Sirach 35:12-14, 16-18 II Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18 Luke 18:9-14

Scholars presume Paul had been dead for sometime before the author of II Timothy composed today’s second reading. That enables the writer to do for the Apostle what the evangelists did for Jesus in their Last Supper narratives: he creates a “farewell discourse.” Our sacred authors are experts in composing such passages. We find farewell discourses in Scripture’s earliest books. Jacob gathers his children around his death bed in Egypt and delivers one at the end of Genesis; Moses, before his death, is given the whole book of Deuteronomy to say “a few words” to the Israelites before they enter the Promised Land. A dying person’s words are treasured, especially if that person is treasured by the community.

In words that have echoed in our ears for almost 20 centuries, the writer tells us Paul went to his martyr’s death as a person pleased with his life’s work.” . . . The time of my departure is at hand. I have competed well; I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.”

As a child I couldn’t understand why the Roman Empire killed Christians. They seemed a rather harmless lot. If they were good followers of Jesus they simply went around all day practicing love. Seems any community would have been overjoyed to have them as members.

One needs only read Dominic Crossan’s God and Empire to understand why Christians so quickly ran into problems with the status quo. Their imitation of Jesus led them to craft a vision of the world quite different from that of most of the people around them. Christians were committed to changing much of what Rome wanted to maintain. Clashes were inevitable. Historians tell us that one of the most aggravating issues for the Empire revolved around Christian men’s refusal to be inducted into the army. For the first two and a half centuries of the faith, followers of Jesus actually tried to carry out his Sermon on the Mount commands about retaliation and killing. Conscientious objection, an exception for us, was the rule for them.

But the Christian vision of “how things should be” also clashed with the Roman ideal on lower profile levels. Followers of Jesus simply related to others in a unique way in their daily lives. The class distinctions which had served the Empire well over the centuries were constantly being challenged by Jesus’ disciples.

We hear about some of this uniqueness in our first and third readings. Trying to imitate Yahweh’s personality traits which Sirach mentions, they started to develop a spirit of “egalitarianism” long before the French Revolution popularized the term in 1789. As Sirach states it, “Yahweh is a God of justice who knows no favorites.” Social status or hierarcharical distinctions mean nothing to God. All are equal.

Luke’s Jesus reinforces Sirach’s insight. No two individuals could be on further ends of the religious spectrum than Pharisees and tax collectors. The former observed even the most minute law of Moses, while the latter’s association with Gentiles was a sign he was willing to dump the whole Mosaic code. Jesus and his followers believed their relationship with God was far more important than their relationship with laws.

I often reflect on a significant part of my Grandma Karban’s “farewell discourse.” Aware she was dying, she was in the midst of receiving the Sacrament of the Sick from her care facility’s chaplain, when he asked, “Mary, do you want to go to confession one last time before you die?” She smiled, and, to the priest’s surprise, weakly replied, “No thank you, Father. I went last week. I think that was good enough.”

My grandma’s relationship with Jesus was so tight that she didn’t worry about dotting an eternal “i” or crossing a heavenly “t.” Mary Karban was unique, in the Christian sense of that word.

Roger Vermalen Karban

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OCTOBER 17, 2010: TWENTY-NINTH SUNDAY OF THE YEAR

Exodus 17:8-13   II Timothy 3:14-4:2   Luke 18:1-8

Everyone knew what to expect years ago at Catholic Biblical Association Eucharists when, during the Prayer of the Faithful, the presider actually asked for petitions from the faithful. Notre Dame’s Josephine Massingbyrd Ford’s prayer was always memorable: “I echo the prayer of the wronged widow in Luke’s gospel. Let women in our church be treated justly! We pray to the Lord!”

One day, long before I began attending CBA meetings, we were studying an article written by a “J. Massingbyrd Ford” in one of my Scripture classes. The student making the presentation consistently referred to the author as “he.” Only at the end of the class did Keith Nickle, our professor, mention, “By the way, the ‘J.’ in the author’s name stands for ‘Josephine.’” He then informed us that, for a long time, Josephine, had sent exegetical articles to various well-know biblical publications, always under the name Josephine Ford. The editors rejected all of them.

She eventually not only began to incorporate her mother’s maiden name into her signature, but also to abbreviate Josephine to “J.” The same editors who had sent those rejection slips to “her,” suddenly began to publish “his” articles, including some they had originally rejected!

Of course, not everyone can overcome injustices by a name-change. I presume we’ll always have children of God petitioning unjust judges for a just decision. In its biblical definition, a “just” person is someone who treats others as God treats them. Our Christian history proves it take humans a long time to figure out how to imitate God’s all-embracing personality. As I’ve mentioned before, it took years before Jewish followers of Jesus began to treat Gentiles as they treated their fellow Jews; more than a millennium and a half before slaves were put on the same level as the free. And as Josephine Massingbyrd Ford reminded us Scripture people, we’re still working on the men/women thing. Lord knows, literally, where God’s justice is leading us.

During times of injustice the insight in our II Timothy passage becomes relevant: “All Scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for refutation, for correction, and for training in righteousness...

Anyone, with even the slightest bit of faith-experience, knows petitioning prayer isn’t as simple as the Exodus author’s narrative about Moses’” raised arms.” Neither can one, like Luke’s widow, always succeed by just badgering God. That’s why Jesus’ closing question is so significant: “When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”

Scripture’s a book of faith. It wasn’t created to teach history, science, or biology. Its authors were interested only in the faith of their readers. They were successful when they helped their communities surface a dimension of faith they’ never noticed before.

Perhaps the dimension most needed today is perseverance in that faith, even when it appears there’s little hope for justice. All lovers of Scripture are driven by the words of the II Timothy author, “Proclaim the word: be persistent whether it is convenient or inconvenient; convince, reprimand, encourage through all patience and teaching.”

During a retired priests retreat in Peoria two years ago, Fr. John Dietzen rallied the spirits of all the participants. Responding to the fears of some that their years of Vatican II reform ministry were being rejected in many areas of today’s church, Jack said, “I don’t worry about that happening. I have hope. As long as the Scriptures are proclaimed every weekend in the vernacular, someone, someday, is going to actually hear that word of God and change his or her life because of it.”

Roger Vermalen Karban

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OCTOBER 10, 2010: TWENTY-EIGHTH SUNDAY OF THE YEAR

II Kings 5:14-17   II Timothy 2:8-13   Luke 17:11-19

Though today’s gospel leper-healing narrative is well-known, our II Kings leper-healing account could be more theologically significant.

Luke’s passage needs little explanation. Ten lepers ask Jesus for pity; all are healed, but only one returns to thank him and everyone remembers the thankful one is a hated Samaritan.

Scripture scholars disagree about this story’s origins. Some think the narrative began as an actual miracle story; others contend it has roots in a parable Jesus once told about gratitude, which, in the process of being orally transmitted, was transformed into a miracle story. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over which opinion is correct. The reason Luke included it in his gospel is clear: most of us are experts in petitioning God for favors, but we’re not very good at thanking God when the favors are granted.

Because Elisha’s cure of Naaman’s leprosy is more nuanced, there are several points we should explore.

Naaman’s not only a Gentile, he’s also a Syrian army commander, the leader of a military force which often threatens Israel’s security. The Israelite king hesitates even to permit him to enter the country, fearing the Syrians will interpret the prophet’s possible inability to heal their commander’s leprosy as an insult, a provocation to begin hostilities against his people.

Though, as we hear in today’s passage, Yahweh, Elisha’s God, is able to change the leper’s flesh into “the flesh of a little child,” Naaman almost dead-ends the healing process when he initially rejects the prophet’s command to bathe seven times in the Jordan. He’s expecting a much more dramatic prophetic gesture to bring about his cure. It’s degrading for a person of his stature to engage in such a “common” action, the actions in which Yahweh normally works in our lives.

We must also note Elisha’s refusal to accept even the smallest gift from Naaman. The reason is simple. Elisha doesn’t regard himself as being the person who healed Naaman. Yahweh’s the healer; the prophet’s just Yahweh’s agent. If Elisha accepts a “stipend” for doing this holy thing, he, not God, will be looked upon as the healer. (Reading on a little further, we find out what horrible thing happens to Gehazi, the prophet’s servant, who eventually tricks Naaman into giving him a gift.)

But perhaps the most interesting part of the passage is the Syrian’s request for “two mule-loads of earth” to take back to Damascus. This strange request makes perfect sense to the original readers. At this point in salvation history, Yahweh’s not yet looked upon as a universal god. Like all gods of the period, the God of Israel is territorial. Yahweh’s power extends only to Israel’s borders. If Naaman now wants “to offer holocausts and sacrifices” to Yahweh, he’ll have to do it on Israelite dirt. Yahweh has no obligation (or power) to respond to prayers uttered on any other soil.

We immediately realize how far our theology of God’s presence has evolved when we hear our II Timothy reading. The Pauline disciple responsible for this writing quotes from an early Christian hymn. “If we have died with him we shall rise with him . . . If we are faithful, he remains faithful, for he cannot deny himself.” We’re no longer concerned with the geographic places in which God is present; now we’re speaking about the people in whom God is present. The author’s “unchained word of God” constantly leads us down paths Naaman and Elisha know nothing about, to go beyond the faith borders we create for ourselves.

But on the other hand, Naaman and Elisha would be amazed to discover there are representatives of certain religions who actually accept stipends and “stole fees” today. Obviously they’ve never heard of Gehazi.

Roger Vermalen Karban

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OCTOBER 3, 2010: TWENTY-SEVENTH SUNDAY OF THE YEAR

Habakkuk 1:2-3; 2:2-4 II Timothy 1:6-8, 13-14 Luke 17:5-10

Have you ever noticed how often the gospel Jesus tells people he’s helped, “Your faith has saved you?” We’d expect him to say, “I have saved you.”

Faith is obviously a big thing for the historical Jesus, so important that Mark tells us it limits his ability to do good things for people. When his hometown folk reject him in chapter 6, the evangelist remarks, “He (Jesus) was not able to perform any mighty deed there. . . He was amazed at their lack of faith.” Though Matthew later changes Mark’s “could not” to “did not,” people’s faith certainly has some effect on Jesus’ actions. And, as I frequently mention in these commentaries, the faith which Jesus’ earliest followers professed wasn’t as much faith in Jesus as it was the faith of Jesus. Imitating him implied they tried to acquire his faith.

Knowing this, the first part of today’s gospel pericope becomes very significant. “The apostles said to the Lord, ‘Increase our faith,’ The Lord replied, ‘If you had the faith the size of a mustard seed, you would say to this mulberry tree, “Be uprooted and planted in the sea,” and it would obey you.’”

For Luke’s Jesus, the amount of one’s faith isn’t as important as having or not having it. Even the smallest portion is able to work wonders. Yet from what follows it’s clear that faith is more than just something internal. It’s certainly a frame of mind; but it’s a frame of mind which drives one to act. Like servants caring for their master’s needs, people of faith accept obligations which others either don’t notice or reject. That belief seems to be behind the servants’ remark, “ . . We have done what we were obliged to do.”

Of course, real faith doesn’t mean one sits back and passively accepts everything God sends his or her way. Our first reading offers a more active response. Habakkuk is a prophet in the mold of his late 7th century BCE contemporary, Jeremiah. Both are known for frequently giving Yahweh a piece of their mind when things go wrong.

“How long, 0 Yahweh?” Habakkuk asks. “I cry for help but you do not listen! I cry out to you, ‘Violence!’ but you do not intervene.”

Though Yahweh expects people of faith to object to some aspects of Yahweh’s behavior, Yahweh also expects their faith to carry them beyond their present problems. “For the vision still has its time, presses on to fulfillment, and will not disappoint; if it delays, wait for it, it will surely come, it will not be late.”

The author of II Timothy presumes his readers will also accept the obligation to look beyond their present distress. Writing in the “persona” of the imprisoned Paul, he pleads,”. .. Stir into flame the gift of God that you have. . . For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather of power and love and self-control... Bear your share of hardship for the gospel with the strength that comes from God.”

For our sacred authors, faith seems to be the power which enables us to do what God wants even though we live in a world that isn’t God’s ideal world. Perhaps this is why Jesus puts so much emphasis on that specific trait. Faith, not some divine intervention, is what will eventually cause this longed-for world to come into existence. When Jesus assures us, “Your faith has saved you!” he’s actually saying, “Your faith is the force which will one day bring about the perfect world you want me to create.”

It’s consoling to know he’s willing to settle for a mustard seed portion of faith. As long as we have some faith, and act on it, things will certainly change.

Roger Vermalen Karban

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SEPTEMBER 26, 2010: TWENTY-SIXTH SUNDAY OF THE YEAR

Amos 6:la, 4-7 I Timothy 6:11-16 Luke 16:19-31

Hans Walter Wolff’s famous definition of a prophet is brief, but to the point: “The prophet is that person in the community who provides us with the future implications of our present actions.”

His definition comes to life in today’s three readings.

One need only go a few lines into Luke’s well-known story of Lazarus and the rich man to uncover Wolff’s insight. The latter’s treatment of Lazarus creates no big problem for him during his lifetime; the beggar is just a minor irritation in an otherwise productive life. Yet the future implications of the rich man’s ignoring Lazarus are devastating. The tables are turned. Abraham informs the man whose wealth and power have vanished, “Remember that you received what was good during your lifetime; while Lazarus likewise received what was bad, but now he is comforted here, whereas you are tormented.”

The author of I Timothy clearly points to the future his readers should be creating. “Lay hold of eternal life, to which you were called... .“ But in order to achieve that eternal life, they must “pursue righteousness, devotion, faith, love, patience, and gentleness” right here and now. The author’s ideal future is the result of living correctly in a real present.

But often those biblical “future implications” aren’t as black and white as they are for Luke and the Timothy author. No prophet of the Hebrew Scriptures, for instance, knows anything of an eternal life as we know it. That’s why none of them ever mention heaven/hell implications of following, or not following their words. They only warn of things which will happen here an now, during their audience’s lifetime, either to the persons they address or to others whose lives they touch.

Amos reminds the wealthy in 8 century BCE Israel that they’re committing an egregious sin: complacency. “Woe to the complacent,” he states. “Lying on beds of ivory, stretched comfortably on their couches, they eat lambs taken from the flock, and calves from the stall!”

In our classes on Amos, Wolff carefully explained why the prophet nails his audience for eating “calves from the stall.” Those who raised cattle in stalls instead of grazing them in the field had to feed them grain; the very grain the poor would have been overjoyed to eat. But because the wealthy preferred the more tasty meat stall-fed cattle provided, the needs of the poor weren’t considered, much less met.

“Improvising to the music of the harp,” Amos continues, “like David, they devise their own accompaniment. They drink wine from bowls and anoint themselves with the best oils.”

Then comes the kicker: “Yet they are not made ill by the collapse of Joseph (Israel)!” They don’t even notice the effects of their lavish lifestyle. It’s destroying the country, leading to its eventual destruction.

Years ago I invited Fr. Vic Hummert, a Mariknoll missionary friend, to speak to one of my high school religion classes. It didn’t take Vic long to alienate almost all my students. He simply asked how much they’d paid for the transistor radios sticking out of some of their backpacks. When they told him how inexpensive they were, he quickly informed them that his Hong Kong parishioners were receiving starvation wages for assembling those very radios. Though my students were amazed they were participating in a huge injustice, no one offered to pay more for his or her radio so that Vic’s friends could receive a living wage.

Amos’ listeners weren’t the last complacent people in history.

Roger Vermalen Karban

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SEPTEMBER 19, 2010: TWENTY-FIFTH SUNDAY OF THE YEAR

 Amos 8:4-7 I Timothy 2:1-8 Luke 16:1-13

It’s easy to see why the historical Jesus frequently had to defend himself for hanging with “sinners.” His reform mindset automatically triggered vociferous objections from those pious individuals who scrupulously observed the harmless externals demanded of God’s people, but inwardly, as demonstrated in their relations with others, cared little about the things God really expected of them.

Jesus refers to such people as “hypocrites.” Not a bad word; it simply connotes an actor or actress: someone who can turn it on or off as the situation demands. Down deep actors are never touched or changed by the characters they portray. At least most “bad folk” are honest. What you see, you get. They aren’t actors reading from a script; they’re real. They’re the kind of people Jesus could deal with.

Amos, Scripture’s first “book prophet,” is forced to address the same problem, and, like Jesus, points it out publicly. To understand what the prophet is saying in our first reading, we must appreciate that the “new moon” and “Sabbath” are “holy days.” Amos points out that, though the good folk would never think about ignoring one of these religious periods, they can barely wait for them to be over, “that we may sell our grain. . . display the wheat,” doing so in a fraudulent way. “We will diminish the ephah, add to the shekel, and fix our scales for cheating. We will buy the lowly for silver, the poor for a pair of sandals (a biblical idiom for a bribe); even the refuse of the wheat we will sell!” But of course each is a good Israelite. Each can claim, “I kept the holy days.”

Already in the late 60s, Dominic Crossan reminded us, “Reformers, like Amos and Jesus, consider a day holy (or ‘other’) not because if falls within a designated time period, but because sometime during those hours or minutes we do some good for a neighbor.” Our behavior, not a clock or calendar, creates holiness.

The author of I Timothy presumes his readers aren’t actors. Their faith operates 24/7. Our artificial division between church/state doesn’t exist for him. Even “kings and.. . all in authority” are the subjects of prayer. His readers’ entire lives have been changed by the faith they profess. They’re convinced “.. . there is one God... also one mediator between God and humans, the man Christ Jesus, who gave himself as ransom for all.” Their faith in Jesus doesn’t just touch a handful of their actions; it completely alters who they are.

In today’s gospel pericope, Luke’s Jesus reminds his audience that evil people often spend more time and exert more energy carrying out their evil plans than the good exert and spend in doing good. “For the children of this world are more prudent in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.” What they do flows from who they actually are, not from who they’re pretending to be. Because of that character trait, the historical Jesus discovered much more day by day creativity in sinners than he found in the good. And he couldn’t resist pointing it out.

Biblical prophets, like Jesus and Amos, simply can’t understand the turn it on, turn it off world most religious people create for themselves. That’s why Luke has Jesus emphatically state his counter-belief: “No servant can serve two masters. He or she will either hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and dishonest wealth.”

As I mentioned two weeks ago, God expects all God’s people to make consistent, free choices. Today our sacred authors remind us what kind of real people our free choices for good can create for and in us.

Roger Vermalen Karban

This commentary is provided by the Faithful of Southern Illinois. Please share it with a friend. We appreciate your comments and donations.

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SEPTEMBER 12, 2010: TWENTY-FOURTH SUNDAY OF THE YEAR

Exodus 32:7-11, 13-14 I Timothy 1:12-17 Luke 15:1-32

Students of Scripture must always be conscious of what’s going on when a sacred text is being written. Those contemporary events not only motivate the author to write, but divine inspiration only kicks in when he or she addresses them. This is certainly the case in today’s Exodus reading. Though our Elohistic author is narrating a 1,300 BCE event, he actually has his eyes focused on something happening during the 8I century BCE - the period in which he composed today’s pericope.

One of the classic ways to depict the presence of gods in the ancient Middle East is to employ cherubs: mythological beings normally sporting a human head, wings of a large bird, and the body of a bull. (We’re quite familiar with its Egyptian lion-bodied variant: the sphinx.) People, including Jews, believed the gods not only used these hybrid creatures to travel place to place, but when stationary, they were enthroned on their backs. (Note how many of our psalms describe Yahweh “seated on the cherubim.”)Temples and shrines to Yahweh also displayed cherub statues to assure the faithful of Yahweh’s presence in those sacred places - like sanctuary lamps in Catholic churches. The Ark of the Covenant even had two cherubs on its top.

Just one problem with this practice: some people started to believe the cherubs actually were Yahweh!

Eighth century prophets, like Hosea, condemn the “calf of Samaria,” and warn about people “blowing kisses to calves.” Scholars agree these are derisive references to cherub (calf) worship in Israelite shrines.

This is one of the reasons biblical experts conclude our famous Genesis 32 golden calf narrative really has nothing to do with Israelites at the foot of Sinai worshipping an Egyptian calf-god. Rather, this prophetic narrative is rooted in the Israelite cherub-worship taking place during the period the text was composed.

I presume, with a little honesty, even we Christians can uncover cases of cherub-worship in our various denominations; practices or customs which probably originated with the best of intentions, for the best of reasons, but over the centuries developed into implicit idolatry. How often, for instance, are we Catholics more concerned for the word of church authority figures than we are for the risen Jesus’ word in our lives?

That’s why we’re constantly called to go back to our “Exodus beginnings;” to return to those people, situations, and frames of mind which originally gave us our faith.

The author of I Timothy does just that when he reminds his readers, “This saying is trustworthy and deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. Of these I am the foremost.” Remember how Mark’s Jesus defended his ministry when his practice of associating with sinners was challenged? “Since when do the sick need a doctor? I came to call not the just, but sinners.”

Luke’s famous chapter 15 hammers away at the same basic truth. In three distinct parables, Jesus praises the person who goes after the lost instead of being content just to deal with the saved. Had the evangelist not presumed some in his community identified with the older brother’s strict justice frame of mind instead of the father’s prodigal generosity, he wouldn’t have included this parable in his three “lost stories” collection. It didn’t take long before Jesus’ followers began “worshipping” the good folk in their communities instead of employing those special individuals as a force to reach out to those who weren’t so good. Goodness was originally intended to be a means by which others could be helped, not as an end in itself.

Understanding what the Elohistic author actually intended 2,700 years ago, our faith is directed into areas many of us don’t care to visit. If our faith really is biblically based, we’re always on the lookout for golden calves in our church.

Roger Vermalen Karban

This commentary is provided by the Faithful of Southern Illinois. Please share it with a friend. We appreciate your comments and donations.

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SEPTEMBER 5, 2010: TWENTY-THIRD SUNDAY OF THE YEAR

Wisdom 9:13-18b Philemon 9-10, 12-17 Luke 14:25-33

It would help our Eucharistic communities today to tell our lectors to put aside the lectionary when it comes time for the second reading, pick up a Bible and proclaim Paul’s entire letter to Philemon. I’ve found through the years that it takes far less time to read the whole 25 verse letter than it takes for me to explain how the 9 verses of our liturgical selection fit into the context of the other 16 verses.

Philemon is by far the shortest and most personal of Paul’s seven authentic letters. Yet it conveys a message which goes to the heart of what it means to be a follower of Jesus.

Philemon is a wealthy convert of Paul; Onesimus, his runaway slave. Not only did Onesimus escape, he seems to have destroyed some of Philemon’s property in the process. Then he compounds an already bad situation by finding Paul and asking the Apostle to let him be his personal servant. The letter demonstrates how Paul handles this tricky set of circumstances.

You and I, appalled by the now-banned institution of slavery, would probably phone Philemon, demanding to know how, as a disciple of Jesus, he could actually own another human being, and informing him we were going to do our best to free this hapless individual from his clutches.

There’s just one problem to our solution: Christian morality had yet to evolve that far during Paul’s ministry. Though the Apostle insists owners treat their slaves humanely, he’s still to reach the moral point most Christians would reach over the next 1700 years when they finally called for slavery’s abolition.

Yet, the method Paul employs to address this problematic situation would turn out to be one of the reasons behind today’s Christian rejection of slavery. As we know from his other letters, Paul was “taken” by the experience of freedom which comes when anyone gives himself or herself over to the faith of Jesus. Such freedom enabled Christians to break through many of the restrictions which enslave people to their everyday human customs, traditions, and practices.

We clearly hear about that human enslavement in today’s first reading. “The corruptible body,” the Wisdom author notes, “burdens the soul and the earthen shelter weighs down the mind that has many concerns.” in other words, our human condition provides few occasions for freedom.

Yet, the situation changes for followers of Jesus. Luke’s Jesus promises his followers that, by imitating him, they’ll be free enough to make life-changing decisions, in today’s gospel pericope, he presumes his followers will make a deliberate choice to follow or not follow him, and freely accept the consequences of carrying his cross, especially those that revolve around our relations with the people closest to us. We’re just as free in these relations as someone choosing to build or not build a tower, fight a war or sue for peace.

Knowing about this quest for freedom helps us better appreciate Paul’s solution to his Philemon/Onesimus predicament. He simply demands each party make a free decision in the matter. The Apostle not only sends this letter to Philemon requesting he freely relinquish his rights over Onesimus, but he entrusts the letter to Onesimus! The runaway slave freely returns to the scene of his crime to deliver a letter asking a slave owner to freely release the slave who’s standing directly in front of him.

Today’s moral theologians always remind us that unless an action - good or bad - is free, it has no bearing on our eternal salvation. Having read today’s three readings, it seems our sacred authors have been pointing this out for a long time.

Roger Vermalen Karban

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AUGUST 29, 2010: TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY OF THE YEAR

Sirach 3:17-18, 20, 28-29 Hebrews 12:18-19, 22-24a Luke 14:7-14

In a recent National Public Radio interview, columnist Maureen Dowd was asked about her writing habits. She mentioned she adheres to a very rigid schedule, writing at the same time, for the same number of hours every day. When the interviewer asked whether she felt inspired to write each time she sat at her computer, Dowd remarked, “My inspiration usually comes only after I start writing. It’s almost never there before.”

I can identify with her comment. Fortunately, as a writer, I have to meet a deadline for these weekly commentaries. Most of the time I write because I have to write. I’m not driven by some irresistible impulse to create words and sentences. If I don’t begin, the inspiration doesn’t begin.

That’s one of the reasons I appreciate both Sirach and Jesus’ comments on humility today, Neither is talking about anything very “religious” when they mention humility in the first part of both readings. Some commentators even classify these as “Emily Post” sections of Scripture. Yet when the two writers encourage people to be humble, they’re simply asking them to be honest; to acknowledge who they actually are, what turns them on, or makes them tick.

Though, as the author of Hebrews reminds us, we’re destined for more glory, and a greater presence of God than even Moses and the Israelites experienced at Mt. Sinai, most of the time we don’t have the passion which would drive us to accomplish the things necessary to achieve such glory. We’d do a lot more of Sirach’s almsgiving and Jesus’ care of the poor if we just “felt” like it.

There’s an important interchange in the movie Lawrence of Arabia. An American reporter, discovering that Turkish soldiers frequently kill Bedouin captives, asks Prince Feisal what Lawrence does with Turkish prisoners of war. Feisal responds, “For Lawrence, mercy is a passion; for me, it’s good manners. Into which our hands would you rather fall?”

Feisal’s remark becomes significant further into the movie when Lawrence, overwhelmed with rage, orders his men to slaughter a column of surrendering Turkish troops. To say the least, those who operate solely out of passion are very unpredictable.

In the context of Sirach and Luke’s readings, to be humble implies we admit that we’re not naturally inclined to do what God asks us to do. Even if we do have an overwhelming passion on one or two occasions to actually carry out God’s will, it never lasts very long, and we can’t count on it coming back tomorrow.

Just as Maureen Dowd reflected on her creative inspiration only kicking in after she actually starts to write, so our passion to imitate Jesus usually kicks in only after we dispassionately start to imitate him.

I’ve often encouraged people not only to examine their consciences before they go to sleep at night, but also to do so before they get out of bed in the morning. Just as a night time examen leads us to look back on the day, a morning examen can force us to look forward to the day; to think about the people we’re expecting to encounter or the situations we’re going to be part of. Can we come up with at least one way to be another Christ to those people or in those situations, even if we don’t particularly feel like doing so?

In some sense, we can be as cold and calculating about putting the faith of Jesus into our lives as we can about the good manners we’ve learned and are expected to show. On some memorable occasions, it might just happen that when we go to bed, we’ll be amazed at the amount of passion we showed during the day, not in our good manners, but in our faith-driven acts of love.

Roger Vermalen Karban

This commentary is provided by the FAITHFUL OF SOUTHERN ILLINOS. Please share it with a friend. We appreciate your comments and donations.

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AUGUST 29, 2010: TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY OF THE YEAR

Sirach 3:17-18, 20, 28-29 Hebrews 12:18-19, 22-24a Luke 14:7-14

In a recent National Public Radio interview, columnist Maureen Dowd was asked about her writing habits. She mentioned she adheres to a very rigid schedule, writing at the same time, for the same number of hours every day. When the interviewer asked whether she felt inspired to write each time she sat at her computer, Dowd remarked, “My inspiration usually comes only after I start writing. It’s almost never there before.”

I can identify with her comment. Fortunately, as a writer, I have to meet a deadline for these weekly commentaries. Most of the time I write because I have to write. I’m not driven by some irresistible impulse to create words and sentences. If I don’t begin, the inspiration doesn’t begin.

That’s one of the reasons I appreciate both Sirach and Jesus’ comments on humility today, Neither is talking about anything very “religious” when they mention humility in the first part of both readings. Some commentators even classify these as “Emily Post” sections of Scripture. Yet when the two writers encourage people to be humble, they’re simply asking them to be honest; to acknowledge who they actually are, what turns them on, or makes them tick.

Though, as the author of Hebrews reminds us, we’re destined for more glory, and a greater presence of God than even Moses and the Israelites experienced at Mt. Sinai, most of the time we don’t have the passion which would drive us to accomplish the things necessary to achieve such glory. We’d do a lot more of Sirach’s almsgiving and Jesus’ care of the poor if we just “felt” like it.

There’s an important interchange in the movie Lawrence of Arabia. An American reporter, discovering that Turkish soldiers frequently kill Bedouin captives, asks Prince Feisal what Lawrence does with Turkish prisoners of war. Feisal responds, “For Lawrence, mercy is a passion; for me, it’s good manners. Into which our hands would you rather fall?”

Feisal’s remark becomes significant further into the movie when Lawrence, overwhelmed with rage, orders his men to slaughter a column of surrendering Turkish troops. To say the least, those who operate solely out of passion are very unpredictable.

In the context of Sirach and Luke’s readings, to be humble implies we admit that we’re not naturally inclined to do what God asks us to do. Even if we do have an overwhelming passion on one or two occasions to actually carry out God’s will, it never lasts very long, and we can’t count on it coming back tomorrow.

Just as Maureen Dowd reflected on her creative inspiration only kicking in after she actually starts to write, so our passion to imitate Jesus usually kicks in only after we dispassionately start to imitate him.

I’ve often encouraged people not only to examine their consciences before they go to sleep at night, but also to do so before they get out of bed in the morning. Just as a night time examen leads us to look back on the day, a morning examen can force us to look forward to the day; to think about the people we’re expecting to encounter or the situations we’re going to be part of. Can we come up with at least one way to be another Christ to those people or in those situations, even if we don’t particularly feel like doing so?

In some sense, we can be as cold and calculating about putting the faith of Jesus into our lives as we can about the good manners we’ve learned and are expected to show. On some memorable occasions, it might just happen that when we go to bed, we’ll be amazed at the amount of passion we showed during the day, not in our good manners, but in our faith-driven acts of love.

Roger Vermalen Karban

This commentary is provided by the FAITHFUL OF SOUTHERN ILLINOS. Please share it with a friend. We appreciate your comments and donations.

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AUGUST 22, 2010: TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY OF THE YEAR

    Isaiah 66:18-21 Hebrews 12:5-7, 11-13 Luke 13:22-30

Anyone with a narrow, restricted view of discipline will have a hard time appreciating today’s readings.

Our Hebrews author provides us with a unique twist on the term when he writes, “My child, do not disdain the discipline of the Lord or lose heart when reproved by him; for whom the Lord loves, he disciplines; he scourges every child he acknowledges.”

According to its dictionary definition, discipline is “training that corrects, molds or perfects.” Those who listen carefully to our first and second readings will note that biblical discipline fits the definition. Our sacred authors are certainly trying to correct, mold, and perfect their readers, but it’s in a way most people aren’t accustomed to being corrected, molded and perfected.

In their recent book The Invisible Gorilla, psychologists Chris Chabris and Dan Simmons point out a disturbing fact: in any given situation, we humans can only depend on seeing the things on which we’re actually focusing our eyes. Though things on which we’re not focusing often pass through our field of vision, we almost never notice them. (The book’s title refers to a famous experiment the authors conducted. They asked people to count the number of passes one specific basketball team made during a game. While they were doing this, a girl in a gorilla outfit walked the length of the court, even weaving between players. Most pass-counters never saw the gorilla!)

The authors conclude there’s little we can do to improve our ability to notice the “unexpected.” We can only admit that no one ever sees everything, and be conscious of the fact that we never have a complete picture of what goes on around us. There’s constantly something out of focus.

Without having read Chabris and Simmons’ book, our sacred authors agree with their thesis. One of our biblical writers’ goals is to train their readers to focus on things invisible to many other viewers.

Both Third-Isaiah and Luke focus our eyes on an aspect of God’s actions most “religious folk” rarely notice: God is constantly saving and working with the very people we presume are beyond such actions.

The prophet’s reference is a bit more “esoteric” than the evangelist’s. When Third-Isaiah writes - during the last years of the 6th century BCE - only Jewish men from the tribe of Levi can act as priests and Levites in the Jerusalem temple. Yet, as Carroll Stuhmueller notes in his Jerome Biblical Commentary article, “This book (Third-Isaiah) ends with a most radical announcement. Gentiles (will) take their place in the priesthood.” Or, as the prophet puts it, “Some of these (Gentiles) I will take as priests and Levites, says Yahweh.” Almost no one in Third-Isaiah’s audience focused on that aspect of Yahweh’s actions. As good Jews, they were basically interested in how Yahweh related to Jews. Gentiles were off the screen.

Luke’s Jesus is much clearer on the subject of our ability to see the “outs and ins” around us. “There will be wailing and grinding of teeth when you (Jews) see Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and all the prophets in the kingdom of God and you yourselves cast out. People will come from the east and the west and from the north and the south and will recline at table in the kingdom of God. For behold, some are last who will be first, and some are first who will be last.”

It’s easy to brush off such an unexpected development by saying, “it all depends on how you look at it.” Yet we can never forget that God and our sacred authors are constantly disciplining us to “look at it” from their focus, not ours.

Roger Vermalen Karban

This commentary is provided by the FAITHFUL OF SOUTHERN ILLINOS. Please share it with a friend. We appreciate your comments and donations.

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AUGUST 15, 2010: THE ASSUMPTION OF MARY

Revelation 1l:19a, 12:1-6a, l0ab I Corinthians 15:20-19 Luke 1:39-56

If Luke hadn’t written his two volume gospel, we’d probably have no parishes dedicated to Mary.

Matthew barely mentions Mary; Mark describes her as being part of a family delegation going to “take charge” of Jesus because they believe he’s gone off the deep end; John places her in two narratives, presuming she converted to “Christianity” between chapters 2 and 19. But from the very beginning of Luke’s writing up until her appearance in Jerusalem’s upper room on Pentecost Sunday, Mary is depicted as the perfect disciple of Jesus: the person all Christians should be imitating. (The bishops at Vatican II employed Luke’s image of Mary when they included her in their document on the church.)

Luke’s definition of the perfect disciple is short and uncomplicated: it’s simply someone who hears God’s word and attempts to carry it out. Not only does the evangelist describe Jesus mother doing these two actions, he also employs others to point out her uniqueness. Notice what Elizabeth says about Mary in today’s pericope: “Blessed are you who believed that what was spoken to you by the Lord would be fulfilled.” Then turn to chapter 11 and hear the Jerusalem-bound Jesus’ response to the “woman from the crowd” who yells, “Blessed is the womb that carried you and the breasts at which you nursed.” He yells back, “Rather blessed are those who hear the word of God and observe it.” Mary isn’t to be praised because she’s his mother, but because she’s the perfect disciple...

In his must-read Birth of the Messiah, Ray Brown contends the three major canticles which Luke places on the lips of Mary, Zachariah, and Simeon are actually prayers frequently used by Jewish/Christian “Anawim” (the “poor ones”). Though Luke seems to have used someone else’s prayers, he adds a line to each canticle to make it fit snuggly into its gospel setting.

It’s important to note Brown’s comments on the Anawim. “Although this title,” he writes,” . . . may have originally designated the physically poor (and frequently still included them), it came to refer more widely to those who could not trust in their own strength but had to rely in utter confidence upon God: the lowly, the poor, the sick, the down-trodden, the widows and orphans. The opposite of the Anawim were not simply the rich, but the proud and self-sufficient who showed no need of God or God’s help.”

Luke believes Zachariah, Simeon and Mary fit the category of these Jewish/Christian Anawim. They recognize God as the one force in their lives who can raise them from their state of helplessness and actually bring about the life which God’s word promises. This is how the evangelist presents Mary proclaiming her “Magnificent.” She really is one of us, someone who totally relies on God.

In some sense, Paul, in our I Corinthians passage agrees. If Jesus’ mother has risen from the dead, it’s not because she’s God’s mother. But, like us, as followers of Jesus, she’s made her son’s faith her own. That means whatever happens to him, happens to her - both death and resurrection.

Though the vast majority of Scripture scholars contend that the Book of Revelation’s “woman clothed with the sun” refers more to the church than to Mary, she, as the exemplary member of that community, encourages us not only to give birth to her son daily (the risen Jesus in our midst), but also warns us about the suffering we’ll have to endure for doing so.

There obviously are elements in some of today’s “Mariology” with which we ordinary Anawim can’t identify. Fortunately our biblical authors knew nothing about those elements.

Roger Vermalen Karban

This commentary is provided by the FAITHFUL OF SOUTHERN ILLINOS. Please share it with a friend. We appreciate your comments and donations.

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AUGUST 8, 2010: NINETEENTH SUNDAY OF THE YEAR

Wisdom 18:6-9 Hebrews 11:1-2, 8-19 Luke 12:32-48

At a climatic moment in the musical Fiddler on the Roof, Tevye, the main character, has had it with God. Not only is he experiencing huge family problems, but the Russian authorities are about to expel him and his fellow Jews from their village of Anatevka. Looking up to heaven, he asks, “Why don’t you choose some other people for a change?” Being one of the Chosen People didn’t always provide a lot of perks.

Tevye’s question made me reflect on some of my own childhood questions. Though convinced my Catholic faith was the one, true faith, I’d still look at my non-Catholic cousins and playmates and think, “They don’t have to give up meat on Friday, never have to go to confession, don’t commit a mortal sin if they sleep in on Sunday mornings. Why couldn’t I have been born a Protestant instead of a Catholic?”

I presume everyone of faith has entertained similar daydreams and wishes. What should be a special privilege often turns out to be a humongous burden.

Luke’s Jesus presents us with a different twist on the subject. He ends today’s narrative on preparedness by stating, “Much will be required of the person entrusted with much, and still more will be demanded of the person entrusted with more.” Instead of looking at his (and our) faith as a burden, he regards it to be a trust; something we’re expected to carry through on because God has faith in us.

At the end of James Michener’s Korean War epic The Bridges at Toko-ri, the carrier fleet commander reflects on the motivation and bravery of his pilots. “Where do we get such men?” he asks. “They leave their ship and they do their job. Then they have to find this speck lost in the sea. And when they find it, they have to land on its pitching deck. Where do we get such men?”

I’m certain both the author of Hebrews and Luke could ask a similar question about the faithful in their communities. From where does the motivation come that inspires certain people to live total lives of faith?

The Hebrews author encourages his readers to explore the historical roots of their faith, taking them, like our Wisdom writer, into the days of the Jewish patriarchs and matriarchs. In so doing, he provides us with the famous definition, “Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen.” Had our faith ancestors not taken such risks, we wouldn’t have the faith we share today.

We’re certainly called to take similar risks. Luke’s Jesus is addressing all his followers - not just religious men and women - when he says, “Sell your belongings, and give alms. Provide money bags for yourselves that do not wear out, an inexhaustible treasure in heaven that no thief can reach or moth destroy. For where your treasure is, there also will your heart be.”

Of course, Jesus is convinced his followers won’t have to wait until their physical deaths to unite with their treasure. Notice how today’s pericope begins. “Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Do not be afraid any longer, little flock, for your Father is pleased to give you the kingdom.”

In the first three gospels, when Jesus speaks about the kingdom of God or the kingdom of heaven, he’s not referring to the place we’re planning to inhabit after death. He’s speaking about God working effectively in our lives right here and now. So when he asks his followers to make sacrifices and take risks in order to receive the kingdom, he’s assuring them they’ll see some good coming from those sacrifices and risks long before they physically die. If I’d concentrated just a little bit on God’s kingdom as a child, perhaps I wouldn’t have thought being Catholic was all that bad.

Roger Vermalen Karban

This commentary is provided by the FAITHFUL OF SOUTHERN ILLINOS. Please share it with a friend. We appreciate your comments and donations.

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AUGUST 1, 2010: EIGHTEENTH SUNDAY OF THE YEAR

Ecclesiastes 1:2-2:21-23 Colossians 3:1-5, 9-11 Luke 12:13-21

One of the side-effects of choosing a dissertation topic involving money - the Ananias and Sapphira story in Acts 5 - was that I was obligated to research every Hebrew and Christian Scripture text having anything to do with wealth and its use.

All who study this topic eventually arrive at the same conclusion: there’s no consistent biblical teaching on the subject. Not only are there the well-known differences between the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures, there are theological nuances even within the gospels themselves. One evangelist often disagrees with another. For example, Luke’s Jesus simply proclaims, “Blessed are the poor!” while Matthew’s Jesus, in the parallel passage, provides some wiggle room, “Blessed are the poor in spirit!” Yet, as rigid as Luke is on poverty, even he allows exceptions, as we see in Acts 16 when Lydia, a “dealer in purple,” prevails upon Paul and his missionary companions to “stay at (her) home.” She’s obviously not obligated to give up everything.

Qoheleth, the author of Ecclesiastes, is best known for the ultra-pessimistic statement with which he begins his book: “Vanity of vanities! All things are vanity!” Though he believes wealth is better than poverty, and even a sign of Yahweh’s favor, he’s brutally honest about the time and effort one wastes in acquiring it. “Here is one who has labored with wisdom and knowledge and skill, and yet to another who has not labored over it, he must leave his property.” Of course, writing during a period in which Jews had no belief in an afterlife as we have today, the writer is basically saying we should have more enjoyment and less drudgery in our lives. Nothing one does or possesses will have any value at the moment of death.

Luke’s Jesus, who does believe in reward or punishment after death, looks at the issue from another angle. Before anything else, the evangelist has Jesus state the basic Christian conviction on wealth: “Take care to guard against all greed, for though one may be rich, one’s life does not consist in possessions.”

Jesus’ ministry wasn’t rooted in providing his followers financial stability. On one level he agrees with Qoheleth: all our possessions eventually will belong to someone else. Yet his belief in an afterlife compels him to take his disciples beyond physical death, encouraging them to become “rich in what matters to God.”

At this point, today’s Colossians passage kicks in. Like Jesus, the author is trying to expand the horizons of his or her community. “If you were raised with Christ,” the writer states, “seek what is above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Think of what is above, not of what is on earth.”

Christians - imitating the risen Jesus - live as new creations. Taking us back to Paul’s famous Galatians 3 description of what it means to be a new creation, the author breaks down all the limits our old creation imposes on us. “There is not Greek and Jew, circumcision and uncircumcision, barbarian, Scythian, slave, free; but Christ is all, in all.”

Our sacred authors’ different perspectives on wealth demonstrate there’s no one way to integrate possessions even into our new, Christian life. We simply have to do so with the faith and example of Jesus always before our eyes and in our hearts.

The late John L. McKenzie often reminded us that not even members of poverty-vowed religious communities always succeed in living poverty-driven lives. (He at times referred to some religious as people who “shared in a common wealth.”) Yet even the great “John L.” believed we’re all are called to live a life which shows we’re directed to another life, a life in which possessions are on the perimeter, not at the center.

Roger Vermalen Karban

This commentary is provided by the FAITHFUL OF SOUTHERN ILLINOS. Please share it with a friend. We appreciate your comments and donations.

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JULY 25, 2010: SEVENTEENTH SUNDAY OF THE YEAR

Genesis 18:20-32 Colossians 2:12-14 Luke 11:1-13

Today’s first reading would make more sense if it started with verse 19 instead of verse 20.

But, no matter where it starts, as early as grade school I had learned about this memorable encounter between Abraham and Yahweh; a meeting in which a human being finagles God into lowering an agreed upon price from fifty to ten. We kids probably liked and remembered it because it presented an instance in which an immutable, all-powerful being was cajoled into changing his or her mind.

Of course, at that point of our religious formation we knew nothing of biblical myths. Nor did we understand how the sacred Jewish author was trying to project back into Abraham - his or her race and faith ancestor - the personality traits in which 10th century BCE Israelites took great pride. The writer began this process in the first part of the narrative by stressing the patriarch’s passion for showing hospitality. Now the subject revolves around confidence in their ability to negotiate prices. Just as a good salesman can sell refrigerators to Eskimos, so a good Jew can best even Yahweh when they haggle over prices. (Three years ago when I first employed “haggle” in my commentary on this passage, some Gentiles objected, implying the term bordered on anti-Semitism. I quickly checked with a rabbi friend who assured me, “They don’t know what they’re talking about, Roger. We Jews take pride in our ability to haggle.”)

Yet, as I mentioned above, when one reads the whole passage - including verse 19 - the narrative conveys a different perspective on the encounter. Abraham isn’t motivated by just an inherent ability to negotiate prices; his brash behavior is grounded in his relationship with Yahweh. God initially lets Abraham in on his/her plans for Sodom only because God relates to him in a unique way, different from how God relates to others. Yahweh has singled out this man and his family to do “what is right and just.”

In a parallel way, in today’s gospel pericope Jesus teaches his followers a special prayer. They’re to employ it not because this particular set of words guarantees those who use it will get more “stuff” than those who know nothing about it, but because it expresses the unique mindset of someone who has a special relationship with God and Jesus.

The early Christian community never thought the Lord’s Prayer was a set, unchangeable “magic” prayer: one which forces God to grant our requests even when God isn’t inclined to do so. We know this because the gospels give us this prayer in two different forms (here and in a longer form, with some different words, in Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount). And later in today’s passage, when Jesus talks about people getting what they prayerfully request, he doesn’t insist his followers use special words or phrases. Instead, he constantly brings up friends and parents and children. Relationships are more important in prayer than words.

Our Colossians author offers us the theological background against which to hear the other two readings. We Christians are who we are not because we possess some special genetic or racial traits, or because we’re privy to prayers no one else has, but simply because we’re “buried with (Jesus) in baptism . . . and raised with him through faith in the power of God, who raised him from the dead.”

Our Christian sacred authors shared a unique belief. They were convinced that those who imitated Jesus’ death not only rose with him, but, in the process, they also became one with him. When they prayed, they were praying in the name and person of the risen Jesus. Because of that, they not only prayed in a different way, they also prayed for different things - the things for which Jesus prays.

Roger Vermalen Karban

This commentary is provided by the FAITHFUL OF SOUTHERN ILLINOS. Please share it with a friend. We appreciate your comments and donations.

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  which all followers of Jesus carry around with them.

South African theologian Allan Boesak once remarked, “Jesus will make only one request at the pearly gates: ‘Show me your wounds!” These are the wounds which mark us as frequent visitors to Jerusalem.

Roger Vermalen Karban