KING OF KINGS

A SERMON FOR THE FEAST OF CHRIST THE KING

When our Blessed Lord stood before Pontius Pilate, patiently awaiting the inevitable sentence of death that he knew would be his, one of the questions Pilate asked him was, “Art thou the King of the Jews?”  Our Lord’s answer to this question has had repercussions throughout history.  Indeed, if mankind had paid attention to his answer, and abided by its implications, history would have been a completely different series of events than the sad repetition of conflicts and artificially provoked suffering that we now look back on.  And indeed, which we still endure today.

“Art thou the King of the Jews?”  For our Lord to have answered “no” would have been a lie.  For whether the Jews would have it or not, he was indeed their King.  But the answer “yes” isn’t quite right either.  It’s only partly right.  It would have implied that his kingship extended only to the Jewish nation, and that too would have been false.  It was not a “yes or no question.”  And so our Lord explained exactly how he was, and still is, King.  “My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews: but now is my kingdom not from hence.”  Pilate doesn’t seem to understand this answer, but this much he does get: that our Lord is disputing only that it is of the Jews that he is not the king.  So he persists in his questioning: “Art thou a king then?”  In other words, “anybody’s king.”  And Jesus answered, “Thou sayest that I am a king.  To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth.  Every one that is of the truth heareth my voice.”

Do we hear that voice today?  “Thou, Pilate, sayest that I am a king,” this voice proclaims, “To this end was I born.”  Yes, he says, I am a King.  Not of this world, but King nevertheless.  Indeed, Christ is the King of kings, and Lord of lords.  The true King from whom all earthly kings derive their kingship.  “The firstborn of every creature,” as St. Paul says, “for by him were all things created… whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers.”  All authority derives from this King of kings, and all other kings of the various nations derive their own power from him, and rule in the name of Christ the King.  Or at least, that’s what it was always supposed to be.

Alas, as usual, we human beings have messed it all up!  Let’s remember, kings, for all their fancy robes and orbs and scepters, are still human beings, with all the human weaknesses and foibles common to us all.  But the power of a human king is so great, his authority so supreme over all his land, that to be a king is the greatest secular responsibility it’s possible to have in this world.  And when a king fails to use this power wisely, the repercussions are horrendous for the whole nation.  The duties of a king are first and foremost to govern his people according to the laws of Christ the King—in other words, according to the Ten Commandments and the moral laws of Christ’s Holy Church.  If a king lives up to this greatest of charges, he will be a good and saintly ruler.  We have had a few during the course of history, King Louis IX of France, Edward the Confessor, King of England, St. Wenceslas, Duke of Bohemia, and many more.  Alas, there are others who ruled with less regard to the laws of God, and are the cause of many wars being fought, many lives being ruined, and ultimately, many souls being lost.

In my own country, England, for instance, we have only to think of King Henry VIII, who, in order to satisfy his misdirected lust for Anne Boleyn, saw fit to revolt against the Catholic Church and declare himself the Head of the Church of England.  His daughter, Elizabeth I, was no better, persecuting Catholics and driving them underground, where they had to worship in secret for hundreds of years.  If these royal miscreants had truly pledged their allegiance to the highest King of all, none of this would have happened.  Henry would have submitted to the Church, suppressed his base instincts for the sake of the faith and the good of his nation.  This man had earlier been so instrumental in the fight against the rise of Protestantism in England that the Pope had given him the title Fidei Defensor, “Defender of the Faith.” He could have been one of the greatest kings England ever had.  But he gave in to lust and political considerations, and England suffers to this day.  His daughter Elizabeth I, whose reign is considered today by English Protestants as “the Golden Age,” she too would be far more worthy of admiration today if she had kept the true faith and remained loyal to the one from whom she derived her power and authority, Christ the King.

So many mistakes!  And the result?  So much carnage, so much suffering, so many souls lost for all eternity.

Another gem of a king, perhaps not quite so bad as these two, was George III.  He’ll be familiar to you as the one who mishandled the treatment of his colonists over here on this side of the Atlantic.  Perhaps he might be less blameworthy than Henry and Elizabeth—he was, after all, barking mad for a considerable portion of his reign—but the results were just as disastrous.  The colonists eventually revolted against the abuse, and the authority of the King was rejected once and for all.  A whole new concept of government was established in this new country, a concept that was encapsulated and consecrated in a new constitution.  The U.S. Constitution, alas, is based not on the rights of Christ the King, but rather on the supposedly God-given “rights of man”.  The founding fathers of the United States, the writers and signers of the Constitution, were for the most part not members of the Roman Catholic faith.  Many of them were freemasons, not even Christian.  Clever they may have been, wordly-wise certainly, but followers of Christ the King they were not.

As Catholics living in this great nation, how are we supposed to view our Constitution?  It is highly venerated by the Evangelical Christians, that’s for sure, and adherence to the Constitution is seen as the one essential loyalty that binds our nation together.  As such, it has assumed a lofty role in the running of the country.  In fact it has become the equivalent of royalty in other nations.  While in England, anyone who attains any position of authority, from the prime minister to the local magistrate, must swear allegiance to Her Majesty The Queen, in the United States, from presidents all the way down to the local Sheriff, this same level of allegiance is sworn to the Constitution.  And so we must view the Constitution as having the same authority as a king.  And with that authority comes the same responsibility to govern the nation in the name of God and according to his laws.  This is the Catholic view, and it does not necessarily contradict the nature of the Constitution.  Providing, that is, that the Constitution of the United States is interpreted by man according to God’s law, and applied according to these laws of God and his Church.

What if the words of the Constitution deny one of the laws of God?  What then?  Freedom of religion, for example, is one such article of the Constitution that we, as Catholics, can never accept.  Are we really free, for example, to practice the religion of our choice?  Not if you believe that Christ founded one Church, one path to salvation, his Mystical Body of which he and only he is the Head.  How are we free in God’s eyes to practice a false religion like Islam or Judaism or Protestantism?  Let’s not forget that in the eyes of the United States Constitution, we’re even free to practice Satanism!  Yes, if I worship Satan I’m entitled to the same tax exemptions, the same privileges as I receive as a Roman Catholic.   

Should we then, as Catholics, denounce the Constitution because it appears to deny certain truths of our faith?  If Christ is truly King, can we swear our allegiance to this constitution? No, we must not throw out the baby with the bath water.  We must examine the words of the Constitution at face value, and see if the “precious freedoms” it contains are truly freedoms we are entitled to, if Christ is King.  Insofar as the Constitution provides us with rightful laws, then it is our duty not only to our country but to God himself to obey those laws.  This obedience fulfills our duties to God and country, and in such circumstances the Constitution deserves all the respect and veneration we can give it.

Very often, we must blame the judges who have to apply the principles embedded in the Constitution to specific cases, rather than the Constitution itself.  Particularly the justices of the Supreme Court who sometimes misinterpret the Constitution completely.  Take the open practice of racial segregation, for example, that was the law of the land here for a hundred years, where people of color were segregated, subjugated, and even persecuted.  These laws are now universally regarded as despicable, and yet they were based on the interpretation of the Constitution by a few Supreme Court justices back in the 1800s.  And let’s not forget Roe V. Wade!

Are errors like this the fault of the courts, or does the guilt lie in the Constitution itself?  The whole problem with having a written Constitution instead of a living king is that it is not alive in the times we live in, and depends on the interpretation of individuals who do live in a particular time.  Kind of like the Bible, which Protestants also see fit to interpret according to their own prejudices and the current values of the times they live in.  As Catholics, we ultimately submit to the authority of Christ the King, who is the same, yesterday, today and forever.  And we submit to Christ’s Church on earth, the Church which Christ founded and to which he gave the right to interpret the Bible and it moral code, a Church that was promised the guidance of the Holy Ghost, a Church that is infallible in its interpretation when it comes to the Faith and Morals.  But the Church can’t claim the right to interpret the Constitution infallibly.  It's the prerogative of the State, not the Church.  But alas, the State is not infallible.

What conclusion should we draw from all these interesting considerations, over which, after all, we have no control.  I do not mean to suggest that the Constitution is evil, nor that we do not owe it our allegiance or respect.  On the contrary, it is, de facto, the authority of the land, and it is our duty to obey its laws in principle.  What I suggest to you is that we must treat it with the same respect people have always given to an imperfect king, that we must obey the laws he gives, or that the Constitution decrees, insofar as they are in accordance with God’s laws.  We adhere to the freedom of religion by using that freedom to worship in the right Church.  We even “obey” evil laws insofar as God permits.  For example, we can “obey” the law permitting abortions!  How?  By refusing to have an abortion ourselves for a start, and by refusing to contribute to abortion providers, by voting for politicians who will curtail or abolish Roe v. Wade.  Only if a law forces us to do something sinful may we legitimately in the eyes of God disobey it.  If the law ever forced us to abort our children if we have too many, for the sake of overpopulation, climate change, or some other nonsense, then we must disobey.  If the law ever forces us to be members of a false religion, or forbids us to practice the true faith, then we must disobey.  

Human kings often do not live up to the standards of Christ the King.  Our Constitution and the human judges whose job is to interpret it, are likewise flawed.  Nations should at least strive to live to Christ’s royal will, but alas, with feeble human beings running things, they never will.  What WE, WE here today must remember is that we are in control only over our own behavior, and that compels us to strive to attain the highest of standards.  When nations fail and fall apart, we must not.  We are captains of our own soul—captains but not kings.  Our King is Christ, and we pledge our highest allegiance to him and him alone.  May the King reign, for ever, and ever!

PRAISE MY SOUL THE KING OF HEAVEN

A HYMN FOR THE FEAST OF CHRIST THE KING

By Henry Francis Lyte, 1834

1. Praise, my soul, the King of heaven; 
To His feet thy tribute bring. 
Ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven, 
Who like me His praise should sing? 
Praise Him, praise Him, 
praise Him, praise Him, 
Praise the everlasting King.

2. Praise Him for His grace and favor 
To our fathers in distress. 
Praise Him still the same forever, 
Slow to chide, and swift to bless. 
Praise Him, praise Him, 
praise Him, praise Him, 
Glorious in His faithfulness.

3. Fatherlike He tends and spares us; 
Well our feeble frame He Knows. 
In His hands He gently bears us, 
Rescues us from all our foes. 
Praise Him, praise Him, 
praise Him, praise Him, 
Widely as His mercy goes.

4. Angels help us to adore Him; 
Ye behold Him face to face; 
Sun and moon, bow down before Him, 
Dwellers all in time and space. 
Praise Him, praise Him, 
praise Him, praise Him, 
Praise with us the God of grace.

LET NOT THE SUN GO DOWN

A SERMON FOR THE 19TH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

“Be ye angry, and sin not.”  We’ve spoken about anger several times over the past couple of years, and I hope the message is sinking in that it’s okay to be angry, providing, 1) that your anger is justified, and 2) that it’s proportional to the offense, and 3) that you keep it under control.  We don’t shoot people because they cut us off as we’re driving to work.

You might think that anger is special in this regard.  That it’s not like gluttony or sloth or envy or those other deadly sins.  We can’t be gluttonous—drunk, for example—providing it’s justified, proportional and controlled, can we?  Justified… How can we ever begin to justify drunkenness?  Proportional?  What possible proportionate cause could there be to allow us to get drunk?  And as for controlled, surely the very fact that we’re drunk means that we did not control our drinking?

But if we think about it, most of these sins, like drunkenness (a form of gluttony) are sins simply because they lack a proportionate cause.  Lack of a proportionate cause can make what is usually a sinful act perfectly rational, permissible, and even sometimes encouraged.  We mentioned this in passing last week in connection with the sin of lust, which of course isn’t lust at all if it’s in the context of normal marital relations.  Sloth is not sloth if we’re sick and need a day in bed to help us get better.  Even drunkenness was excusable in the old days when there were no anasthetics, and doctors were happily sawing off limbs from patients who had nothing better than a whiskey bottle to moderate the pain.

We can go on forever thinking up examples of justifying acts which at first sight we would think are sinful.  When we look closer at these acts, we can clearly see that they are not sinful because there is a proportionate reason for performing them.  Today though, I’d like to focus a little more on the control aspect.  There are certain things we do, maybe even every day, which are not sinful at all, providing they are kept within moderation.  It’s not sinful to drink a glass or two of wine with our dinner.  But it is a sin if we guzzle down a whole bottle of vodka.  Drunkenness is simply the over-indulgence, the lack of moderation, in the drinking of alcohol.  Some crazy brands of Christians would like to tell us that drinking of any alcohol is wrong.  But if so, I wonder how they explain that our Lord turned water into wine at the marriage feast of Cana.  No, drunkenness is just a lack of moderation.

Moderation has many aspects.  Let’s zoom in on just one of them, and that is with respect to Time.  How much time do you spend on a particular act.  Sleep for eight hours and it’s a wonderful thing.  Spend your whole day in bed, not doing any cleaning or cooking or other duties of state you may have, and it becomes sloth.  

But today’s Epistle is about anger, and the command we have to be angry without sinning.  That’s partly to do with this idea of moderation.  And as we’re focusing on moderation as it relates to time, let’s remind ourselves of that old expression, that “time heals all wounds”.  And it’s true, but only if we let it.  Let’s be quite clear, there are some wounds that need a bit more than time to heal them.  Time will not heal wounds that are left to become infected.  On the contrary, the longer a wound is left to fester like this, the more dangerous it becomes.  Gangrene, ulcers, all manner of unpleasant results ensue over time, so that the condition of the wound becomes worse than when it was first inflicted.  

Deeper wounds are those of the soul.  We can leave these wounds to fester too, and the results are the same.  The wounds of anger provide us with an obvious example, and we have only to look at the current situation in the Middle East where a centuries-old animosity between Turkey and the Kurdish people reared up last week into full-blown warfare.  The same type of festering angry can be seen throughout the world on the national level, not only between infidels, but between Jews and Palestinians, and even between Christian peoples like the English and the Irish.  

Even closer to home, just over the river in Kentucky, there was the legendary feud between the Hatfields and the McCoys, in which thirteen members of the two families were killed and many more injured starting in the year 1863, after a dispute about which family was the rightful owner of a hog.  It was not until June 14, 2003 that the two families signed a formal truce.  “Be ye angry, and sin not?”  Sure, if Randolph McCoy’s pig really was stolen by old Floyd Hatfield, then he had a right to be angry.  The stealing of one’s property is a sin against justice, and gives you the right to be recompensed.  So anger was surely justified and proportionate.  But the sin comes when neither side could ever get over it, when time did not heal the wounds of anger, and neither party could come to an agreement about the wretched pig.  Surely at some point, the anger becomes disproportionate to the crime committed, and the parties involved should have shrugged their shoulders and just moved on with their lives?  To carry on a feud and harbor resentment like this from one generation to another, whether it’s at the personal or the national level, goes against the bounds of moderation that we are called to when handling our anger.  Anger can so easily descend into hatred, violence, and ultimately bitter resentment, which eventually feeds on itself, poisoning our own souls and not serving any useful purpose whatsoever.  It becomes disproportionate to the original offence.

How long should we remain angry, then, without sinning?  St. Paul suggests the following: “Let not the sun go down upon your wrath, neither give place to the devil.”  One of our daily tasks, therefore, should be to include in our night prayers, a heartfelt supplication to our Father in heaven that we might “forgive them that trespass against us”.  It’s part of that most familiar of prayers, of course, which if we ever take the trouble to think about what we’re saying, is a constant reminder that if we want to be forgiven by God for the manifold offences we commit against him, then we had better be equally forgiving to our own foes and adversaries.

I remember seeing an old movie once, I don’t remember its name, in which an elderly German couple would bicker with each other all day long.  They’d argue so badly, you’d think they couldn’t stand the sight of each other.  But over the fireplace on their mantelpiece, they kept a wood carving of two lovebirds that the old man had made, with the words “Lasset die Sonne nicht über eurem Zom untergehen” (Let not the sun go down upon your wrath).  The two birds faced away from each other, but they both stood on a metal rod that allowed them to swivel.  As the sun went down every night and it was time to go to bed, the old man and his wife would each turn one of the birds around, so that before they slept the two lovebirds were facing each other, their beaks affectionately touching.  And love and harmony was restored between them.  “Let not the sun go down upon your wrath.”

How can we apply this to our other sins?  Simply by keeping in mind that we must not hold any attachment to them for any length of time.  By making an examination of conscience each night, bringing up in our own memory all the offences we have committed during the day against God, our neighbor and ourselves, and then by resolving never to commit those sins again, we are like the old German couple swiveling our soul around to face God again to be reminded of his love.  Have we indulged our envy of others, have we lied or cheated, have we gossiped, did we eat or drink too much?  Whatever the sin, it has the ability, like anger, to fester within our souls, to become embedded in our personality, taking over control of our behavior and values, turning us into a person focused on a life of self-indulgence rather than pleasing God.  That heartfelt act of contrition is our way of turning God’s little woodcarving, which is our soul, back to face the Creator and tell him that, in spite of all that has transpired during the previous day, we are still his loving children, determined to do our best to continue in that love as long as he gives us breath and life to do so. 

GOD OF MERCY AND COMPASSION

A HYMN FOR THE 19TH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

By Fr. Edmund Vaughan, C.SS.R.

God of mercy and compassion,

Look with pity upon me,

Father, let me call thee Father,

‘Tis thy child returns to thee.

Refrain:

Jesus, Lord, I ask for mercy;

Let me not implore in vain;

All my sins, I now detest them,

Never will I sin again.

2.  By my sins I have deserved

Death and endless misery,

Hell with all its pains and torments,

And for all eternity.

3.  By my sins I have abandoned

Right and claims to heav’n above.

Where the saints rejoice forever

In a boundless sea of love.

4.  See our Savior, bleeding, dying,

On the cross of Calvary;

To that cross my sins have nail’d him

Yet he bleeds and dies for me.

DRESS FOR THE WEDDING

A REFLECTION FOR THE 19TH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

We’ve all been to weddings, I’m sure.  Some of you have even been to your own wedding.  If you think back, one of the big questions, especially for the ladies, is what to wear.  The bride has her own problems, especially if she’s trying to keep to something modest in these days of backless, sleeveless dresses that have so little material that they really ought to cost a lot less.  But all the ladies at the wedding have to figure out what to put on, based on not only modesty, but the weather, the season of the year, perhaps the color coordination the bride wants, other factors that no man will ever understand.

Eventually the choice is made, and unless we’re dealing with some weird personality that insists on “being himself” or “herself”, what everyone’s choice of dress has in common is that they end up wearing something “nice,” something appropriate for the solemnity of the occasion they’re attending.  And anyone who ends up wearing something unsuitable will be looked at with scorn and derision.  Today’s Gospel gives us the analogy of the wedding garment representing our soul.  And if we are so “weird” as to present ourselves on that solemn day of judgment with a soul that is stained and dirty and totally unsuitable for the occasion, be assured that we will be treated by the King with the same scorn and derision we read about in the parable.  “Get him out of here,” the King demands, “throw him out into the darkness, and let him gnash his teeth forever for daring to behave this way.”

The Epistle today tells us one of the ways in which our soul would be unsuitable for presentation.  If we harbor anger, or any other sin, beyond the normal time allocated for dealing with its cause, we will be found guilty of that sin.  If we hang on to an attachment to our sin and are not completely repentant for having committed it, or fully resolved not to commit it again, then our soul is not fit for the kingdom of heaven.  If the attachment is not totally worthy of damnation, then perhaps we may be allowed to gnash our teeth for a much shorter period than in the everlasting fires of hell.  But be assured that we will be purged one way or another.

Purgatory is a place where souls suffer for a time after death on account of their sins.  Which sins?  Chiefly, I think, for those very sins which continue to stain our souls by our attachment to them.  Stains disappear from our garments if we wash them properly.  But if we we’re not careful enough to soak them long enough, those ketchup stains may not be so bright, but they will still continue to spoil the pristine and immaculate look we want in our clothes.  Our sins do the same, and it is imperative that we take the trouble to summon up in our heart and soul a perfect contrition for our sins, a firm and unshakable resolution not to commit them again, and indeed a proper horror as we contemplate our past misdeeds.  If we don’t do it here, preferably on a daily basis in our examination of conscience and Act of Contrition, then we have been warned that our purging will be achieved after we die in a far darker and more painful way.  So “let not the sun go down” on your sins, “neither give place to the devil.”  It just isn’t worth it.

WHEREFORE THINK YE EVIL IN YOUR HEARTS?

A SERMON FOR THE 18TH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Last week we examined the need for us to replace hatred with love.  Not the superficial and ultimately meaningless love of the modern world, mind you.  Worldly love ranges from gooey sentimentality to downright lust, and they call it all ‘love’.  The worldly kind of love often shows itself as a very strong emotional drive, a ‘feeling’ of warmth and solidarity with our fellow man.  And like all feelings, it must be measured according to God’s order.

After all, what are ‘feelings’?  They are the expression of our lower appetites which drive us relentlessly to feed those appetites.  They’re not bad things necessarily.  In fact, usually they’re very useful.  If I feel cold, I am driven to put on a hat and coat.  If I feel thirsty, I search for a drink.  If I feel tired, I lie down and go to sleep.  And so on.  God made us with these feelings for a purpose, so that we may know when, for the good of our health, our physical and even spiritual well-being, to feed these lower appetites of the body.  But it’s up to us to recognize when it’s time to NOT give into these feelings.  For example, not only do our feelings tell us we’re cold, tired and thirsty, but they also, mercifully, let us know when those feelings have been sufficiently satisfied.  That way, we don’t lie in bed all morning indulging our desire to do nothing, until the greater desire forces us to get up and gorge ourselves on food and drink until it’s time to go back to bed.  How quickly would our lives become a wallowing mess of self-indulgence.  We also use our reason to control our feelings by recognizing the circumstances in which we should not indulge them.  We know, for instance, not to eat meat on Friday, not to have marital relations when we’re not married, and so on.  So yes, feelings might regulate our lives to a certain extent, but it is ultimately our reason that must dictate what that extent might be.

Feelings, then, should not control our lives.  Control lies with something else God gave us, our reason and our will.  By our reason we know what’s good for us and what isn’t.  We know not to take that third martini on Saturday night, we know not to chomp down on that hamburger on Friday night.  In turn, our reason must then control our will, which instructs our bodies to ignore those feelings we may be having about that third martini, and follow the higher path of our God-given intellect.

The devil’s only commandment, “Do what thou wilt shallt be the whole of the law”, tells us to ignore our reason and our will, and follow instead our baser instincts, our ‘feelings’, so that if we want something, then by golly, we’re entitled to it no matter what, and we’re going to have it, come what may.  The Christian message of self-denial is, unfortunately, far less appealing.  The Rolling Stones actually got it right that one time when they bemoaned the fact that “you can’t always get what you want.”  As Christians, this is something we must acknowledge not reluctantly, but with the resigned acceptance that, even if we couldalways get what we want, we still shouldn’t.

The reason is obvious.  If we allow ourselves to be ruled by our base animal instincts, we are refusing our God-given role of humanity.  If we follow every whim and desire we have, we would no longer be human beings, but merely animals, acting on instinct and whatever whim that drifts past.  And those whims, because we freely choose to follow them (unlike the animals), can sometimes be sinful.  In fact, the seven deadly sins are the direct result of giving in to our animal instincts whenever we get the urge.  The three most obvious are Gluttony of course, Sloth and Lust.  In many ways, these three are interchangeable in their nature and their effects, and of course in our relationship with each of them.  I hope then, for the sake of propriety, you’ll apply for yourselves my analogies of gluttony and sloth to the far more dangerous and serious sins against the Sixth Commandment.

In fact, it’s precisely because of the dangers of lust that the Church is so anxious to provide us with the opportunities to combat our gluttony and sloth.  For example, she has appointed a weekly penance, one that until Paul VI was binding under pain of mortal sin, and that was our Friday abstinence.  We must not eat meat on Fridays.  Why not?  Is the Church just swinging its weight around, making sure we obey whatever commandments she happens to think of in order to subjugate us to her authority?  No.  Not at all.  She is our loving mother, Holy Mother Church, and she does her best to keep us out of trouble.  How?  By making us practice self-control, by giving us laws by which our lower appetites are curbed by a higher authority.  She backs up our intellect and will with her own authority, and she punishes us if we defy her.  Just as our own mother used to tell us when we’d had enough cookies and candy, the Church gets us into the habit of realizing that we must place limits on what we do.

To go back to those most dangerous sins against the flesh, it is not the Church but God himself who has laid down the law.  Just as he allowed us the pleasure that comes to us from a good meal or a sound night’s sleep, so too is he the source of the pleasures that properly belong in the realm of marriage.  And just as we’re not allowed the enjoyment of a good and hearty meal on a fast day, so too there are restrictions as to when and how we may enjoy those other pleasures.  We know the rules.  They are based on the need for the world to procreate and for the family unit to be the solid basis and best environment for the raising of the children that are the product of those actions.

Enter the Devil.  He has persuaded the world today of his own commandment to do whatever you want whenever you want to, ignoring any restrictions imposed by God.  The more the better.  It’s not about children—the world has devised all manner of pills and devices to prevent them from being conceived, and if that doesn’t work, the devil has persuaded the modern woman that she even has the option of killing them before they’re born.  The result is that today, the satisfaction of lustful desire has been glorified, and has become the end in itself.  Ironically though, there are today fewer offspring than ever before, offspring who would normally be the result of these natural desires.

When we follow the Devil’s law, we defy not only God’s law, but even the natural law.  We pervert even more our own already fallen human nature, and find ourselves on a never-ending quest to seek out newer, more innovative ways, more perverted ways, of twisting God’s creation.  It’s as though we’re sucked into a whirlpool, spinning faster and faster out of control, as we seek to subjugate the glories of God’s creation to our own fallen nature.

This eddy has already swallowed up the Church of Vatican II.  And like Our Lady of La Salette reminds us, “As the Church goes, so goes the world.”   Nations everywhere, including our own, are gradually being swept by the current towards the acceptance of every imaginable sin against the Sixth Commandment.  To be quite frank, we’re already way past any limits that I ever imagined.  The answer, as the same Blessed Virgin pointed out at Fatima, and as we were reminded last week, the answer lies in the Rosary.  Just as hatred of our enemies is removed simply by the act of praying for them, so too do the powerful mysteries of our Redemption keep us constantly in mind of what awaits us after this life and what we must do in order to attain it.  God didn’t die for the monkeys.  He died only for mankind.  If we want to lower ourselves to the level of the apes who obey nothing but their own urges, we will find ourselves sitting next to them on the day of judgment.  The only difference between us and them (but it’s a big one) is that God will gently pat them on the head and thank them for following their nature as he made them, and then send them on their merry way to wherever monkeys go when they die.  But we will be judged, because we have free will.  We freely choose whether to follow our fallen human nature with its love of self, or our God-given reason that calls us to the higher love of God, a love that is expressed by obeying his commandments.  We had better hope and pray we get that gentle pat on the head as he opens the gate of heaven for us.  Over and over again in the Rosary, repeat the words to our Blessed Mother, “pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

DECK THYSELF, MY SOUL, WITH GLADNESS

A HYMN FOR THE 18TH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

By Johann Franck, 1649
Translated by Catherine Winkworth, 1827-78

1 Deck thyself, my soul, with gladness,
Leave the gloomy haunts of sadness;
Come into the daylight's splendour,
There with joy thy praises render
Unto him whose grace unbounded
Hath this wondrous banquet founded:
High o'er all the heavens he reigneth,
Yet to dwell with thee he deigneth.

2 Now I sink before thee lowly,
Filled with joy most deep and holy,
As with trembling awe and wonder
On thy mighty works I ponder:
How, by mystery surrounded,
Depth no mortal ever sounded,
None may dare to pierce unbidden
Secrets that with thee are hidden.

3 Sun, who all my life dost brighten,
Light, who dost my soul enlighten,
Joy, the sweetest heart e'er knoweth,
Fount, whence all my being floweth,
At thy feet I cry, my Maker,
Let me be a fit partaker
Of this blessed food from heaven,
For our good, thy glory, given.

4 Jesus, Bread of Life, I pray thee,
Let me gladly here obey thee;
Never to my hurt invited,
Be thy love with love requited:
From this banquet let me measure,
Lord, how vast and deep its treasure;
Through the gifts thou here dost give me,
As thy guest in heaven receive me.

ENRICHED BY HIM

A REFLECTION FOR THE 18TH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

There’s not much difference between a mushroom and a toadstool.  You’ll find them both growing in the same places in the forest, they look very similar, and can easily be mistaken one for another.  And yet, there is a difference, one that is actually quite an important one.  It’s the difference between enjoying a very nice accompaniment to your steak, or severe abdominal pain, vomiting leading to coma and even death.  Mushrooms and toadstools, so close and yet so far.

People are the same.  Some folks are safe, good, pleasant, and bring happiness, godliness and grace wherever they go.  Others bring pain, misery and sin.  And yet, when you look at them in a crowd, it’s not easy to see the difference.  Some of the bad folks can be quite pleasant to look at, and sometimes have alluring personalities full of charm and wit.  On the other hand, many good people can be grumpy and gruff, plain in visage, and devoid of charisma.  Like books, people should not be judged by their cover.

And like fungus from the woodlands, people, especially strangers, should not be blindly trusted.  Even as we treat all strangers with kindness and Christian charity, it does not follow that we should think of them necessarily as gurus of wisdom or saints to whom we should entrust our soul.  Whether we put that ‘mushroom’ in our frying pan or our trash can deserves a little thought and time, and even when we think we can trust someone, let’s still make sure by verifying.  The extra effort pays off in the end.

The bottom line, of course, is whether we are a mushroom or a toadstool.  It matters little what we look like, whether we can hold your own in polite conversation, if our IQ is high or low, or whatever.  What matters is where we are on the scale of grace, whether we tend towards the fullness of grace like our Blessed Mother, or are completely devoid of grace like Lucifer.  Certainly, we’re somewhere between the two, but where exactly?  There’s a line drawn in that “in between”, a line that makes us nutritious or poisonous depending on which side of it we stand.  If we can honestly answer the question as to whether the world would be a better place “without me in it”, we might understand ourselves a little better and realize how hard we need to work to correct our behavior.  A toadstool is a plant and cannot convert into a mushroom.  But we have free will, and can choose the effect we have on others. 

In today’s Epistle, St. Paul reminds us just how much we are enriched by God in every thing.  All the things we say, everything we know—God’s grace makes all our utterances and knowledge richer.   It follows that we must seek out this grace, and then use it in our everyday behavior to make those around us also richer.  Just as the multitudes saw Christ’s power to heal sick bodies and forgive sinful souls, so too may the people we encounter marvel and glorify God by seeing how we enlighten and teach the ignorant, how we heal the ills of this world and work God’s grace among them.  This is how we can shine among men, by simply reflecting the grace of God and helping him turn others from toadstools into mushrooms.

UNITY OF THE SPIRIT IN THE BOND OF PEACE

A SERMON FOR THE 17TH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

We tried hard last week to remind ourselves what a wonderful world we live in.  And of course it really is a wonder, the great and marvelous work of God.  During the course of the week, however, I expect any warm and fuzzy feelings about this wonderful world have been driven from your minds.  We’ve read that In New York, for instance, it’s now a crime punishable with a fine of $250,000 to call someone an “illegal alien” or report them to the police; meanwhile in Virginia a Christian doctor who’s been in practice for 30 years is suddenly fired because he refuses to refer to a six-foot man with a beard by his “preferred pronoun” she.  And then, of course, there’s Washington, D.C.  Let’s not even go there.

God created the perfect world.  And he created it for us to live perfect lives in it.  And we messed it all up.

Let’s not blame everything on Adam and Eve.  Each of us has done his best (or her best, or whatever other pronoun you prefer), to contribute to the general mayhem.  Some have succeeded in creating more mayhem than others.  Many will lose their souls.  At the end of the day, we’ll all be judged according to the graces we received and the degree to which we cooperated with those graces.  Let’s never forget that those to whom most has been given—the faith, the sacraments, a Catholic family and upbringing, and so on—these are the ones who will be judged the hardest.  Privileges come with responsibility, and God urges us daily to meet our Catholic duties in spite of the evils surrounding us.

As for the rest of the world, we must never succumb to the temptation of the Pharisee in the temple, the one who so arrogantly congratulated himself on his own good deeds while thanking God that he was “not as other men” with all their wicked ways.  Likely as not, we have received more graces than the evildoers we’re so ready and eager to criticize.  That makes us more guilty even though we acted less sinfully.  So let’s never even think of exalting ourselves, pretending to be better than they are.

We know what to do when someone sins against us.  We have to turn the other cheek, following the example and instructions of our Lord and forgiving our enemies “for they know not what they do.”  The difficulty comes, not in forgiving those who trespass against us, but those who would harm our loved ones. That’s a much more difficult moral dilemma to handle, isn’t it?  And what about those who, by their words and actions, proudly proclaim themselves to be the enemies of God, the abortionists, the “gay pride” mob, the Democrats.  How are we supposed to forgive these creatures?  The answer lies precisely in that word “creatures”.  They are creatures of God, and for them he died.  He loved them so much that he suffered so much for them.  So who are we to despise anyone, even these, the worst examples of humanity, the abusers of their God-given free will?  Try looking at them, if you can, through the eyes of God for a change.

Last week, I mentioned that the angels “hate” the enemies of God, and I hope you all understood that I was referring only to the fallen members of their own nine choirs, those rebellious angels who followed Lucifer and with him were driven out of heaven down to the pits of hell.  These demons we are not only permitted, but encouraged, to hate.  When the news from Capitol Hill is beginning to drive you up the wall, hate with all your might not the malicious politicians who seem so hell-bent on giving us all such a hard time, but rather the devils in hell who have succeeded in leading them astray.  

The same goes for the even more malevolent villains in Rome.  This last week I heard that Pope Francis warned priests that wearing the cassock is a sign they’re concealing moral problems and mental imbalances.  When you hear blatant nonsense like this coming from the mouth of someone who pretends to be the Vicar of Christ, do not hate him.  Hate rather the demons that possess his soul and drive him to despise the ancient practices and culture of the Church.  Rome is our true problem, and Washington merely follows.  In fact, whenever you hear the latest grotesque news coming out of the nation’s capital, remember the words of our Lady at La Salette:  “As the Church goes, so goes the world.”  Our United States would not be in its present tumult and chaos were it not for the loss of the world’s one and only true light, the one that Christ left us in the Church he founded, and which can no longer be relied upon to be our beacon of faith and sound moral sense. 

This is more than just a pity, there is grave sin involved here.  After all, God had it all worked out perfectly for us.  He created man with a free will so we may love him freely, and we abused that free will by disobeying.  He created the beautiful garden of Eden and we lost it.   He created an entire world, and through our sins we almost lost that too with the Great Flood.  He sent his only-begotten Son, and we crucified him.  He gave us the Catholic Church founded on the rock of Peter, guided by his infallible Spirit, and in return we gave him Vatican II, throwing away in contempt the Mass, the sacraments and the faith that the Church was supposed to preserve inviolate.  God is love, infinite love.  But if we keep refusing his gifts like this, if we continue to throw them back in his face, how much longer will God keep giving them?  And then, when there’s no more love of God left, what will there be instead?  What shall remain?  Just as the absence of light is darkness, so the absence of love is hatred.  That’s all that will be left in this world.  Hatred.  All the hatred that’s in the world today, it’s because we’ve already driven out so much of God’s love.  The only answer is to love more than ever before, love God, love our neighbor, including our enemies, especially our enemies.

It’s of no use resorting to shouting and screaming, and violence is even worse.  Our role is to consecrate this world, not desecrate it by striking off the ear of the High Priest’s servant like St. Peter in Gethsemane.  Sure we can act like good little citizens of this democratic nation, and write to our congressman, complaining and asking him to behave.  By all means try that if you will.  As to whether it will do any good or not, I’m pessimistic, because it fails to attack the problem at its root.  And again, Rome is the root problem.  That’s why our blessed Lady appeared in Fatima in 1917, so she could warn us of the coming apostasy of Vatican II.   She commanded that the Pope should make her Third Secret known in 1960 and consecrate Russia to her Immaculate Heart.  But the pope of 1960 was John XXIII, and he casually threw the Third Secret into a drawer saying it was not for our times.  Fortunately, our Lady gave us a Plan B, and right now, that’s pretty much all that’s left for us to do.  Say the Rosary, she told us.  

The Rosary is the perfect way to love our neighbor.  Remember, love and hatred are not just feelings that we have.  They are acts of the will.  By forcing ourselves to pray the Rosary for our enemies, no matter how much we may be angry at what they do, this act of will turns our anger into an act of love.  Pray for them, that they may see the error of their ways, that they may be struck with such grace that will illuminate the darkness of their souls, and turn their own hatred into love.  Only then can we ever hope to turn the world around, uniting mankind in the only unity that can ever truly work, what St. Paul in today’ Epistle to the Ephesians, calls “the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.”  Let’s use this month of the Holy Rosary wisely, praying our Rosary as we pray at the end of every Mass for the conversion of sinners and the freedom and exaltation of our Holy Mother Church.  These are the two fundamental answers to the world’s problems, so let’s pray our Rosaries for these intentions this October.  Let’s pray that the world may find its unity in that one real Truth of Christ and his Church, and the conflicts between men may be once and for all set aside. 

O QUEEN OF THE HOLY ROSARY

A HYMN FOR THE 17TH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

O Queen of the Holy Rosary,

O bless us as we pray,

And offer thee our roses 

in garlands day by day,

While from our Father’s garden,

with loving hearts and bold,

We gather to thine honour

buds white and red and gold.

O Queen of the Holy Rosary,

each myst’ry blends with thine

The sacred life of Jesus

in ev’ry step divine.

Thy soul was his fair garden,

thy virgin breast his throne,

Thy thoughts his faithful mirror,

reflecting him alone.

Sweet Lady of the Rosary,

white roses let us bring,

And lay them round thy footstool,

before our Infant King.

For, resting in thy bosom,

God’s Son was fain to be

The Child of thine obedience

and spotless purity.

Dear Lady of the Rosary,

red roses we cast down,

And let thy fingers weave them

into a worthy crown.

For how can we, poor sinners,

do aught but weep with thee,

When in thy train we follow

our God to Calvary.

O Queen of the Holy Rosary,

we share thy joy and pain,

And long to see the glory

of Christ’s triumphant reign.

Oh, teach us, holy Mary,

to live each mystery,

And gain by patient suff’ring

the glory won by thee.

THE OTHER MYSTERIES OF THE ROSARY

A REFLECTION FOR THE 17TH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Mirroring the story of our Redemption, with its joys, sorrows and glories, our lives are also divided into three parts.  From the joy of parents as a new child is born into the world to the sorrow of a family as an elderly member passes on—we’re all familiar with the joys and sufferings of this world.  Between birth and death, we live an entire life bouncing from one to the other, balancing our emotions and trying not to let them get the better of us.  A balanced temperament is something to be desired, and in this grim age in which we live, we meet fewer and fewer people, it seems, who actually have one.

One of the reasons half of us seem to be ‘bi-polar’ these days is because we’re not putting our joys and sorrows in context.  The Rosary shows us that context in all its (literally) glorious magnificence.  Our joys are transitory and will not last, and our sufferings are for a purpose.  The glorious mysteries tell of resurrection, an everlasting life in heaven for those of God’s children who cooperate with his graces throughout their temporary stay here on earth.  Thus, our life is given a purpose.  We can enjoy the happiness we sometimes feel, despite knowing that it will soon somehow be spoiled or taken away.  We can endure our sufferings, knowing that by offering them up we help our Lord carry his cross, make reparation for our own sins, and can help others, even the Holy Souls in Purgatory.

But is it enough?  Is praying the Rosary sufficient in and of itself to save our souls?  The answer is that if it were, our Lord would have given it to his apostles to pass on as the means of salvation.  He did not.  Instead he gave us, at the Last Supper and on the Cross, the same thing in a different and even more powerful form.  He gave us that most important of the seven sacraments, the Holy Eucharist.  Like the Rosary this sacrament has three aspects.  They are the same aspects contained in the fifteen mysteries of the Rosary, although instead of merely telling the story of our Redemption, the Holy Eucharist actualizes this story and makes it real, making available to us on a daily basis the infinite sanctifying graces that actually still flow from Christ sacrificed in the Holy Mass and given to us in Holy Communion.  In other words, both Rosary and Mass provide in different ways the same three essential aspects of our Redemption.  

As the Holy Eucharist, Christ himself dwells amongst us in our tabernacles, and is our greatest joy on earth.  THROUGH him, in this Real Presence we commemorate the Joyful Mysteries of the Rosary, celebrating our Redemption, the divine Advent of the Son of God as he became incarnate by the Holy Ghost of the Virgin Mary and dwelt amongst us.  Secondly, the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass reminds us that it is only by Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross that we are redeemed, and that it is only by the loving embrace of our crosses that we will find our salvation.  The Sorrowful Mysteries lay out the steps we must take if we want to walk WITH our Lord in his redemptive suffering, along the road to our own Calvary, and beyond to glory.  Finally, by receiving him IN Holy Communion, we literally taste that intimate union with God described in the Glorious Mysteries, a union that will one day be ours if we persevere in grace.  Just as the joys and sorrows of our Lord’s life led to his restoration to glory at his Father’s throne, his presence in the Eucharist and his continued sacrifice at the Mass draw us ever closer to the eternal union of which our Holy Communion is the reflection and foretaste.  Per ipsum et cum ipso et in ipso.  Through him (to joy - Eucharist); with him (in sorrow - Mass), and in him (in glory - Communion).