Christ is the Center of This Chiasm

Homily from the 30th Sunday of Ordinary Time - Year B

The healing of blind Bartimaeus is one of my all-time favorite passages from the Gospels.  Not just because it’s a great story about a miraculous healing.  But because of (and forgive what might sound like technical analysis) it’s structure.

At the time of the writing of the Gospels, the structure of a story, the deliberate placement of sentences in a particular way, was much more significant than it is today.  Today, when someone writes a story, the meaning of the story is conveyed mostly in simply what the sentences say.  However, 2,000 years ago, the meaning of a story was conveyed just as much as when, and in what order, the sentences were said.

There’s a particular structural device the authors of Sacred Scripture would use in telling a story to draw attention to the most important point, the central idea of the story.  It’s called a chiasm.  A chiasm is a literary device where sentences or clauses are arranged in a mirror-like structure.  Basically, the first half of the chiasm reads in a particular order, then the second half of the chiasm reads in the opposite order.

Perhaps I can best explain this with an example well known in American culture.  There’s a chiasm you all know by heart, the most famous words ever spoken by President John F. Kennedy at his Inaugural Address:  “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.”  You could call this a 4 part chiasm:

• Part 1 is “Ask not what your country”
• Part 2 is “can do for you,”
• Part 3 is “ask what you”
• Part 4 is “can do for your country.”

Do you see how Part 1 mirrors Part 4 and Part 2 mirrors Part 3?  This is why this device is called a chiasm.  It’s named after the Greek letter “Chi” which looks like our “X” and you could diagram the structure like an “X.”

Another well known chiasm-filled story is “Green Eggs and Ham” by Dr. Seuss.  Listen carefully to this 6-part chiasm.  We read forward in the the first three steps:

• Part 1: “I do not like them, Sam-I-am”
• Part 2: “I do not like green eggs and ham.”
• Part 3: “Would you like them here or there?

Then we read backward in the next three steps:

• Part 4: “I would not like them here or there.  I would not like them anywhere.”
• Part 5: “I do not like green eggs and ham.”
• Part 6: “I do not like them, Sam-I am.”

Well, as I said, the Bible uses chiasms all the time.  And many, many times, the Bible literally uses chiasms to point to the most important point, the central idea of the story.

Today’s Gospel is a big chiasm.  Let’s take a look at it to see which sentences mirror each other and what the central, most important point of the story is.  Open up your missalettes to today's Gospel.

The first step is our first sentence: “As Jesus was leaving Jericho with his disciples and a sizable crowd, Bartimaeus, a blind man, the son of Timaeus, sat by the roadside begging.”  It matches the last two sentences of the passage; look near the end: and Jesus said to him, “Go your way; your faith has made you well.”  And immediately he received his sight and followed him on the way.

Now, as opposed to JFK’s inaugural or “Green Eggs and Ham” the verses here do not mirror each other by using the exact same words.  Rather, they mirror each other in that Bartimaeus has been radically changed and is now doing the opposite of what he was doing before.  In the first sentence, Bartimaeus is just sitting there by the roadside.  In the last sentence, Bartimaeus does the opposite: he’s up and moving, a new disciple of Jesus, following him on the way.

OK, look at the second sentence: “On hearing that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to cry out and say, ‘Jesus, son of David, have pity on me.’”  Now look at it’s mirror verse a few sentences down:  “He threw aside his cloak, sprang up and came to Jesus.  Jesus said to him in reply, ‘What do you want me to do for you.”  In the earlier sentence Bartimaeus is still sitting there crying out to Jesus in faith.  In the later sentence Bartimaeus does the opposite: he springs up and goes to Jesus in faith.

Now, the next step: After Bartimaeus cries out “have pity on me” we read: “And many rebuked him telling him to be silent.  But he kept calling out all the more, ‘Son of David, have pity on me!’”  Skip the next sentence and you’ll find it’s mirror verse: “So they called the blind man, saying to him, ‘Take courage; get up, Jesus is calling you.’”  These two sentence illustrate very vividly the reversal of change.  In the earlier sentence, the people are telling Bartimaeus to shut up.  In the later sentence, all of a sudden they’re doing the opposite, they’re encouraging him, “Take courage; get up.”

Why?  Why all this change?  Why does Bartimaeus go from just sitting by the road, to walking along the way?  Why does he go from calling out to Jesus, to getting up and going to Jesus?  Why do the people stop on a dime and do a complete 180, going  from telling Bartimaeus to shut up, to encouraging him?  The center verse of this passage tells us the reason why?

“Jesus stopped and said, ‘Call him.’”  Jesus is the center of this Gospel story.  He is the center of the reversal of all behavior in this Gospel passage.  Likewise, Jesus must be the center of the story of our lives.  And he is the center of the reversal of our less-desirable behavior.

Jesus is constantly walking down the road of our lives.  And he is constantly stopping to call to us just as he called to Bartimaeus.  When he does, on which side of this story do you want to be?  Do you want to be spiritually blind or do you want to have spiritual sight?  Do you want to sit by the road or do you want to get up and follow Jesus?  Do you want to discourage the faith of others or do you want to encourage them to meet Christ?

The Eucharist we are about to receive is the same Christ who effected all the change we heard in this Gospel?  The Eucharistic Christ must be the center of our lives just as he is the center of this Gospel.  This Eucharist is the great chiasm of our lives.  Our lives build up to this point, aiming at the Eucharist, the summit of our lives.  And our lives proceed from this Eucharist, the source of our lives.  How will this Eucharist change us today?

Christ Suffers With Us

Homily for the 29th Sunday of Ordinary Time - Year B

The Gospel readings we’ve been hearing for the last few weeks and those we will hear in the weeks to come focus on the meaning of discipleship; being a faithful follower of Jesus Christ.  We’re into the second half of the Gospel of Mark.  Having past the halfway point where Peter is the first to confess Jesus’ true identity as the Messiah the Apostles now follow Christ on the way to Jerusalem where Jesus must go to die.  And along the way, the Apostles learn what it means to be a disciple of Christ.

It’s ironic that in the midst of another election season, we should see James and John doing some campaigning of their own.  Thinking that being a friend of Jesus means access to power, prestige and privilege, James and John ask for the seats of authority.  “Grant that in your glory we may sit one at your right and the other at your left.”

However, Jesus warns them.  To be His true disciple isn’t going to be easy.  It isn’t going to be fun. In fact, it’s going to be incredibly painful at times.

He tells James and John, “You do not know what you are asking.  Can you drink the cup that I drink or be baptized with the baptism with which I am baptized?”  The cup that Jesus will drink and his baptism is His own death.  He is walking towards Jerusalem where He will suffer greatly.  And following Christ means we will suffer greatly too.

Which begs the question, “Why?”  Why do we suffer?  Why is there so much suffering in the world?  And how could a good God allow suffering?

There have been innumerable attempts throughout the centuries to answer these questions.  Some say that suffering is a kind of purification.  Others say suffering is an opportunity to participate in the life of Jesus.  Still others say suffering enables us to move closer to God, to learn to trust Him more.

However, these attempts don’t really help many situations do they?  I mean, how do you explain the suffering of a young child with cancer?  Does a young child really need purification?  Does a wife whose husband has been unfaithful to her really want to hear that it’s an opportunity to trust God more?  Should someone who lost a family member to suicide be told “This is an opportunity to participate in the life of Jesus”?

I remember one time in the seminary, one of the upperclassmen was telling me about how someone from his parish assignment was going through intense suffering.  I don’t even remember what the exact details were anymore.  But I do remember thinking how awful it was and I immediately asked, “What did you say?”  He wisely said, “I didn’t say anything.  I just listened.”

Many times (not every time, but many times) people don’t want answers for their suffering as much as they want someone to simply be there and listen.

A man came to my office a few weeks ago and said how he was growing in His relationship with God but still struggling greatly, largely due, in part, to seeing the pain of his two children who suffer from muscular dystrophy.  So I sat there and listened to him.  And when he had finished, I simply said, “I don’t know how you feel.  Because your suffering is yours and not mine.  And I’m not going to pretend to know why your children are suffering or attempt to give you some sort of answer.”  And the lines in his forehead eased a bit and he simply replied, “Thank you.”

And as it turns out, that’s the way, it seems, Christ wishes to answer our suffering.  Just as people don’t want answers for their suffering as much as they want someone to simply be there, so too, Jesus, it seems, doesn’t attempt to give an answer for our suffering as much as He is simply there with us in our suffering.

In our second reading, St. Paul says of Jesus: “We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weakness, but one who has similarly been tested in every way.”  Perhaps it’s easier to understand if we take out the double negatives:  We do have a high priest, Jesus, who is able to sympathize with our weakness, because He has been tested in every way.  I wasn’t able to “feel the pain” of that father who visited my office.  But Christ “feels our pain” because He suffers with us and the cross is a reminder that we are not alone.

Last Wednesday, nearly 100 parents and grandparents whose children died by either illness, accident, miscarriage or abortion came to a “Mass of Healing.”  We listened to the Gospel passage where Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead.  And it was important to hear that Gospel, not just so they would hear that death is not the end and that the resurrection is our sure hope.  They needed to hear that Gospel so that we could hear the shortest verse in the Bible: “And Jesus wept.”  As Fr. James Martin says in his book, “The Jesuit Guide to Almost Anything” “God was not standing outside our pain, but was a companion within it, holding us in his arms, sharing our grief and pain.”

So, to all who suffer (and everyone suffers) know that none who have faith ever suffer alone.  Christ has already drank from the chalice of your suffering.  He has already been baptized in the same baptismal waters of suffering in which you are being baptized.  And he always walks ahead of us on the way to our Jerusalem.  That’s what it means to be a disciple: to be a follower; to let Jesus walk ahead of us on every path, most especially the path of suffering.

The Sock Darner

Homily From the 27th Week of Ordinary Time - Year B

Can anyone (under the age of 40) tell me what this is?  This is a sock darner.  Can anyone (under the age of 40) tell me what darning a sock is?

The reason why virtually everyone under the age of 40 doesn’t know what sock darning is, is because we don’t darn socks anymore.  Darning a sock, is sewing the hole back together.  Today, when you get a hole in your sock, what do you do?  You throw it away.

But back in the day, people had a lot less money.  You couldn’t just “buy another” all the time.  Decades ago, people saved, reused, and repaired everything.  My mother saved every plastic Cool Whip container we ever emptied and used it for something else.  You couldn’t throw away the bows from Christmas presents.  They were still good, so they were reused rather than toss them in the trash.

These simple things were costly, so we saved them.  Socks weren’t thrown in the trash, they were darned.  It seems ridiculous today, but not very long ago, people took the time and effort to sew sock holes shut.

I wonder if today, some people look at themselves like a sock with a hole in it?  Actually, I don’t have to wonder, because I know it to be true.  Sometimes, people are so deeply wounded, the hole in them is so vast, that they think they are beyond repair.

I saw this about four years ago in the seminary when I was assigned to work with a group called Bethesda Healing Ministry.  Bethesda is, as it says, a healing ministry, for women and men who are suffering the wound of an abortion experience.

We would meet every other week in a safe and confidential location.  A dear lady named Judy, who is a licensed counselor and nurse, was, and continues to be, the facilitator of the group.  She and a small team of loving, compassionate women, a couple priest chaplains, and two of us seminarians would meet at a former convent and open the doors to any woman or man, who wanted to begin the healing process. 

When they came through those doors, the first thing they would find was a smile and a friendly greeting from a total stranger that would soon become a very dear friend.  Then they would be invited to sit down with us and enjoy a delicious dinner.  After dinner, everyone would go into the chapel for a short period of silent, personal prayer.  Then we would gather in the living room and begin our meeting.  Once someone got to that point, the journey became much easier.  

Up to that point, for virtually everyone, it had been excruciating.  So many times, we would hear how people labored for months, even years, to take that first courageous step through the doors of Bethesda.  Some would drive to Bethesda and park their car in the lot, only to pause and drive away.  Some would even get as far as the front door, their hand practically on the doorknob.  Yet, still afraid and ashamed to turn the knob and walk through the door.

Because they thought they had done something so terrible that God did not love them anymore.  They thought God would not forgive them.  They thought they would not forgive themselves.

How wrong they were.  How surprised they were to hear that God indeed still loves them and can never stop loving them.  How surprised they were to hear that God always forgives the repentant heart.  How surprised they were to hear that Jesus would take the time and effort to heal them.  How surprised they were to come to understand they were not hole-filled socks to be thrown away.

Today, many of the women and men who have suffered an abortion experience now serve as companions and friends to newcomers to Bethesda.

I would like everyone who is suffering the wound of an abortion experience to know: you  are not broken beyond repair.  You are the beloved daughters and sons of God.  And Christ is waiting to offer you healing.

In 1995, Blessed Pope John Paul II wrote to women who have had an abortion in an encyclical called Evangelium Vitae (The Gospel of Life) and said the following:

“I would now like to say a special word to women who have had an abortion. The Church is aware of the many factors which may have influenced your decision, and she does not doubt that in many cases it was a painful and even shattering decision. The wound in your heart may not yet have healed. Certainly what happened was and remains terribly wrong. But do not give in to discouragement and do not lose hope. Try rather to understand what happened and face it honestly. If you have not already done so, give yourselves over with humility and trust to repentance. The Father of mercies is ready to give you his forgiveness and his peace in the Sacrament of Reconciliation. You will come to understand that nothing is definitively lost and you will also be able to ask forgiveness from your child, who is now living in the Lord. With the friendly and expert help and advice of other people, and as a result of your own painful experience, you can be among the most eloquent defenders of everyone's right to life. Through your commitment to life, whether by accepting the birth of other children or by welcoming and caring for those most in need of someone to be close to them, you will become promoters of a new way of looking at human life.”

To my sisters who have had an abortion:  You are beloved daughters of the Father.  You are children of God.  And as Jesus said in today’s Gospel, “Let the children come to me; do not prevent them.” (Mk 10:14)  Do not prevent yourselves from receiving the Father’s loving care, mercy and healing.

One way you might receive healing is by calling your priest.  As I said, I know from the testimony of the women from Bethesda how very difficult taking that first step can be.

However, trust in the Lord, know that you will be given complete confidentiality, and 

Another way in which you might begin to experience God’s love and mercy would be to attend a “Mass of Healing” here at St. Vincent’s on Wednesday, October 17th at 7PM.  You may know that every All Souls Day we offer a Mass for all our parishoners for whom we had a funeral over the past year.  Well, on October 17th, we will offer a special Mass of Healing for mothers and fathers who have lost a child through an abortion experience as well as for mothers and fathers who have suffered loss through miscarriage.  No one will ask you your name.  No one will ask you your circumstance.  You will be welcomed with the love of Christ.

We do this because God loves all His children and welcomes them into his embrace.  Not only those children lost through abortion or miscarriage or any other untimely death.  But also His children who need his healing.  And you will be received as the children in today’s Gospel were received by the Lord: “Then he embraced them, and blessed them, placing his hands on them.” (Mk 10:16)  There is no sin more powerful than His love.  And there is no hole He cannot repair.

The What, How & Why of Sin

Homily From the 26th Week of Ordinary Time - Year B

When problems occur, it seems that three questions are automatically asked: “What happened?”  “How did this happen?”  and “Why did this happen?”

The first question assesses the situation.  “What happened?”  Like when I was seven and we found my pet parakeet, Sam, lying dead on the bottom of his cage.  My father asked, “What happened?”  “Sam’s dead” I said.

Then my father asked the second question, “How did this happen to Sam?  How did Sam die?”  Looking at Sam’s empty food and water dishes (which, I think had been empty for a number of days) I said, “I think Sam starved to death.”

Then my father preceded to the third and final question, “Why did this happen to Sam?  Why did Sam starve to death?”  So I thought to myself, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure Sam’s food and water dishes had been empty for a number of days.  And it’s my job to fill his dishes” I responded, “Because I didn’t feed him.”

When we go to confession, we confess the “what” of our sins.  “What happened?”

“I got angry.”  “I was impatient.”  “I stole $20 bucks from my brother.”

However, if we really want to work at solving the problem of sin, we should also ask how it happened and why it happened.  At the end of confession, when we pray our Act of Contrition, we make what’s called “a firm purpose of amendment.”  We pray to avoid sin as well as “the near occasion of sin.”  This “near occasion of sin” is often the how and why of the problem of sin.  In the Gospel, Jesus wishes to bring to light, the how and the why of our sin.

Sometimes, the near occasion of sin is a person.  Jesus says, “Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin...” (Mk 9:42)  Now when Jesus uses the term “little ones” he doesn’t necessarily mean just children.  “Little ones” can mean all the children of God; all of us.

Who then, is the “whoever” that is the cause of sin?  Is it a drinking buddy?  Is it an enabler of some addiction?  Is it a boyfriend or girlfriend?

If there is a “whoever” in our life that causes us to commit grave sin rather than helping us grow in holiness, we need to separate ourselves from that person if they are unwilling to repent; for our sake as well as theirs.  As Jesus said, “it would be better for him if a great millstone were put around his neck and he were thrown into the sea.” (Mk 9:42)

And sometimes, the near occasion of sin is ourselves.  Jesus says, “If you hand causes you to sin... if your foot causes you to sin... if your eye causes you to sin...” (Mk 9:43-47)  If there is something within us that causes us to sin, we need to cut it out of our lives.

Now, I don’t believe Jesus is suggesting we literally pluck out an eye if we fall into the occasion of lust.  If so, we’d all be walking around blind. What Christ is saying, of course, is the absolute need to rid ourselves of the how and why of our sin that is within us.  Jesus uses extreme language to ask us the question, “Have you done absolutely everything to avoid the near occasion of sin?”

Jesus is asking us to consider the how and why behind the what of our sins.  Like an illness, if we want to treat the sickness of sin, we must get to the root of it.  Treating a symptom is reactive therapy.  Treating the cause of the symptom is the key to true eradication of sickness and the path to healing.

Confessing addiction to porn is one thing.  Discovering the reason for our attraction to porn is another.

Now, just one more word about cutting out the cause of sin.  As absolutely necessary as this is as one of the first steps to recovery, cutting out the cause of sin alone will never be enough.  It must replaced with some good.  We are created by God with a natural, built-in desire for Him and all that is good.  We all have, as is often said, a God-sized hole in our heart.  He has implanted within our hearts a space only He can occupy.  We sin when we try to fill the God-sized hole in our heart with created things.

If we want to eliminate a vice, we have to cultivate it’s opposite virtue.  If we want our hearts to be freed of evil, good must take evil’s place.  Otherwise, we’re just left with a heart with a hole in it and the temptation will grow stronger to fill it with vicious things.  We need to let God fill our hearts with virtuous things.

Confessing addiction to porn is one thing.  Discovering the reason for attraction to porn is another.  Turning our gaze away from porn towards a higher, Godly love is yet another.

Today, our parish celebrates our patronal feast day.  And perhaps better than any other Saint, the name of Vincent de Paul, is synonymous with the virtue of charity.  When he was first ordained a priest, St. Vincent formed close friendships with the very rich.  And in those early years, he grew comfortable with the hospitality the wealthy showed him.  He discovered the priest Christ was truly calling him to be by turning his attention toward the poor.

So, today, let us ask our patron, St. Vincent de Paul, to intercede for us that we may grow in the virtue of charity.  That the God-sized hole in our heart may be filled with this charity.  And that it may root out the cause of any sin that dwells in our heart.

So Long Self

Homily From the 25th Sunday of Ordinary Time - Year B

This past weekend, 70 7th & 8th grade girls took part in the annual Edge girls’ retreat.

They had a great time, grew stronger in their faith, and strengthened the bonds of friendship between them.

The theme of the retreat was “So Long Self.”  And the weekend was all about, putting away the our old self and putting on the new self of Jesus Christ.  Putting away sin and putting on holiness; putting away hatred and putting on charity; putting away ambition and putting on meekness; putting away pride and putting on humility.

In our Gospel today, we hear about the growing pains of the Apostles.  They are arguing among themselves about which one is the greatest and Jesus has to call them out on it.

My brother has a dog named Molly.  When Molly gets into trouble, my brother will give her a stern look, point his finger at her and sternly ask, “What did you do?!  What did you do?!”

And Molly always reacts the same way: she will stay where she is, but she will slowly turn her head away from the direction of my brother’s voice.

When Jesus and the Apostles arrive at the house, he asks them, “What were you arguing about on the way?”  And you remember how the disciples react: they remained silent.

Jesus does that to us.  As we grow closer to Christ, we become more acutely aware of our own failings.  As we enter into his light more fully, he illuminates our sins all the more.  It’s ironic.  As we grow in holiness, we are made more aware of our sinfulness.  That’s because we are moving, as I said, into his light.

When you’re driving at night, and another car comes from the opposite direction, their headlights reveal the minute cracks in the windshield.  Every squashed mosquito is lit up.  We see all the defects, all the gunk.  When we drive away from the light, we don’t see anything.

If we’re on a course away from Christ, we will remain oblivious to our sin.  If we’re on a course toward him, he will reveal to us our defects in order to make us strong.

And he does so, not as my brother does with his dog Molly.  Jesus doesn’t wag his finger at us and shout “Bad dog!”  Rather, he says to us, “You are good.  The defect of sin is now who you truly are.”

It’s not that Jesus reveals to us how bad we are.  Rather, he reveals to us how good we are.  

So, of course, when we realize how good we are, we’re all the more ashamed of our sins.

That’s the difference between unhealthy and healthy shame.  Unhealthy shame is when we say to ourselves, “Bad dog!  You’re worthless.”  Healthy shame says, “I’m better than this.  I want Christ to make a change in me.”

And Christ is always there to move us to conversion.  To create in us, a heart more like his.

In the Gospel, Jesus gives the Apostles and us an instruction in conversion of heart.  As we heard, the Apostles were arguing about which one of them was the greatest.  And Christ tells them, “If you want to be first, you must be last; and you must be a servant to all.” (c.f. Mk 9:35)

So he takes a child and says, “If you receive a child like this, you receive me and the One who sent me.” (c.f. Mk 9:37)  Why a child?  Well, you have to understand how the world regarded children 2,000 years ago.  It was very different from how we view children today.

Today, we regard children as precious.  Back then, children were considered, in a sense, to be on the lowest rung of society.  Children held no social status of any value.  They weren’t people of prestige or influence.  They didn’t bring anything to the table as it were.  Rather, quite the contrary, they were the neediest people in society.

Christ is saying, “If you wish to be great, you must embrace the neediest in society.”

Remember how he presents this child to the Apostles?  Jesus wraps his arms around the child.  And in doing so, Jesus is saying, “This child and I are one in the same.  The neediest in society and I are one in the same.”  “And if you want me to be concerned about you, you must me concerned about me in the neediest in society.”

This week, and next, our parish celebrates our patron St. Vincent de Paul, the patron Saint of the poor and needy.  Today, we had a bit of a party with VincentFest.  After this Mass, our teens will have a bonfire outside the Life House.  Next week, we’ll celebrate the Feast of St. Vincent de Paul at all our weekend Masses.  And we’ll be taking up a second collection for our St. Vincent de Paul society which works so generously to attend to the needs of the poor.  I want to thank you in advance for your generosity to the St. Vincent de Paul society, both financially and prayerfully.  Thank you for embracing the neediest in our community.  In doing so, you are embracing Christ, who has first embraced you and reveals to you how good you are.

Who is Jesus? Who is His Disciple?

Homily from the 24th Sunday of Ordinary Time - Year B

In the first reading, the prophet Isaiah states that he did not shield his face from buffets.  One time, Fr. Mark pointed that verse out to me and then he pointed out to me something about myself.  He said, “Isaiah did not shield his face from buffets.  And you have not shielded your face from buffets!” (pronounced: buff-fays)

This is the year of the Gospel of Mark in our lectionary cycle and we’ve now made our way through the first half of the Gospel.  The Gospel of Mark is a Gospel divided up into two halves.  If you sit and read the entire Gospel in one sitting, you might notice the distinction of these two halves.  And each of these halves seeks to answer a huge question.

The first half of the Gospel of Mark seeks to answer the question, “Who is Jesus?”  As you read through the first half, you’ll notice that certain people know who this Jesus is very clearly.  First of all, there’s the author of the Gospel itself, St. Mark the Evangelist, who starts his tome with the words, “The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” (Mk 1:1)

Then, interestingly enough, it is demons and unclean spirits who know who Jesus truly is.  In the first chapter, there’s a man possessed, and the demon cries out to the Lord, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth... I know who you are - the Holy One of God!” (Mk 1:24)  In another place, Jesus “drove out many demons, not permitting them to speak because they knew him.” (Mk 1:34)  In chapter three, “whenever unclean spirits saw him they would fall down before him and shout, “You are the Son of God!” (Mk 3:11)  In the fifth chapter, another man with an unclean spirit runs up to Jesus, prostrates himself before the Lord and cries out in a loud voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?” (Mk 5:7)

And at the same time, throughout the first half of the Gospel, there are a number of people who do not know who Jesus is.  Ironically, the one’s who fail to see Jesus’ true identity are those closest to him, his own disciples.  The disciples, who have heard time and again, these unclean spirits proclaim Jesus as the Son of God, are so dense, when they see Jesus miraculously calm the storm at sea, ask the question: “Who then is this whom even wind and sea obey?” (Mk 4:41)  Later, when Jesus is walking on the water, “they thought it was a ghost.” (Mk 649)

Until we reach today’s reading, which is the halfway point of the Gospel of Mark.  Finally today, one of the disciples gets it right.  Peter confesses, “You are the Christ.”

Jesus is not just a powerful preacher of a good moral code.  Jesus is not just a wonder worker who wants to persuade us to follow him because he dazzles us with miracles.  Jesus is the Son of God.  He is the Christ.  He is the one, sent specifically by the Father specifically to us specifically to convert us from sin to righteousness.  And that fact demands a radical response from us.

Which leads us into the second half of the Gospel of Mark and the question it seeks to answer which is “Who is a disciple of Jesus?”

When Peter proclaimed Jesus as the Christ, the Messiah, the Jews at that time were expecting something along the lines of a great military leader who would lead the Jews to victory over the Romans.  However, Jesus immediately reveals to them that he has quite a different mission.  He predicts his passion the first of three times.  “He began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer greatly and be rejected... and be killed, and rise after three days.” (Mk 8:31)  This is not at all what the Jews expect in a Messiah.  They expect him to conquer, not be killed, which is why Peter pulls him aside and tells him not to go to Jerusalem to be killed.

Jesus reveals to Peter, to the other disciples, and to us, that if we really want to be a disciple “whoever wishes to come after [him] must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow [him].  For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for [Christ’s] sake and that of the gospel will save it.” (Mk 8:35)

Then Jesus leads them in a new direction.  Up to this point, the disciples have been following Jesus north.  Until, as we heard in today’s Gospel, they reach Caesarea Phillipi, the northernmost point of Jesus’ missionary territory.  Now, that Peter has confessed Jesus as Messiah and the disciples know his true identity and mission, Jesus turns south in the direction of Jerusalem which will be the place of his death.  And to be a disciple of Jesus means to follow him to the same destiny.

As Jesus and the disciples make their way south towards Jerusalem, he tells them two more times that he must be handed over, condemned, mocked, spit upon, scourged and put to death.  You would think that the disciples would have remembered Jesus earlier command to take up their cross and follow him.  Surely one of them perhaps would have asked, “Lord, must I follow you to death?”  But no, they still don’t get it.  How do the disciples react after Jesus predicts his passion?  They argue about which one of them is the greatest (Mk 9:33-37)  and then James and John ask Jesus if they can have the seats on his right and left in the Kingdom. (Mk 10:35-45)

But Jesus reminds James and John, that if they want to be his disciples, they must drink the cup that he drinks and be baptized with his baptism.  Jesus’ cup and baptism is the cross.  And whoever wishes to follow Christ to the Kingdom must deny themselves, take up their cross, and follow him.

It’s not enough to be an admirer of Jesus.  I admire Einstein.  But Einstein is not my salvation.  It’s not even enough to be a believer in Jesus.  The demons believe in Jesus.  They know he exists, so they believe... but they do not follow.  We must be followers of Jesus.  We must walk in his footsteps no matter the pain or the cost.  That’s what it means to be a disciple.

I used to think that taking up one’s cross meant bravely facing difficult challenges, enduring hardships and gracefully tolerating pain and suffering.  But I don’t think that’s what taking up one’s cross essentially means.  All those things, facing challenges, hardships and suffering, are consequences of taking up one’s cross.  But what taking up one’s cross essentially means is following Christ no matter what.

It means if we’re faced with the decision of following Christ or following someone who leads us away from Christ, we follow Christ.  It means if we’re faced with the decision of choosing to imitate Christ or choosing a behavior or habit that is un-Christlike, we imitate Christ.

It means if we’re faced with pleasing Christ or pleasing someone else instead, we please Christ.  It means if we’re faced with the decision of following Christ’s Gospel and His Church or following a competing philosophical ideology, or a competing erroneous theology, or a competing political platform, we deny ourselves, take up our cross and follow him.

Because Jesus Christ is the Son of God and we are either his disciples or not.

Jesus Shock

Homily from the 21st Sunday of Ordinary Time - Year B

For the last five weeks, we’ve been listening to the sixth chapter of the Gospel of John in which we hear about Jesus’ miraculous multiplication of the loaves and fish and one of the most shocking speeches of all time: Jesus’ “Bread of Life” discourse.

In his “Bread of Life” discourse Jesus tells his disciples that they must seek not earthly food that perishes, but heavenly food that endures for eternal life; that he himself is this living bread come down from heaven; that the bread he will give is his flesh for the life of the world; and unless they eat his flesh and drink his blood, they do not have life within them.

Last week, we heard how some of those disciples of Jesus could not believe what they were hearing.  They took Jesus literally at his word.  “How can this man give us his flesh to eat and his blood to drink?” they asked.  They are pious Jews who know the law of Moses which forbids them from drinking the blood of any animal, let alone the blood of a human being, let alone eat the flesh of a human being.  But Jesus tells them again and again and again, “Yes, you understood me correctly.  Eat my flesh and drink my blood.”

And then the line in the sand is drawn.  “Many of Jesus’ disciples who were listening said, ‘This saying is hard; who can accept it?”  And Jesus asks, “Does this shock you?”  And indeed it does, for, as Scripture tells us, “As a result of this,” meaning, as a result of Jesus’ command to eat his flesh and drink his blood in the literal sense and not a figurative sense, “many of his disciples returned to their former way of life and no longer accompanied him.”

And Jesus let’s them go.  

He does not running after them saying, “Wait, hold on.  You’re right.  I only meant ‘eat my flesh and drink my blood’ in a figurative sense.”  Jesus said, “Eat my flesh, drink my blood.”  They asked, “Do you really mean that?”  Jesus said, “Yes.”  They said, “Nope, we’re outta here.”  And Jesus said, “Fine.”

Because Jesus meant what he said.  Those listening to him understood him correctly.  Jesus did not later alter his meaning.  And those who left, chose to stay on the opposite side of the line Jesus drew in the sand.

This isn’t a popular way of looking at Jesus.  Most would prefer a “nice Jesus.”  There isn’t a more boring word in the English language than “nice.”  Neil Armstrong, your the first human being to ever set foot on another celestial body other than Earth, what do you have to say about that?  “Hmmm.  This moon is nice.”

I had a professor in seminary who said when he is dead, if people say, “He was nice” then he failed in life.

Jesus didn’t come down from Heaven to be born in a feeding trough for animals and get nailed to the cross just so he could be a nice, cuddly Jesus.

I’m sure most of you are familiar with C.S. Lewis’ book “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” or have seen the movie.  You probably also know that the character of the lion Aslan is a figure for Christ.  (If you didn’t know this, reread the book or watch the movie again with that in mind and get ready to experience one of the greatest stories of the 20th century.)  Throughout the book, those citizens of Narnia who know Aslan well tell the children again and again, “Aslan is not tame lion.  Oh, he's good... but he's not tame."

Jesus is not cute, and cuddly.  He is not tame.  Jesus is shocking.

Click here to buy Jesus-Shock

I just finished an outstanding book on this subject called, “Jesus-Shock,” by Peter Kreeft who is often described as this generation’s C.S. Lewis.  And in it he asks the question, “Why is Jesus the most controversial and the most embarrassing name in the world?”  “No one is embarrassed if you talk about Buddha, or Muhammad, or Moses.”  But so many people are when you talk about Jesus.  “If you’re not sure my assumption is true,” Kreeft says, “test it, in any... mixed company... The name will fall with a thud, and produce sudden silence and embarrassment.”

Why is this?  Why is Jesus the most non-neutral name in the world?  Because Jesus is the most non-neutral person in the world.  “Jesus is a sword.  He divides” Kreeft says.  Remember Jesus’ own words, “Do not think that I have come to bring peace upon the earth.  I have come to bring not peace but the sword.  For I have come to set a man ‘against his father, a daughter agains her mother.’”  Peter Kreeft calls Jesus, “the razor edge of the round world?”

Jesus is not a boring, nice person.    “Jesus is the only man in history who never bored anyone.”  Just look at how every single person who encounters Jesus reacts to him in the Gospel:

In the Gospel of Matthew, when he finishes his sayings, “the crowds [are] astonished at his teachings.” (Mt 7:28-29)

When he tells the paralyzed man to rise, take up his mat and go home, “they were all amazed and glorified God, saying, ‘We never saw anything like this!” (Mk, 2:2-12; cf. Lk 5:18-26; Mt 9:2-8)

When Jesus calms the storm at sea, the Apostles “marveled” at him. (Mt 8:23-27; Lk 8:22-25)

When he raises the little girl from the dead, the people “were overcome with amazement.” (Mk 5:38-42; cf. Lk 8:51-56)

When Jesus himself appeared to his disciples after his resurrection, “they were startled and frightened.” (Lk 24:36-43)

And in today’s Gospel, when he draws the line in the sand over his command to eat his flesh and drink his blood, he asks “Does this shock you?”

Are we truly astonished and amazed by Jesus?  Do we marvel at him?  Are we startled or even frightened by him?  Does he shock us?

If not, we haven’t truly met Jesus yet.  We haven’t met the untamed lion.  We’re still settling for the cute, cuddly, stuffed version of him that sits on the corner of our bed and says, “Oh, don’t worry about me.  I’ll just sit here looking cute.  I won’t challenge you at all.”

Jesus is not boring.  He is God, who, as Kreeft says, “became a human zygote, fetus, baby, boy, teenager, man, and then corpse... [He gives] Himself to our mouths and our stomachs as well as our souls.  That thing that looks like a little piece of bread - that’s Him.  I certainly sympathize with most Protestants,” Kreeft goes on, “who do not believe that.  It is nearly unbelievable.  The priest puts God into your left hand, and you pick up God Almighty with your right thumb and forefinger and you swallow God Almighty, and He falls into your stomach.  That is crazy - as crazy as the Incarnation” God becoming man in the first place.

If Jesus doesn’t shock you, you haven’t met him yet.