Homily for 23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A: Who Am I to Judge?
​Readings here: http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/091017.cfm
​
Who am I to judge?
 
St. Ignatius could have asked that question to himself when he saw his friend, Francis Xavier, pursuing a worldly life. Francis Xavier was a proud man, who ridiculed St. Ignatius for following Christ. He was too interested in the comforts the world could provide to follow Christ in the same radical way. St. Ignatius could have responded by asking himself, “Who am I to judge?” but instead, he asked Francis Xavier, “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world, but lose his soul?”
 
Who am I to judge? We hear this phrase used often.  Scripture tells us that judgement is for God alone. In the letter of St. James we read, “There is one lawgiver and judge, he who is able to save and to destroy. But who are you to judge your neighbor?”
 
Clearly, we are not the lawgiver and the judge. We’re not able to save and to destroy. So the natural conclusion from this passage seems to be the same question, “Who am I to judge?”
 
The problem with the way we often hear this question is that there are two types of judgement. One is reserved to God alone. If we engage in that type of judgment, then yes, we are sinning. If we’re talking about that kind of judgement, then yes, “Who am I to judge?”
 
But there is another type of judgment that is not reserved to God alone. If we engage in this type of judgment, we are not sinning. If we’re talking about this kind of judgement, then the answer to the question, “Who am I to judge?” is, “a human being.”
 
It’s human nature to judge in this way. I was reading a book to my goddaughter on Monday. She’s 20 months old. As I was reading I asked her, “Where is the dog?” And she pointed to person. I said, “No, that’s a person! Here’s the dog.”
 
That’s a person. Here’s a dog. These are judgments. The sky is blue, and the sun is round. Those are judgments. It’s human nature to judge in this way because it is human nature to know. We know by making judgments. That woman is graceful. That man is strong. Are we sinning by making these judgments? Was I teaching my goddaughter to sin by reading her that book?
 
No. This type of judgment is not a sin. This type of judgment is the natural way that human beings know, and it even extends to morality. If I know my family member looks at dirty magazines or x-rated websites, can I judge that he is doing something evil, something wrong?
 
Yes. Indeed, the Gospel today demands that we make such judgments:
 
"If your brother sins against you,
go and tell him his fault between you and him alone.
If he listens to you, you have won over your brother."
 
We cannot tell our brother his fault unless we have judged that he did something wrong. Jesus Himself says that a man who lusts after a woman is committing adultery with her in his heart, which is evil, which is wrong. When someone knows that their family member is lusting after women, it is a natural, human conclusion to judge that that person is committing an evil. My family member is lusting after women. Lusting after women is evil. My family member is committing an evil.
 
This type of judgment is not a sin. It is another natural, human judgement rooted in the way we think and know. Not only is it not a sin, it’s actually necessary in order to love. Love – willing the good of another. We have to make this judgment before we can tell our brother his fault, before we can try to bring him back to God. Telling our brother his fault in love is sometimes called fraternal correction; it’s also known in the spiritual works of mercy as admonishing the sinner. It’s a very delicate subject, but Jesus gives us the instructions of how to go about it.
 
When we see our brother doing something wrong, we are not to judge that we are better than him or that he is going to hell; that judgment is reserved to God alone. We are also not to tell his fault to our friends and family members; that is the sin of detraction, or gossip. When we see our brother doing something wrong, love – willing his good – demands that we tell him the fault privately so that he will repent, so that he will come back to God, the God who loves him, who gave His whole life for him, who only gives commandments so that we know how to find true happiness.
 
Fraternal correction is a hard thing to do because our culture expects us to follow a, “Who am I to judge?” attitude. It may seem kind not to bring up the fault of our brother, but it is actually the attitude of Cain, who asked the question, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” after killing him. Cain didn’t care that his brother was dead, and we have the same attitude when we ask the question, “Who am I to judge?” as an excuse for not loving our brother.
 
St. Ignatius did not make that excuse. He loved Francis Xavier by fraternally correcting him. Thanks to that expression of love, Francis Xavier gave his life to the Lord and experienced a greater joy than anything he had every known before. Thanks to that expression of love, the world now has St. Francis Xavier as the patron Saint of missionaries. He brought the Gospel to India and Japan and baptized thousands of people who did not know the love of our Lord until he came. The fruit of his work is still present today in the Catholic communities in India and Japan. It’s hard to imagine a world without St. Francis Xavier, and we owe it to the love that St. Ignatius showed him.
 
Who am I to judge? A fellow human being who knows that the greatest joy, peace, and happiness comes from loving God and following his commandments. Who am I to judge? A fellow human being who fears for the eternal death of my brother in hell. Who am I to judge? A fellow human being who loves my brother.
 
 

Homily for 22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A: Why Bad Things Happen to Good People
​Readings here: http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/090317.cfm

Why do bad things happen to good people?

Jesus says in the Gospel, “the Son of Man will come with his angels in his Father's glory, and then he will repay all according to his conduct.” According to his conduct. Does that mean that those who experience disaster, whether it be in the form of a flood, a family death, or a sickness deserve it? Did they do something evil? Is God punishing them?

Jesus is speaking about the final judgment; the repayment will come in the form of an eternal destiny – either heaven or hell. Perfect happiness or suffering that never ends. In the final judgment, bad things don’t happen to good people. Everyone goes where they deserve.
So what about now? Why do bad things happen to good people on earth?

This is a hard question, one that humanity has pondered and agonized over since the beginning. If there were an easy, satisfying answer, we would have found it by now. There is no easy, satisfying answer to why bad things happen to good people. But what about a hard, troubling answer?

In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus references a tragedy that had just happened in his time when he was speaking to his disciples. A tower had fallen on 18 people, killing them. Jesus asks, “do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others who dwelt in Jerusalem? I tell you, No.”
No. They were not worse offenders than all the others who dwelt in Jerusalem, but they were offenders. We are all offenders. St. Paul writes in his letter to the Romans, “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God,” and, “the wages of sin is death.”

The hard, troubling answer to the question of why bad things happen to good people, is that there are no good people. Or, to be more precise, there are no people completely free of sin. “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God,” and, “the wages of sin is death.” As I was preparing for this homily, and I made this conclusion, it seemed to me very harsh. But as I continued my research, I learned that this is what we have to believe if we hold Jesus to be our savior.

The good news of the Gospel is that Jesus has saved us from our sins and offered us perfect happiness in eternal life; this makes no sense unless we are all sinners, unless we all deserve death. “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God,” and, “the wages of sin is death.” That is the sad truth that makes the Gospel such good news. But it’s also the sad truth that answers why bad things happen to, otherwise, good people. Once Adam and Eve ate the fruit, sin entered the world along with its train of suffering and death. And now no one, not even innocent children are exempt from the consequences of their actions. We are born with original sin; we sin; we suffer, and we die.

This answer is hard and troubling, and though it is true, it may not satisfy. It may leave us asking, why do some suffer more than others? I think of the victims of Hurricane Katrina whose lives were destroyed and who had to relocate to Houston in 2005; now their lives have been destroyed again by Hurricane Harvey. Haven’t they suffered enough? Or what about our loved ones who have suffered a painful illness or died an early death; they loved us, or provided for us, or gave us so much joy just by being alive – why are they taken from us before their time while others who have hurt us and hurt others seem never to be hurt themselves? Why do some suffer more than others? It’s not fair.

Scripture makes this question even more personal in Psalm 73:

    For I was envious of the arrogant,
      when I saw the prosperity of the wicked.
    For they have no pangs;
      their bodies are sound and sleek.
      they are not stricken like other men.
    Behold, these are the wicked;
      always at ease, they increase in riches.
    All in vain have I kept my heart clean
      and washed my hands in innocence.
    For all the day long I have been stricken,
      and chastened every morning.

The Psalmist complains that it is not fair. He has done his best to be a good person but has received suffering as his reward while the wicked, who do evil, live the good life, growing rich and suffering no pains.

Why, Lord? The Psalms show us that this is a fair question to ask. They show us that we can be honest with God, that we can pray to Him just as we are, with our emotions of anger, frustration, and sadness. Why do some suffer more than others? Why do my loved ones have to suffer like that? Why do I have to suffer like this?

Why? When the hard and true answer of the reality of sin does not satisfy, seek an answer in prayer, in prayer as honest as Psalm 73. The answer that satisfies may not come in the form of information, but it always comes in the form of compassion.

Compassion. Literally, it means to suffer with. We express it with the words, “I’m sorry.” We say it to mean, “I love you. It pains me to see you suffering. Let me be there for you.” This is the answer we long for when we are suffering, and this answer comes to us in prayer because that is where Jesus, our compassionate Lord, meets us. In the Gospel today, Peter didn’t want Jesus to suffer and die, but that is exactly what Jesus’ compassionate love demanded. Jesus saw us in our pain and in our suffering, and he was sorrowful. In prayer, He says to us, “I love you. It pains me to see you suffering. Let me be there for you.”

“Let me be there for you.” Jesus doesn’t give us a cross to see if we love him. He gives Himself a cross to show us that He loves us. “Let me be there for you.” On the cross and in the Eucharist, he says to us, “This is my body; this is my blood, which is for you.” He is saying, “Let me be there for you.” Hard and troubling times may continue, but if we pick up our cross and follow our compassionate Lord, our suffering can find a new meaning, one that satisfies, one he gives to us in the silence of prayer. “Let me be there for you.”
 
 
 
 
 

Homily for 20th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A: God's Silence in Prayer
​Readings here: http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/082017.cfm

What do we do when God is silent to our prayers?
 
In the short time that I have been at San Jose, I have already known several who could relate to the woman in the Gospel today. Whether it be sick children or children who have left the faith, they plead to the Lord with many prayers, but God responds with silence.
 
Perhaps it’s not your kids that cause you to call upon the Lord like the woman in the Gospel today. Perhaps it’s for your friend, or for yourself. Perhaps times are tough and jobs are scarce. Perhaps patterns of sin continue getting the best of you. You call upon the Lord, but nothing changes.
 
What do we do when God is silent to our prayers?
 
The woman in the Gospel today made a good request. Her daughter was being oppressed by a demon, and she wanted Jesus to spare her of that suffering. That is a good desire; she’s not asking for anything evil. Yet Scripture tells us, “But he did not say a word in answer to her.”
 
This is Jesus we are talking about. Jesus, who went to the lengths of a torturous death so that we might be saved from our sins. There is no measuring his love for each one of us. There is no measuring his love for the woman in the Gospel, and yet, he did not say a word in answer to her.
 
What do we do when God is silent to our prayers?
 
The Gospel relates that the woman kept calling after Jesus. She kept making her prayer known. She was persistent. When God is silent to our prayers, we keep praying. Elsewhere in the Gospels, Jesus tells us, “Ask and you will receive. Seek, and you will find. Knock, and the door will be opened to you.” Jesus encourages us to have persistence in prayer. Keep asking. Keep seeking. Keep knocking.
 
But why? Jesus knows we are asking for something good. Why go through the trouble of asking over and over again?
 
Let me propose a possible response to this hard question.
 
The Gospel shows us that two good things come from persistence in prayer. Humility and faith. By asking, and seeking, and knocking, we grow in humility and faith.
 
The woman responds to Jesus, “Even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the table of their masters.” She recognizes that Jesus does not owe her anything, and she’s willing to compare herself to a dog who begs. This is great humility.
 
Without humility, we can’t receive any of the other good things that God wants to give us. We can think of God’s grace, what He wants to give us, like the rain that falls from the sky. Rain slides right down a steep hill, but it fills up a deep valley. In a similar way, God’s grace slides right down the person puffed up with pride, but it fills the heart of one who lowers himself in humility.
 
Without having to persist in humble prayer, we might think that God simply owes us what we want, and in our pride, we would never receive what we truly need.
 
And what do we truly need? Faith. The second good thing. Persistence in prayer strengthens our faith.
 
Jesus responds to the woman, “O woman, great is your faith!” The silence of Jesus not only revealed the woman’s humility, it strengthened her faith. And what could be more valuable than faith? Faith is the path to salvation, to eternal communion with God, to perfect happiness.
 
Elsewhere in the Gospel, when four friends lowered a paralytic through the roof so that Jesus would heal him, Jesus responded, “Your sins are forgiven.” … That’s probably not what his friends were expecting, but THAT IS why Jesus came. He wants to give us something more valuable than earthly health; He wants to give us eternal health. He wants to give us salvation.
 
Many around Jesus balked at him when He claimed to forgive the man’s sins, and Jesus knew their thoughts. So in order to help them believe that He can forgive sins, in order to give them faith, Jesus worked a miracle. The Scripture reads: 
 
Jesus immediately knew in his mind what they were thinking to themselves, so he said, “Why are you thinking such things in your hearts? Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Rise, pick up your mat and walk’? But that you may know that the Son of Man has authority to forgive sins on earth”—he said to the paralytic, “I say to you, rise, pick up your mat, and go home.”


The miracle was for the sake of faith. He used the miracle to arouse faith. Faith is Jesus’ goal. It’s more valuable than even our physical health because it is our path to heaven, to communion with God, to perfect happiness.
 
In a similar way to the miracle that Jesus used to arouse the faith of those around him, He can also use silence to build up our faith. When God’s response to our prayers is silence, we turn to him with greater need, with greater fervor, and doing so strengthens our faith – strengthens the greatest gift he could ever give us. Silence is not a break in God’s love for us; it is another moment of his love for us. 
 
His love is never-ending. The cross shows us that in every moment, God wants to give Himself to us.
 
So what do we do when God is silent to our prayers?
 
We trust that silence is not a break in His love for us; it is another moment of his love for us. And we keep praying. Through humility and faith, God is working the unseen miracle that is more valuable than even a physical healing. He is working our salvation.

Homily for 19th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A: Who is your God?
​Readings here: www.usccb.org/bible/readings/081317.cfm

The Lord is God. The Lord is God.
 
That is what Elijah’s name means. Eliahu. From the first reading. The Lord is God. But for you, who is your God?
 
We can think of the word, "God," in at least two different ways. One way is simply the all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving being who created and sustains the world. In this way, when we say that the Lord is God, we’re saying that the Lord – the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit – is the reason we’re alive.
 
We can also think of the word, "God," as what is of greatest value, what matters the most. In this way, when we say that the Lord is God, we’re saying that the Lord – the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit – is what we value the most, is who matters the most. He’s not only the reason we’re alive; He is the reason why we live.
 
If we look around, watch TV, or check the internet, we’ll see that there are many gods in this second sense. For some, money is of the greatest value. It’s the reason why many people live, why they get up in the morning, why they work long hours, why they choose the friends they have, and why they do the things they do. For others, pleasure matters the most. It’s the reason why many people live, why they get up, work, choose friends, and do the things they do. And for still others, power matters the most. It’s the reason behind everything they do.
 
But for you, who is your God?
 
Money, pleasure, and power. These are the most impressive forces in the world. Much like a strong wind, earthquake, or fire grabs our attention, we can’t help but take notice of money, pleasure, and power, and if we’re not careful, they can become our god.
 
There is nothing wrong with money, pleasure, and power in themselves, but if they become the reason why we live, then we’re in trouble. Then, the Lord is not our God. We may know that the Lord is the reason we’re alive, but that is not enough for salvation. The Lord must be our God. He must be the reason why we live.
 
Who is your God?
 
One way to start answering this question is asking, "What are you most afraid of?” If you can answer this question, then you are well on your way in the spiritual life. And if your answer is sin, then you are well on your way to being a Saint. The person who fears sin more than anything else is the person whose God is the Lord.
 
What are you afraid of the most? Are you afraid of financial insecurity more than anything else? What about pain, loneliness, or embarrassment? Does losing your good name, title, or position keep you up at night? All of these fears are connected in some way to money, pleasure, and power. They are the most impressive forces in the world, and if we’re not careful, they, and not the Lord, can become our God.
 
A great image for this struggle of the spiritual life is the Gospel that we heard today. Peter and the disciples are in the boat, struggling against the storm. The storm, like the wind, fire, and earthquake, is an impressive sight. We can’t help but take notice.
 
The Gospel story is an event that really happened. Storms still brew on Lake Genesaret in the Holy Land today, putting boats in real danger. But I want to say that this event that really happened also has a spiritual meaning. Imagine that the storm represents money, pleasure, and power, the most impressive forces in our world. These forces are so impressive, that they are dangerous. They can overwhelm us – we see it in the thief who steals to get rich only to go to jail; the addict that ruins his life to get his next fix; or the leader in a business or government that has no friends because he trampled everyone down on his way up.
 
Money, pleasure, and power. They are the most impressive forces in the world, but Jesus walks right over them. They have no power over Him because He is God – God in the first sense: the all-knowing, all-powerful, all-loving being who is the reason why we and the storm exists at all. He is God.
 
But is He your God?
 
If He is your God, then you too will walk right over the storm, right over the most impressive forces in the world. You are not in danger of being overwhelmed because your God is the Lord. The only thing you fear is taking your eyes off of Him. The only thing you fear is sin.
 
At first, Peter walked right over the storm. As long as he kept his eyes on Jesus, he had nothing to fear. Even the most impressive forces of the world could not overwhelm him. But the moment he took his eyes off of Jesus and began to look at the storm, he became afraid, and he got overwhelmed. He started to drown.
 
Money, pleasure, and power remain powerful forces today – more powerful than we are by ourselves. They present us with real concerns: How will I pay for my children’s education? When will this pain go away? Why can’t I get a promotion? You don’t have to be a criminal or addicted to pleasure and power to be overwhelmed. But if we keep our eyes on Jesus, then we can walk right over any storm that assaults us.
 
Who is your God? What do you value most, and what are you most afraid of? These are questions to ponder in the silence of prayer, in the silence that allows us to hear the whisper of God, the whisper of God telling us, “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.”