Commandments, Consequences—and Confession

(Third Sunday of Lent (B): This homily was given on March 3, 2024 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Exodus 20:1-17; Psalm 19:8-11; 1 Corinthians 1:22-25; John 2:13-25.)

[For the audio version of this homily, click here: Third Sunday of Lent 2024]

One day a man was being tailgated by a stressed-out woman as he drove down a busy city street.  Suddenly, the traffic light just ahead of him turned yellow.  Realizing that it would be red by the time he actually got into the intersection, he stopped.  He made the right decision.  (I can’t say I always have in similar circumstances!—but he did.) 

Well the tailgating woman, who was obviously in a big hurry, wasn’t very happy.  She began honking her horn, screaming obscenities, and making obscene gestures (you can use your imagination to fill in the details there!).

All of a sudden, she heard a tap on her car window.  It was a policeman.  He told her to get out of the car and to put her hands up.

Then he took her to the local police station, where she was searched, fingerprinted, photographed, and put into a holding cell.

Two hours later, the policeman came to get her.  He took her to the booking desk and gave her back her personal effects.  Then he said, “I’m very sorry for the inconvenience, Mrs. Jones.  But let me explain what happened.  I pulled up behind your car while you were blowing your horn, cursing and swearing uncontrollably, and making some not-so-nice gestures with your hands toward the man in the car in front of you.  At the same time, I noticed the ‘Choose Life’ license plate holder on your vehicle, as well as the ‘What Would Jesus Do?’ bumper sticker, and the Christian fish emblem on the trunk.  Naturally, I assumed you had stolen the car!”

That’s an old story, but it illustrates a timeless truth.  It shows that there is a close connection between COMMANDMENTS and CONSEQUENCES—a connection that many people today fail to recognize. 

Mrs. Jones violated the 2^nd and the 5^th commandments (since anger is at the root of killing), and she suffered several negative consequences in her experience with the local policeman.

In today’s first reading, Moses delivers to the people of Israel the Ten Commandments that he had received from God on Mt. Sinai.  Now it’s very important for us to understand what these ten directives are: they are the moral laws that GOD has built into the very framework of reality.  In that sense, they’re a lot like the physical laws of the universe: if you honor them, many good consequences will follow; if, on the other hand, you disobey them, you court disaster.  For example, if you decide to walk to the edge of a 1,000 foot cliff, and then take one giant step off the edge, you will not be able at that moment to determine the consequences of what you’ve done!  Reality will dictate the consequences to you.  You made the choice to do something foolish—you made the decision to violate one of the laws of nature—and now that law (the law of gravity) will take over and you will fall.  It’s a simple as that. 

You can’t drive your car into a brick wall going 70 miles an hour and then expect your car to be in showroom shape afterward.  It will be broken into a million pieces!  (And so, in all likelihood, will you!) 

You can’t drink lethal poison and expect to be in perfect physical health an hour later.  (You’ll be lucky to still be alive!)

If you violate the laws of the material universe, you can be sure that there will be negative consequences you’ll be forced to deal with.

So why do some people expect things to be entirely different in the moral and spiritual dimensions of reality?  Why do they think they can violate God’s MORAL laws with impunity?  Why do they think they can disobey his commandments without suffering any negative consequences in the process?

It’s impossible.

This, incidentally, is a not a complicated idea.  It’s a basic concept that even a small child can understand if he wants to (or if he’s forced to!).  Here’s a little story that illustrates the point.  Several years ago a woman from the parish went to visit her great nephew, who was then about 5 years-old.   The little boy spotted his aunt coming up the front walk toward the house.  He stuck his head out a window on the second floor and yelled to her, “I can’t come out of my room today.  I’ve got consequences.”

He understood—at 5 years-old!  He had done something wrong, and his parents were teaching him a very valuable lesson.

It’s the same lesson, incidentally, that C.S. Lewis taught the world in “The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe.”  As most of us know, in that story Edmund betrayed his 3 siblings, and violated the “Deep Magic”.  And what exactly was the Deep Magic?  Very simply, it was the MORAL LAW that Aslan and his Father (the Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea) had built into the magical world of Narnia.  Edmund violated one of the principles of that law, and the White Witch was well aware of the necessary consequence of that act: Edmund had to die!  So she demanded his blood.  And even Aslan had to agree that she was right in her demand.  As St. Paul said in Romans 6:23, “The wages of sin is death.”

What really disturbs and worries me (and this is why I bring it up at this Mass) is the fact that so many people nowadays don’t seem to take this truth very seriously.

They scoff at the idea that there’s any intrinsic connection whatever between commandments and consequences.

Perhaps, in some places, that’s because those who have this attitude don’t know the Ten Commandments.  They couldn’t distinguish commandment 1 from commandment 8 or 9.  But I’m sure that’s not the case here.  I’m sure Fr. Paul has taught you well.  I‘m sure all of you know them by heart.  (Don’t worry, I won’t quiz you during the homily.)

But the question still remains, even if we know what they are: Do we really think that we can violate them without suffering any negative consequences in the process?

Do we really think that we can put other things before God, use his name as a curse word, miss Mass without good reason, disrespect our parents and others in authority, murder someone’s reputation, support evils like abortion and euthanasia, commit sins of impurity, steal, lie and covet—and not have it affect us (and those around us) in a negative way?

Are we living in a dreamworld?  If we haven’t done so already, it is time for us to wake up to reality!

Commandments and consequences—those two “c-words” and what they represent—cannot be separated.

Which brings us to another important “c-word”: confession!

In fact, to end my homily today I’ll put the 3 of them in one sentence (and if you forget everything else I’ve said today, try to remember this one line):

Confession helps to undo the consequences of violating the commandments.

Confession undoes the consequences (especially the ETERNAL CONSEQUENCES) of disobeying the commandments.

And that’s why we should go—frequently.

Do you?

 

Life is a Process of ‘Letting go’

 

(Second Sunday of Lent (B): This homily was given on February 25, 2024 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Genesis 22:1-18; Psalm 116:10-19; Romans 8:31-34; Mark 9:2-10.)

[For the audio version of this homily, click here: Second Sunday of Lent 2024]

An elderly woman from the parish went to see her orthopedic surgeon on a Friday morning.  She had been under his care—and homebound—for a few months after falling in her home and hurting her shoulder.  Well, happily, the doctor gave her a clean bill of health during that office visit, and she was looking forward to getting back to Sunday Mass and her normal routine.

But, unfortunately, shortly after she returned home that Friday, she tripped on a rug and fell again, this time breaking her pelvis and elbow!  The surgeon’s assistant later told me that when he received the call that this woman was in the emergency room at Westerly Hospital, he didn’t believe it.  He said to the nurse, “Oh no, that must be a mistake.  We just discharged her from our care a few hours ago.”

But, of course, it was not a mistake.  IT WAS LIFE!

For that elderly woman—and for each and every one of us—life is a process: a process of ‘letting go.’  Sooner or later, for example, we all have to ‘let go’ of many things.  We have to ‘let go’ of our physical health because of a fall—or because of Parkinson’s Disease or cancer or heart problems or something else. 

And it’s not easy.  Just ask that elderly woman!

We all have to ‘let go’ of loved ones when they die—which can be extremely hard if we’ve loved them deeply or had them in our lives for a really long time.  We have many funerals at St. Pius of parishioners who die in their late 80s or 90s.  The children of those parishioners are blessed to have had their parents in their lives for 60 or 70 years.  But that makes it all the more difficult for them to let go.

When people retire, they have to ‘let go’ of their work.  As we move on in life, we have to ‘let go’ of some of the recreational activities that brought us enjoyment in our earlier years.  We have to ‘let go’ of the control we’ve had over our daily activities.

Ultimately, we have to let go of what’s most precious to us on this earth.  Just like Abraham did.

In today’s first reading, we heard the famous story of how God tested Abraham by asking him to sacrifice his son, Isaac.  But we need to be clear about it: the test here was not, “Are you willing, Abraham, to kill your son for me?”—after all, we know that God never intended for Abraham to take his son’s life.

The test was about Abraham’s willingness to ‘let go’.  The Lord said to him, in effect, “Abraham, are you willing to let go of your son, Isaac?  He’s the child of the promise.  You waited 100 years to have him.  You love him deeply; you treasure him and the special bond you have with him more than anything else that you have in this life.  So, are you willing to let it all go?  Are you willing to let go of what’s most precious to you in this life and trust totally in me?”

We call Abraham “our father in faith” because he said yes—even though it had to have been the most difficult ‘yes’ he had ever said in his life.

In one way or another, we all face this very same test, don’t we?  Usually it involves someone we love.  But, unfortunately, not everyone responds like Abraham did.

As I was preparing for this homily, I thought of a scene from C.S. Lewis’ book, The Great Divorce—which, by the way, is not about marriage!

It’s a fictional book about an imaginary bus ride from hell to heaven.  All the people on the bus have the opportunity to go to heaven, but only if they ‘let go’ at some point on the journey.  First and foremost, of course, they have to be willing to let go of their sins thru repentance.  But they also have to be willing to let go of their attachments—their unhealthy, selfish attachments—to people and things; and at the same time they have to be willing to grow in their desire for God.

One person who has trouble doing this is a woman named Pam—whose son Michael died when she was still living on earth.  Her brother, Reginald, who’s already arrived in the kingdom, speaks to her at one point, and challenges her to love God first, and to let go of 0the selfish, possessive, manipulative love she had for her son when he was alive.  Reginald says to her, “[God] wanted you to love Michael as he understands love.  [And] you cannot love a fellow-creature fully till you love God.”  But Pam will hear none of it.  She blames God for her son’s death, and refuses to let go of that anger and the disordered love she had for her child.

A sad ending.  Thankfully other stories in The Great Divorce end much more happily!

There’s an old saying that most of us have heard before—and there’s a great deal of truth in it: Let go, and let God!

Pam did neither of those things.  Abraham did both—and because he did both he was rewarded beyond what he could possibly have imagined!

The Lord said to Abraham, “I swear by myself, that because you acted as you did in not withholding from me your beloved son, I will bless you abundantly and make your descendants as countless as the stars of the sky and the sands of the seashore.”

That prophecy was fulfilled, as we all know, on the natural level, in that Abraham became the father of the nation of Israel.

I suppose he could have imagined that natural dimension of the blessing.

But, as we also know, by making this promise God was telling Abraham that he would become the spiritual father of all the redeemed!  That’s yet another reason why we call Abraham “our father in faith”!  Spiritually speaking, we all trace our “lineage” back to him.

Now there’s no way that Abraham could possibly have understood that spiritual dimension of the promise when he first heard it.

But it was there!

If we follow Abraham’s example, by letting go AND by letting God take control and do his work in our lives, then we will, like Abraham, experience many blessings—sometimes even greater than what we can possibly imagine!

When I think of my great role model for dealing with Parkinson’s Disease, Pope St. John Paul II, I think of what that illness forced him to let go of: his health, his skiing, his mobility, etc.  And yet, because he also “let God”: because he let God work in him and through him when he was battling that despicable disease, he did some of his most effective work in those later years of his life.

That fact certainly gives me a great deal of encouragement.

Some of you, like that fictional woman Pam, have lost children.  But, in the process of dealing with their deaths, you’ve actually grown closer to God and stronger in your faith.  You were forced to let go of someone who was very precious to you (you had no choice in the matter), but you did have the ability to choose how you’d respond to the tragedy.  And, thankfully, you made the choice to ‘let God’!  You made the choice to let God help you and console you and strengthen you and heal you and give you hope.  For that you have been greatly blessed; and, if you persevere in that trusting faith, you will be blessed beyond your wildest imaginings in eternity, where God will reunite you with many of your deceased relatives and friends.

Life is a process of letting go—and as such it provides us with many opportunities to ‘let God.’  May the Lord help us to take advantage of those opportunities in imitation of Abraham, and John Paul II—and all the other great saints of the past.

Lent: It’s About Love

(Ash Wednesday 2024: This homily was given on February 14, 2024 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Joel 2: 12-18; Psalm 51; 2 Corinthians 5: 20-6: 2; Matthew 6: 1-18.)

[For the audio version of this homily, click here: Ash Wednesday 2024]

It’s both meaningful and providential that Ash Wednesday falls on St. Valentine’s Day this year—because if there’s one thing that most of the world is totally mixed-up about it’s the meaning of love.  Love, contrary to popular belief, is not a synonym for sex.  It’s not a reward for being good (or, at least, it shouldn’t be).  It’s not an emotion (although when we love we sometimes might experience good feelings).

Real love is an act of the will.  Real love is a decision.  It’s a decision to desire and to seek the good for another person.  Parents, for example, are said to love their children when they seek what’s truly good for them.  They love their children when they selflessly make the sacrifices that help their children to grow spiritually, emotionally and physically.

Real love, therefore, is not selfish; it’s selfless.  If you truly love someone you put that person before yourself (as good parents put their children before themselves, and their children’s needs before their own).

Real love is also patient.  If you truly love another person you’ll make every effort to be patient with them when they don’t fully meet your expectations (which will probably be quite often!).

Real love is forgiving.  If you truly love another person, you’ll be willing to forgive them when they disappoint you or offend you in some way (which they will certainly do—at least from time to time—because they’re not perfect).

And finally, real love is self-sacrificial.  Real love is about giving yourself, in care and service, to others.  As Jesus told us, “Greater love than this nobody has, than to lay down his life for his friends.”

St. Valentine was a man who demonstrated this kind of love in his life.  He lived in Rome in the third century, and it was there that he gave the ultimate witness to his love for Jesus Christ and the Church through his martyrdom.

So what does this have to do with Ash Wednesday and Lent?

Well, this is precisely what Lent is about (or, at least, this is what Lent is supposed to be about!).  Love.  Our disciplines and sacrifices during this holy season are supposed to help us to grow in our love for God and one another.  That’s their purpose. 

Their purpose is not to make us miserable and ornery because we’re giving up things that we enjoy! 

This, by the way, is why getting to confession during Lent is so important!  Confession either strengthens—or re-establishes—our bond of love with the Lord.  Real love, as I said earlier, is forgiving.  God, in his great love for us, wants to forgive us!  He wants to forgive us more than we want to be forgiven!  He wants to forgive us for every sin we’ve ever committed.

But we have to ask for that forgiveness!  He will not force it on us.  He respects our freedom too much to do that.

So today, on this Ash Wednesday morning, we ask St. Valentine to pray for us—that we will have a good Lent, a fruitful Lent, a love-filled Lent: 40 days of growing in our love for God and others that will make us better men, better women, better disciples of Jesus Christ when Lent is over—and for the rest of our lives.

The Leper’s Request: A Model Prayer for us

(Sixth Sunday of the Year (B): This homily was given on February 11, 2024 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Leviticus 13:1-2, 44-46; Psalm 32:1-11; 1 Corinthians 10:31-11:1; Mark 1:40-45.)

[For the audio version of this homily, click here: Sixth Sunday 2024]

"If you will to do so, you can cure me." 

That’s the translation of the first line of today’s gospel reading in the old New American Bible: "If you will to do so, you can cure me."  10 words.  1 short sentence. . .. Spoken almost two thousand years ago by a suffering leper in Palestine.  And yet I would say that these words have an incredible relevance for us today in 2024—because what we have here, my brothers and sisters, is really a model prayer.  In my humble estimation, these 10 little words convey to us the attitude that should be in our hearts whenever we go to the Lord with special needs—which is something that most of us probably do every day. 

Consider, first of all, the last four words of the sentence: "You can cure me".  Those words are packed with faith, are they not?  Those words convey a deep and unwavering confidence.  This leper had no doubt whatsoever that Jesus Christ had the power to set him free from the horrible disease that was killing him.  He believed in the Lord's ability to do what was otherwise impossible.   Is that the mindset we have when we pray?  When we go before the Lord do we have confidence that Jesus can do the extraordinary?  Or do we put limits on the Lord?  Do we believe he can help some people but not others?  Do we believe he can forgive everyone except us?  Do we believe he can forgive everyone except, perhaps, our enemies?   Do we believe he can heal only a certain segment of the population?

I remember giving a homily many years ago in which I spoke about two women who had recently experienced physical healings after I gave them the sacrament of the sick.  The power of Jesus Christ present in the anointing restored them to health.  After Mass the following Sunday a nurse from the parish came up to me and said, "Father, I’m glad you told those stories last week.  Over the years I’ve found that a lot of Catholics don't take this sacrament very seriously.  Sometimes I’ll say to a patient, ‘Would you like me to call in a priest so he can anoint you?'  and the patient will say, 'Oh no, don't bother.  It's not that important.'"  

The leper in this story would never have reacted in that way.  He would have wanted to be anointed, because he would have been convinced that the strength, and the forgiveness and the healing power of Jesus were available to him in and through the sacrament.

Now look at the first half of the leper's 10-word prayer: "If you will to do so".  Here we have a man who was willing to place his problem totally and completely in the Lord's hands.  He knew what Jesus could do—he knew what our Lord was capable of—but he didn't presume to know the perfect will of God in this situation.  He realized that it might have been his time to leave this life and go home to the Lord.  If it was, then he was willing to accept that fact, even though he wanted to be healed.  His attitude was, "Lord Jesus, whatever YOU decide, I will accept.    I won't write the script for you as to how to answer my prayer.  I simply lift up my need to you; your will be done."  This man obviously had a deep trust in his heart that Jesus would do what was best for him in the long run.  Now that makes him quite different from all those people who like to give God orders when they pray.  These people think they know exactly what God needs to do in a given situation, and when he doesn't follow every detail of the blueprint they've drawn up, they get angry with the Lord and accuse him of abandoning them.   Perhaps we've all embraced that attitude at one time or another.  Or at least we've been tempted to embrace it.

I think this leper knew that we human beings don't always know what's best for us in the long run.  We think we do, but we don't.  I was reminded of that once when a woman told me about a prayer she used to say for her daughter.  She said the prayer over and over again for many, many years without ever getting the answer she wanted.  But she told me that eventually she became glad and grateful that the prayer wasn't answered according to her blueprint, because she realized that everything had worked out for the best.  Then she quoted the refrain of an old song by country music singer Garth Brooks.  I’m sure many of you have heard the words of this song before.  They make it clear that God sees things differently than we do, and that he knows what’s best for us in the long run.  I’ll conclude my homily today with his words.  (Don’t worry, I won’t torture you by trying to sing them!) …                                                                                                              

Just the other night at a hometown football game, my wife and I ran into my old high school flame.  And as I introduced them the past came back to me, and I couldn't help but think of the way things used to be. 

She was the one that I’d wanted for all times, and each night I’d spend praying that God would make her mine.  And if he'd only grant me this wish I wished back then, I’d never ask for anything again.

Well she wasn't quite the angel that I remembered in my dreams, and I could tell that time had changed me in her eyes too, it seemed.  We tried to talk about the old days—there wasn't much we could recall—I guess the Lord knows what he's doing after all.  And as I walked away, I looked at my wife, and then and there I thanked the good Lord for the gifts in my life.

Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers.  Remember when you're talking to the man upstairs, that just because he may not answer doesn't mean he don't care, some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered . . . Some of God's greatest gifts are all too often unanswered . . . Some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers.

"If you will to do so, you can cure me."  May those words of confidence and trust serve as a model for every intention that we bring to Jesus in prayer from this day forward.