“Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.”

In Greek mythology, the Titan god Prometheus is condemned by Zeus for stealing fire from the gods and giving it to humans, thus giving the human race the means for their own destruction.

             Kai Bird and Mertin Sherwin titled their 2006 Pulitzer Prize-winning biography of J. Robert Oppenheimer American Prometheus – and now Christopher Nolan has based his extraordinary film Oppenheimer on Bird and Sherwin’s work.  The book and film tell a story of genius, hubris and error, chronicling the life of the brilliant theoretical physicist, celebrated in some quarters as the father of the atomic bomb.

In 1942, despite the liberal political and social leanings and his “complicated” personal life, Oppenheimer is recruited by the U. S. government to head up the Manhattan Project.  In the isolated Los Alamos, New Mexico desert, he heads a team of brilliant scientists and engineers to harness nuclear reactions to create a weapon that, they hoped, would end the war in Europe and the Pacific.

At the beginning, the goal of the project was clear: beat Hitler to the punch and save American lives.  But what starts as a desperate military strategy to catch the Nazis becomes a moral quandary for Oppenheimer.   He becomes haunted by the weapon that he is creating.

It is the famed physicist Nils Bohr, Oppenheimer’s one-time teacher and mentor, who articulates clearly what is at stake.  Visiting the top-secret Los Alamos site, Bohn says to his student:

“The power you are about to reveal will forever outlive the Nazis, and the world is not prepared.  We have to make the politicians understand, this isn’t a new weapon, it is a new world…you are an American Prometheus, the man who gave them the power to destroy themselves.  And they’ll respect that.  And your work really begins soon.”

Later, as he watches the first test bomb, Oppenheimer says aloud the infamous words that he said crossed his mind as the mushroom cloud rose over the New Mexican desert:  “Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.”

The story of J. Robert Oppenheimer and the Manhattan Project begins as a battle between warring political and national entities, but Oppenheimer soon realizes his work transcends any battle lines – what he has midwifed is the birth of a new world.  Oppenheimer and Bohr come to understand that the lines we have drawn and the boundaries we have erected in order to make sense of our lives collapse before God.  God calls us to realize his hands in all things, his spirit making all things whole and good, his vision creating a human family united in his peace, justice and mercy.

The confrontation over Caesar’s coin is neither the final answer to any church-versus-state controversy nor an all-purpose formula for dealing with life’s biggest questions.  Jesus appeals to us to look beyond the simplistic politics and black-and-white legalisms represented by Caesar’s coin and realize that we are called to embrace the values centered in a faith that sees the handoff God in all things and every human being as being part of one human family under the providence of God. 

Have a blest week!  Fr. Glenn

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The king said to the man, “My friend, how is it that you came in here without a wedding garment?”  But he was reduced to silence.

She was knitting five baby sweaters, one for each of her grandchild’s future baby when she was suddenly diagnosed with lymphoma.  She did not have much time to live.  As she dealt with the devastating diagnosis, the thing she worried about most was not being able to finish the sweaters.  She worked on them until four days before she died.

That’s when Sarah became the “finisher.”  Sara is one of a thousand volunteers who complete unfinished fiber are projects for grieving loved ones through an organization called “Loose Ends.”  The organization matched Sarah with this grandmother’s family.  Sarah, an 86 year-old lifetime knitter, finished knitting the sweaters: soft, white acrylic wool with little owls on the front.

Sarah took on the project because she understood the importance of it.

“Because of my age, I feel more closely involved in how a family might feel.  I sort of put myself on the other side.  I couldn’t help but think how I would feel if I couldn’t finish a project and someone was willing to take it over.”

“Loose Ends” was started last fall by friends Masey Kaplan and Jen Simonic, avid knitters who know first hand what it’s like to have friends reach out about finishing a pair of mittens or a scarf or some other handmade item left behind by deceased loved ones.  The two friends created a website and put out a call for volunteers and unfinished projects left behind by someone unable to complete the handiwork because of illness or disability.  The projects are completed at no cost, save for postage.

“Making something by hand for someone is an expression of love,” Masey Kaplan explains, “and when I finish things and give them to people, I want them to know that I love them, and I was making this especially for them.

“We’re connecting projects to a stranger who feels the same way, who will complete that gesture of love for another stranger so that the person who is grieving will get to experience that feeling we (crafters) know is important.”

The Washington Post, February 12, 2023)

The work of the volunteer crafters of “Loose Ends” is the “wedding garment” of Jesus’ parable in today’s gospel.  The projects they complete become the very embrace of the deceased knitter or quilter’s love for those for whom these sweaters and quilts and mittens and hats were designed.  Out lives are pieces of the fabric of experiences of love and loss, swatches of kindness, compassion, justice and forgiveness from which, with the thread of God’s grace, we create a proper and fitting garment to wear to God’s wedding feast – a feast that begins in our own homes and workplaces, at our own tables and benches.  And, as the volunteers at “Loose Ends” have discovered, we experience God’s grace when we help others complete their garment, be it a sweater for a beloved grandchild or a scarf for an elderly relative.  God’s invitation to every one of us should inspire us to make our lives a “proper garment” that expresses our love and care in ways that will live on after we’ve taken our place at God’s wedding feast.

Do you see any loose ends you can complete for someone?

Have a blest week!  Fr. Glenn 

 

“When vintage time grew near, the landowner sent his servants to the tenants to obtain his produce.  But the tenants seized his servants and one they beat, another they killed and a third they stoned…”

Imagine that just before a soul begins his or her earthly journey, God takes the soul by the hand and points out a certain place on earth.  God then explains to the about-to-be conceived:

                “This is going to be your piece of the vineyard.  It will be yours to make of it whatever you can.  All I ask is that you work it as best you can and get the most out of the soil and the shoots that I give you.  If you produce grapes that become the choice wine of reconciliation and justice, great; if you only have enough water and nutrients to produce a few grapes that make a small amount of the sherry of humility and kindness, good; if you only have enough time to plant a few seeds or start a few vines that others can bring to a full harvest, you’ll have done well.”

But God cautions:  “Just don’t make the mistake that too many of my tenants make.  They get too caught up in the number of grapes that they can coax from the vines.  My vineyard is about harvesting good grapes, not amassing profits.

“Remember, too, that you are responsible for the part of the vineyard I give you.  Don’t exhaust the grapes you harvest for yourself alone and then leave nothing behind but a dried, hollow tangle of dead vines for the next grower.  I will demand a price for what you produce – and what you squander.

“Keep in mind,” God the vineyard owner continues, “that everyone has his or her own piece of the vineyard.  But there are no dividing lines, no fences, no property markers.  Your part of the vineyard is joined to your neighbor’s – so you can do neither good nor evil in your vineyard without affecting the folks next to you and the vines around you.”

Finally, God says, “One more thing, and I don’t mean to harp on this, but it is my vineyard. Not yours.  I’m giving you a piece of it because that’s what being God is all about.  An occasional thank you would be nice.  But the moment you think this vineyard is yours or that you deserve more or better, your vineyard will become a very unhappy and unproductive place.

“So, go to it!”

And then God breathes that soul into a human embryo, and another adventure begins.

From the Dialogue of Saint Catherine of Siena

Today’s parable of the wicked tenants is played out in our own time and place whenever an unjust business practice, a socially irresponsible decision or a morally indefensible act is called out.  Too often we view this “vineyard” God has given us as ours alone, and we will manipulate it, abuse it, exhaust it to satisfy our needs and pleasure, and like the tenants in today’s parable, we find some way to cut down whoever challenges us or calls us accountable.  Christ, the “vineyard owner’s son” comes with a new vision for the vineyard we only “lease” from his Father:  a vision of love rather than desire, of peace rather than hostility, of forgiveness rather than vengeance.

Have a blest week!  Fr. Glenn

 

“When John came to you in the way of righteousness, you did not believe him; but the tax collectors and prostitutes did.”

                The story of Sarah Gad is sadly all too familiar.

While a student in medical school, Sarah was seriously injured in an automobile accident.  She suffered several broken ribs, an ankle injury and a leg fracture.  To alleviate her pain, her doctors prescribed several medications, including oxycodone.  Both Sarah and her doctors assumed that being a medical student, Sarah could handle these highly addictive drugs.  But Sarah developed an addiction to opioids.  The next two years were a nightmare of arrests for non-violent drug offenses.  She was in and out of jail and rehab but kept going back to drugs as soon as she got out.  Her addiction forced her to drop out of medical school.  During one incarceration she was badly beaten and sexually assaulted.

In 2015, Sarah was hospitalized after overdosing on opioids at her parents’ home in Minnesota.  Doctors proposed a new approach to her care: medication-assisted treatment (MAT).  Slowly Sarah was able to wean herself off drugs and has been sober ever since.

Sarah sued Chicago’s Cook County Jail for the sexual assault she suffered during a 27-day stay in 2013.  The County settled with Sarah for $380,000.  Impressed by her courage and her determination, Sarah’s attorney Kathleen Zellner offered her a job to work with her on medical malpractice lawsuits.

Sarah found her life’s purpose in working with men and women who had been through what she experienced.  Sarah was inspired to go to law school.  It’s very difficult for convicted felons to get into law school, but Sarah cleared every hurdle with humility and integrity.  With the money from the Cook County settlement, she graduated from the University of Chicago Law School and passed the bar last year.

Sarah Gad has been working as an attorney in Minneapolis, specializing in criminal defense – including non-violent drug convictions – and civil rights violations.  So far none of her cases have gone to trial, as she works to get them dismissed or diverted before reaching that point.

While she never fulfilled her dream of becoming a doctor, Sarah now believes she was meant to be a lawyer and advocate.

“My personal story is what drives me to be the best possible advocate that I can,” Sarah Gad says.  “I don’t want my clients to have to live through what I lived through.”

(The Washington Post, August 16, 2023) 

We’re not defined by our mistakes and failings; the labels society slaps on us are often meaningless.  In today’s Gospel, Jesus articulates the hope of the kingdom of God: that, in the spirit of God, we can access the grace and wisdom of that Spirit to move beyond hopelessness and despair to realize the dignity everyone of us possesses as daughters and sons of God.  A Sarah discovered, every life is open to the “way of righteousness”: in realizing our failings and accepting responsibility for our sins, we can begin to transform our lives in God’s grace, wisdom and peace, recreating our Good Fridays into experiences of resurrection.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Or are you envious because I am generous?”  As I write this, the UAW is striking the Big Three over working conditions and benefits, and it seems to be either quite timely or coincidental to hear today’s Gospel with that in the background.  This parable isn’t about fair wage or recompense; it runs up against our ideas of justice and we find ourselves with the same feelings we have when we hear the story of the Prodigal Son.  Remember how incensed the older brother is over his father’s gestures of lavish welcome and forgiveness for his kid brother.  “How unfair,” we think it is to the elder son who does what he’s expected to do.  Not unlike what most feel about the landowner – that he treats the laborers equally despite the disproportionate hours they worked. 

What we learn from this parable is that the landowner begins by giving everyone in the story work.  Each is unemployed and each is given work with the promise of payment.  Each begins in the same situation but easily forget by the end of the day where they started.  Their energy moves from the fact that they got work for the day and a wage to the inequity they see.  Envy becomes more important than what they have received.  “Are you envious because I am generous?”

How about us?  Do we find ourselves envious of others’ gifts, talents, abilities, social status or possessions?  How often am I envious of another’s good fortune?  Recall that God is the source of every good gift, whether it’s ours or another’s.

This story is essentially about the generosity of God, not just labor practices; not about fair wages but about a gracious and undeserved gift.  God’s generosity often violates our own sense of right and wrong – the way things would be if we ran the world.  How often am I ungrateful for God’s mercy and graciousness?  How often do I deny God’s love and forgiveness in my own life?

Jesus leaves us with a question:  Can we learn to see through the eyes of God?  Our ideas of right and wrong, what is just and unjust, are not the ways of God all the time.  When we look for equity, we’re surprised to find generosity. Where are we in this story?  In it, we’re reminded that God is a lousy bookkeeper and invites us to transform our own pride, hardness and envy into joy at God’s generosity.

We’re challenged to turn from holding grudges because things didn’t go our way to letting go of the stuff of our lives that keeps us from being grateful.  Gratitude is at the heart of our faith.

Let’s be thankful for each other!  Fr. Glenn

 

Rev. Greg Boyle, a Jesuit priest in California, has been ministering to gang members in and around Los Angeles for many years and has written of the struggles his “parishioners” go through trying to escape the ever-present tentacles the culture uses to lure them back.  His most recent book is entitled FORGIVE EVERYBODY EVERYTHING, and contains this story on forgiveness.

                On a Saturday in 1996 I am set to baptize George at Camp Munz (a juvenile detention camp).  He has delayed doing this until he acquires his GED, seeing it as a twofer celebration.  I know both George (17) and his brother, Cisco (19), gang members from a barrio in the projects.  As a part-time chaplain, I have gotten to know George pretty well during his nine-month stint in the camp.  He has moves so gracefully from his hardened posturing to being a young man in possession of himself and his gifts.

The night before George’s baptism, Cisco is walking home before midnight when the quiet is shattered by gunshots.  Some rivals creep up and open fire, and Cisco falls half a block from his apartment, killed instantly.  His girlfriend, Annel, eight months pregnant with their first child, runs outside.  She cradles Cisco in her arms and lap, rocking him as if to sleep, screaming with every motion.

I don’t sleep much that night.  It occurs to me to cancel my presence at the Mass at Camp Munz to be with Cisco’s grieving family, but then I remember George and his baptism.  I arrive before Mass and there is George alone in the mess hall, holding his newly acquired GED certificate.  He heads toward me, waving his GED and beaming.  We hug each other.  He is in a borrowed, ironed, crisp white shirt and a thin black tie.  His pants are the regular camp-issue camouflage, green and brown.  I am desvelado, completely wiped out, but trying to keep pace with George’s excitement.  None of the residents have phones or any way to stay “connected” to the activities back in their barrios and I am quite certain George doesn’t know about Cisco.

The mess hall slowly fills up and is packed for the Mass and we begin as I ask George his name.  “George Martinez,” he says with an overflow of confidence.  “And George, what do you ask of God’s church?”  He replies, “Baptism,” with a steady, barely contained smile.

It’s the most difficult baptism of my life.  For as I pour water over George’s head: “Father….Son….Holy Spirit,” I know I will walk George outside alone after and tell him what happened.  As I do, I put my arm around him, and I whisper gently as we walk out across the baseball field, “George, your brother Cisco was killed last night.”

I can feel the air leave his body as he heaves a sigh that finds itself a sob in an instant.  We land on a bench.  His face seeks refuge in his open palms, and he sobs quietly.  Most notable is what isn’t present in his rocking and gentle wailing.  I’ve been in this place before many times.  There’s always flailing and rage and promises to avenge things.  There is none of this in George.  It is as if the commitment he has just made in water, oil and flame has taken hold and his grief is pure and true and more resembles the heartbreak of God.

                George seems to offer proof of what we say about sacraments…that they have operative or effective power; that sacramental power can change our human kneejerk reaction to life’s experiences if we let it.  George managed to hold all the complexity of his great sadness, right here, on this bench, in his tender weeping.  I had previously asked him in the baptismal rite, after reminding him of his commitment, “to live as though this truth was true.”  Then I asked, “Do you clearly understand what you are doing?”

I remember he paused, and then revs himself up in a gathering of self and soul and says, “Yes, I do.” 

And yes, he does.

In the traditions of the monastic religious orders, the highest form of sanctity is to live in hell and not lose hope.  George clings to his hope and his faith and his GED certificate and choses to march, resilient, into his future.

Forgive everybody everything!  Fr. Glenn

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A paraphrase of this week’s gospel…

“If a fellow believer hurts you, go and tell her – work it out between the two of you.  If she listens, you’ve made a friend.  If she won’t listen, take one or two others along so that the presence of witnesses will keep things honest, and try again.  If she still won’t listen, tell the church.  If she won’t listen to the church, you’ll have to start over from scratch, confront her with the need for repentance, and offer again God’s healing love.

“Take this most seriously:  a yes on earth is a yes in heaven; a no on earth is no in heaven.  What you say to one another is eternal.  I mean this.  When two of you get together on anything at all on earth and make a prayer of it, my Father in heaven goes into action.  And when two or three of you are together because of me, you can be sure that I’ll be there!”  (Matt 18: 15-20)

If we are special agents of God, then we serve as agents of grace for one another.  I am in a real sense at your service, as you are at mine.  Together we invite the Kingdom of God into our midst and it’s not the sort of commission we can achieve alone.

Of all we can do together to promote “the Kingdome already here,” the hardest may be our gentle mutual correction.  Unlike yourself, I’m sure, I dislike being told I’m wrong.  When I respond in anger and treat someone unfairly, I want to be justified, not reproved.  But some of my friends love me enough to tell me when I’m way off base and need to examine my motives.  Sometimes it’s enough to hear it from one person.  Sometimes I need to hear it from every direction before I’m ready to change.  I value this honesty in my life because I can’t always punch my own way out of ignorance.  My friends know how dearly I want to hear “yes” in heaven, so they’re willing to say “no” to me in the here and now.

Have you ever corrected one you love when they’re in error?

How do you respond to such correction?

       Have a good week!   Fr. Glenn

We must offer our bodies as sacrifices to God. We are also called to offer our “bodies to God as weapons for justice” (Rm 6:13). We must know that our bodies are temples “of the Holy Spirit, Who is within” (1 Cor 6:19). Our bodies are sacrifices, weapons, and temples. Because our bodies are sacrifices, we must deny ourselves and let God consume us (see Heb 12:29). We must give God our best so as not to offer defective sacrifices (see Mal 1:7-8).

Because our bodies are weapons, we must not be “bloated with indulgence and drunkenness and worldly cares” (Lk 21:34). We should fight by wielding the “sword of the Spirit” (Eph 6:17)and the spiritual weapons of prayer and fasting (Mt 17:21, NAB). We must be in shape to “fight the good fight” of evangelization (1 Tm 1:18).

Because our bodies are temples, they should be holy, clean, peaceful, and joyous. We need to repent of our sins, go to Confession, and enthrone Jesus as Lord of our lives and our bodies. Although our bodies are weak and fragile, they are precious in God’s eyes. If we use them to glorify Him, He will glorify our bodies and raise them from the dead (see Phil 3:21). “So glorify God in your body” (1 Cor 6:20).

 

Jesus said to the disciples, “Who do you say that I am?”  Simon Peter said, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.”

Your car’s engine has been making a strange noise.  You bring it to your mechanic.  “So, what’s wrong? you ask.

                “Well, that’s a complicated question,” the mechanic  begins.

The kitchen remodeling is already several weeks behind and living in your mother-in-law’s house has stretched everyone’s patience.  “How long? you ask.

“You see, so much depends on other people,” the contractor replies – as he replies to all his clients.

Your elderly parent has been moved to hospice.  How long does Dad have you ask.

“There’s no good answer to that question,” the physician replies.

Oh, for a straight answer!

We have mastered the “non-answer.” We’ve learned to sidestep the question that challenges us to take a stand, that compels us to commit, that forces us in a direction we’d rather not go. Alternative” facts? Certainly. Extenuating circumstances?  Absolutely.  We always seem to leave ourselves an “out” – we provide ourselves an escape hatch.

We’re committed to being noncommittal.

Let’s see how it goes.

  It’ll all work out in the end.

Don’t worry – that will never happen!

If our Baptisms have any meaning, if we seek to make the love of God a reality in our lives, we can’t dodge the answer to the question Jesus poses to Peter and the disciples – who is this Christ to us?  The Christ who preached reconciliation and forgiveness, the Christ who revealed a God of compassion and mercy, the Christ who called us to realize the “kingdom of God” here and now, the Christ who washed the feet of his followers the night before he took up the cross, the Christ whose life God vindicated by raising him from the dead?   It’s a question we are called to confront when we are least prepared to answer:  when we’re debating whether to respond to a situation with vengeance or mercy, when someone in desperate straits asks us for help that is sure to cost us dearly, when we have to decide to act for the good of the community or in our own best interests or profit.

Our answer must be the straightest answer we’ve ever given to any question.

Have a good week!  Fr. Glenn

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the tables of their master.” 

                A very determined mother pleads with Jesus to heal her daughter.  It takes place in the area of Tyre and Sidon, two Gentile settlements north of the borders of Israel.  What is Jesus doing in a non-Jewish territory?  But in Matthew’s previous chapter, he has just learned of the death of his teacher/cousin, John the Baptizer and Jesus has also appeared on Herod’s radar.  Perhaps he’s getting out of Herod’s jurisdiction to lie low for a while.  He could be anonymous and regroup to strategize about how to continue his mission.

But he’s recognized.  A Canaanite woman comes pleading for her daughter and we’re asked to remember that when Moses led the people of Israel out of Egypt to the Promised Land, they found it occupied by the Canaanites and under Joshua’s leadership, brutally and barbarically slaughtered every man, woman and child – along with all the livestock – to take over the land given by God to Abraham and his descendants.  Survivors migrated north to places like Tyre and Sidon.

She pleads with Jesus, using a phrase familiar to Roman Catholics: “kyrie eleison” (Lord, have mercy).  Uncharacteristically, Jesus seems to brush her off, declaring his mission only to the descendants of Abraham.  If this mother was asking only for herself, this encounter might have ended.  But nothing fuels a mother’s audacity like that of her child’s well-being.  Jesus gets even more insulting by calling her and her daughter “dogs” who are unworthy of receiving the food of his teaching and healing.

But this mom is crafty and doesn’t return insult for insult but redirects her rage, finding clever words while remaining respectful.  “But Lord even dogs eat the scraps that fall from the tables of their masters.”  With that, something shifts in Jesus.  She stretches Jesus to see her not as “other” or “historic enemy” but as one with whom he shares a common humanity, a common desire for the well-being of children.  He recognizes that faith and her daughter is cured, despite her pedigree!

Despite our 21^st century American philosophical, political and religious differences, we’re bound by a common humanity.  To be disciples these days demands that we listen with compassion and respect to the pleas of the “Canaanite” mothers in our midst, offering help and care because they, like we, are children of God.

Enjoy these last days of summer!  Fr. Glenn