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That
must have been some seven mile walk between Jerusalem and Emmaus!
As we just heard, Jesus not only
spoke with his disciples about the scripture, but he told them
everything the scripture taught about him and every verse where
those things were stated. By my calculations, that was at
least a four or five hour homily. And, still, the disciples
didn’t
“get it”!
Relax, because my intention today is not to talk as long as Jesus
did. No, my intention is to discuss what that image raised in
my mind and especially because
the young children of some friends have been persistent lately in
complaining about how much they don’t like my homilies.
Perhaps because you also don’t like my homilies and are wondering if
the particular bugaboos expressed by my friends’ young children are
your particular bugaboos, you might be asking yourself, “Just what
are their complaints?”
Well, topping the list is: “You use too many big words.” I
guess they mean “You use too many polysyllables. We’re just kids,
not adults. Keep it simple. Use monosyllables.”
Next in line is: “By your third sentence, you put me to sleep.”
I guess that means, “B-O-R-I-N-G.” In all likelihood, they’d like
me to snazz things up a bit by making my homilies more like MTV?
And that’s not to minimize the third complaint: “What you say has
nothing to do with my life.” Now, I know infallibly this means
“It’s sort of like doing homework. You know…stuff like
television and text messaging friends is what really matters in
life.”
Over the years, some have asked, “Doesn’t criticism like that hurt
you?”
“No,” I’ve always responded, in part because I believe all of us
have a right to our personal opinions, expressed carefully. As long
as I honestly do my part to prepare a homily and as long as the
critics are honest and good people, they have every right to prefer
a “chocolate ice cream” homily to a “vanilla ice cream” homily (or
vice-versa). One simple fact of life that I’ve learned over two
decades of delivering a different homily every Sunday for every year
is that no matter what I say, I should not to be surprised at all
when people voice objections and hurl criticisms. If you don’t
believe that’s one of those irrefutable facts of life, I suspect
you’ve never worked with the public. Just ask any waiter or
waitress.
So, at the risk of using too many polysyllables, boring you to
sleep, or saying everything that has absolutely nothing to do with
your lives, let me tell you what I (and every priest) is supposed to
be doing when any one of us delivers a homily at Sunday Mass because
this is what provides the authentic standard for judging a homily.
The Church sets the standard this way: “In the readings, explained
by the homily, God is speaking to his people, opening up to
them the mystery of redemption and salvation, and nourishing their
spirit; Christ is present to the faithful through his own word” (General
Instruction on the Roman Missal [GIRM], 2003, 2.II.9;
2.III.B.33, italics added).
Now, that’s a pretty humbling thought. When I read the Gospel and
attempt to explain the scripture readings in a homily, I am to be
aware—first and foremost—that it is not me who is speaking to
you. No, the Church asserts, I am to be aware that it is God
who is speaking to you. I’m not here to opine and bloviate about my
interests or what I believe you need to consider. Nor am I am here
to state what I think will make you happy or feel good. No, I am to
be aware of only one thing, namely, I am here to allow God to speak
through me the words God wants you to hear through the
scripture and the homily. If I do that, then you will
understand better the mystery of redemption and salvation and,
grasping that concept with your minds, experience God nourishing
your spirit in the Eucharist of God’s word and sacrament. “From my
mouth, through your ears, and into your soul” is the action.
When I (or any priest for that matter) prepares a homily, my
attitude must that of serving God who wants to speak to His holy
people not only through the scripture readings but also through me
I explain those readings in the homily. To prepare a homily, then,
I not only have to read the scriptures and contemplate them, but I
also have to ask myself: “What does God want to say to His people
through these readings?” Yes, the purpose of the readings and
homily is to open the
“people
in the pews”
up to the mystery of redemption and salvation by nourishing their
spirit. But, equally as important, the Church notes, “This is how
Jesus Christ is made present through his own word.” The Word of God
is made flesh and is present and dwelling in us through the reading
scripture and the delivery of the homily. Let us
neither minimize nor forget that.
That sets a pretty high standard, for me, doesn’t it? When
preparing a homily, my pastoral and moral responsibility is to allow
God to speak through me the words God wants you to hear so that you
will experience the mystery of redemption and salvation and find
your spirit nourished to live a more holy life. And, if my reading
of scripture is anywhere near accurate, my critics are correct: God
doesn’t speak in polysyllables but cuts quickly to the chase and
leaves no doubt about what is meant, whether I (or anyone else for
that matter) like it or not.
“Okay,” I say to myself in light of this standard, “there’s always
room for improvement.” So, I need to think more about what God
wants said than what I think you need to hear. That’s a point well
taken. At the same time, the standard liberates me from
fretting about what the people in the pews might think, how the
people in the pews might react, and whether or not the people in the
pews will like the homily I prepare. After all, since my
purpose is to speak God’s
word, I am not there to entertain nor am I there to make the people
in the pews “feel good.” Sorry, those things have absolutely
nothing to do with the standard the Church has set for judging a
homily. And, that’s precisely where my friends’ young children
have it completely wrong and where anyone sitting in the pews who
uses similar criteria for judging a homily also has it completely
wrong.
Now, before any of
you may jump up and object, that doesn’t mean that I or any homilist
should be impervious to things like taking into account the
congregation’s attention span and various techniques to arouse
interest. No, that’s not what I am saying. In fact, any
good homilist―just like any good public speaker―is careful when
crafting one’s message so that the people in the pews will be more
likely to allow it to move through their ears, into their minds, and
to sink into their souls. But, again, all of that is secondary
to what is primary. Namely, what God wants said is primary.
How that is said is something a homilist must always work on
perfecting. And that is why constructive criticism―coming from
honest and good people who understand the Church’s criteria for
judging a homily―is valuable for any homilist and, I believe for
many of us, is very much appreciated.
But, that’s only one half of what’s going on here. After all, a
homily does nothing if it’s delivered to an empty church or, for
that matter, to a church full of people in the pews who refuse to
allow the homilist’s
words to enter their ears, move into their minds, and transcend deep
into their souls. So, the other half has to do with all of you―the
members of the congregation―the
“people in the pews”.
And, just as I shouldn’t be surprised that my friends’ young
children have complaints about my homilies, so you shouldn’t be
surprised that people in the pews—perhaps some of the sitting
beside, in front of, or behind you—have complaints about many of
their fellow
“pew
sitters.”
I know this because they have complained to me over the past
two-plus decades about you.
First on the list is: lack of preparation. If the members of
the congregation are to hear God’s word, how well are they preparing
themselves to hear it? Rushing to church, arguing in the car,
coming late for Mass or leaving early, and reading the bulletin when
the scripture readings are proclaimed or the homily is being
delivered don’t strike me as being some of the best ways to prepare
ourselves, that is, if our intention is to listen to God speak to
us.
A second complaint is: disinterest. How many people in the
pews come to church each week lusting to hear God speak His word to
them? Or, is the real truth of the matter that most of the people
in the pews want, instead, to be entertained? You know: the homily
should be light-hearted and laid-back, it should include a few
jokes, and definitely it should not push any moral teaching. After
all, isn’t the real goal
not to be challenged by
God’s word
but to
get Mass over as quickly as possible because there’s a lot of places
to go, people to see, and chores to complete before Monday morning?
And, that’s not to overlook the third complaint: routine.
Just why do the people in the pews come to Mass? Is it a
distasteful obligation that must be fulfilled so as to avoid eternal
perdition? (Oh, pardon me. That’s one of those polysyllables. I
should have said, “Hell.”) Is Sunday mass nothing but a brief
respite or lull in what otherwise is an all too busy and hectic
schedule? Or, is attending Mass similar to a factory worker
punching his or her card in the time clock? “Click,” we say to
ourselves, “I’ve done my duty” and, it might be added, nothing more.
“Time to go home!”
Well, perhaps there is truth in each of those complaints, just as
there is truth in complaints lodged against me or any other priest
or deacon’s
homily.
But, just as the Church has set a standard for judging a homily, so
the Church has also set a standard for judging attendance at Sunday
mass.
The
Church teaches that “by nature the celebration of Mass has the
character of being the act of a community” (GIRM, 2.II.14).
Mass is a “celebration”—from the Latin, celebrare, “to
frequent in great numbers by assembling to honor”—not an
“experience”—from the Latin, experentia, “to gain knowledge
by repeated trials.” That is, we assemble each Sunday in great
numbers as a community, not as individuals, to honor God and,
specifically, not to gain personal knowledge through the repetitious
behavior of attending Mass week after week. Mass is about “all of
us and our God”—how we collectively honor God—not “all about me and
my God”—how I feel. The former is the Roman Catholic and Greek
Orthodox understanding of the
“Mass” or “Divine
Liturgy,”
the latter is the Protestant understanding of
the
“service.”
Perhaps since the Second Vatican Council, have we Catholics in the
United States have allowed ourselves to become overly
Protestantized? What do I mean by that question? It’s
simple: we no longer seek to allow God’s word expressed in the
scripture and homily to enter through our ears and into our minds so
that God’s word will transcend deep into our souls. No,
we desire rather
to “experience” something―to feel moved or to feel good or to feel
happy―by the scripture and homily. For Roman Catholics, it’s
not about “feeling.” No, according to Cardinal John Henry
Newman, that’s Protestantism according. No, it’s all about the
“ear-mind-soul” connection.
Now, that standard really does present a challenge for the people in
the pews, doesn’t it? Mass is neither a spectator sport nor
entertainments like a television show, a movie or a stage play.
Instead, Mass is how we—the community of God’s holy people—assemble
in this church to give of ourselves collectively to honor God. What
is focal is not ourselves as individuals and what we seek to
experience individually. Nor is the quality of the Mass judged
by what “I get out of it.” Instead, the criterion for judging what
constitutes a “good Mass” is the quality of the action of those who
are assembling and honoring God as a community of people. The
standard to make that judgment is found in the answer to this
question: What am I giving of myself each week as a member of this
community to honor God?
For Catholics, the focus is the “community,” the assembly
constituted of “holy people” (GIRM, Introduction, 4), that
is, all of us―women
and men, young and old, happy and sad―all
of whom have already been made holy by God. Here’s what the Church
writes:
For these people are the people of God, purchased by Christ's blood,
gathered together by the Lord, nourished by his word. They are a
people called to offer God the prayers of the entire human family, a
people giving thanks in Christ for the mystery of salvation by
offering his sacrifice. Finally, they are a people growing
together into unity by sharing in Christ’s body and blood. These
people are holy by their origin, but becoming ever more holy by
conscious, active, and fruitful participation in the mystery of the
Eucharist. (5)
You and I have been made holy, not only “by our origin” as God’s
sons and daughters, but also as we—as a community become “ever more
holy by conscious, active, and fruitful participation in the mystery
of the Eucharist” each week. For this reason—to grow as holy
people—we assemble as a community to honor God.
That prompts me to ask three questions:
·
First: How many of us are conscious of what is supposed to be going
on in this building as we assemble each week as a community?
·
Second: Conscious of this purpose, how many of us are actively and
fruitfully participating in the mystery of the Eucharist by giving
of ourselves to honor God?
·
Third: How many of us really care about becoming more holy and see
our conscious, active, and fruitful participation here as vitally
important to that end?
Again, the standard is not simply to be conscious, active, and
fruitfully participate in the Mass as individuals. No, the Church’s
standard is far more exacting than that. We have to be conscious,
active, and fruitfully participating as a community.
That, my friends, is one of many things God is telling us through
today’s scripture. Following the resurrection, Jesus was teaching
the disciples from scripture what life meant in light of the mystery
of redemption and salvation. As Jesus taught (and it was for
several hours, not ten minutes), he was nourishing the spirit of his
disciples. But, they just didn’t get it…that is, until they
assembled as a community to honor God and became “ever more holy by
conscious, active, and fruitful participation in the mystery of the
Eucharist.” And just when they did “get it,” Jesus vanished.
Now the disciples had to decide just how they would live their lives
beyond the celebration of the Eucharist and began by returning to
Jerusalem from Emmaus.
Yes, in all humility, homilists—that’s me—need to recognize how God
wants to speak to His people about the mystery of redemption and
salvation as well as to nourish their spirit through the homilist.
To that end, the only measure of success will be whether “Jesus
Christ is made present through his own word.” That’s why
constructive criticism of my homilies is a very good thing.
In all humility, the members of the congregation—that’s all of
you—also need to prepare yourselves so that you will be able to
assemble and honor God as a community and become “ever more holy by
conscious, active, and fruitful participation in the mystery of the
Eucharist.” To that end, the only measure of success will be
whether you make Jesus Christ present to the world beyond the walls
of this church. That’s why constructive criticism of your
participation is a very good thing.
When we fall short in meeting the standards identified by the Church
(and being human we all do), it’s pretty easy to understand how Mass
can devolve into a dull and boring weekly ritual that has very
little (or perhaps, for some, even nothing) to do with life or as an
“obligation” or “duty.” It’s also very easy to understand why
people—and sadly, too many young people whose idealism God’s
word
can set afire—sometimes have to be dragged to church screaming and
kicking or bribed with some reward. And, it’s also very easy to
understand why, for the majority of adults who call themselves
Catholics, they’d rather stay home and in bed, as they do, on most
Sundays.
Like the disciples who were relaxing at the hotel after their
day-long trek along the road to Emmaus, the only way we will become
more holy as the assembled community of God’s people will be as I
endeavor each week to speak God’s word and as you endeavor to
participate more consciously, actively, and fruitfully in the
mystery of the Eucharist, God’s word and sacrament. When we meet
these two standards, we will recognize Who it is in the scripture,
homily, and breaking of the bread and know exactly how we are to
live our lives beyond our weekly celebration of the Eucharist.
That’s
not just “my” responsibility not is it just “your” responsibility.
No, it’s “our” responsibility as a community. Pointing
the finger at me and complaining that I am not entertaining you is
about as useless as my pointing the figure at you and complaining
that you’re not participating enough. Why? Because both
judgments have nothing to do with the standards the Church has set
to judge the efficacy of the Mass. But, when you pray for me
that I will speak God’s word in the homily and I pray for you that
you will consciously, actively, and fruitfully assemble to honor God
as a community, then it is likely that we will together recognize
Who it is in the scripture readings, homily, and in the breaking of
the bread.
And, better yet,
we will endeavor with all of our strength to bring the Good News of
Jesus Christ to the big world that exists beyond the walls of our
church, a world whose members are desperate to hear the liberating
Good News of Jesus Christ but might sell themselves short by looking
to be entertained. |
HOMILY
