The Seventeen Sunday of Ordinary Time

THE PEARL OF GREATEST PRICE

The Seventeen Sunday of Ordinary Time

1 Kings 3: 5, 7-14; Romans 8: 28-30; Matthew 13: 44-52

I was suppose to preach today but I've been under the weather for the past few days. But I wanted to share with you just a thought which would have been the basis for my homily. In the First Reading from the First Book of Kings, God tells King Solomon to ask for anything and it will be granted to him. Solomon asks for an understanding heart. What would you ask for?

In our Gospel from Matthew, Jesus gives us the Parable of the Pearl of Great Price. A man finds this buried treasure, hides it again and sells everything he has to buy the field so that the pearl will be his. What is your pearl of great price? What would you be willing to stake everything you have to possess?

When I was younger, I guess things like fame, success, wealth and health, a loving wife and a happy home with lots of kids would have been pearls that caught my eye, the things I would have cashed it all in to possess. But maybe, like Solomon, with age somehow I got what he got, an understanding heart - a heart which finally understands what really matters in life. 

I came across this song this week. It simply, beautifully and emphatically conveys how I would answer our Lord if today he asked me the question he asked Solomon . . . what to me is the one thing I would stake everything on . . . what to me is the pearl of great price.

Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A)

STORIES FOR A SUMMER SUNDAY 

Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A) 

Wisdom 12:13, 16-19; Romans 8:26-27; Matthew 13:24-43 

Everybody loves a good story, and summertime is a great time for “spinning a yarn” We make them up as we go along on a road trip. We share scary stories around a campfire. We tell humorous and sometimes embarrassing stories during family reunions. Jesus was a master storyteller. Today, we find ourselves in the middle of a three-week cycle where Jesus presents us with stories for a summer Sunday. But his stories weren’t meant to be just cute little stories that entertained his disciples on a hot afternoon. These are parables, meant to teach, to enrich, to confound, and to challenge the disciples . . . and us . . . to grow. 

Today we hear the parable of the wheat and the tares. Tares were a poisonous weed called the "bearded darnel." In the early stages of growth, the tares so closely resembled wheat that it wasn’t possible to distinguish one from the other. By the time they were distinguishable, the roots of the wheat and tares were so entangled that it wasn’t possible to weed out the tares without uprooting the wheat. It was essential to let them both grow together and then separate them at harvest time because darnel is quite bitter and mildly toxic. 

In the parable, a farmer sowed good seed in his field, but in the night an enemy came and sowed tares with the wheat. When the crop began to mature, it became obvious that the noxious weed had been sown with the wheat. The servants offered to pull up the tares, but the wise farmer said: "No, let them both grow together until harvest time. Then we will separate the tares from the wheat." 

The parable raises some important questions concerning the existence of evil - questions I’m sure you’ve asked at some time or another, and if you’re like me, questions you might currently be trying to come to grips with. Questions like: if all God created was good, how did evil enter the world? Why does good and evil exist side by side in the world? Why is it very difficult sometimes to distinguish evil from good? Will there ever be an end of evil? Can evil be prevented?

And the answers that it gives us might not exactly be the ones we wanted to hear: that we live in an imperfect world where evil is present as an unavoidable part of life; that there are evil persons and evil situations which we cannot change; and that there’s an evil force in the world which is beyond our power to fix. But that all of these will be properly handled in the end by God who alone has the wisdom, the power, and the right to judge.

How very often, we are like the servants in today’s gospel. To us there’s no room for the weeds; there’s no room for those whose sexual conduct is embarrassing or whose ethics are questionable; there’s no room for those who treat people unkindly or who have committed shameful sins. Something has to be done immediately! Yank the weeds and cut the losses! 

But the sower of the good seed has a different course of action in mind - "Do nothing," he says. Nothing! Leave both grow together until harvest time. It’s shocking to consider that God lets evil people damage our world and damage our Church. And what’s more, God seems to do nothing to stop the actions of murderers, rapists, robbers, abusers, liars, cheats, embezzlers, adulterers, racists, bigots and criminals of every sort. They often prosper and frequently avoid human punishment.

Whereas the servants in today’s parable, and we, are preoccupied with weeds, the sower is preoccupied with wheat. The sower is not so much interested in condemnation as he is in transformation. Most of us would want to weed out a liar, cheat and a thief, but if did, we would weed out Jacob, the son of Isaac and the father of the 12 tribes of Israel. Most would want to eliminate an adulterer and murderer, but if we did, we would get rid of King David. Most would want to weed out a corrupt young carouser whose drinking and womanizing caused great heartache for his mother. But if such a man were weeded out, we would have eliminated St. Augustine. Unlike God, we cannot know people’s hearts; where their lives might take them, or their potential for good. We are sinners living among sinners and we cannot judge too harshly and condemn too quickly. All the evidence isn’t in and the game is far from over.

There’s a danger in today’s parable and that danger lies in taking an “us” and “them” attitude: to identifies ourselves as the wheat and those guilty of serious sins or horrific crimes as the weeds. But we need to realize that every act of ours, every thought, word and deed of ours - is a seed. Our minds and hearts, our words and deeds are the seed bag from which we sow ourselves in the lives of those around us, in the world around us and in our own lives, too.

If your seed bag is anything like mine, it holds seeds for a good harvest and it holds seeds for weeds. It holds the seeds of my good will, my good intentions and my desire to lives as I know God calls me to live. And my seed bag also holds the seeds of my jealousy, my anger, and my selfishness. Jesus calls each of us to take great care in what we sow, lest we plant weeds that choke and cut short the growth and life of all around us. So we need to ask ourselves, in the week just past, how many seeds have I planted: how many seeds that hurt, how many seeds that heal? And in the week ahead how many seeds will I plant: how many seeds that hurt, how many seeds that heal?

Jesus allowed himself to be the seed that dies that others might have life. He allowed himself to be, sown, planted in the earth that he might raise up in a harvest of God’s grace and peace, for us. And that harvest is what he shares with us at the altar in the Eucharist: the harvest of wheat, become bread, become his Body for us; the harvest of grapes, become wine, become his Blood for us.

May the seeds of grace Jesus plants in our minds and hearts today yield a harvest of grace, a garden of blessings, leading each of us to sow the seeds of life and to reap the harvest the Lord desires.

The Fifteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time

WORDS 

The Fifteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time 

Isaiah 55: 10-11; Romans 8: 18-23; Matthew 13: 1-23 

The power that simple words have in our lives! Our whole lives can be radically changed, in an instant, by the words we hear . . . words like: 

“I love you.” 

“The news isn’t good.” 

“I forgive you.” 

"Will you marry me?" 

“You’re safe now.” 

“You got the job.” 

“Mom, Dad, I’m gay” 

“You’re pregnant.” 

"I have good news.” “I have bad news.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

"Are you ok?"' 

"Just go away." 

"Let me help you." 

“She’s gone. He’s gone.” 

“It’s a boy.” “It’s a girl.” “It’s twins.” 

"I want a divorce." 

“You’re beautiful.” 

“It’s cancer.” 

“I will." 

“I won’t.” 

“I did." 

“I didn’t.” 

“Can we talk?” 

“I need you.” 

“Yes.” 

“No.” 

“Not now, not yet.” 

“Good-bye.” 

None of those phrases was more than four words in length but each of them can make a lifetime of difference. Perhaps the only thing more powerful than the words we hear is their absence . . . silence . . . especially that silence in which we wait and hunger and hope for a word to be spoken. 

God knows so well how important and powerful are words in our lives. And so God spoke his Word to us in Jesus, the Word of God become flesh. The parable of the sower and the seed is all about hearing and rooting one’s life in the power of God’s Word, and of allowing the seed of God’s Word to take root and flourish in our lives. Believers listen for God’s Word and seek to live by it. So the question the parable poses for us is: Are we believers? Are you? Am I? 

Do I believe in the word of God?
Do I listen for God’s word?
Do I believe God speaks to me?
Do I believe God speaks to his people through the Church?
Do I believe that people in my life who truly love me and care about me speak God’s word to me?

And when God seems to be silent, do I wait?
Do I wait to hear God’s voice, God’s word?
Do I want to hear the word God speaks to me?
Do I invite the seed of God’s word to take root in my heart?

Am I careful to weed and prune the garden of my life lest the seeds of God’s Word be choked or carried away by my own desires and distractions, by my own word? 

Do I hope for, do I pray for, do I look for a fruitful harvest of God’s Word in my life? 

I began my homily with a number of powerful words that might change our lives, words we speak to each other. Every word God speaks to us is even more powerful and it might be helpful to remember some of the words that God speaks to every single one of us . . . words like: 

“I created you.” 

“I love you.” 

“I call you by name.” 

“You are mine.” 

“I am yours.” 

“I desire your happiness.” 

“I forgive you.” 

"Come to me." 

“Do not be afraid.” 

“Do what is good.” 

"Avoid what is evil."

“Love what is just.” 

“Come follow me." 

"I will give you rest." 

“Yes.” 

“No.” 

“Not now. Not yet.” 

“I am with you, always.” 

God speaks all of these words in the lives of all of us and God is faithful to every Word that comes from his lips. Remember the Lord’s word in the First Reading this morning: “The word that goes forth from my mouth shall not return to me void - but shall do my will, achieving the end for which I sent it” . . . God’s word is effective: but often on God’s schedule, not ours. 

And God calls us. God calls each of us to be ever so careful and gentle and strong and compelling in the words we speak to one another, mindful of how powerful can be the words that spill from our mouths, from yours and from mine 

The Lord has spoken to us today in the Word of Sacred Scripture and now we go to the altar of sacrifice, to remember there the words he spoke to us on the night before he died. To this very day, some 2,000 years later, the words of Jesus have power to change our simple gifts of bread and wine and make of them his Body and Blood. 

And his words have power, to this very day, to change us, to change our lives and to make of us a rich harvest of the truth of the word he has planted . . . within us and among us.

Video Version

The Fourteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time (Year A)

COME TO ME 

The Fourteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time (Year A) 

Zechariah 9: 9-10; Romans 8: 9. 11-13; Matthew 11: 25-30 

My father was born in 1917, part of what has become known as “The Greatest Generation.” He lived through the Great Depression and fought in World War II. I think those two events played a significant role in shaping my father’s personality. He was a patriot, politically conservative and financially frugal. Similarly, I guess me growing up in the 1960’s and 1970’s has influenced my personality and the optimistic and idealistic lens through which I view life. Where he was a realist, I am very much a dreamer. 

My dad was the wisest person I have ever known. Not only “book smart,” he had a tremendous dose of common-sense mixed in. As is true with most dad’s, he was great at giving advice, whether asked for or not. I remember him telling me, more than once, that there are no guarantees in life, and if something seems too good to be true, then it’s too good to be true. Naturally, as is typical of most fathers and sons, we sometimes didn’t see eye to eye about things. And in looking back, I have to admit, there isn’t one argument that I ever recall winning. His intelligence, common sense and realism gave him a wisdom that I didn’t have then and probably still don’t possess. Father really did Know Best . . . Until today. 

In our gospel this morning, we hear what could be the most loving, reassuring, uplifting thing Jesus ever said that’s been recorded in Sacred Scripture: “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.” That’s a guarantee you can take to the bank! That’s something that may seem too good to be true, but it is true! 

Are you worn out physically? Maybe you’re carrying in your body a devastating illness or suffering aches and pains or broken bones. Or are you just plain tired? Jesus’ invitation is for you. 

Do you feel burdened or weary in a relationship? Perhaps a friendship has been severed or maybe really rocky and you don’t know if things will ever be the same between you and someone you really trusted and whose company you enjoyed. Jesus’ invitation is for you. 

Are you grieving . . . grieving the death of someone you loved very much? Or maybe feel the loss of someone who moved away, physically or emotionally? Do you grieve the loss of a home or a job or that life just isn’t the same as it used to be? Jesus’ invitation is for you. 

Are you carrying the burden of someone else’s pain - someone you’re caring for, or someone you are praying for? Or do you feel the sadness of the world’s sufferings? Jesus’ invitation is for you. 

Are you stressed out? Burned out? Do you feel like there’s not enough time in the day and that you’re being stretched to the limits, that balancing work and home and family isn’t just tricky, it’s also taxing? Jesus’ invitation is for you. 

Are you feeling a sense of hopelessness that, despite lockdowns, quarantines, social distancing, and hiding our faces behind masks, the coronavirus just doesn’t seem to be going away? The loss of jobs and livelihoods is devastating. Is the inability to meet face to face, to congregate, to embrace, to comfort, and to console in person a deep, aching loss in your life? Has the shutting down of so much and the staying inside so long become a burden that you don’t know how much longer you can carry? Is the political and social unrest in our country adding to the already heavy burden you carry? Jesus’ invitation is for you. 

“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.” 

To come to Jesus and find to find rest is to find a place of healing and wholeness, and the assurance that God will not abandon us. But, in order to receive rest, inner harmony, contentment - peace within ourselves and peace with the world around us - there’s one catch . . . We need to remember to come . . . to seek Jesus . . . to unburden ourselves in him. And the awesome and amazing thing is that we don’t have to come before him as people who are somehow spotless and perfect. No, we come as we are. Just as we are. Jesus welcomes our vulnerability. 

In Jesus Christ, we are truly at rest, truly at peace. The vacation places we might travel this summer to get away from it all to achieve a sense of peace within ourselves might be hours and miles away. But Jesus, the true source of peace, is always near, not offering us the temporary fix, the momentary relief of our burdens and struggles for a week or two, as vacations do until we return to life as usual, but true, abundant and lasting peace. On vacations we pack suitcase upon suitcase of all the things we think we will need. In coming to Jesus, there’s only one thing we need to bring – trust . . . trust in his love . . . trust that he is who he claims to be . . . trust that he can do what he has promised to do. 

When someone dies, we often pray that they “rest in peace.” What are we really saying when we pray for someone to “rest in peace?” It is our prayer, our wish, our hope, that, for all eternity, they may be relieved of the burdens that beset them in this life simply by being in the presence of God, God who himself is peace. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we sought that peace, not just at the end of life, but in the midst of life? We can, you know. It’s available to us. And the way we achieve it is the same way it’s achieved at the end of life – by putting ourselves into the presence of God – totally, completely, without reserve in the here and now. Peace is an attribute of God, as is love and joy. And when we place ourselves in the presence of God, when we unburden ourselves and rest within his presence, we can’t help but feel that of which is God – his love, his joy, his peace. 

Just as death is a handing over to God that which is beyond our control, to achieve the rest that Jesus offers us similarly involves surrender. Come to Jesus and unburden yourself from trying to going it all alone, doing it all by yourself. You can’t. He can. Take on the easy yoke of his way. In place of the expectations that you place upon yourself and those that society places on you - to be this . . . to achieve that . . . to do what everyone else is doing . . . to measure up to its ever-changing standards – come to him for his burden is light. 

Come to him . . . take upon yourself the yoke of his Word, the example of his life, the teachings of the Church. Come to him in prayer, through the sacraments, in Eucharistic Adoration and he will be found – the God of peace - who offers himself, and offers his peace, to all who enter his presence and allow him to touch them with his loving embrace that heals, forgives and unburdens. 

He offers us hope in his words. He shows us forgiveness in the Sacrament of Reconciliation and proclaims that we are not defined by our past. He unites us with himself and his Church as we share at his table. He affirms and supports us through our fellow Christians. He reveals the attitude and approach we should take to living. He teaches us how to be in a life-giving relationship with God and with others. 

“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.” 

There are no guarantees in life? If something seems too good to be true then it’s too good to be true? Sorry dad. This is one argument you’re not going to win.