Too Many Pilates, and not Enough Baudouins

 

King Baudouin

(Third Sunday of Lent (C): This homily was given on March 23, 2025 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Exodus 3:1-15; Psalm 103:1-11; 1 Cor 6:1-6, 10-12; Luke 13:1-9.)

[For the audio version of this homily, click here: Third Sunday of Lent 2025]

When it comes to secular leaders in the world today, I would say there are far too many Pilates, and far too few Baudouins. We heard a bit about Pontius Pilate in our gospel reading today from Luke, chapter 13.  There Jesus speaks about a horrid event that had recently taken place. Apparently Pilate had some Galileans murdered, and then mixed their blood with the blood of the animals they were offering in sacrifice.  Now, as grotesque as that may sound, it was actually rather typical of Pilate’s behavior as procurator.  Josephus, the Jewish historian of the time, tells us that Pilate also had some Samaritans murdered on Mt. Gerazim when they were engaged in a religious service.  On another occasion, he killed a number of Jews who voiced their disapproval when he stole money from the Temple treasury to build an aqueduct in Jerusalem.

Although the gospel writers “soften” their portrayal of him on Good Friday, it’s clear from the historical record that Pontius Pilate was a man consumed with power.  He greatly enjoyed flaunting his authority in the face of others.  He even did it with our Lord during the Passion, when he said to him, “Don’t you know that I have the power to release you and the power to crucify you?”

It’s also clear from Scripture that Pilate was a skeptic.  When Jesus said to him, “For this I was born and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.  Everyone who belongs to the truth hears my voice,” the procurator immediately responded, “Truth, what is that?” 

Pilate was also a moral weakling.  For lack of a better term, he was a spineless wimp!  He knew Jesus was innocent, but he didn’t have the guts to acquit him and let him go.  And so he ended up becoming the poster-boy for all those men and women throughout history who have said “I am personally opposed, but . . .” In the Gospel of Matthew we read, “Pilate called for water and washed his hands in front of the crowd, declaring, ‘I am innocent of the blood of this just man.  The responsibility is yours.”  Let me now modify that line for you ever so slightly: “Pilate called for water and washed his hands in front of the crowd, declaring, ‘I am personally opposed to the death of Jesus of Nazareth, but . . . he will be crucified anyway.’”

At the beginning of my homily I said that when it comes to secular leaders in our world today, there are far too many Pilates.  They’re in every country—in every level of leadership (it’s not just those at the top!).  These are people who are consumed with power, who deny the existence of objective truth, and who refuse to do anything to combat the moral evils of our time.  Like Pilate they say, “I am personally opposed, but …”  “I am personally opposed to this or that moral evil, but I’m not going to do anything to change things for the better.”

What the world needs today—what the world needs in every country and in every generation—is a lot more “Baudouins”.

What’s a Baudouin?

A Baudouin is not a what, a Baudouin is a “Who.”

King Baudouin was the ruler of Belgium.  He ruled the Belgian people for 42 years—from 1951-1993, except for 36 hours in April of 1990 (more about that in a minute).

I must admit that I had never heard of him, until a parishioner shared an article about him with me a couple of weeks ago.  The article, from the National Catholic Register, focused on the fact that this past December the Vatican opened the beatification process for him.  That means that at some point in the future, Baudouin might become a canonized former king, like St. Louis of France and St. Stephen of Hungary.

From what I’ve read about him recently it’s become clear to me that in King Baudouin’s mind his faith was more important than his kingship was.  Far more important!  His faith influenced everything in his life.  He never said, “I am a Catholic, but …”  His faith influenced the way he treated people; his faith influenced the way he ruled; his faith influenced the things he supported as king and also the things he rejected.

In 1995, two years after his death, Pope John Paul II said, “[King Baudouin] was a great guardian of the rights of the human conscience, ready to defend the divine commandments, and especially the Fifth Commandment: ‘Thou shalt not kill,’ especially with regard to the protection of the life of unborn children.”

That last point is a reference to what happened in 1990.  At that time the Belgian Parliament passed a bill which legalized abortion up to the 12^th week of pregnancy.  It was the duty of the king to sign a bill like that into law.  But King Baudouin refused to do so. He remained true to his beliefs concerning the sanctity of human life.  About his decision not to sign he wrote: “I know by acting in this way I have not chosen an easy path and that I risk not being understood by many of my fellow citizens. To those who may be shocked by my decision, I ask them: Is it right that I am the only Belgian citizen to be forced to act against his conscience in such a crucial area? Is the freedom of conscience sacred for everyone except for the king?”

As a consequence of his refusal to sign, King Baudouin was declared unfit to reign by the government, and he was removed (willingly) from office.  Thus they were able to pass the law without his signature.

But his abdication of the kingship didn’t last very long.  Because of his incredible popularity, Baudouin was reinstated as king just 36 hours later, and in that capacity he faithfully served his people until his death from a massive heart attack in 1993.

I’ll end my homily today by repeating what I said at the beginning: When it comes to secular leaders in the world today, there are far too many Pilates, and far too few Baudouins.  And, sadly, I think that has led some people to become cynical.  Given the immoral and often scandalous behavior that some prominent politicians and civil servants have engaged in during the last several decades, some now believe that it’s impossible (or nearly impossible) for a person to be both a good leader and a good Catholic at the same time. It’s as if holiness and effective leadership are mutually exclusive realities.  But King Baudouin, St. Louis, St. Stephen of Hungary—and others like them—have shown us that living a virtuous life is possible even amidst the trappings of wealth and worldly power.  By the grace of God, it can be done. This led Pope Francis to voice his hope recently that King Baudouin’s powerful “example as a man of faith enlightens those who govern [in the world today].”

Which is definitely an “enlightenment” that people in our country—and in every other nation on earth—should pray for.

The 3 Great Fears of Human Beings, and the 3 Temptations of Jesus in the Desert

 

(First Sunday of Lent (C): This homily was given on March 9, 2025 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Luke 4: 1-13.)

[For the audio version of this homily, click here: First Sunday of Lent 2025]

The late Fr. Benedict Groeschel was not only a priest, he was also a psychologist, with a doctorate from Columbia University.  That means he understood the workings of the human mind pretty well. 

In his book, The Virtue Driven Life, Fr. Groeschel made a very interesting statement in this regard.  He said, “Human beings have three great fears—to be no one, to have no one, and to have nothing—and they cause people to be self-centered and ungenerous.”

I read that line as I was in the process of preparing for this homily, and I said to myself, “That’s amazing!  Those are precisely the 3 temptations Jesus faced after his 40-day fast in the desert!”  Fr. Groeschel doesn’t make that connection directly in his book, but it’s true nonetheless.

This means that in dealing with these 3 temptations from the devil, Jesus was actually facing the 3 greatest fears that we face in our lives.

Let’s take them in the order Fr. Groeschel mentions them (which is actually the opposite of the order that Jesus experienced them in this Gospel story).

Human beings, he says, have 3 great fears.  The first is the fear of being no one—that is to say, the fear of being a nobody; the fear of not being recognized and appreciated for who we are.  Satan mistakenly thought he could find this fear inside of Jesus and use it to lead him into sin, and so he took our Lord to the very top of the Temple in Jerusalem.  There he said to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written: ‘He will command his angels concerning you, to guard you, and with their hands they will support you, lest you dash your foot against a stone.’” 

Satan was saying, “Jesus, I know who you are—I know you’re one of those really important people that God the Father will protect.  But the men and women here in Jerusalem—they don’t know that.  They think you’re just an ordinary man.  So show them who you are; throw yourself down from here!  Just like it says in the 91^st psalm, God the Father will send a whole flock of angels from heaven to catch you—and everybody in the city will see it!  They’ll say, ‘Wow, this guy can fly!  He must be a special person.’  Then they’ll listen to you; then they’ll take your words seriously!”

Jesus was able to resist this temptation, because he had a PERFECT relationship with his heavenly Father.  He knew exactly who he was; he knew he was loved by God the Father with a perfect love—and he was completely secure and at peace in that knowledge.  Consequently, he wasn’t afraid of being a nobody.

But sometimes, we can be!  And it’s important for us to be aware of that, because this kind of fear can easily cause us to compromise our moral principles: “I want to be accepted by my friends—I want them to think I’m cool like they are—and so I’ll drink with them on weekends”; “I want my co-workers to like me, and so I’ll talk and act just like they do.”

The fear of being a nobody.

Andy Warhol used to talk about people wanting their 15 minutes of fame.  There’s a lot of truth in that.  Some people will do almost anything to get noticed these days.  Why do you think there are so many reality shows on TV?   Why do you think so many people with terrible voices audition for American Idol?  They don’t want to be “nobodies”.  They want to be known for something—even if that “something” brings them embarrassment and humiliation! 

The antidote to this kind of fear is a deep, personal relationship with the Lord.  (That’s not pious drivel; that’s reality!)  This is why our relationship with Jesus Christ—nourished by prayer and the sacraments—needs to be our top priority in this life!

Because the more we know and love Jesus—and even more importantly, the more we really know and understand his love for us—the less this fear of being a nobody will control us.

Put it this way—if Jesus Christ is my best friend; if I really know that he loves me just as I am; and if I know he will always be there for me, then I don’t have to be afraid of being a nobody!  Ever!  I’ll know—I’ll always know—that I’m a somebody!  I don’t have to prove anything to anyone.  As long as I’m striving to be faithful to Jesus, I have nothing to worry about.

The second fear according to Fr. Groeschel, is the fear of having no one.  Once again, Satan mistakenly thought he could find this fear within Jesus, and use it to get him to disobey his Father.  So he showed our Lord all the kingdoms of the world, and said to him, “I’ll give you all this power and glory, if you just worship me.”  In other words, “Jesus, you don’t have to worry about your future; you don’t have to be concerned that someday no one will care about you.  Just worship me, and I’ll make you the ruler of all these countries.  Then you’ll be all set!  You’ll have lots of servants—thousands of people at your beck and call at every moment of every day.  You’ll never be alone; you’ll never be neglected!”

Once again, this fear—the fear of having no one—was not in Jesus.  He knew he was never alone; he knew the Father was always with him.  And so he said to Satan, “You shall worship the Lord, your God; him alone shall you adore.”

Jesus didn’t give in to this fear, but we can.  Pretty easily.

Politicians who support immoral laws even though they are “personally opposed” give in to this fear.  They’re afraid that if they support the right laws, they’ll lose the support of those who helped to put them into office.

Priests who are afraid to teach EVERYTHING that the Church teaches in matters of faith and morals also give in to this fear.  They fear their parishioners won’t like them anymore.

Whenever a Catholic fails to speak up for what’s right and true when he knows that he should speak up—be it at work or at school or among his friends—that Catholic gives in to this type of fear.

And we’ve all been there, haven’t we?  I know I have!

The last fear Fr. Groeschel mentions, which ties in with the very first temptation of Jesus in this scene in the desert, is the fear of having nothing (or the fear of not having our needs met).  This is similar to the second fear in some respects, but the second one related more to persons; this one concerns possessions.

Satan said to Jesus, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to turn to bread.”  His message there was, “Jesus, you’re pretty hungry right now, aren’t you?  You’ve been fasting for 40 days and 40 nights in this awful desert.  Aren’t you worried about your health?  Aren’t you afraid of starving?  You should be!  Well, then, do something about it; satisfy your urge!  Give yourself a good meal!  You deserve it!”

Jesus, of course, knew that his Father would provide for all his needs, so he rejected this temptation immediately and said to Satan, “One does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.”

The fear of not having enough wasn’t present in Jesus Christ; but sometimes, once again, it can manifest itself in us.  Why, for example, do people steal?  Why do they cheat on their taxes?  Why do they cut corners in their businesses?  Why are they sometimes less charitable than they should be—or could be?

In many cases, it’s simply because they’re afraid!  They’re afraid that they don’t—or that they won’t—have enough!

So there they are—the 3 great fears we face during our time on this earth: the fear of being a nobody; the fear of having no one; the fear of having nothing. 

As we’ve just seen, Jesus was able to overcome every one of these fears, in and through the loving relationship he had with his heavenly Father.

But the good news is that we, too, can overcome them!  We can overcome these 3 fears by finding our strength, our security and our peace IN OUR RELATIONSHIP WITH JESUS!

So let’s resolve today to work very hard at improving our relationship with the Lord during this holy season of Lent—by prayer, by reading Scripture, perhaps by attending Mass and Eucharistic Adoration more frequently, and, of course, by going to Confession.  Let’s resolve to improve our relationship with Jesus in these very practical ways, and get rid of the fears that afflict us.

 

What will the Ashes I Wear Today be a Sign of?

(Ash Wednesday 2025: This homily was given on March 5, 2025 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.)

[Gor the audio version of this homily, click here: Ash Wednesday 2025]

A couple of years ago, Bishop Thomas Tobin, who was in charge of our diocese at the time, wrote a column in our diocesan newspaper, The Rhode Island Catholic, in which he spoke about the things we wear, and how what we wear often reflects, as he put it, “our belief or our loyalty”.  What we wear, in other words, is often a sign of something deeper.  He began by commending the Catholic school students who had been kicked out of the Smithsonian Museum a few weeks earlier for wearing hats that said, “Rosary Pro-Life.”  He commended those students for having worn something that was a sign of “their commitment to life.”

The Bishop went on to say, “How often we proudly wear a t-shirt, a sweatshirt or a hat bearing the name and logo of our favorite team, the Pittsburgh Steelers, for example.”  [Incidentally, both Fr. Mahoney and I think that was a very bad example that the Bishop used—but that’s another story!  His point was still well taken.]  The Bishop continued, “Sometimes we wear things that have religious meaning. Christians wear a cross to identify themselves as followers of Christ. Catholics wear medals or pins to share a favorite devotion. When a priest wears a purple vestment for Mass rather than a white vestment, it means something.”

Then he rightly noted that on Ash Wednesday we—and all Catholics--will leave church “wearing” something—something that we were not wearing when we entered the building before the Mass began. We will be wearing ASHES on our foreheads! Which brought him to the important point for our personal reflection this morning. He said that these ashes will be “a very visible sign.  But a sign of what?”

That’s the key issue for each of us to consider as we begin the holy season of Lent today: What will the ashes I wear today actually be a sign of?

• Will they be a sign of the fact that I intend to make my spiritual life—my relationship with Jesus Christ—my immortal soul—my top priority during the next 40 days?
• Will they be a sign of the fact that I intend to pray more, and to read Scripture more often; that I intend to come to Mass faithfully every Sunday—and maybe even during the week?  You all got to Mass this morning.  How about doing that at least one morning a week throughout the Lenten season?
• Will they be a sign of the fact that I’m going to take an honest look at my life during the next 40 days, so that I can identify those things I need to change?  And will they be a sign of the fact that I intend to bring those matters—those faults—those sins—to the sacrament of Reconciliation at some point during the season of Lent, so that they can be forgiven?  Fr. Mahoney has added some extra times for confessions each week, so there’s no excuse for not getting there.
• Will they be a sign of the fact that I intend to seek reconciliation with people I’ve offended in my life (that would be a fantastic Lenten activity!), and will they be a sign that I will seek to grow in charity during this holy season?
• Or will wearing the ashes I receive this year simply be a sign of the fact that I somehow paid my “spiritual dues” on March 5, 2025; that I went through the motions, and did what many Catholics (probably most Catholics) think they’re supposed to do on Ash Wednesday every year?

Those are extremely important questions.  They’re the questions that need to be answered by us, and by everyone else who “wears” ashes on their forehead today.  Of course, they can only be answered adequately when Lent is over, and when we reflect back on what we’ve done—and not done—during this holy season.

May that reflection back help us to see, happily, that the ashes we wore this Ash Wednesday were a positive sign: a sign of the great spiritual growth and personal improvement that we would experience—and which we did experience—during the 40 days of Lent in 2025.

 

 

The ‘David Syndrome’ and How to Deal With it

 

Nathan confronts King David

(This homily was given on March 2, 2025 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Sirach 27:4-7; Psalm 92:2-16; 1 Corinthians 15:54-58; Luke 6:39-45.)

[For the audio version of this homily, click here: Eighth Sunday 2025]

You could call it the “David Syndrome”—named after David, the second king of Israel.  It’s what Jesus is talking about in our gospel reading today from Luke 6, in that section where he says, ”Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye, but do not perceive the wooden beam [i.e., the plank] in your own?  How can you say to your brother, ‘Brother, let me remove that splinter in your eye,’ when you do not even notice the wooden beam in your own eye?”

As I said, this syndrome—this disorder—is named for King David, because this is precisely where he was at after he sinned with Bathsheba.

Most of us know the story.  David was out taking a stroll on his rooftop veranda one evening and he spotted a young woman bathing off in the distance.  So he invited her over to his place for a little “coffee-and”.  Not surprisingly, it was the “and” that got him into trouble.  One thing led to another (as the old saying goes), and the woman—Bathsheba—ended up pregnant.

Now David could have repented and ended things right there, but instead he made the decision to take matters into his own hands and to try to conceal his sin.  He called Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah the Hittite, home from battle and tried to get him to go home.  He wanted Uriah to sleep with his wife, and thus to think that he was the father of the child.  But Uriah refused to go.  And it was right for him to refuse because at the time the nation was at war, and Uriah was a good soldier.  Good soldiers in Israel weren’t supposed to go home to their families when a war was going on.

So David arranged to have Uriah killed.  He instructed the leader of his army, Joab, to put Uriah on the front lines of the battle, and then to pull back from him at a certain point, so that Uriah would be exposed to enemy attack—a “sitting duck,” so to speak.  Well Joab, unfortunately, did what David commanded him to do, and Uriah was, indeed, killed.

So there was David—guilty of two deadly (what we today would call “mortal”) sins—and yet he felt absolutely, positively no guilt whatsoever—about any of it!  For him, life was great.  He had a new wife (he ended up marrying Bathsheba) and a new son.  And in his kingdom, it was business as usual.

Until he was presented with a problem—a problem that supposedly involved someone else.  The prophet Nathan, inspired by the Spirit, came to David one day and said, “David, I need your help. I’m trying to figure out how to judge this particular case.  There were two men in a certain town; one was really, really rich, the other, unfortunately, was really, really poor.  The rich man had lots and lots of flocks and herds (too numerous to count); whereas the poor guy had just one little lamb that he had bought with the little money he had. But he loved that lamb—and so did his children.  It was part of their family.  That is, until the day the rich man stole the lamb from the poor man and his family, and cooked it up as a meal for one of his houseguests.  He could have chosen one of his own lambs to feed his friend (he had thousands to choose from), but he refused to do that.  What do you think about that man, David?  What’s your opinion?”

David got angry and said, “As the Lord lives, the man who has done this deserves to die!  He should be executed!”

Nathan said, “Well, that’s very interesting, David, because YOU ARE THAT MAN!!!”

That was the moment David realized that he had a plank sticking in his eye—and a pretty big one at that.  It was also the moment when he began the process of removing the plank.  Thankfully it did not take long for the king to admit his sin to Nathan.  In fact, the very first words that came out of David’s mouth after Nathan confronted him were the words, “I have sinned against the Lord.”  Later on David would express his repentance in the 51^st psalm when he wrote: “Have mercy on me, O God, in your kindness; in your compassion blot out my offence.  O wash me more and more from my guilt, and cleanse me from my sin.”

Hopefully it’s now clear: the “David Syndrome” is the tendency we all have to see the sins of other people more clearly than we see our own.  David saw the sin of the rich man in Nathan’s story very clearly, but he was blind to his own.  It reminds me of the little story I once read in a commentary on today’s readings.  Some of you probably have heard this before.  It’s about 4 monks who had taken a vow of silence.  All four of them were walking down the road one day, when one of them stubbed his toe on a rock.  He said, “Ow!”  The second turned to him and said, “You idiot!  You broke your vow of silence!”  The third said to the second, ”You’re a bigger idiot than he is; you broke your vow of silence in telling him that he broke his!”  The fourth one just smiled and said, “I’m the only one who didn’t.”

Here we have four men, each of whom saw the faults of the other three more clearly than he saw his own.

That’s fallen human nature; that’s the “David Syndrome.”

I think it’s providential that we have this particular gospel reading on the Sunday before Lent begins.  (Yes, believe it or not, this coming Wednesday is Ash Wednesday!)

Lent is a time of year when we should focus in a special way on the “planks” in our eyes: the planks that we, like David, tend not to be aware of—or that we may tend to ignore.  That requires some introspection; that requires some honest soul-searching, which in Catholic terms is commonly referred to as an “examination of conscience.”

Examining our consciences is actually something we should get in the habit of doing every day of the year.  If King David had examined his conscience after he committed adultery with Bathsheba, perhaps he wouldn’t have added murder to the list of serious sins he needed to repent of. 

Ordinarily, planks are removed for us in the sacrament of Reconciliation—even big planks like David’s.  Hopefully we will all make the effort to get to confession at least once during the upcoming Lenten season.  Remember, we have confessions here at St. Pius every Thursday afternoon at 5pm and every Saturday afternoon from 3-4:30pm—and other times by appointment.

All that having been said, my prayer for all of you is that this year you will have, not only a happy Easter, but also (and even more importantly) a “plank-free” Easter!