Thirty-second Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Father Michael Elmlinger

Guest

The past couple of months have been rather unique for our liturgical calendar, as we have had a few Sundays in Ordinary Time that have been taken over by major feast days. In September, we had the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross. Just last Sunday, we celebrated All Souls Day, and now this Sunday, we celebrate another important Feast rather than the Sunday in Ordinary Time: the Feast of the Dedication of St. John Lateran Basilica. But what is so special about the Lateran Basilica? Why is it so important that it takes over a Sunday in Ordinary Time?

It may come as a surprise to some people that the cathedral of Rome in fact is not St. Peter’s Basilica. It is certainly one of the most important churches in the Catholic Church, but it is not the cathedral of the Diocese of Rome. The actual cathedral of the Diocese of Rome is in fact St. John Lateran Basilica.

If we recall just this past May when Robert Cardinal Prevost was elected Pope Leo XIV, we may recall that not long after his installation Mass at Vatican City, he had another major celebration: his possession of the cathedral of Rome, St. John Lateran Basilica. Now, since this is the cathedral of the Diocese of Rome, that also means that the Lateran Basilica is also the cathedral of the universal Church as well, the Mother Church of all churches. In other words, it is the cathedral of the entire world, of the one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church. So this day, this feast of the dedication of the Lateran Basilica, is a day where most especially we celebrate the unity of the Church of Christ.

In his homily for when he took possession of the Lateran Basilica, Pope Leo called for the Church to be “a sign of unity and community, leaven for a reconciled world.” Indeed, this is one of the very marks of the Church, that the Church is one, specifically one under Our Lord Jesus Christ. He is the source of our unity, as all that we do leads to Him and from Him, especially in the Most Holy Sacrament of the Altar: the Eucharist.

Indeed, it was during the night of the Last Supper when Christ instituted the Eucharist that he prayed his high priestly prayer, “that they may be one, as We are One.” (John 17:21) As St. Paul says, “The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ? Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of one bread.” (1 Cor 10:16-17) One of the most beautiful expressions of the unity that is found within the Church is how throughout the entire world, though there is great diversity within the Church, the same Eucharist is celebrated.

I say this especially from my own personal experience, as I am currently living in Canada for further studies. There are times when I get homesick, where I miss my family and friends from the Diocese of Covington, as there were when I was in seminary. One of the ways that I feel strongly connected to my homeland is through the Eucharist, through the celebration of the Mass. Even though there are slight discrepancies between how Canada and the United States celebrate the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, nevertheless, the celebration as a whole remains the same. This brings a sense of comfort, a sense of belonging, a sense that we are truly at home within the liturgy, especially the Mass, even in the midst of a foreign land.

This is one of the things that the Lord wants to give us through his Church: this sense of belonging, of being at home with him and through him. One of the ways that He does this is through the very sacrament of his Body and Blood, the One Bread of Life. In a world that at times can be greatly individualistic, we have a wondrous gift from the Lord that brings us into one with Him and with one another. Every time that Eucharist is celebrated and we receive the Body and Blood of Our Lord, our bond of communion with one another and with him is strengthened ever more, so that indeed we may be one, as he, the Father, and the Holy Spirit are one.

Father Michael Elmlinger is a priest of the Diocese of Covington, Ky. Father Elmlinger is currently studying Canon Law at the University of St. Paul, Ottawa, Canada.

Thirty-first Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Father Dan Schomaker

Guest

St. Benedict instructs, “keep death before your eyes always.” On the annual priests’ retreat a few years ago, the Retreat Master asked a very poignant question: “Do you pray for your death?” I’m going to make an assumption that most of us tend to avoid thinking about death, especially our own. It is not a particularly joyful subject to the modern mind. What is it that we are so afraid of? The unknown? Are we focused on what is lost or on what is gained?

Jesus makes a promise to his disciples — to us! And Jesus always keeps his promises: “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If there were not, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back again and take you to myself, so that where I am you also may be.” (John 14: 2-3)

When I was in my early 30s, I decided to purchase the casket for my funeral. I did this for the practical reasons: I knew what I wanted and didn’t want to leave the decision to anyone else — and, in the hope that I would live a long life, it would be cheaper versus when I’m in my 80s or 90s (or so I assume). I’ve also chosen the prayers and readings and music that I want at my funeral. In a way, this is keeping death before my eyes … kind of.

The Retreat Master, however, was not encouraging us to do the practical planning, as good as that is. He was encouraging us to pray and talk to God about the type of death we would have.

What will it look like? What will be my attitude? Will it be a holy death? Will it be filled with grace? Will I accept it as a gift? Will I die as a witness to the faith? Will my death be a model for others? Am I willing to say: “Thy will be done.” Will I be angry if it doesn’t happen the way I want? How do I approach the reality of dying?

Remember, if you want to go to heaven, you have to die! It’s the only way. Oh, and you can’t escape it!

In this month of November as we pray in a special way for the faithful departed, that they may rest in the eternal peace and joy of God, let us also reflect on our own death, making it part of our daily prayer. In this way, we will be prepared for death whenever it comes. We are never guaranteed our next breath.

For the one who knows the Lord, there is nothing to be afraid of — death is just the journey into the fullness of life and love — God, surrounded by the angels and saints awaits us! Therefore, let us always be prepared to meet the Lord!

Father Daniel Schomaker is pastor, Blessed Sacrament Parish, Ft. Mitchell and director, Office of Worship and Liturgy for the Diocese of Covington, Ky.

Thirtieth Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Father Phillip W. DeVous

Guest

One rarely hears much anymore about the “New Atheists”, or from other professional atheists in the public square. Given the relative silence of this previously influential contingent, it would be lovely to think they were successfully rebutted by the arguments for faith in Jesus Christ and defeated by the evidence supplied by lives of faith. While such arguments are not absent and such lives are present among us, I sense that atheism has largely triumphed, at least, socially, as the lingua franca of cultural life. In other words, their ideas were successful, and public opinion simply absorbed their notions as the default norm.

This gives us an opportunity to properly examine the true nature of atheism. Contrary to the common understanding, atheism is not simply a rejection of belief in God or the idea of God. Upon closer examination, one can see that atheism is a form of idolatry, of self-sufficiency, and a radical belief in oneself and in one’s own power to make oneself “good.” We see this phenomenon illustrated in the figure of the Pharisee when he prays, ostensibly to God, but really to himself: “O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of humanity — greedy, dishonest, adulterous — or even like this tax collector.”

This is what one strain of atheistic idolatry looks like—praying to a god we have made in our own image and likeness. As the late Pope Benedict XVI noted in his deeply insightful book, Jesus of Nazareth:

“At the heart of all temptations . . . is the act of pushing God aside because we perceive him as secondary, if not actually superfluous and annoying in comparison with all the apparently far more urgent matters that fill our lives. Constructing a world by our own lights, without reference to God, building on our own foundation; refusing to acknowledge the reality of anything beyond the political and material, while setting God aside as an illusion — that is the temptation that threatens us in many varied forms.”

Jesus is beckoning us to recognize the reality that even believers can be tempted to the corruption of atheistic-idolatry, even as they call on the name of the Lord in prayer and worship. We treat God as secondary, ourselves as first. We construct a god that suits our purposes and we end up worshiping the false gods of politics and material pursuits, which is to say, worshiping ourselves under various guises. In our age where materialism is regnant in every sphere of life, and deeply influences our understanding of the human person, this temptation is ever-present.

What then is the remedy to this powerful and often subtle temptation? Radical humility and an awareness of our poverty of spirit. As the Holy Gospel teaches, “for whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and the one who humbles himself will be exalted.”  Humility does not come easily to us, as self-will and a refusal to acknowledge our relationship of dependence on God and others is a consequence of original sin, intensified by our personal sins. That is why we pray in the opening collect of the Holy Mass, “make us love what You command.” Left to our own devices, living according to our lights, we tend to “love” only what we want. If our wants are untutored by Gospel truth and untouched by grace, we end up in a state of unbelief and idolatry.

When we allow the Holy Spirit to reveal to us our poverty of spirit, our dearth of understanding about what truly matters, and what makes us whole as humans, we may well experience a profound sense of being brokenhearted. This is a natural consequence of recognizing where in our lives we have worshipped that which is unworthy, believed that which is false, and been made less than we are meant to be. This recognition, though painful, is the path to the highest good! As the psalmist proclaims, “the Lord is close to the brokenhearted; and those who are crushed in spirit he saves.”

This is the posture of radical humility that conquers the atheism which is really the idolatry of self and our state of possession by desires untutored by truth and untouched by grace. In faith, trusting that the Lord will rescue us from every evil, we turn to the Lord who is alive to us in the Holy Sacraments, praying, “perfect in us what lies within them, that what we now celebrate in signs we one day possess in truth.”

Father Phillip W. DeVous is the pastor of St. Charles Borromeo, Flemingsburg, and St. Rose of Lima, May’s Lick.

Twenty-ninth Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Father Stephen Bankemper

Guest

The Gospel for this weekend, the story of the corrupt judge and the persistent widow, is well known and often cited, but I have always thought that the story in the first reading, the story of Joshua battling Amalek and Moses praying on the hill above him, deserves to be better known, because it is a good picture of what the Church’s life — and more particularly, parish life — should be.

Moses tells Joshua to engage Amalek in battle. Why Joshua and not Moses? To lead in battle is not Moses’ role. It is Joshua’s and the other Israelite warriors’ task to engage their enemies in battle. Just so, it is not the primary role of the pastor to engage in the Church’s duties and activities in the world. That belongs primarily to the lay faithful of the Church. This principle has been explained in many ways by many different spiritual writers and teachers, but I will cite just two examples.

Lumen Gentium (“Dogmatic Constitution on the Church”), one of the documents that came out of the Second Vatican Council, after describing the nature of the Church in general, next discusses the nature and purpose of the hierarchy (clergy), and then has an entire section dedicated to the laity (Chapter IV, “The Laity”). Among all the things written about the laity is this general comment: “But by reason of their special vocation it belongs to the laity to seek the kingdom of God by engaging in temporal affairs and directing them according to God’s will. They live in the world, that is, they are engaged in each and every work and business of the earth … There they are called by God that, being led by the spirit to the Gospel, they may contribute to the sanctification of the world, as from within like leaven …” (Par 31b)

A second example comes from John Paul II’s Post-Synodal Apostolic Exhortation, Christifideles Laici (“The Lay Members of Christ’s Faithful People”). From the very first sentence of the document John Paul illustrates the role of the laity by using the parable from Matthew’s Gospel of the workers in the vineyard: “The lay members of Christ’s Faithful People … are those who form that part of the People of God which might be likened to the laborers in the vineyard mentioned in Matthew’s Gospel …” (Introduction) Lay people “as well are personally called by the Lord from whom they receive a mission on behalf of the Church and the world.” (Par 2d)

Who supports them in their mission? The clergy. Moses does not stand on the battlefield, but climbs a hill from where he entreats the Lord on the warriors’ behalf. The citations describing the priest’s ministry to the laity are too numerous to even mention, so perhaps we should simply look at the nature of priestly ministry, described broadly by noting that the priest, as an extension of the local ordinary (bishop), participates in Jesus’ ministry of Priest, Prophet and King; the One Who sanctifies His people (for their own benefit, but also that “they may contribute to the sanctification of the world”, the quote from above), the One Who teaches and speaks God’s word to them and the One Who shepherds and guides them. I include under “Priest,” one who sanctifies, praying for my people. In fact, I spend more time praying for my parishioners than I do any other one thing, except perhaps homily preparation.

Moses, however, gets tired. His hands fall. He needs the support of Aaron and Hur to

continue his prayer. So, too, the priest gets tired, discouraged, disillusioned, scandalized, doubts himself, is subject to attacks by the Enemy, is tempted in many ways. Some months ago a YouTube video caught the attention of the Catholic people. It was purported to be a message from Pope Leo in reaction to the suicide of a priest. It very quickly became known that it was not, in fact, from the Holy Father, and it quickly died, but the message was nonetheless accurate. The priest needs support in his ministry, not for his own sake, but so that he can continue in his ministry and be effective. Without Aaron and Hur, Moses would not have been able to continue his intercession, and the battle would have been lost. Without support, the priest, too, will eventually fail in his ministry. Not all of that support needs to come from his people — there is his prayer and devotional life, the Eucharist, and the grace of the sacrament of ordination, for examples — but the human support he receives from his people is vital.

Go back and read this story again in this context. Let us pray for each other, so that we each may persevere in our respective vocations and ministries. Let us care for each other. Let us help each other. Let us love each other.

Father Stephen Bankemper is pastor, St. Catherine of Siena Parish, Ft. Thomas, Ky.

Twenty-eighth Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Father Michael Elmlinger

Guest

For those of you who do not know me, I am a huge Notre Dame college football fan, so it should not come as a surprise that almost every year during the season, there is one movie that comes to mind: “Rudy.” There is one particular scene that I was recently reminded of. It is the scene where Rudy feels like he is losing all hope of getting into Notre Dame, and he is sitting in the Basilica of the Sacred Heart when Father Cavanaugh notices him. During the conversation, Rudy says, “Maybe I haven’t prayed enough … If I’ve done everything I can, can you help me?” Father Cavanaugh responds to him with a very simple statement, “Son, in 35 years of religious studies, I have come up with only two hard, incontrovertible facts: there is a God, and I’m not Him.”

The reason that I bring up this scene is because one of the things Father Cavanaugh is saying here to Rudy is the same as our readings this weekend: faith is not magic. It is not a matter of saying some prayers that will force God to wave his hand to cure us of whatever ailment we are dealing with. Having this kind of relationship with the Lord is not an authentic relationship; rather, it is one of superficiality or even quid-pro-quo.

Faith, instead, is about a relationship of intimacy, of trust and obedience. We are to be obedient to Him in whatever He commands us to do, because we trust in him. That obedience is meant to lead to thanksgiving.

For the sake of brevity, I am not going to retell the story of Naaman, the Syrian commander who was cured of leprosy. I do encourage everyone to read the full story themselves in 2 Kings 5, because it will help in understanding the point I want to make. I want to focus on Naaman’s reaction to Elisha telling him to go to the Jordan River and bathe seven times. Naaman is incredulous and disappointed. He thought that Elisha would simply wave his hand and cure him of his leprosy.

Not only that, but the Jordan River is hardly the best river in the land. In fact, Naaman has to be reminded that he has no other choice but to do what Elisha commands him. He had to learn this truth that relationship with God is not meant to be a magic show. It is meant to be a relationship of trust in all that he commands him to do. After deciding to listen to what Elisha tells him, Naaman goes to the Jordan and is healed of his leprosy, and the only thing that he can think to do is to see that the God of Israel is the true God and to give thanks to him.

The 10 lepers who are healed by Jesus experience the same thing. It is interesting how this time, Jesus does not heal the lepers first, like he did earlier in the Gospel in Luke 5:12-16, before sending them to the priest. Rather, he is sending them first, which likely may have been confusing, if not frustrating, for these lepers. As lepers, they were to isolate themselves from the rest of society until they were actually cured (cf. Leviticus 13:46).

What Christ is doing here is calling them to the same act of humility and trust that Elisha called Naaman, trusting that what they have been told is true, regardless of whether they may agree with it or not. That trust turns what would have been a simple display of magic into an opportunity to grow in a real relationship with the Lord, rather than a superficial relationship. It is a relationship that is built on trust, on obedience to the word that the Lord has spoken to them, and that trust and obedience is meant to lead to only one other response: thanksgiving (from the Greek, eucharisteo).

This is what an authentic relationship with the Lord looks like. It is not one of superficiality, where all it consists of is saying the “right words” to have the Lord wave his magic hand over whatever happens to ail us that day. Rather, it is an intimate relationship built on trusting in what it is that he tells us to do, even if it may not make sense.

When we are willing to truly listen to the voice of the Lord calling out to us, then are we able to be truly transformed by Him and cleansed by him of the leprosy of sin, and there is only one response worthy of this wondrous gift: “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his mercy endures forever.” (Psalm 118:29)

Father Michael Elmlinger is a priest of the Diocese of Covington, Ky. Father Elmlinger is currently studying Canon Law at the University of St. Paul, Ottawa, Canada.

Twenty-seventh Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Father Dan Schomaker

Guest

In the Gospel for this weekend, the apostles ask the Lord to: “Increase our faith.” I think, along with many others, that there is a great misunderstanding in today’s culture about what faith is and what it is not. Let’s start with the negative. Faith is not a blind belief, it is not a superstition, a credulity, naivete, gullibility nor is it an irrationality.

What it is, as defined by the Letter to the Hebrews, is: “…the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen.”

If we break down that definition, we see that the use of our human reason and intellect is integral and necessary for faith. “Realization” is the awareness through thought, study, contemplation, examination, etc. that something is real. “Evidence” is the proof of that thought, study, examination, etc. Synonyms include clear, apparent and obvious.

So, faith can be the obvious proof of invisible realities that have become known in the mind through the use of human reason and experienced in the heart because of a longing for that which is hoped. In the case of God, that hope is Heaven!

St. Thomas Aquinas provides the Church with five (5) proofs of God’s existence. I’ll share just one: The Unmoved Mover. He would argue that all of creation is in some form of motion or change. Nothing can move itself; it is always acted upon by an outside force. He argues that there cannot be an infinite chain of movers – those outside forces which cause the motion or change. There must be an initial mover who is unmoved. This unmoved mover we Christians call God. As a thought process, this invisible reality becomes clear to the mind through the use of reason!

If we desire to have an increase in faith like the apostles, then we have to start using our minds and our reason as we seek belief. St. Augustine would say: “do not seek to understand that you may believe, but seek to believe that you may understand.”  Belief must come first!

Let’s give ourselves over to the faith of the Church, the faith into which we were all baptized… one that is pure and perfect. Then we can watch an exposition of growth, just like the tiny mustard seed becomes the greatest of bushes.

Father Daniel Schomaker is pastor, Blessed Sacrament Parish, Ft. Mitchell and director, Office of Worship and Liturgy for the Diocese of Covington, Ky.

Twenty-sixth Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Father Phillip DeVous

Guest

“Woe to those the complacent in Zion!” For us to grasp just how thoroughly the Prophet Amos is calling us to task with his proclamation, it is imperative to understand the essence of the prophetic “woe.”

A woe is an anguished cry or lament by those mourning the dead, the future prospect of death, or cataclysm. Prophets pronounce woes as warnings about God’s judgment on sinful cities or nations. They also serve as urgent appeals for repentance from sin.

One of the primary ways we become complacent in our pursuit of holiness is to presume we are good enough; to presume that mercy will just “work” no matter my disposition. Zion, the biblical Jerusalem, finds its fullest expression and fulfillment in the Church, the Body of Christ. In the Church there dwells the fullness of grace of salvation.

Despite the extraordinary reality of Christ dwelling among us, it is easy to fall prey to a kind of presumption that makes us spiritually complacent and neglectful, causing us to slouch towards the prophetic “woe” being pronounced upon us.

How does such spiritual complacency about something as important as our eternal destiny in the Trinitarian God come about? Very often, distracted by the relentless tempo of the unexamined life, we treat the Church like a mere system for good works and emotional uplift, not the place of encounter and communion with the Holy of Holies, the Trinitarian God. When the Church is understood in this manner, the Holy Sacraments get reduced to something like mere signs of aspiration and affirmation, personal goodness, and/or community togetherness, not the means of our repentance, conversion, and sanctification.

When the Church, the Gospel message, and the Holy Sacraments are rendered as a ceremonial system of “moral therapeutic deism,” a phrase coined by the sociologists Christian Smith and Melissa Sundquist Denton, we have entered the realm of complacent idolatry. There are five basic tenets (really senses) of moral therapeutic deism (MTD); senses that hollow out an authentic spiritual life in Christ.

  1. A God exists who created and orders the world and watches over human life on earth.
  2. God wants people to be good, nice and fair to each other, as taught in the Bible and by most world religions.
  3. The central goal of life is to be happy and to feel good about oneself.
  4. God does not need to be particularly involved in one’s life except when God is needed to resolve a problem.
  5. Good people go to heaven when they die.

It would be entirely correct to describe the tenets of MTD as “my way, my truth, and my life” vs. Jesus, the way, the truth, and the life. It is obvious the tenets of the worldly ideology of MTD, with a sprinkling of the spiritual, are rather generic, resisting any definition or direction. Everyone is left to pick whatever meaning one wishes — the notions they find most affirming.

The prophet Amos was trying to stir people from a complacency, which assumed a false sense of spiritual security among the people, despite the evildoing that thrived in their midst, within them and among them. It was the prophet’s task then, and the Church’s now, to exhort us to the higher and harder path, as St. Paul teaches us, to “pursue righteousness, devotion, faith, love, patience and gentleness. Compete well for the faith. Lay hold to eternal life, to which you were called…”

To lay hold of the eternal life, to which we are called, a question confronts us: Do we experience urgency in the need to repent from sin?

In praying the Michaelmas Novena in my parishes, we have been reminded that it is primarily through unexamined, unrepentant and unconfessed sin that the Satanic rebellion takes root in us, hardening our hearts to the truth, love and presence of Jesus Christ. This lulls us into complacency and makes us vulnerable to spiritual evils.

The greatest of all spiritual evils, of course, is a hardness of heart, which leads us down the path towards the spiritual cataclysm of rejecting Jesus Christ. The way to ensure we are not spiritually complacent is to make a searching examination of conscience and a devout, thorough Confession. It is through our Holy Communion with Jesus, ever more perfected by the regular reception of his Divine Mercy that “we keep the commandment without stain or reproach until the appearance of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Father Phillip W. DeVous is the pastor of St. Charles Parish, Flemingsburg and St. Rose of Lima Parish, Mayslick, Ky.

Twenty-Fifth Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Father Stephen Bankemper

Guest

For the last few weeks, we have been making our way through a section of Luke that contains many, as some describe them, “hard sayings” of Jesus. They have been hard, not to understand, but to do — take the lowest place, give to those who cannot repay, let no one and no thing be more important to us than Jesus. The hard saying we encounter this weekend is a little of both — it can be hard at first to understand, and then also hard to do.

“And the master commended that dishonest steward for acting prudently.” What does this mean? Can a person act dishonestly and prudently at the same time? What is Jesus trying to teach with this parable?

Dr. Brant Pitre, drawing on St. Augustine, explains the parable by highlighting two aspects of the steward’s actions: his foresight (securing a place for himself when his time as steward ends) and his resourcefulness.

The key to understanding Jesus is this sentence: “For the children of this world are more prudent in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.” Jesus is not saying that the children of light — his disciples — should be dishonest as the children of this world, but that we should be as intelligent and resourceful in our preparations for eternity as they are in living their lives now.

As Dr. Pitre puts it, “What Jesus is saying is that if people in this world go to extreme measures to think about providing for themselves for the future, even so much as to steal, then how much more should Christians — disciples of Jesus — go to extreme measures to prepare for and to ensure for our … eternal life.” (Pitre podcast)

That one day we will leave this Earth and live somewhere else for eternity is surprisingly hard for us to remember; after all, we experience people dying all the time. We focus so much on our earthly lives that we can forget or ignore reality. Even when they remember, however, many people in our modern society make an even worse mistake — they assume that everyone spends eternity with God, that there is no need to prepare for it in this life. Jesus’ parable is a reminder of these two important truths: that there is life after our time on Earth, and that we need to prepare for it.

How should we prepare? Pitre connects the steward’s actions in the parable with a line from a commentary by St. Ephrem: “Buy for yourselves, O sons of Adam, those things which do not pass away, by means of those transitory things which are not yours!”

Just as the steward uses money which is not his (change your promissory note from 100 measures of olive oil to 50) to buy a secure future for himself, so should we use the earthly money that does not belong to us to secure our heavenly future.

What money do we have that does not belong to us? One of the principles of Catholic social teaching is called the universal destination of goods. After we have supplied our legitimate needs with our money, the Church understands that we have a moral obligation to use our excess, at least in part, to care for others in need. “And the multitudes asked him [John the Baptist], ‘What then shall we do?’ And he answered them, ‘He who has two coats, let him share with him who has none; and he who has food, let him do likewise.’”

The word Scripture uses for this practice is almsgiving. In the Bible, alms refer to money — any material goods, really — given to the poor. Almsgiving is different from tithing. Tithing is 10 percent — the first and best — of one’s goods returned to God (it belonged to God by virtue of the fact that all we have comes from God) by prescription of the law. Almsgiving is a practice certainly encouraged in Scripture — some say implicitly mandated — but was money given to other human beings more out of the moral obligation of charity, mercy, or compassion.

We cannot literally buy ourselves into heaven — it is unlikely that St. Ephrem meant that — but almsgiving is a practice that can free us from a spiritually unhealthy attachment to our material goods (“Anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple.” Luke 14:33), increase the virtue of charity in us, and help us to lay up for ourselves “treasure in heaven,” (Matt 6:20)

St. Augustine preached that the steward was “insuring himself for a life that was going to end.” (Sermon 359a, cited by Pitre) Then he asks the question, “Would you not insure yourself for eternal life?” Will we?

Father Stephen Bankemper is pastor, St. Catherine of Siena Parish, Ft. Thomas, Ky.

Exaltation of the Cross

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Father Michael Elmlinger

Guest

This Sunday is a rather unique Sunday, because instead of celebrating the Twenty-Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time, we celebrate a Feast that happens to fall on Sunday — the Exaltation of the Cross, also known as the Triumph of the Holy Cross.

Now, crucifixion in the ancient world, especially the Roman Empire, was considered to be the most brutal form of torture, reserved for the worst criminals. Not only that, it was a very public execution, a sign to all in the empire of what happens when you rebel against Caesar. “Stay in line, or you will suffer this same torture.” Not only is it probably the most painful way to be executed, but it was also a total humiliation. The empire would use crucifixion to make an example of you.

When we consider this, why is it that we hold the Cross in such high regard as Catholics? What is it about the Cross that drove St. Helena to search for it? Why is it that this ancient torture device is considered to be so central to Christianity? The reason is because by his Crucifixion and Resurrection, our Lord, Jesus Christ, has turned what was originally our greatest defeat into the greatest victory ever known in history.

Our Gospel for this Sunday is the famous John 3:16, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.” John delivers this line in the context of Jesus’ discourse to Nicodemus in the night, where he tells Nicodemus, “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up.” (3:14)

Indeed, the very mission of Jesus Christ was that he would come into the world to give the gift of eternal life to those who would believe in him and follow him. However, the means by which he would accomplish this wondrous act would be through a means that Nicodemus and all of Jesus’ disciples would not expect — the Cross, the very means of execution reserved for the worst of the worst. In fact, St. Thomas Aquinas teaches in his Summa Theologiae, “His body was endowed with a most perfect constitution” (Third Part, Question 6), meaning the pain that he endured would likely have been magnified compared to how we may experience it. But what drives Jesus on towards Calvary? The very love that God — Father, Son and Holy Spirit, has for humanity. He loves humanity so much that he is willing to send his son to endure this awful torture as a means of reconciling the world to himself.

The truth is God could have chosen another means to reconcile the human race; it would have been completely within his power. But this is the way that he chose — the Way of the Cross. He chose to empty himself, “taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness… becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross.” (Phil 2:7-8)

He chose to endure the most brutal means of execution ever known, and what drove him? His love for each and every single one of us. Indeed, by going through this crucifixion, Jesus takes what would have been our greatest defeat — our Savior being brutally murdered — into the greatest victory, victory over sin and death. It is by his Crucifixion that he becomes a sin offering for each and every one of us, where he bears our sins and offers them to the Father so that we may be forgiven entirely.

This is a love that we cannot earn. This is a love that he freely gives to us, a love that drove him to Calvary, a love that cries out to us, “I thirst.” (Jn 19:28) Indeed, he truly thirsts for each and every one of us to accept his love and to use him as a bridge to the Father.

This love is truly the triumph of the Cross. “We adore You, O Christ, and we praise You, because by your Cross, You have redeemed the world!”

Father Michael Elmlinger is a priest of the Diocese of Covington, Ky. Father Elmlinger is currently studying Canon Law at the University of St. Paul, Ottawa, Canada.

Twenty-third Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Father Joshua Whitfield

Guest

A sabbath dinner, Jesus is at the home of a Pharisee.

Jesus heals a man, a scandalous miracle on the sabbath. He justifies the act by saying that of course he should’ve healed the man, that anyone would do the same for his son or even for cattle. What’s strange or wrong, he asks, about this wondrous work? He leaves them speechless (Lk 14:1-6). The miracle, anyway, was meant to give way to talk about the kingdom, which is basically what the rest of Luke 14 is about.

Jesus first tells a parable about humility, about presumption. Remember that he’s talking to Pharisees, to people assuming they were at the front of the line, exclusively elect. “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted” (Lk 14:11). “But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the maimed, the blind” (Lk 14:13).

He’s teaching not just a moral lesson here but also a theological one, an eschatological lesson.

Earlier in Luke, his Blessed Mother sings this truth, about how God “has put down the mighty from their thrones, and exalted those of low degree” (Lk 1:52). Here, Jesus makes it dinner conversation; at table, the Lord it seems can’t help but teach.

Next comes the parable of the “great banquet.” It is a story about the kingdom of God, about how “many” are invited. Yet many make excuses. “I have bought a field, and I must go out and see it.” “I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come.” The excuses made are worldly, involving possessions or the flesh. That’s why the master in the story says, “Go out to the highways and hedges.” He means to invite anyone free enough to come.

Again, remember that he’s talking to people presuming that simply by being who they are guaranteed them a place in the kingdom, to people who may have grown too accustomed to rely on notions of status or success or ethnicity or election, believing such things by themselves merited the kingdom of God. But that presumption is precisely the problem; awkwardly at a Pharisee’s dinner table, that’s precisely what these stories are getting at, that such presumption is not a sure bet.

And then, in this Sunday’s reading, Jesus repeats the lesson he’s been teaching for several chapters (Lk 14:25-33). He is trying to pry his disciples and would-be followers from relying on everything they are normally accustomed to rely on. Religious identity and status? Stop. Possessions? Definitely stop. Family status? Stop relying even on that. Putting it in the starkest terms possible, talking about “hating” even family members, what Jesus is calling his disciples and potential disciples to accept is that they are to renounce every instance of earthly reliance for the sake of following him.

Jesus is not ultimately saying his disciples should erase or ignore all family bonds, but that they should be decisively subordinated to their following Jesus. He is calling his disciples to consider a truly radical reordering of their lives. Which is why Jesus suggests his would-be disciples think about it a little, that they “count the cost” (Lk 14:28). Because there really is no such thing as a part-time disciple. Being a Christian can’t be a side gig. Being a fake Christian can, but not a real one.

The questions, therefore, which these stories and this Sunday’s reading bring to the fore are questions about false reliance and presumption. Do we rely solely on ourselves and on our wealth, chasing after the security we think money or worldly success offers? That’s as much a problem today, and an eternal danger, as it was then; we should beg for the gift of faith.

Or do we think our religious status affords us a guaranteed ticket to the kingdom? Congratulations, you were baptized a Catholic and went to Catholic school, but do you know the Lord? Just outside the doors of the heavenly kingdom, will the Lord say he knows you on that day? “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven,” Jesus says (Mt 7:21). You see what’s at stake here?

When reading the Gospels, I always ask myself if I can identify not just with the saint but also with the sinner in the story, or the ignorant or the villain; often I can. It’s always a sobering but ultimately helpful spiritual exercise. Would I have been an offended Pharisee were I there listening to this radical rabbi tell his stories? Would I have been upset by Jesus’s stories, so pointed that they seemed to target me?

I’ll be honest, I think in many ways I would have been shocked, hurt a little or maybe a lot. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s the beginning of my redemption, seeing where I need to repent.

Father Joshua J. Whitfield is pastor of St. Rita Catholic Community in Dallas and author of “The Crisis of Bad Preaching” and other books.