The gallows threw its shadow over him.
     This time the Lagerkapo refused to act as executioner. Three SS replaced him.
     The three victims mounted together onto the chairs.
     The three necks were placed at the same moment within the nooses.
     “Long live liberty!” cried the two adults.
      But the child was silent.
     “Where is God? Where is He?” someone behind me asked.
     At a sign from the head of the camp, the three chairs tipped over.
     Total silence throughout the camp. On the horizon, the sun was setting.
     “Bare your heads!” yelled the head of the camp. His voice was raucous. We were weeping.
     “Cover your heads!”
Then the march past began. The two adults were no longer alive. Their tongues hung swollen, blue-tinged. But the third rope was still moving; being so light, the child was still alive…
     For more than half an hour he stayed there, struggling between life and death, dying in slow agony under our eyes. And we had to look him full in the face. He was still alive when I passed in front of him. His tongue was red, his eyes were not yet glazed.
     Behind me, I heard the same man asking:
     “Where is God now?”
     And I heard a voice within me answer him:
     “Where is He? Here He is—He is hanging here on this gallows…”

Since we are created in the image of God and we are all part of His creation, in times of suffering, God suffers with us. God suffered with Lazarus when he was rejected by all in society and God suffered alongside his creation when hatred and bigotry led to systematic murder of a people—purely due to their cultural background—just 65 years  ago. God hanged there on the gallows and though Wiesel realized that God was not dead, he understood that never for a moment had He abandoned His people.

The suffering, death and depravation of the Holocaust turned Wiesel into one of the most impassioned advocates of humanism and peace; his was the recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize in 1986, in recognition of his capacity to speak out against injustice and serve as a voice for the oppressed. Wiesel’s message is closely aligned with Christ’s message of compassion and justice and the importance of raising our voice, even if when doing so may appear to shake the foundations of our society and community. As an advocate for humanism, Wiesel wrote: “We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. Wherever men and women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must – at that moment – become the centre of the universe.”

If Jesus’ depiction of the rich man seems harsh in today’s reading, it is because the scaffold of prosperity, comfort and respectability that we have built is obstructing our view of God and the image of God in our neighbour. Jesus’ message to us is clear, direct and straightforward: if we want to see God, it’s time to finally tear down the scaffold.  

Christopher Adam teaches history at Carleton University and gave this reflection at Ottawa’s St. Joseph’s Parish, on 26 September 2010