Book Review: The Axe and the Oath by Robert Fossier

In 1309 as the cause for canonization of King Louis of France was advancing, a hagiography of the monarch was presented by the Sire of Joinville who had known the king some fifty years prior. In his The Axe and the Oath, Robert Fossier discusses this text while considering the state of writing in the medieval era. Fossier says, “the problem is not to scrutinize the accuracy of an octogenarian’s memories . . . but to know how these narrations were brought together.” Unfortunately, Fossier could easily have been speaking of his own book, for these are both precisely the issues that confront the reader of The Ax and the Oath. While Fossier is clearly indebted to the method and analysis of Marc Bloch, even while calling into question Bloch’s central thesis, it is Fossier’s use of sources and divergent style that cause the reader to question the way he has constructed his narrative and to fear that we are dealing with faulty memories or mere opinions.

The Axe and the Oath is clearly indebted to Marc Bloch’s Feudal Society. In several places, Fossier’s description of the decline of authority (pg. 261), the selection of names (pg. 35), the understanding and use of time (pg. 56), and the importance of custom (pg. 265) Fossier sounds as if he is quoting Bloch wholesale. Twice Fossier cites Bloch by name as correctly advancing a theory of “brownian movement” against a theory of medieval stability (pg. 34, 234). And he clearly shares Bloch’s fundamental determination to “give human beings and their efforts their full place” (pg. 170). Fossier writes that, “Marc Bloch had established once and for all, that the territory of history was the human condition, man or men in society” (pg. ix). This is the very basis of Fossier’s model of anthropological history. Going beyond even Bloch, Fossier employs biology, archaeology, geography, and sociology in a cross disciplinary attempt to address nearly every aspect of daily life.

At the same time, Fossier dismisses out of hand the central thesis of Bloch’s Feudal Society. He refers to speaking of “feudal society” as an “abuse of language” (pg. 243) and goes onto to say, “I have already rejected the terms ‘feudal society’ and ‘feudalism,’ and I have no intention to debate the matter again . . . I do not believe in their interest or even in their existence” (pg. 272). What is debatable is whether or not Fossier adequately substantiates his thesis that “ordinary folk understood nothing of [feudalism] and cared little about it” (pg. 273).

Unfortunately, it is almost impossible for the average reader, and perhaps even the historian, to evaluate Fossier’s thesis because of his use, or better, misuse of sources. Though he makes passing reference to demographic data (pg. 26), statistics (pg. 60), and archaeological excavations (pg. 109), Fossier uses not a single footnote, and unlike Bloch goes so far as to eschew the need even for a list of bibliographic references. Fossier repeatedly anticipates his potential critics: “My documentation and most of the scholarly work I intend to pillage,” he warns from the beginning (pg. xi). “It is useless to accuse me of mixing up centuries, of being content with simplistic generalizations, of eliminating nuances of time or place, of using deceptive words and impure sources,” he says; “I know all this and assume responsibility for it” (pg. 383). But most troubling of all is the sense that in doing so, Fossier was willing to “retain from it only what serves [his] purpose” (pg. 265).

Fossier’s decision to forgo the mention of any sources whatsoever is particularly disconcerting given the fact that his announced intention is “to shake up certitudes” (pg. xi). Throughout The Axe and the Oath Fossier asserts his own theses over a “grotesque,” “ignorant historiographic tradition” and its “poor interpretations,” “solid stereotypes,” and “myths” surrounding everything from the role of women in the home (pg. 88), to medieval justice (pg. 268), war (pg. 280), anarchy (pg. 244), the universities (pg. 331-334), and the Cathars (pg. 352). But however accurate his own theses may be, they are usually only asserted, not substantiated, as he races from one topic to the next. The reader is never quite certain why we should abandon the long-held perspectives of medieval historians. And as can easily be gleaned from the quotes above, Fossier does all this with a nearly intolerable condescension for the “few nostalgic historians” (pg. 355), “of a certain mind” (pg. 31), who he expects will offer “facile criticism” (pg. xii), and “outmoded attitudes to dispute evident truth” (pg. 77).

All Work and No Play . . .

 . . . well, you know the rest. But in reality, it hasn't quite been all work and no play for me. I have definitely been hitting the books and working hard, but I've also had a few opportunities for fun to tell you about.

I'll start where I myself started not long after my arrival in DC: with food! Before classes had even started, I made sure that I had scouted out some local spots for a few of the foods I most often crave. Thanks to an episode of Anthony Bourdain my first craving was for Middle Eastern food. Without recourse to Alladin's, one of my all-time favorite spots in Portland, I searched out Amsterdam Falafel Shop which I had read was the place to go here in DC. I must say I was very well pleased with the falafel itself, even if the setting was disappointing. I'll still need to find a place for chicken shawarma.

Of course I never go more than a few days without having a hankering for pizza, and one of the best-reviewed places in the area is Pete's New Haven Style Apizza.  Even after visiting I'm not sure I can tell you what makes the pizza New Haven style, but it was very good: a thin, hand-tossed crust with a nice crisp to the outside and a soft, slightly moist interior.  They have two locations and one is pretty close, has decent parking nearby and sells by the slice. Score!

I've also put the books down long enough to enjoy a few social outings as well. I attended the Notre Dame Club of Washington D.C.'s game-watch for the Notre Dame at Michigan State game, which was held at a local sports-bar.  Fr. Peter Rocca, csc was visiting from campus, and Prof. Duncan Stroik was in town with a group of his architecture students. It was wonderful to catch up with these friends and to see so many young alums at the gathering. Of course the game's ending isn't to be spoken of.

This weekend, I had the chance to attend my first Washington Nationals game, in which the hometown heroes defeated the despised Atlanta Braves.

I was lucky enough to enjoy spectacular seats and delightful company . . .

. . . and the rain even held off so we could enjoy the afternoon in the late summer sun.

This afternoon, between classes, I spent some time praying in the Basilica of the National Shrine where relics of St. John Bosco were being venerated. It was very moving to see so many pilgrims making their way past the great saint's relics. As John Bosco is a patron of young people, I prayed in a special way for the healing of those young people who suffered at the hands of priests and religious - and for all of the wonderful young people I have had the chance to serve at Holy Redeemer Parish and now here at Little Flower Parish as well. May God bless them all!

Homily for the Twenty-Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Again this week our first reading comes from the Book of the Prophet Amos and once again it sets the stage perfectly for our Gospel reading from St. Luke.

Amos satirically critiques the complacent wealthy of Zion. They are comfortable on their couches, eating the best foods, and enjoying the best oil. But they ignore the suffering of Judah, their Jewish brethren and neighbors to the south.

So, Amos assures them that they will be the first into exile – they will be the first to be conquered by Assyria and taken in chains from their land. They will lose everything precisely because they were unconcerned by the sufferings of their brothers and sisters. In stark terms, they are reminded that the plight of their brethren does indeed affect them, even though they choose to ignore it.

This is, of course, the perfect way to frame today’s Gospel: the famous story of Lazarus and the rich man. It’s rare that a parable gives a name to a character – but we have the name of Lazarus, which means ‘God helps.’ The Gospel gives the rich man no name, and so Tradition refers to him as ‘Die-vees,’ which simply translates as ‘rich man.’

Like Amos, Jesus calls attention to the rich man’s extravagance. He has the finest clothes and the best food. Meanwhile, right outside his very door, Lazarus is so poor the dogs lick his wounds and he longs for scraps of food from the rich man’s table.

Now be sure to recognize that the rich man does indeed see Lazarus outside his door. After all he is the one who recognizes Lazarus in the afterlife and is even able to call him by name. But the rich man was unable to see Lazarus’ need as his own concern, so he never helped him. And so like the complacent wealthy of Zion, when the rich man died he was sent into a kind of exile – he is in the netherworld, in torment, separated from God.

This prophecy from Amos and this parable from Jesus are unsettling and urgent – because there is no mistaking the fact, brothers and sisters, that you and I are the wealthy people in these stories. And there is no softening the message or making excuses for ourselves.

We are the wealthiest nation in the world, we consume more than any other nation and yet we don’t need to look to the far corners of the world to find Lazarus. He is right outside our doors, on the street corner, at the entrance to the Metro.

When I was a novice in Holy Cross, I spent a month at our soup kitchen in Phoenix Arizona. Every day we gave dozens of homeless people a chance to clean their clothes, and take a shower. And every evening we served nearly 500 meals. One night standing on the front porch of our huge facility, I watched the sun set against the buildings of downtown Phoenix. Just blocks away from this place of utter poverty, were the Wells Fargo Bank tower, and all the businesses and firms of Phoenix. I thought to myself, here is Lazarus and Die-vees.

But I thought too of my community’s Constitutions – the documents by which we profess to live our lives as priests and brothers of Holy Cross. If you’ll indulge me, I’d like to read you just a few of the lines I reflected on that night in Phoenix.

“Our efforts, which are the Lord’s, reach out to the afflicted and in a preferential way to the poor and the oppressed. We come not just as servants but as neighbors, to be with them and of them. It is not that we take sides against sinful enemies; before the Lord all of us are sinners and none is an enemy. We stand with the poor and the afflicted because only from there can we appeal as Jesus did for the conversion and deliverance of all.”

Friends, the point of that passage from our Constitutions is precisely the point of today’s rather challenging readings. Jesus does not tell this parable to “take sides against” the “sinful” rich. He does not condemn wealth – Jesus is not a class warrior. But He does appeal for our conversion and deliverance. He does instruct as, as the rich man wanted his brothers to be instructed, that the poor among us have a claim on us and are owed our attention and concern.

We must not only be the poor’s servants but their neighbors as well. And yes, our salvation depends on whether or not we are able to divorce ourselves from our own wealth, and from our own comforts long enough to recognize that the suffering of others is indeed our concern and our suffering as well.

Friends, we must not turn a blind eye to those in need, who are almost literally right outside our door. The lesson of Amos’ warning, the lesson of Jesus’ story, is that we are all deeply, organically connected. The suffering of the poor does indeed affect us all.

So, what can you and I do? First and foremost, we have the obligation to know and understand the plight of our brothers and sisters. Find opportunities to learn something about the real suffering that people endure here in our own community, and around the world. Seek out and read information about urban poverty here in the US, or about civil war and genocide in Africa. Sadly, even our news media pay all too little attention to any number of human crises. Then, learn something too about the Church’s social teaching, its long tradition of care for the poor, which springs right up out of the prophetic tradition of Amos and Jesus.

Then, consider what you might give to support and provide for the poor. The Biblical tradition is tithing, that is that 10% of all wealth belongs to the poor. It is a considerable commitment, but perhaps you might consider tithing 10% of your income for the poorest and neediest.

At the very least, you might have a poor box in your house. What a lesson it would be for families with children, if every time you rent a movie, go out for dinner, watch a ballgame, or take a vacation you could put in a portion of what you’ve spent to give to those who don’t enjoy such luxuries, and who instead worry about even the basic necessities of life.

Most importantly, though, what abut your time? It’s often more valuable to us even than our money, isn’t it? We’d rather just write a check and make a donation. But maybe we can find a way, like the teenagers of our parish, to work with the Missionaries of Charity or some other worthy charity. If we do we’ll have the chance to encounter the poor as we’re called to in today’s readings: not as strangers, but as neighbors.

Again, when I was a novice working at our homeless shelter in Phoenix, I learned that the clothing and food and shelter that we provided for brothers and sisters in need were, in the end, only as important as the warm smile, attentive listening, kind conversation, and shared prayer that we also offered our guests.

Our guests could get a handout from lots of places. What they often wanted most, however, was for someone to recognize their dignity and worth – someone to treat them as a human person, and not merely as a social problem or a statistic.

Isn’t that kind of attention and dignity the very least the rich man could have given to the man outside his door – the man he knew was named Lazarus, and who he still stepped over each and every day?

Friends, today’s readings are undeniably challenging. They make us all squirm a bit, and they’re meant to! But you and I have been given the great gift the rich man asked for: we have the witness of the prophets – and the testimony even of one who has risen from the dead: Jesus the Christ. Let it not be said of us, that we refused to listen, and refused to act.

Homily for the Twenty-Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

In our First Reading from the Book of Amos, the prophet rails against the unjust economic practices of merchants and businessmen. They long for the end of the Sabbath so that they can have more time to exploit the poor, “buying the lowly for silver, and the poor for a pair of sandals.” For the love of money, other people have become mere things to them that they can buy and sell for their own selfish gain.

In today’s Gospel, we hear a parable unique to Luke known as “The Unjust Steward.” It is one of the most enigmatic parables in all the Gospels, and it is only made all the more confounding when it is paired with the First Reading from Amos. At first glance, Jesus’ parable seems to be condoning the very unprincipled economic practices that Amos denounces!

Jesus tells of a steward, a manager of a wealthy person’s household. Some kind of audit has uncovered the fact that he has “squandered” his master’s property. The master demands an immediate accounting and announces, “you can no longer be my steward.”

Realizing that he can make no account for his financial mismanagement, and loathing the thought of being sent to do manual labor to make up his debt to his master, the unjust steward devises a plan. He wants to be “welcomed into the homes” of his master’s debtors – he wants a job from one of them when he is fired – and so he aims at currying favor with the debtors.

He calls each one in and examines what they owe. One owes 100 measures of olive oil, which the steward immediately halves. Another debtor owes 100 bushels of wheat, which the steward reduces by 20 percent.

One would expect the master to become all the more enraged. The steward has further cheated him out of money that was owed to him. And yet, the story concludes with the shocking reversal that is so typical of Jesus’ parables: “the master commended that dishonest steward for acting prudently.”

The rest of today’s Gospel isn’t of much help in determining the message that we’re intended to glean from the parable. Luke presents us with a string of Jesus’ sayings that hardly explain the parable and rather seem to be contradictory. Jesus surprisingly tells the disciples to “make friends with dishonest wealth” and praises the shrewdness of “the children of this world.”

Easier to predict, is Jesus saying that “the person who is trustworthy in small matters will be trustworthy in great things,” . . . but the steward who has been praised wasn’t at all trustworthy! Jesus also says, “no one can serve two masters,” but that is precisely what the steward seems to have pulled off!

The most common explanation of the parable hinges on one word: “the master commended that dishonest steward for acting prudently.” Jesus obviously cannot be praising the dishonesty of the steward, but He could be commending his prudent, shrewd decisions in the face of crisis.

A similar explanation suggests that when the steward cooks the books, he is really only eliminating the profit he himself would have been skimming off the loans. By reducing the amount owed, the steward is still restoring to his master the amount of the initial loan and his usual profit. Thus the steward shows himself to be willing to sacrifice his own gain when faced with a critical choice. In this reading, the steward is a model for us because we too must respond immediately and make sacrifices to answer the demands of discipleship with Jesus.

I think there may be a still better reading of today’s Gospel, but it requires us to think back to last weekend’s Gospel, which directly precedes this passage in Luke’s Gospel. Last Sunday we heard three parables of the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the Prodigal Son. I made the point that all three stories involve an extravagant, over the top, even crazy example of forgiveness and mercy that seeks out and brings home those who were lost.

Think back with me on some of the details of the parable of the Prodigal Son, and compare them with the parable we hear today of the Unjust Steward.

Both parables portray a person who is facing a life-threatening situation. The son is literally starving to death, and the steward is about to be fired; and it’s all because both of them “squandered property.” This same phrase is used for both the son’s wasting of the father’s inheritance, and the steward’s mismanagement of the master’s possessions!

In both parables, Luke says that the son and the steward “said to themselves.” That is, we hear both of their internal monologues as they both hatch a plot to solve their dilemma. In both cases, the solutions are at least somewhat self-serving. It’s not clear that either is actually sorry or has learned a lesson.

In both parables, the son and the steward’s goals are to be welcomed into a house. The son wishes only to be welcomed back as a servant in his father’s household, and the steward is angling to be welcomed into the homes of the debtors he has helped out.

Finally, and most importantly, in both parables, the son and the steward’s plans are never fully realized – rather they are transcended by the surprise intervention of the parables’ powerful figures: the father and the master of the house. In both cases, the son and the steward, were thinking in terms of obligations and in terms of justice. But both are rescued from peril not by the success of their own plans, but by the unexpected and lavish mercy they receive.

The parable of the Unjust Steward is therefore really about the rich master of the household. Like the foolish shepherd who looks for one sheep, the crazy women who celebrates finding one penny, and the prodigal father who forgives both of his wayward sons, this parable might better be called “The Foolish Rich Man.” He acts illogically, but he acts with the kind of mercy that typifies the Divine Mercy of God.

And I think there is some proof of this interpretation in the very next line in Luke’s Gospel – a line that is cut off from today’s reading. Luke says that in responding to this parable, "the Pharisees, who were lovers of money, heard all this, and they ridiculed Him." Like the merchants and businessmen in our First Reading, the Pharisees were so blinded by their love of money that they mocked a person who showed great mercy and forgave debts.

So perhaps now, we can return to the steward in today’s Gospel and ask once more, what exactly it is that Jesus is commending in this parable? What precisely is it that the steward does well even if he does it for the wrong reason? Well of course, the answer is that he too forgives debts.

Yes, he forgives debts he wasn’t authorized to forgive. And yes he forgave for all the wrong reasons, for his own personal gain and to cover up his own misdeeds. But when he encountered a wake-up call from the master of the house, the decisive action he chooses to take is to forgive.

The moral of today’s Gospel thus builds on the lessons of forgiveness we’ve heard in the previous parables. The shepherd and the sheep, the woman and the coin, the prodigal father and his son, and now the rich man and his steward are all given to us as images of our heavenly Father and the radical, crazy forgiveness we are given by God.

And now the steward is commended in today’s Gospel because he models for us how we too are meant to extend the same radical forgiveness we have received to others.

Like the steward we might not be capable yet of doing it for the right reason. We might not do it out of love, but instead out of some sense of obligation. We might do it because we know that holding a grudge ultimately destroys only us, and we do not want anyone to have that kind of power over us. We might simply recall the words of the Our Father, and know that we will be forgiven only in the measure that we forgive others.

But brothers and sisters, no matter how or why we forgive – whether we are being selfish or self-less; whether others think us generous or merely insane – whenever we forgive another person we have participated in the merciful love that defines God our Father. Despite our weakness and our mixed motivations, it is by forgiving, that we come to share more deeply in God’s Divine life.

Book Review: The Armada by Garrett Mattingly

As you can well imagine, most of my time is now given over to reading and writing for class.  I don't imagine that too many of the books I'll be reading will be of general interest, but since this particular book fits that bill, I thought I'd share a review I wrote recently:

Garrett Mattingly's The Armada is not only an account of the famous defeat of the Spanish Armada by the English, but of the entire political and religious drama in Europe that coincided with and gave rise to the battle. It is, therefore, a work not only of military history, but also of political, religious, and even gender history. Thanks to Mattingly’s narrative style, The Armada integrates all of these genres of history and succeeds as truly great popular history: accessible and interesting not merely to the academic, but to a broad audience (pg. vii).

Obviously, any book on the defeat of the Spanish Armada should be able to qualify as military history, but The Armada is not merely a recounting of the details of the fleets’ engagement. Mattingly also outlines Parma and Phillip’s diverging plans for the invasion, as well as Drake and Elizabeth’s plans for defending England (pg. 41-48; 76-79; 85; 88-92). Sufficient attention is also paid to the evolution of shipbuilding and design (pg. 196), the tactics of using long-range weapons (pg. 312), the famed crescent formation of the Spanish Armada (pg. 275), and the place of ship-boarding in the English and Spanish strategies (pg. 280).

But true to his conviction that the battle should be seen as part of a total war, Mattingly also places the naval engagement in the context of, and describes carefully, the corollary military preparations and conflicts that occurred on land. Among others, these include the Battle at Coutras between the Henries (pg. 153-157), Parma’s campaigns in the Netherlands (pg. 130-145), and the English preparations for Parma’s invasion (pg. 342-351). Ultimately, Mattingly makes the case that his narrative is significant for military history because the battle marked “the beginning of a new era in naval warfare” (pg. 277). “No naval campaign in previous history,” he writes, “and none afterward until the advent of the aircraft carrier, involved so many fresh and incalculable factors” (pg. 262).

The Armada is also a work of political and diplomatic history. From the beginning, Mattingly states that the events in his narrative are significant “not just as a naval duel between Spain and England, but as the focus of the first great international crisis in modern history” (vi). And so the story begins with the contest between Elizabeth and Mary for the throne of England (pg. 6-28) and is set in motion by the various reactions, in Spain, Rome, and France, to Mary’s execution. Mattingly then convincingly shows how the rivalry between the three Henries for the kingship of France (pg. 218-244), the murder of Henry of Guise (pg. 377), the work of English Catholic exiles in Rome (pg. 56-68) and several other political strands are all interwoven. In particular, Mattingly explores the ways in which the Spanish, especially through the diplomacy and espionage of Bernardino de Mendoza, manipulated religious and political forces to advance the Enterprise of England (pg. 40, 52, 148).

Homily for the Twenty-Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Today’s Gospel contains, not one, or two, but three parables – including what is one of Jesus’ most well known parables – and yet all three parables are told to make the same essential point: God’s loving mercy is so extravagant, so over-the-top, so crazy even, that He does not wait for us to return to Him, He goes out and finds us when we are lost, and celebrates when He brings us home.

Jesus addresses all of these parables to the Pharisees and scribes who have criticized Him for welcoming and eating with tax collectors and sinners. To the self-righteous Pharisees and scribes, these lost ones were not worthy of Jesus’ attention. Jesus responds to his critics with a question, “What man among you having a hundred sheep, and losing one, would not leave the ninety-nine in the desert and go after the lost one until he finds it?’

The answer, of course, is no one!! This is absolutely crazy! First of all, would the shepherd even be able to recognize that just one of a hundred sheep was missing? And even if he made a count and came up one short, common sense and the simple analysis of cost and benefit would cause the shepherd to stay with the ninety-nine sheep – especially in the desert where there are so many predators and dangers. To lose just one sheep would be considered a very profitable return.

And yet Jesus’ parable assumes the opposite. Jesus says that the shepherd DOES go in search of the one, and when he finds it, he sets it on his shoulders with great joy, and invites his friends and neighbors to celebrate with him when he gets home.

The second parable Jesus tells is similarly absurd. A woman with ten coins – in the Greek, it is clear that they are mere pennies – loses one, and she lights a lamp, and sweeps the house, searching “carefully” for her lost penny. And then, after finding the coin she calls together her friends and says, “Rejoice with me, because I found the coin that was lost.”

What would you think of a neighbor or friend who invited you to a party to celebrate the fact they had found a lost penny in the cushions of the sofa? You would think they were crazy! Who celebrates finding a penny, and what sense does it make to spend so much more than a penny in order to throw a party?

And yet in both cases, Jesus concludes His parable by explaining that they are images of the Heavenly banquet: there will be “more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents” He says, “than over ninety-nine righteous who have no need of repentance.”

Typically, when the Scriptures speak of repentance, there is an understanding that repentance requires a sinner’s decision to return; their choice of conversion. And there is, of course, great truth that understanding. But the parables in today’s Gospel make clear that there is another, even more important movement involved in repentance.

The absurdity of the shepherd who searches for one sheep, and the craziness of the woman who celebrates finding a penny, are meant to shock us into realizing that repentance is a matter of being found by a loving God who searches for the lost, carries them home, and celebrates their return.

Even in our second reading we get a glimpse of this, when St. Paul writes to Timothy: “I have been treated mercifully: the grace of our Lord has been abundant.” Paul knew that he did not effect his own conversion. While he was still lost, still persecuting the Church, God sought him out, and found him, and brought him home.

And so too, it was “while we were still sinners, that Christ died for us, the righteous for the unrighteous.”

This is the proper context in which to interpret the third parable in today’s Gospel. It’s one of the best-known parables in all of the Gospels, and we typically call it the Parable of the Prodigal Son. That’s because the story begins with a younger son who demands his share of the inheritance, and then spends the money recklessly – in a wastefully extravagant way: prodigally.

But the story really isn’t about him! It’s about his father, and the way he responds to his son.

After his life of dissipation and defilement, the son has to hire himself out – making himself a slave, working with unclean swine. And he recons that the pigs have it better than he does! So the son plans to return to his father’s house, and he practices his speech of repentance.

Is he truly repentant, is he really sorry, or is he just desperate? That’s unclear – and for the point of the parable, it doesn’t matter!

The point is that the father, presumably an older man of considerable means, embarrasses himself by running out to meet his son – “while he was still far off,” he welcomes him home.

There is no “I told you so” here. There is no anger at his son’s terribly insulting demand for his share of the inheritance. Instead the father interrupts the son’s confession, kisses him, puts sandals on his feet and puts a ring on his finger and throws a party. The son is not a slave or a servant – and never could be – he is still a beloved child, no matter what he has done.

So it’s truly the father who is prodigal, extravagant, even foolish in the way he shows love and mercy. And as in the parable of the lost sheep, and the lost coin, the lesson is that there is no length to which God will not go to welcome us back to Himself. He goes out to find us, and brings us back to His house. We are not slaves or servants – the Master calls us friends and the Father calls us beloved children.

And in case we still don’t get it, there is yet one more piece of the lesson.

Working in the fields the older son hears that his brother has returned and that his father has thrown a party to celebrate, and he becomes jealous and resentful. He refuses to come into the father’s house – refuses to join the family celebration. The elder son speaks of himself as a servant or slave, not as a son, and he even refuses to refer to his brother, instead calling him “your son.”

And yet what does the father do? Yet again, he humbles himself and goes out to his son. He pleads with him and says: “You are with me always, everything I have is yours.”

Brothers and sisters, we were the lost sheep, the lost coin, the unfaithful child. And yet, when “we were lost and could not find the way” to Him, God’s prodigal mercy and love sent us His only Son to come in search of us; to lay down His life to save us.

The Eucharist we now celebrate is that “joy in heaven,” that “rejoicing among the angels” over us lost ones who have been restored to the Father by the Lord’s sacrificial love. We give thanks for having been given a share in such a prodigal love.

Homily for the Twenty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Some of the harshest words in all of Scripture are found in today’s Gospel.
“If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even their own life, they cannot be my disciple.”

As you might imagine, these words have been the subject of considerable debate and interpretation. It would seem that Jesus could not possibly want us to take this admonition literally, as hating anyone would violate the fundamental message of love that He preaches.

So, many people have tried to temper the word hate, suggesting that “hate” doesn’t really mean hate, but rather means to “love less.” Jesus is trying to say that nothing, not even family, can be allowed to conflict with the disciples’ commitment to Him.

Okay, this sounds like it’s basically correct: Jesus is calling for us to prioritize our following of Him over everything else – makes sense. But why would Jesus go so far as to use the word hate? There must be something else going on here?

Others have suggested that Jesus is speaking about people who give up everything, including a family, to follow Him. And so this saying has been used – I would say misused – as a literal prescription for the way religious, who forgo having spouses and children, would relate to their families. Religious used to be kept from seeing their families and sometimes even kept from returning home for weddings or funerals. But I doubt they ever hated their families!

And in the text itself there’s yet another problem with such an interpretation. Jesus says, “if anyone comes to me” – so this clearly can’t be meant for a specialized path of discipleship. The admonition is clearly addressed to every follower of Christ, all of whom must be prepared for total commitment to Christ. So this explanation also fails to satisfy.

Finally, another interpretation reminds us that early Christians were often hated for becoming followers of Jesus. In this context, the admonition means that a disciple might have to be willing to choose Jesus over their family, and endure their family’s hatred of them for becoming a Christian.

Certainly, this happened quite often in the early Church, and from time to time it happens still today. But doesn’t Jesus make clear that we are to love our enemies? So even if someone had to face being disowned by family because they chose discipleship, they would still be called to love their family, wouldn’t they?

So, in the end, none of these interpretations seem to satisfy – none of them really face head on the fact that Jesus specifically uses the word “hate,” and softening the message just doesn’t work . . . but putting it in context does!!

I think the interpretive key to understanding this reading is found in the very last line of today’s reading. After giving several allegories, Jesus summarizes His point by saying, “anyone who does not renounce all their possessions cannot be my disciple.”

Now this is a theme we are probably accustomed to. Like the Apostles in their fishing boats, or the rich young man, the call to discipleship challenges us to drop everything, to sell our many possessions, and follow Jesus immediately. The radical demands of the Gospel require us to put Jesus and His cross at the center of our lives – putting in a secondary position even “family values and the security of possessions.”

Like the builder and the king in Jesus’ allegories, we need to assess the situation and understand the consequences of our actions and the requirements of our decision before we begin. Discipleship requires something of us: it requires that we renounce all our “possessions” and pick up the cross.

I think it’s fair to say that we are programmed in our culture to believe that our happiness is based on our possessing certain things. The quest for the “American dream” and our advertising culture contribute to our belief that if we have enough money, a big enough house, a perfect family, the respect of coworkers – then we will be happy, when we HAVE these things.

And so our lives become a constant quest to attain and possess. But the dirty little secret is that even after we have, even when we possess, we still aren’t happy. So then what does make us happy?

Most of us would instinctively answer: love. And of course we’re right – precisely because love means forgetting our ego – not worrying about ourselves but thinking of someone else. Love is a giving away, a letting go – of control, of the need for things, of the need to possess. It’s to stop trying to obtain and possess, and to give away. That’s what makes us happy.

Now that certainly sounds right in terms of Jesus’ constant message to us, right? But we still have to connect this understanding of what it means to “renounce possessions” with the admonition we hear earlier in the reading to “hate” our families?

Well, if we think about it for a moment, aren’t we often guilty of making our parents, our spouses, or our children into our possessions! Don’t we turn them into things, by our need to possess and control them in order to make us happy? We can sometimes make the people closest to us little more than extensions of our own egos – mere players in the drama of our self-centeredness. We sometimes think and act as if others are only around to make us happy.

So here’s where “hate” enters in . . . In as much as we have made our spouse, or our children, or any other person into a possession – we need to hate that idol that we have created. There is really no room for compromise on this point; and so hate is not too strong a word.

In as much as we have made our friends and loved ones into THINGS, we need to give them away. And of course, in setting them free is truly loving them! And in that kind of love is our happiness and joy as well.

I think there is some evidence in our second reading for this interpretation I’m suggesting. The Church gives us a section of St. Paul’s Letter to Philemon, to be paired with this Gospel from St. Luke. Paul is writing to Philemon about Onesimus, a slave who escaped Philemon’s household, was converted by Paul, and who served St. Paul when he was imprisoned.

Paul now sends Onesimus back to Philemon saying, “you may have him back forever, no longer as a slave but as more than a slave – as a brother.” Paul had repeatedly taught that in Christ there was no longer slave or free person, but only children of God. Now he asks Philemon to prove the faith he has professed, by treating Onesimus as the brother he has become, rather than the possession he once was.

Philemon must hate Onesimus as a slave or a possession. He must quit his own desire to possess and control, and must set Onesiums free because the disciple of Christ lives and loves selflessly.

Today’s Gospel makes it clear: when Jesus invites us into discipleship, He wants us to first recognize and count the cost of discipleship. Following Him requires us to lose ourselves, to carry our own cross, to give ourselves away and yes, to hate those “things” that we have convinced ourselves we must obtain and control in order to arrive at happiness – even if those “things” are the people we’re striving to love most.

May Christ who “has sent the Holy Spirit from on high” give us the wisdom to count these costs of discipleship and the courage to pick up our cross daily, and follow after Him.

Opening of The School Year Mass

This afternoon I joined a large number of priest faculty and students, and Archbishop Donald Wuerl, in concelebrating Catholic University's Opening of School Year Mass at the Basilica of the National Shrine. The Mass was televised live on EWTN and was followed the annual University Picnic.

The Liturgy was very well attended by the faculty and students of the University who filled the nave pews. After Communion, CUA's incoming President, John Garvey gave an excellent address about the nature of a Catholic University.

Among other things he said that . . .

"The Incarnation is centrally important – to our salvation, of course; but also to our faith; and (more selfishly and closer to home) to the intellectual life of the University. Jesus tells us who God is, how He loves us, and what He wants from us. If we believe in him, then the Gospel is as relevant to the work of the university as the general theory of relativity is to the work of the physics department.

But the Gospel is not just the special concern of the School of Theology and Religious Studies. In my own field of law, our belief in the Gospel affects the way we think about our relationship to the environment; our obligations to immigrant populations; the forms and limits of criminal punishment; the construction and support of families; and our care for the unborn and the dying.

Or think about the English department. Walker Percy and Flannery O’Connor express a very Catholic vision of the world in post-war Southern fiction. Annie Dillard gives us a modern understanding of the message of Ecclesiastes in "For the Time Being." And Dana Gioia, one of our best modern poets and (would that this happened more often) chairman of National Endowment for the Arts for six years, writes that 'the Catholic, literally from birth, when he or she is baptized, is raised in a culture that understands symbols and signs. And it also trains you in understanding the relationship between the visible and the invisible. Consequently, allegory finds its greatest realization in Catholic artists like Dante.'"

(Photo Credits: The Catholic University of America)

Given that, even at Catholic colleges and universities, English departments today are largely wastelands of post-Christian secularism, I was pleased that President Garvey focused on these examples - and he quoted a Laetare Medal winner to boot!

After Mass, Father Terry Ehrman, C.S.C. (who is finishing up his doctorate in theology here at CUA) and I introduced ourselves and congratulated our fellow Domer on his appointment as President. He's already off to a great start.

St. Joseph's Humble Servant

Next month in Rome, Blessed Andre Bessette, C.S.C. will be canonized by Pope Benedict XVI and become the first saint of the Congregation of Holy Cross and the first Canadian-born male saint.

Colombia Magazine, the magazine of the Knights of Columbus has a cover article on Brother Andre this month. Over the next several weeks, I'm sure we'll be seeing more and more articles and reports on this great saint-to-be, and I'll forward along the best of them.

One spot to keep an eye on is the Spes Unica Blog, now moderated by Fr. Drew Gawrych, C.S.C. of our Vocation Office.  There's an article there, as well, by Fr. Steve Lacroix, C.S.C., Fr. Drew's classmate and the new Director of the Old College Seminary Program.  Great work guys!

My Humble Cell

Today marks two weeks since I moved into my new residence at Little Flower Parish. Actually, given the fantastically warm welcome I've received, it feels much longer than that - and it's already starting to feel like home. 

I had promised that I would post some pictures of my room.

When all of my things were boxed up and stacked in the center of the room, I was amazed there was so much stuff. But I knew it would fit, as it all fit in my even smaller room in Old College last year. As you can probably guess from the pictures, it was mainly books!

There are two things in the room that I have not had since I entered Holy Cross in 2000 . . . a TV and my own bathroom! I'm not sure I care about the TV all that much. I don't watch much TV other than sports and I prefer to watch them with other people. I could get used to not having to share a bathroom, however. My classmates marvel that I've shared a bathroom for so long, and they marvel at who I've had to share them with! They tell me this is a life-change you don't go back on!

Upstairs, where the other priests reside, there is a small chapel and guest room.  Also on the first floor is the kitchen,  dining room, and a nice community room, very reminiscent of the room I renovated in the rectory at Holy Redeemer.

Already the best part of the rectory has been the priestly fraternity I've experienced within.  I'm grateful to the men here and am looking forward to the months and years ahead.