topleft05.jpg (18208 bytes)HOMILY
 Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)
25 July 04


 

A couple of months ago, a colleague of mine at Villanova asked me to pray for his 24-year-old daughter.  Married just two years ago and having no success in becoming pregnant, his “little girl” had just been through a series of medical tests the results of which results indicated the high probability that the young woman had ovarian cancer.

To her, it seemed God had answered all of her prayers to have a family not only with a definitive “No.”  More ominously, God also answered her prayers with a message that will test this young woman’s faith, hope, and love as sorrow, grief, barrenness, and fear assault her from all sides.

Prayer has now become her father’s work.  So, when this colleague came to speak with me, he was quite understandably distraught.  He also could barely hide his fear and sadness at what the future portended.  “You know, Rich,” he said, “of my kids and all my nephews and nieces, she’s the only one who always went to church on Sunday and never complained…not even when she was a teenager.  She’s the only one of all of them who didn’t live together before getting married.  She and her husband have gone to church every Sunday since they were married.  It just doesn’t make sense.  I have to say, my faith is shaken a bit…just a bit.  But, would you pray for her?”

On the face of this request, my colleague was asking me to pray for his daughter.  It was a simple enough request.  Implied in this request, however, was a father’s sincere desire that God would intervene and heal his daughter of her disease.  All my colleague wanted was that God would enable his daughter to lead a happy and full life, even if it meant that she couldn’t bear children.

More importantly for the purpose of this homily, however, my colleague believed that my “prayer line” would be a more direct line to the Big Guy in the Sky than is my colleague’s prayer line.  It was a request similar in many ways to the disciples’ request in today’s gospel when they said, “Lord, teach us to pray.”

“Teach us to pray.”  It seems like a simple request.

Why couldn’t the disciples pray as Jesus did?  Or, at least, what was it that made the disciples believe they couldn’t pray in much the same way that my colleague was asking me to pray for his daughter as if the sincere prayers of a loving father wouldn’t receive as much—if not more—attention from God as mine would?

The request—simple as it appears—masks over a very deep feeling of spiritual poverty the disciples had grown to recognize.  As they listened to Jesus teach, as they observed him interact with people, as they had fun with him, and as they watched him pray, the disciples came to recognize that even though they pretty much possessed everything they could want in terms of creature comforts, Jesus’ life revealed something lacking deep within their souls—a form of spiritual poverty—which the disciples could only express by requesting, “Lord, teach us to pray.”

When the disciples requested that Jesus to teach them to pray, he responded with a prayer that sounds rather conventional to us two millennia removed.  But, at the time, Jesus’ prayer contained a set of revolutionary concepts, the first being that Jesus didn’t tell his disciples to pray as faithful Jewish parents had for generations taught their children to pray.  The disciples weren’t to address God in any of the standard formulas used to invoke God, terms like “Adonai,” “Elohim,” “El Shaddai,” “Emmanuel,” or “Elohenu.”  These are formal titles not personal names, indicating the sacred places where the Jews had experienced God’s presence.  Furthermore, these titles suggested the kind of relationship that exists between a sovereign and a subject.

Instead, Jesus told his disciples to begin their prayer by calling upon God using the term “Daddy” (in Hebrew, “Abba”).  For his disciples, this teaching was shocking because Jesus was telling his disciples that God is experienced not in a place or in the relationship of a sovereign and a subject but in a special, intensely intimate relationship, similar to that of a father’s love and concern for the well-being of his children.  By telling his disciples to begin their prayers with the words, “Daddy” (sorry folks, “Our Father” just doesn’t do it!), Jesus was reminding his disciples about God’s love for them not only as individuals but also as members of one family, the People of God.

What is important for us to remember about this particular concept is that prayer isn’t primarily a recitation of rote, memorized formulas.  No, if we truly are serious about prayer, it should be primarily about a conversation characterized by an outpouring of the contents of one’s soul.  We should speak openly and freely with God about all of the things that trouble us and all too oftentimes remain unspoken and shrouded by silence.

When we pray, it may well be the case that instead of opening our souls to God and emptying their contents before Him, we pray as if God is the “Great Santa Claus in the Sky.”  Hoping that God will listen to us and give us everything we ask for, the hubris infecting our prayers is unmistakable.  The problem isn’t just our hubris because, after all, God undoubtedly could will that we win the Lotto, close the deal on the perfect house we want, land a coveted job, heal someone, or take away suffering and pain.

But, it must be asked: Are these things God’s to give?  Or, is it more accurately the case that the “either/or” demands we call “prayers” are really intended to put God to the test?  That is, if God doesn’t give us what we want and right when we ask for it, we then conclude that we have the right to turn our backs on God!  How many people do you know—perhaps you yourself have done this on occasion—who have pleaded with God for what they desperately wanted, attempted to strike a bargain with God and, when they didn’t get what they wanted, drew the conclusion that God didn’t give one hoot about them justifying their not giving one hoot about God and His divine law?

Unfortunately, while many people pray for what they want and God certainly can will those things, it is not God’s place to give us everything we want.  Maybe that’s why much of what we pray for seems to fall on deaf ears.

It may well be the case that much of what we ask for in prayer is simply beyond God’s power to give.  Having already breathed His divine life into us, God can only give us what we need to live each of our limited number of days as God’s beloved sons and daughters.

For example, God can forgive our sins so that we can live our lives “to the max.”  What this means, however, is that we live each day in a positive and constructive way characterized by obedience to God’s Law.  It is not through prayers filled with quid pro quos but through obedience that we express love of God.  Forgiveness is needed if we are to get back on track.

Furthermore, God can provide faith in those times when we find ourselves tested by sorrow, pain, disease, or grief.  After all, the power of evil—not God—is the author of all these experiences.  Evil’s intent is to destroy faith.  So, while we may oftentimes think about faith as a personal belief or a conjecture riddled with uncertainty, for disciples “faith is the substance of things hoped for and evidence of things unseen.”  Faith, then, is that gift of God we need when we cannot see or understand something in the present moment.  This gift strengthens us to confront our deepest fears, sorrows, pains, diseases, and grief with the steadfast awareness that, in the end, God will prevail over the power of evil.  We need faith if we are to remain steadfastly courageous and steadfastly committed when we are put to the test, and especially as today’s gospel says, the “final test.”

Moreover, God can provide hope when events in our lives spiral beyond our ability to control them.  When we discover our powerlessness—like my colleague whose daughter has ovarian cancer—we must finally admit that we control very little in our lives.  While this realization can allow despair to cloud our days, the gift of hope enables us to reach out to God by stretching beyond ourselves so that God can reach out to us, grasp our hands, and pull us toward Him when everything around us is dragging us down.  When we pray for the gift of hope, we seek God and union with God.  Praying for the gift of hope, then, is to ask God for strength to trust in a future good we know will be difficult to obtain through our own efforts.  We need the light of hope if we are not to allow darkness to cloud our days.

Lastly, God can provide us with love.  When we disclose our inability to love and entrust that failure to God in prayer, the power of love that God gives in return makes us much more realistic about ourselves.  We learn, for example, that anything we do that isn’t motivated by love is, purely and simply, nothing but wasted effort.  We also learn that, when God’s love fills our souls, we can do the best we can, we can accept our gifts and limitations, and we not only can bear our crosses willingly but can also thank God for all of these things.  We need the gift of love—and the fruit of humility it offers—if we are to be realistic about ourselves and our fallible creaturehood.

Forgiveness, faith, hope, and love.  We truly stand in need of these gifts and God—not some Great Santa Claus in the Sky—not only can give us these gifts but also wants to give them to us.

When Jesus’ disciples asked him to teach them to pray, Jesus didn’t tell them to rattle off five Our Father’s, ten Hail Mary’s or fifteen Glory Be’s.  No, Jesus told his disciples to ask God to give them what they need, namely, their daily bread.  Jesus certainly isn’t talking about Wonder Bread, although every human being needs physical nourishment.  Instead, Jesus is talking about the spiritual nourishment—the faith, hope, and love—each of us needs if we are to become perfect as our heavenly Father is perfect.

What Jesus is really getting at is that prayer involves asking God for what we truly need rather than constantly badgering God for everything we want.  Take a moment and reflect upon the words you find yourself praying.  Do you say, “Lord, look at all I’ve done’ for you, so would you please give me ______?  Pretty please?”

Young people who fit this mold pray using these words: “Look God, I’ve done my chores.  I’ve behaved myself.  I haven’t lied.  I haven’t even fought with my brother or sister.  So, it’s time for You to ante up for me.”  How different that is from young people who empty their souls and crying out, “Lord, I’m in so much pain.  My parents are fighting and they’re talking about separating and getting divorced.”  Or, “Why did You create me to want to do things I know are wrong?”  Or, “How come You let my grandfather die?”

Young adults who fit this mold pray in these words: “Okay God, I didn’t swear.  I haven’t gossiped.  I haven’t been mean.  And, to top if off, I’ve even been chaste.  So, how about coming across right now with what I want?”  How different that is from young adults who find themselves filled with anguish and pray, “Lord, why did you make me this way?  I hate my body.  Why couldn’t I have been like everyone else popular?”  Or, that teenager might pray, “God, I’m not sure who I am and what I want to become.”  Or, “Is she (or he) the one You intend for me?”

A husband or wife who fits this mold might pray using these words: “Lord, I haven’t griped at my spouse, at the kids, or even about my in-laws.  It’s time now for You to deliver what I want!”  How different that is from a husband or wife who is at a loss and is wondering, “Lord, why am now I allowing all of these nit-picking little things to get in the way when they didn’t bother me before?”  Or, “Why have You allowed these changes to happen, Lord?  To be honest, I liked it better the other way.”

A parent who fits this mold might pray using these words: “I’m trying to raise my kids right and put up with an awful lot that I don’t deserve.  So, here’s the deal: Change my kids right now.”  How different that is from a parent who is contemplating a child’s behavior and prays, “Lord, what am I to do?  I’m fearful that my kid is hanging around with the wrong crowd and feel powerless to do anything about it.  I’m afraid of the drugs, the alcohol, the sex, and the consequences of all that.”  Or, “Why didn’t You tell me beforehand, Lord, that this is what being a parent is going to be like?”

Or, senior citizens who fit this mold pray, “Sincerely Lord, I haven’t burdened anyone by complaining about all of the pain I am suffering from arthritis.  So, how about giving me what I really want and, by the right, right now.  After all, I don’t necessarily have all that long to wait for You to deliver.”  How different that is from a senior citizen who is worried and prays, “Lord, everyone around me is dying.  It seems that they only place I’m going is to funerals and now there are fewer and fewer people attending them.  And, sometimes, I’m the only one who is breathing.”  Looking back over the course of one’s life, a senior citizen might pray, “Lord, have I done anything of true value in my life?”

Notice the difference?  When people pour out the contents of their souls, these are real prayers, the bread of their lives that, when broken and shared with God, invites God to nourish and strengthen them in what they truly need, namely, faith—that will strengthen then to confront their deepest fears, sorrows, pains, diseases, and grief with the steadfast awareness that, in the end, faith will be its own reward—hope—that will strengthen them to trust in a future good that they know will be difficult to obtain—and love—what makes them realistic in assessing themselves so that they can love God and neighbor as they love themselves.

Now don’t get me wrong.  Praying the Rosary and reciting prayers from prayerbooks or those printed in the back of the missalette aren’t bad things if only because they are better than nothing.  But, if prayer remains just that—little formulas that say nothing about the content of one’s soul—we do not enter into intimate, open, and honest conversation with God, as Jesus teaches his disciples to do.  Furthermore, by keeping those matters silent, we don’t allow God to nourish us with the bread we truly need if we are to be healthy and mature People of God.  That bread is the faith, hope, and love God can give, wants to give, and will give to anyone who prays as Jesus taught.

This lesson is important for each of us no matter what our age or generation in which we live.

As the reading from the Book of Genesis reminds us about the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah, destruction came not at the end but as it slowly crept into the two cities.  As people sought their fulfillment not in the daily bread that comes through prayer but in the delights coming from getting everything they wanted, the women and men of Sodom and Gomorrah made little decisions­ each and every day—just like those people who appear on the Jerry Springer Show did—to turn their backs on seeking the spiritual nourishment God will give to those who pray as Jesus taught.  Then, not recognizing their spiritual poverty, the citizens of Sodom and Gomorrah—from the youngest of children to the most senior of citizens—gradually allowed what was reprehensible in the previous generations to be accepted as normal and healthy behavior in the present generation.  Not praying to God and absent faith, hope, and love, the words courage, conviction, character, and commitment came to mean nothing whatsoever to the people of Sodom and Gomorrah.  And before long, it was virtually impossible to find 100, or 50, or 25 or even 10 good people in both cities, so destitute had the culture grown.  Meanwhile, everyone was saying, “Geez, I’ve never had it so good.  Everything is just fine.  What more could I possibly want?”  Looking back, doesn’t this sound like so many of us and our fellow citizens during the mid- to late- 1990s?  Unfortunately, in Sodom and Gomorrah at least, no one was praying for what they desperately needed.

“Lord, teach us to pray” is an implicit admission of spiritual poverty, namely, that we do not know how to pray as we ought and for what we need.  Jesus taught his disciples that prayer requires opening one’s soul to God, admitting one’s lack of self-sufficiency, and confessing one’s need for the higher power Who will provide healing for what troubles and ails one’s souls.

In prayer we ask God for what we truly need: “Will You increase my faith, my hope, and my ability to love?”  In prayer, we seek God by asking: “What do you need me to do for You?”  And, in prayer, we knock by persistently opening our souls to God so that we will act with the courage, conviction, character, and commitment that faith, hope, and love require.

As rich as Jesus’ disciples may have been in terms of creature comforts and as rich as my colleague may be in terms of his creature comforts, their poverty of their souls—and the poverty of all of our souls—need attending to if we are to have the faith, the hope, and the love we need in order to act with courage, conviction, character, and commitment.

Sometimes it may seem as if the hardest tenet of our Christian faith is to believe that God does, in fact, hear our prayers.  After all, haven’t we all complained silently to ourselves at one time or another that God hasn’t heard our prayers?  Taking an honest appraisal of the content of our prayers, perhaps the most honest words we can utter are: “Lord, teach us to pray.”

 

 

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