Easter: The Only Answer to the ‘Walter Jameson’ Inside Each of us

Walter Jameson and Sam Kittridge

(Easter 2024: This homily was given on March 31, 2024 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Acts 10:34a, 37-43; Colossians 3:1-4; John 20:1-9.)

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

“Long Live Walter Jameson” was the title of an episode of “The Twilight Zone” which aired during the program’s very first season.  If you’re old enough, you may remember it from its first showing; others may recall it from the reruns of the Twilight Zone that currently air on the Sci-fi channel.  The story concerned an extremely popular history professor named Walter Jameson.  Jameson was not your stereotypical, sleep-inducing history teacher; he had the uncanny ability to make ancient events “come alive” in the minds of his students.  In fact, when he spoke about certain historical figures, he did it with such insight that it seemed as if he had known them personally.

Well, it turns out that he had known them personally!  (This, remember, was the Twilight Zone!)  One of his fellow professors, an elderly man named Sam Kittridge, happened to be reading a book on the Civil War one day, and in it he found a picture of Hugh Skelton, an officer in the Union Army.  He noticed that Skelton looked exactly like Walter Jameson—down to the ring on his finger and the mole on his face.  After initially denying it, Jameson finally admitted to his colleague that he was the man in the hundred-year-old photograph.  It seems that two thousand years earlier, he had paid an alchemist a great deal of money for the gift of never growing old or getting sick.  Here’s how Jameson explained it to Kittridge:

“I was like you, Sam, afraid of death, and when I thought of all the things there were to know and the miserable few years that a man had to know them, it seemed senseless.  At night, every night, I dreamed as you dream of immortality.  Only if a man lived forever, I thought, could there be any point in living at all. . . . [However, after I met the alchemist and he gave me this gift of never growing old], I saw my wife and my children aging, my friends dying.  This was something I hadn’t considered, you see. . . . Think about it.  I tell you that somehow I can stop you from aging.  Where do you want to stop?  At thirty?  Then you watch everyone around you grow old.  At seventy?  Do you want to live forever the way you are now?  Old, sick?” 

His fellow professor responds, “It’s better than dying!”  Jameson snaps back, “No.  You’re wrong, Sam.  I was wrong.  It’s death that gives this world its point.  We love a rose because we know it will soon be gone.  Whoever loved a stone?”

A little later in the conversation, Kittridge says, “I thought if a man lived forever, he’d grow wiser.  But that’s not true, is it?”  “No,’ Jameson answers, ‘You just go on living, that’s all.”

The program ends when one of Jameson’s most recent former wives tracks him down and shoots him—not wanting him to marry the woman he’s currently engaged to.  As Jameson lies dying, he speaks these final words to his friend Sam Kittridge: “Nothing lasts forever—thank God.”

Walter Jameson, after living for 2,000 years, came to the realization that nothing on this earth completely satisfied him.  In spite of all the knowledge he had accumulated, in spite of all the friends he had made and the wonderful experiences he had lived through, there was within him a fundamental dissatisfaction with this life.

And it didn’t go away for 2,000 years!—in fact, if anything, this feeling of dissatisfaction got stronger and stronger as time went on.  That explains his dying words to his friend Sam Kittridge: “Nothing lasts forever—thank God.”

Do you recognize this dissatisfaction within yourself?  You should.  I certainly recognize it in me.  Even if we’re well-adjusted and happy there is still something within us that always longs for something more.  Most of us know about the conversion of St. Augustine.  His mother—St. Monica—prayed for him for many, many years while he lived the life of a hedonistic playboy.  He would have fit in perfectly at “spring break” in Ft. Lauderdale.  Finally Monica’s prayers were answered and her son changed his life.  Later he became a bishop and one of the greatest theologians in the history of the Church.  On her deathbed Monica said these words to Augustine: “Son, as far as I am concerned, nothing in this life now gives me any pleasure.  I do not know why I am still here, since I have no further hopes in this world.  I did have one reason for wanting to live a little longer: to see you become a Catholic Christian before I died.  God has lavished his gifts on me in that respect, for I know that you have even renounced earthly happiness to be his servant.  So what am I doing here?”

Even the great saints were not perfectly satisfied in this life.  Why?  That, I would say, is the crucial question.  Why this dissatisfaction?  Why is it that we’re never completely content on this earth?

Well, as I see it, here are the two most likely reasons:

Possibility number one: a defect of design.  Mentally we just didn’t evolve properly.  Something went wrong back in pre-historic times causing this internal weakness within us.

Which brings us to the second possible reason: We’re never perfectly satisfied here, because we weren’t made for here!  Our true and ultimate destiny lies somewhere else!  So of course the things of this world don’t bring us perfect happiness—of course we’re always longing for something more—of course we’re never perfectly satisfied.  We’re only meant to live here for a time; we’re not meant to live here forever!  As St. Augustine said after his conversion, “O Lord, you made us for yourself; and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”  This is the Christian response to the “Walter Jameson” inside each of us!

And it points us directly to Easter!  Easter means that at long last we can have what we were made for!  We can have perfect happiness; we can have perfect joy and peace; we can know perfect love and have the fullness of life our hearts long for!  We can have it, because Jesus Christ has obtained it for us by his passion, death and resurrection!  That’s the reason for all the alleluias!

In his conversation with Sam Kittridge, Walter Jameson said something worth repeating.  He said, “Only if a man lived forever, could there be any point in living at all.”  Jameson, of course, was referring to an endless life here on earth.  As he meant it, he was wrong; but on a deeper, Christian level, he was absolutely correct!  If there’s no life after this one, then what’s the point of this life?—To accumulate more knowledge?  (That’s what Jameson thought—until he started seeing his loved ones dying all around him.)  What’s the point of this life?—To make more money?  To have more toys than everyone else?  To become a sports or media superstar?  To have lots of sex?  (The pornographers of this world seem to think so.)  What’s the point of this life?—To get to the top rung of the corporate ladder?  To party as much as possible?  To have other people like you and think you’re important?

For more than 2,000 years, the Catholic Church has proclaimed to the world the true answers to the crucial questions about the meaning and value of human life:  Why are you here?—You’re here because God willed that you be here, and because he loves you.  And this incredible, infinite love led him to send his only-begotten Son into the world to die for the forgiveness of your sins. 

The point of your life is not to do your own thing (despite what the hedonists of our culture believe); the point of your life is to live for God—to live by faith in Jesus Christ and to follow the plan the Lord God has for you.

Thus the point of human existence—as the old Baltimore Catechism put it—is to know, love and serve the Lord here on earth, so that we will be happy with him forever in heaven—our true home—where the deepest longings of our hearts will finally be satisfied.

Do you believe this?  Do you believe that’s why you’re here?  Do you believe that’s the point of your life and the point of human existence?

·        If you do, then you’ll certainly be at Mass next Sunday—and every Sunday and Holy Day!

         If you believe this, then you’ll make your relationship with Jesus Christ your first priority in life.  Nothing else will occupy that spot—not your work, not the casino, not sports, not anything else.

         If you really believe this, you’ll examine your conscience frequently and confess your sins often.

         If you believe this, you’ll make every effort to be more charitable, more forgiving and more virtuous at home, at school and at work.

         And amazingly, if you believe this, you’ll actually start to enjoy THIS life a lot more—because you’ll have the right perspective on the fleeting pleasures of this world. 

Sadly, however, if you don’t believe this, then no matter how much money you make and how much power and pleasure you experience, the Walter Jameson inside you will continue to cry out—and you’ll have no answer for him.  In the deepest recesses of your mind and heart those nagging, troublesome questions will never, ever go away: “Why am I here?  What’s the point of this life?  And why won’t the pleasures of this earth bring me peace, even when I gorge myself on them?”

Because the only answer to the Walter Jameson within us is the answer of Easter!  May Almighty God give us the grace today to accept it—and believe!

What will you Leave Behind This Holy Week?

(Palm Sunday 2024 (B): This homily was given on March 24, 2024 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I. by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Isaiah 50: 4-7; Psalm 22; Philippians 2: 6-11; Mark 14:1-15:47.)

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

 

Here’s a suggestion for the producers of the Jeopardy program (that’s the game show where they give you the answer and you’ve got to figure out the question):

The answer is: The only Gospel in which the following line appears: “There was a young man following [Jesus] who was covered by nothing but a linen cloth.  As they seized him he left the cloth behind and ran off naked.”

Do you know the question?  You should—if you were paying attention to the account of the Lord’s Passion that was just proclaimed.  The correct question is: What is the Gospel of Mark?

Now the fact that this verse appears only in Mark has led many Scripture scholars throughout the centuries to scratch their heads and ask: “Why?  Why does Mark (and only Mark) include this seemingly unimportant detail in his account of our Lord’s suffering and death?  What’s the point?”

Well, some, like Scripture scholar William Barclay, have come to this conclusion: Mark adds this rather obscure detail to the story, because he was that young boy.  It’s Mark’s way of saying, “I was there.  I saw it all happen right before my eyes.”  (Remember, Mark was not one of the twelve.  Many years later he wrote a Gospel, but he was not one of the twelve Apostles.)

Based on what we are told in the Book of Acts, Barclay theorizes that the Last Supper had actually taken place in the home of Mark and his family, which is where Judas initially took the temple guards.  However, our Lord and the Apostles had already left for Gethsemane.  The arrival of Judas and the soldiers woke up young Mark, who had already gone to bed.  He then overheard Judas suggest that they go across the Kidron Valley to Gethsemane, since Jesus often went there with his disciples.  Mark decided to follow.  And so he wrapped his bed sheet around himself and went out into the night.  Hence, he was there in Gethsemane when the arrest occurred.  Now, that’s just a theory—William Barclay’s theory—but I think it makes a lot of sense.  It’s quite plausible.

I mention all this today because we are at the beginning of what should be the most important week of the year for us (spiritually speaking): Holy Week.  This is a special time, a grace-filled seven days, in which we all have the opportunity to leave some things behind that we need to leave behind.  Think again of this verse of Scripture.  There we’re told that Mark left something behind.  He left behind a linen cloth in the Garden of Gethsemane.  (Now, please don’t get me wrong; I’m not suggesting that we leave our clothes behind during Holy Week.  I wouldn’t want any of us to spend the next seven days in jail!)  But there are some things that we should leave behind and can leave behind us—if we choose to make Holy Week holy.  You know, I think it’s tragic—absolutely tragic—that for many Catholics and other Christians it’s “business as usual” during this sacred time (except perhaps for some extra shopping or cooking). 

All that having been said, here are some (just some) of the things which we could happily leave behind during the next seven days:

Number 1: We could leave behind our misconceptions about God.  Some of us may think of God as the big policeman in the sky.  Some of us may think of God as the heavenly IRS man whose sole purpose is to get us to “pay our dues” in this life and in eternity.  On the other end of the spectrum, some of us may think of God as the “heavenly creampuff” who doesn’t care how we live or how we treat one another.  Meditating deeply on the love and holiness of God during Holy Week can correct those misconceptions.  We can leave them behind us, as we should.

Number 2:  Holy Week gives us an opportunity to leave behind any anger we may have in our heart toward God, because of our sufferings.  The more we understand what Jesus Christ suffered for us—the more we understand what he went through for us on Holy Thursday and Good Friday—the more we will see the relative smallness of our own crosses and the more we will desire to offer up our small sufferings, in union with his, for the salvation of the world.

Number 3:  Holy Week is an opportunity to leave behind confusion and doubt.  If we’re confused about the meaning of life; if we’re confused about why we’re here on this planet; if we doubt our value as human persons created in God’s image and likeness, then we need to drink in the message of Holy Week; and we need to drink deeply.    

And finally (and most importantly): Holy Week is an opportunity to leave behind our sins—especially any sins that we haven’t been willing to face and confess in the past; any sins that we’ve rationalized; any sins that we’ve been burdened by but too ashamed to mention.  And here at St. Pius, you’ll have the opportunity to do that on Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday or Thursday, because we’ll be having confessions on each of those days here in church from 12-1p.m.

What will you leave behind this Holy Week?  I invite you to ponder that question today; it’s an important one.  It’s my prayer this morning that each and every one of us will leave behind everything—and I mean everything!—that we need to.

 

Learning Obedience from What We Suffer

Stuart Scott
1965-2015

(Fifth Sunday of Lent (B): This homily was given on March 17, 2024 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Jeremiah 31:31-34; Psalm 51:3-15; Hebrews 5:7-9; John 12:20-33.)

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

 

Stuart Scott was a sportscaster and anchor on the ESPN television network.  He was definitely a familiar face to anybody who watched SportsCenter on a regular basis a decade or so ago.

In 2007, he had what was supposed to be routine surgery to remove his appendix.  However later on, when the doctors tested the tissue they had removed during the operation, they discovered that it was cancerous.  For the next seven years Scott battled the disease courageously, and for the most part he continued to work at ESPN.  However, on January 4, 2015 he passed away from the cancer at the young age of 49, leaving behind a wife and two children.

But before he died he wrote a book—a book that was co-authored by a man named Larry Plath.  The book is entitled (appropriately enough), “Every Day I Fight.”

Now the reason I mention this today is because I saw Larry Plath interviewed on television not long after Stuart Scott’s death, and one of the things he said about Scott during that interview really struck me.  You know, it always strengthens my faith when I hear people in a secular environment echoing the truths of the Bible and our Catholic religion (especially when they do it without realizing that they’re doing it!).

And so it was here. 

In today’s second reading the author of the Letter to the Hebrews says that Jesus “learned obedience from what he suffered.”

Well Larry Plath said something very similar about Stuart Scott with respect to his battle with cancer.  In fact Scott also said it himself.  He said that his suffering had taught him some very important lessons that he might not otherwise have learned in his life.

Let me quote now Larry Plath’s words in the interview.  He said:

There was an element of wisdom that came [to Stuart Scott].  He learned patience as a result of cancer.  I mean, that’s the paradox—right?  [Stuart] says in the book that the paradox is that cancer just might make you the man you always wanted to be.

The sportscaster who was interviewing Larry Plath responded to that remark by saying, “Unbelievable.”  I think he said that because he was well aware of the fact that many people in our world today just get angry and bitter when they experience a cross like cancer.  They rebel against God in the face of their pain, such that they actually end up learning “disobedience from what they suffer!”

And even when people do respond positively to their sufferings with a greater obedience to God, that obedience sometimes comes after a period of disobedience.  For example, how often have you seen people come back to the practice of their Catholic faith after somebody in their family dies?

It happens all the time.  These men and women are living lives of disobedience to God, but suddenly their suffering “wakes them up” (so to speak) spiritually.

And that’s great!  Praise God that they’ve seen the light.  They’ve learned obedience to the Third Commandment (“Keep holy the sabbath day”) through their suffering—and that’s wonderful!  We should rejoice whenever that kind of learning takes place.  Better late than never! 

But this is where we differ from Jesus.  When we sinful human beings learn obedience from what we suffer, we often learn it after some disobedience; whereas Jesus, because he was perfect, learned obedience through obedience—always!  In other words, in every situation of suffering in which he found himself (like the Garden of Gethsemane), he said the same thing: “Thy will be done.”

He never said, “My will be done.”

We see this illustrated beautifully in today’s gospel text when Jesus says (in reference to his upcoming passion and death), “I am troubled now.  Yet what should I say?  ‘Father, save me from this hour’?  But it was for this purpose that I came to this hour.  Father, glorify your name.”

“He learned obedience from what he suffered.”

What have you learned through your suffering?

That’s a good question to reflect on during this last full week of Lent.

I did that myself in preparation for this homily, and I came to realize that I’ve learned a lot of things—a lot of good things—through my experience of having Parkinson’s Disease—and then prostate cancer—and now multiple myeloma.  That doesn’t mean I’m happy that I’ve had these illnesses!  (Don’t misunderstand me here!)  It just means that I am aware of certain blessings that I’ve experienced in the midst of it all.  For example:

·        I’ve learned to be more empathetic (and hopefully more compassionate) in dealing with the sick and the elderly.

·         I’ve learned to rely on God more.

·         I’ve learned to put more trust in him.

·         I’ve learned to take the power of prayer more seriously (since I believe that I’m doing as well as I’m doing in large part because so many people—even some people I don’t know—are praying for me every day!).

·         I’ve learned how important it is to focus on what I have, not what I don’t have; and I’ve learned to be more grateful for the health and abilities that I do still possess.

·         I’ve learned once again not to put all my hopes in this earthly life, because this mortal life is very fragile (a lot more fragile than you think it is when you’re young and healthy).

·         And I’ve learned that God is in control, and that I am not (even in those areas of life where I always thought I was in control).

Those are just some of the positive lessons I’ve learned from the otherwise negative experience of having these illnesses.  And that has made me more obedient to the Lord.

At least sometimes it has.  Unfortunately I have had those moments when I’ve allowed things like anger and frustration and impatience to get in the way of my obedience.  Usually that happens when I’m trying to do something “really difficult” like getting dressed in the morning or turning the page of a book or cutting a piece of meat at dinner—all those fine motor activities that you never give a second thought to when you’re healthy, but which become really big issues when you have a neuro-muscular disorder like Parkinson’s.

My point in sharing this with you today is that learning obedience through suffering is an ongoing process—for all of us.

But it’s worth the effort.

As Stuart Scott made clear, the sufferings of this life do have the potential of changing us for the better.  They can make us, as he said, into the people we’ve always wanted to be.

For a Christian, that means they have the potential to help us become what Matthew Kelly calls, “the best possible versions of ourselves.”

Or, as the Church would say, “They have the potential to help us become saints!”

 

The Wrath of God: What Exactly is It?

(Fourth Sunday of Lent (B)”: This homily was given on March 10, 2024 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read 2 Chronicles 36:14-16, 19-23; Psalm 137:1-6; Ephesians 2:4-10; John 3:14-21.)

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

Little 7-year-old Raymond gets into a fight with his sister and he purposely breaks one of her toys.  At that point his mother happens to come into the room and she sees what’s going on.  She says, “Raymond Nicholas, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.  Apologize to your sister right now!”

Little Raymond says, “No way.  I’m not apologizing to her.  She asked for it.  She got what she deserved.”

Raymond’s mother turns 8 shades of red and says, “Then go to your room!  Go to your room right now and you stay there for the rest of the day.  No TV; no radio; no stereo; you just sit there and think about what you’ve done, and why you need to apologize to your sister.”

Little Raymond gets upset and says, “But mom, I’m supposed to play football today with my friends.  They’re expecting me; I need to be there.  I want to be there!”

His mother says, “Too bad.  You should have thought of that before.  Go to your room.”

Little Raymond shouts out, “You’re bad!  You’re a bad mother.  You’re the meanest mother in the world.  You’re the meanest mother who ever lived!  You hate me!”

And he storms off to his room where he moans, and groans, and lives in utter agony for the rest of the day while all his friends happily play their football game.

Now before I go any further let me issue this very important clarification: the fact that the boy in this story happens to have my name is merely a coincidence.

I was always a perfect brother.

Just don’t tell my sister I said that; she might have a different opinion!

But in all seriousness, my brothers and sisters, the point I’m trying to make in telling this story is that if you understand the dynamics of it—in other words, if you understand what’s going on here between little Raymond Nicholas and his mother—you will understand what the Bible means when it speaks of the “wrath” of God.

This, of course, is a concept—an idea—that confuses many people.  And that’s understandable.  After all, St. John explicitly tells us in his first Letter that “God is love.”  Psalm 103 tells us that “the Lord is kind and merciful, slow to anger and rich in kindness.”  Romans 8:38 says that “neither height, nor depth, nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God that comes to us in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  In our second reading today from Ephesians 2 St. Paul says, “God, who is rich in mercy, because of the great love he had for us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, brought us to life with Christ.”  And finally in today’s gospel Jesus says, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.”

These are just a few of the many Scripture verses that speak to us of God’s incredible, eternal love.

But there are also other passages of the Bible—like today’s first reading—that tell us of God’s “anger” and his “wrath”.

Listen again to the words of that reading:

Early and often did the Lord, the God of their fathers, 
send his messengers to them, 
for he had compassion on his people and his dwelling place.
But they mocked the messengers of God, 
despised his warnings, and scoffed at his prophets, 
until the ANGER of the Lord against his people was so inflamed 
that there was no remedy.
Their enemies burnt the house of God,
tore down the walls of Jerusalem, 
set all its palaces afire, 
and destroyed all its precious objects.
Those who escaped the sword were carried captive to Babylon, 
where they became servants of the king of the Chaldeans and his sons
until the kingdom of the Persians came to power.

How do we makes sense of this apparent contradiction?  Is our God a God of love or is he a God of wrath—or is he somehow a God of both?

But how can he be a God of both, since love and wrath appear to be mutually exclusive realities, diametrically opposed to one another?

Well, here’s where I think little 7-year-old Raymond Nicholas and his mother can help us.

In this regard, I would say that the words of St. John serve as a good starting point.  St. John tells us explicitly that “God is love”—all love, complete love, perfect love.

Okay, that’s great Fr. Ray.  But what about God’s wrath?  If God is pure, total, perfect, complete, 100% love, how does “wrath” fit into the picture? 

Well, very simply, the wrath of God is just the way that certain people experience his LOVE.

Yes, you heard me correctly: the “wrath of God” is the way that some people experience his love.

Specifically, people who defiantly and obstinately cling to their sins.

Think of little Raymond Nicholas.  He broke his sister’s toy and then he refused to repent and say he was sorry.  If had said he was sorry he would have been happy for the rest of the day playing football with his buddies at the local field.

But he said, “No way.  I’m not apologizing to her.  She asked for it.  She got what she deserved.”

And he ended up spending the rest of his day sulking in his room—alone.

So I guess that means his mother hated him.

No, not at all!  His mother loved him!  She loved him deeply.  She loved him more than he knew.  But because he stubbornly refused to repent of his sin, little Raymond EXPERIENCED THE LOVE OF HIS MOTHER AS WRATH!—which is why he responded to his punishment by shouting, “You’re bad!  You’re a bad mother.  You’re the meanest mother in the world.  You’re the meanest mother who ever lived!  You hate me!”

The Israelites in today’s first reading could very easily have related to the plight of poor little Raymond.  As we heard a few moments ago, they were defeated and carried off to captivity in Babylon because they stubbornly refused to repent of their idolatry—even though God, in his love, had sent them many prophets over the years to warn them about the consequences of their disobedience.

And so they, too, experienced love as “wrath”.  Their sentiments were captured perfectly in today’s responsorial psalm: “By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion.”

Now the good news is that little Raymond Nicholas eventually got out of his room, and God’s people eventually came home from Babylon.

That’s because in this life, we can always change for the better, such that we move from experiencing God’s love as wrath back to experiencing God’s love as love.

But there will be a moment—the moment when we take our final breath on this earth—when that kind of change will become impossible.  Which means that if we are still stubbornly clinging to our sins at the moment of our death, we will experience God’s love as wrath for all eternity.

In fact, that’s really an accurate description of what hell is.  Hell is where people experience God’s love as wrath—forever. That’s why repentance is so important—and why the sacrament of Confession is such a blessing.

Which leads to the obvious question: Have you made a good, thorough confession yet during this season of Lent?

And if not, what are you waiting for?

 

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?