Category: Reflection

Well I remember my first Christmas Concert singing with the Chorale of the College of St. Catherine.

Having abandoned all pretense of being a band director by the end of the first semester of my sophomore year in the music department at the College of St. Thomas, I began to intensely focus my musical studies on piano (my major instrument) and voice (my minor instrument). At the beginning of my second semester of my sophomore year, I auditioned and made it into the Chorale of the College of St. Catherine, a mixed SATB choir comprised of women from the College of St. Catherine and men from the College of St. Thomas. I also fell under the influence of Dr. Maurice A Jones, the director of the Chorale. He was the finest professor I have ever had and greatly influenced me as a musician. After I graduated he, became my mentor and friend.

Maurie introduced to me the choral music of some of the greatest composers of the 20^th century. Benjamin Britten, Aaron Copland, Carlo Menotti, Samuel Barber, Gabriel Faure, and Francis Poulenc. He demanded much from his choir and we, in turn, were willing to do anything for him.

My first Christmas Concert singing with the Chorale was held in Our Lady of Victory Chapel on the campus of the College of St. Catherine. Women in black concert dress, men dressed in black tuxedos, we processed from the entrance of the chapel to the sanctuary, women processing on one side of the chapel, men processing on the opposite side. As we processed, we sang an Medieval Latin Trope “Alle Psallite Cum Luya” in a 3 part round. The sound danced about the chapel, the music reverberating off the smooth stone surfaces of the chapel.

All the music of the concert that evening was a cappella, which means unaccompanied by instruments. Within each section of the choir was a person with a pitch pipe from which we would receive our opening pitch. The concert was no more than 45 minutes. Maurie Jones, knowing the limits of an audience, would rather have an audience complain about a concert being too short in duration rather than a concert being too long in duration. “We want to keep them wanting more,” was a favorite saying that Maurie preached to us in choral conducting class.

Among the carols we sang that night, were some common carols, for instance, “Angels We Have Heard On High”. Our breath control was tested to the limit, for Maurie demanded that we sing the “Gloria in excelsis Deo” of the refrain in one breath (try it and see if you can make it to the end without gasping for air). From the Oxford Book of Carols, we sang “Pat-a-Pan”, and “Bring A Torch Jeanette Isabella”.  We sang an arrangement of “Masters In This Hall”, with its resounding refrain “Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel sing we clear! Holpen are all folk on earth, Born is God’s own Son so dear! Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel sing we loud! God today hath poor folk raise and cast a-down the proud!”

The centerpiece of the concert was Francois Poulenc’s “4 Motets pour le temps de Noel” (Four Christmas Motets). We sang three of the four motets: “O magnum mysterium,” “Videntes stellam,” and “Hodie Christus natus est.”

Of those three motets, it was in the first motet, “O magnum mysterium,” that the mystery of the Incarnation of Jesus first impacted my life most profoundly. “O magnum mysterium et admirabile sacramentum ut animalia viderent Dominum natum jacentem in praesepio. Beata Virgo cujus viscera meruerunt portare Dominum Christum. O great mystery and wonderful sacrament that even the animals saw the new-born Lord lying in a manger. Blessed Virgin, whose womb
was worthy to bear our Lord Christ.”

The harmonies evoke within the singer and the listener the mystery of the Incarnation. How Poulenc was able to capture that mystery in music and human voice is wondrous. I feel a chill pass within me upon every hearing of this motet.

We ended the concert as we began. We processed out from the sanctuary to the entry of the chapel singing the Latin chant for Christmas, “Divinum Mysterium”.

Of all my Christmas memories, this perhaps is my favorite music memory. That cold December night in the beautiful chapel of Our Lady of Victory, I encountered the mystery of Jesus in song. My dad recorded that concert on what was a state of the art 3M cassette recorder. Through the hiss on the tape, I can still make out the “Alle Psallite Cum Luya” reverberating through the chapel, and the oh, so mysterious pianissimo opening of “O magnum mysterium” evokes the mystery of which it sings.

 

 

Foreword: This is a short reflection about the Christian state of being, that of being “unsettled,” that I posted this morning on Facebook (being reposted in the form of this blog).

Like very many in our nation, I have been feeling “unsettled.” When one reflects on the Christian faith, feeling unsettled is a feeling Jesus instills in those who follow him. The disciples of Jesus were unsettled, having given up their lives of comfort and complacency in order to follow this itinerant Rabbi. Jesus himself told his followers that he didn’t come to bring unity but division. Images like “baptism of fire”, nobility being cast out while the lowly rise to power, those well fed going without, while the poor and the hungry finally eat and drink to their fill. God takes all of creation, including humanity, and turns it inside out. The prophet, Isaiah, goes on and on about how the normal comfort and complacency of the world gets destroyed by God for a brand new paradigm, the paradigm God intended before humanity under the influence of Sin, mucked it all up. If we are feeling unsettled, then we are in the place we should be as Christian disciples. If we are feeling self-righteous … well, the first couple of phrases of “Santa is coming to town” just might be apropos, “you better watch out, you better not cry.”

 A wonderful prayer written by Francis Brienen expresses this natural way of being Christian.

 “Wilderness is the place of Moses,

a place of no longer captive and not yet free,

of letting go and learning new living.

Wilderness is the place of Elijah,

a place of silence and loneliness,

of awaiting first steps on the path of peace.

Wilderness is the place of John,

a place of repenting,

of taking first steps on the path of peace.

Wilderness is the place of Jesus,

a place of preparation,

of getting ready for the reckless life of faith.

 We thank you, God for the wilderness.

Wilderness is our place.

As we wait for the land of promise,

teach us the ways of new living,

lead us to where we hear your word most clearly,

renew us and clear out the wastelands of our lives,

prepare us for the life in the awareness of Christ’s coming

when the desert will sing

and the wilderness will blossom as the rose.”

In the present presidential race, we are experiencing the populist wave of discontent toward the established political parties in the candidacy of Donald Trump, and to some extent that of Bernie Sanders. Political scientists will acknowledge that populism is inherent to democracy. When a certain percentage of the populace believe that their cries for reform are largely unheard by those elected to office, they will seek a candidate who will challenge the status quo.

The populism of the State of Minnesota led to the election of professional wrestler, “I ain’t got time to bleed” Jessie Ventura, an independent, to the office of governor. The combined ineptitude on the part of Ventura, and the State legislatures’ unwillingness to work with Ventura made this experiment in populism a disaster for the people of Minnesota. I think it is safe to say that the citizens of Minnesota have learned from that huge electoral mistake.

The revolutionary populist movements against established governments can lead to great disasters. Witness the French Revolution in which French populism led to the taking down of the French monarchy, with many of those French nobles and their families executed on the guillotine. However, the hate and bitterness experienced by the nobility of France at the hands of the populists, was then turned in upon the populists themselves as the Reign of Terror continued, and they themselves were then summarily executed. It was said that the streets of Paris ran with the blood from the bodies of the many beheaded corpses. Ironically, the French populist sought refuge from their own carnage by establishing a new monarchy, crowning Napoleon emperor of France.

As in the French Revolution, the populist movements of the 20^th century that overthrew oppressive governments led to even more oppressive and brutal governments. To name just a few, the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917 in Russia that took down the Russian Czars, but replaced it with the totalitarianism of Leninist and later Stalinist Communism. Then there was the populist overthrow of Germany’s Weimar Republic replacing it with the Nazis government of Adolf Hitler. Then there was the rise of Facism with Mussolini in Italy and Franco in Spain. One by one, the terror of one form of government was replaced with a more horrific terror.

The only instance in which populism led to something better was in the American Revolution. Though, we as a nation have had our good and bad times, the establishment of a two party political system, and the checks and balances of the executive, legislative and judicial branches of government has been able to ride out the challenges of unchecked populism. While our democracy is not perfect, is not always just, and is always in need of improvement, it has served the people better than most other governments.

Over the past thirty years, or more, both the Republicans and the Democrats have listened more to the lobbyists than their constituents. This more than any ideology has given rise to the populism that is represented by Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders. If these two political parties wish to survive the threat of imminent and permanent rupture, though this is presently more pronounced for the Republican Party than for the Democratic Party, they must begin to listen in earnest to the grievances of the populist movement. The aggrieved must come away knowing that they have been heard by those in political office and that their voices hold more weight than that of the moneyed interests influencing the Senate and the House of Representatives. This must be followed through by those elected with appropriate action on the behalf of the common good within the constraints of government.

With election day looming closer it seems certain that Donald Trump will be defeated in this election. Those who have pledged blind allegiance to the candidate are vowing to disrupt government even to the point of dismantling the government. The more radical declare an armed revolution, while others opt for a revolution of civil disobedience and noncompliance to all three branches of government.

One could look upon this group of Trump devotees as an angry group of uneducated, white people afraid of losing what is left of their white privilege to people of color. While it is a fact that among them are white racists, brigands, and vigilantes, to castigate the entirety of these devotees as such is as wrong as associating all Latinos with members of the drug cartels, all African Americans with gangbangers, and all Muslims with terrorists. Trump has played upon the fears, real or imagined of this white demographic, and while some have been duped and misled by his rhetoric, they are not all dopes.

If this demographic is guilty of anything, it is the failure to think and to act critically. Instead of educating themselves about the issues, about the candidates, and doing the critical reading and listening that is a requirement of citizens of a democracy, they have abrogated their right and obligation to be educated and placed it on other people and political pundits, largely untrustworthy. This is the easy and painless way to go. To think and to act critically at elections takes a lot of work. To not do so is to be lazy and irresponsible.

The same can be said about how we live our faith life. As people of faith, we are called to think and to act critically on our faith. To think and act critically is not defined as one “criticizing” or “acting in opposition” to our faith. It is to come to know the “why” of our faith. It is coming to know why Jesus is central to everything we believe. It is coming to know why we gather on the Lord’s Day to celebrate the Holy Eucharist. It is coming to know why and what the Church teaches in regard to doctrine and a moral way of life.

Thinking and acting critically on our faith is not blindly following rules and regulations sent down from on high by a hierarchical clergy. It is not living with our “eyes wide shut.” Thinking and acting on our faith requires us to know the why of those rules and regulations and when it might be important to our faith to be at a place in opposition to them. The Church’s teaching of the primacy of conscience is based upon the bedrock of thinking and acting critically on our faith. This is what is meant to have an “informed conscience.”

Stagnancy and complacency are not descriptive adjectives of an active life of faith. A faith that is thought about and acted upon critically can be and is often marked by uncertainty, discomfort, inconvenience, and a restlessness that continually prompts us to do something about it. In our wrestling with our faith and in our restlessness, we find ourselves like Jacob wrestling with the angel of God, and come to a deeper knowledge and trust of the God who is our beginning and our end.

Thinking and acting critically on our faith ultimately leads us to only one certainty in life, and that is God. As the Psalmist writes in Psalm 139,

“LORD, you have probed me, you know me:

you know when I sit and stand,

you understand my thoughts from afar.

You sift through my travels and my rest;

with all my ways you are familiar.

Even before a word is on my tongue,

LORD, you know it all.

Behind and before you encircle me

and rest your hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,

far too lofty for me to reach.

Where can I go from your spirit?

From your presence, where can I flee?

If I ascend to the heavens, you are there;

if I lie down in Sheol, there you are.

If I take the wings of dawn^–

and dwell beyond the sea,

Even there your hand guides me,

your right hand holds me fast. (Ps 139: 1b-10. NAB)

This past week we have heard a presidential candidate in a televised debate call for the imprisonment of his political opponent. Throughout the week, the mobs gathered at his rallies have chanted, “Lock her up!” For those who have studied any American history, this brings to mind the senseless and violent mob justice of American vigilante groups, including the Ku Klux Klan, who executed and burned down all whom they despised and hated. For a presidential candidate to incite a mob to injustice is a criminal miscarriage of justice. In contrast to the nonsensical and hate filled justice of this past week at this candidate’s political rallies, in the Gospel for this Sunday, we encounter the justice of God.

While at a Permanent Diaconate Conference in Milwaukee about 16 years ago, one of the presenters, the auxiliary bishop of Milwaukee, Bishops Sklba, a biblical scholar and professor of scripture, described the justice of God as that which fulfills the intention of God. He used a pencil as an example. In the realm of God’s justice, a pencil is “just” if it fulfills its reason for being created, namely, to write on paper or some other surface. If we follow the Bishop’s definition of the justice of God, humanity is only “just” when we fulfill the reasons for which we were created, namely, to love God with all our heart, with all our mind, with all our strength, and to love our neighbor as ourselves. Jesus, God made human, is the only human being created who has fulfilled God the Father’s intention for humanity. Only Jesus is the full embodiment of Divine Justice.

In spite of our best intentions, collectively as human beings, we fall far short of being the embodiment of God’s justice. Granted, there are those who have dedicated their lives to living as fully God’s intention for humanity. Dorothy Day, Archbishop Oscar Romero, Mother Theresa, Francis of Assisi, Ignatius of Loyola, amongst many others, have sought to embody God’s justice, but have acknowledged either in speech or writing, their inability to fully live the justice of God. In their acknowledgement of their falling short, they, nonetheless, did not give up but aspired and pushed themselves harder to embrace and live the justice of God to the best of their ability.

Toward the end of today’s Gospel, Jesus tells his disciples that the justice of God will come quickly for those who have faith. Jesus follows that statement with the question, “But when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” At the second coming of Jesus, will he find people who aspire to love God with all their heart, with all their mind, and with all their strength, and love their neighbor as themselves?

There are many Christians who have lived under the delusion that the United States was founded on the Christian religion. The truth is that while the Founding Fathers, welcomed Christianity, they also welcome all religious expression. To protect all citizens from religious persecution, the caveat of the Founding Fathers was that no one religion, be it Christian or non-Christian, would dominate or direct the nation. The only “religious” document that had priority was the Constitution of the United States. In the eyes of our Founding Fathers, this document holds the high place over the Torah, The Christian Bible, the Koran and all other religious books.

To live in this environment calls us as Catholic Christians to live counter-culturally. Our starting point to living a full “just” life is the Holy Eucharist. It is within the celebration of the Sunday Eucharist in which we give thanks and praise to our God who created us. It is within the celebration of the Sunday Eucharist in which we encounter in one another the living and breathing presence of God. It is in immersing ourselves fully into this mystery that we are able to begin our aspiration to live God’s justice as fully as we are able. It is in recognizing the presence of God in humanity, as broken and as ugly as we may be, that we abhor the mob mentality of injustice that we have seen this week at Trump’s rallies, while we love the very people who are being incited to violence.

This is what it means to live a “just” life. This is what Jesus is referring to when he asks whether he will find faith when he returns again in glory. Will he find those faithful to living as fully as they are able the Great Commandment of loving God and neighbor? Among whom will we number ourselves, the senseless mentality of mob vigilante justice, or those who embody the justice of God? As in all things, it comes to a personal choice. Following the example of Joshua, the prophets, the saints, and Jesus, I choose God!

As I listened to Fr Dave’s homily this past Sunday, there was one statement he made that had a great deal of impact on me. He noted that in the Gospel, the rich man had no name. Aside from Father Abraham, the only other person in the Gospel that was named was Lazarus, the beggar covered in sores who begged outside the rich man’s house.

I remember Mary Deaner, the Director of Pastoral Ministry at St. Stephen’s in South Minneapolis, telling me one day that one of the greatest gifts that St. Stephen gives to the poor and the homeless that come to the church, was that we knew them by name. I reflected on what she said. The poor and the homeless were not just another nameless statistic in some record book. By knowing their name their humanity was restored to them. Calling them by name reminded them that they were human and that someone cared enough for them to know their name.

The rich man in the Gospel was so self-absorbed, so full of himself, he didn’t need a name because he believed that he would always be remembered for his wealth.  This is reminiscent of Psalm 49, prayed in the Liturgy of the Hours on Tuesday night, week two.

‘This is the lot of those who trust in themselves,

who have others at their beck and call.

Like sheep they are driven to the grave,

where death shall be their shepherd

and the just shall become their rulers.

With the morning their outward show vanishes

and the grave becomes their home.

But God will ransom me from death

and take my soul to himself.

Then do not fear when a man grows rich,

when the glory of his house increases.

He takes nothing with him when he dies,

his glory does not follow him below.

Though he flattered himself while he lived:

“Men will praise me for all my success,”

yet he will go to join his father,

who will never see the light any more.

In his riches, man lacks wisdom:

he is like the beasts that are destroyed.’

However nameless the beggar at his door may have been to the rich man, God knew the beggar’s name. God named him Lazarus, and the love and compassion of God for this sick, suffering, neglected man outside the rich man’s door, gifted him with eternal life in heaven. The rich man was rewarded for his neglect of the beggar by spending eternity in eternal damnation.

What I received from the story was had the rich man knew Lazarus by name and responded to the needs of Lazarus, the nameless rich man would have been named and standing by the side of Father Abraham along with Lazarus. Because he willfully neglected Lazarus, the rich man became just one of many nameless souls suffering eternal torment.

Who are the Lazarus’ in our lives? Who are those poor souls around us who are the nameless, and the forgotten in our midst? Do we treat them with the same fear and the same neglect as the rich man treated Lazarus in the Gospel? If the great commandment of Jesus to love God and love neighbor does not compel us to act on behalf of the nameless and the powerless in our society, will the fear of eternal damnation compel us? If, in our society, we are one with the rich man and look upon the plight of the poor and the nameless and adopt the attitude of “I just don’t give a damn,” we may just find that our “not giving a damn,” will become our own self-fulfilling prophecy.

 

 

What do we value the most in our lives? There will be a variety of answers to that question ranging from wealth, possessions, security, health, freedom, relationships with family, and so forth. I, personally, think the answer to the question is the word, “control.” To have wealth and possessions, to have health, to have freedom gives us control to do that which we want to do, to fulfill our every whim. Control is what we want, and when we do not have control, we feel our lives suffer.

In the second reading, we hear of St. Paul’s imprisonment. This vital man, one who traveled extensively has completely lost control of his life. If we listen between the lines of Paul’s words, Jesus’ haunting words to Peter in the epilogue of John’s Gospel can be heard. “Amen, amen, I say to you, when you were younger, you used to dress yourself and go where you wanted; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” Knowing full well that he would never walk out of that prison cell as a free man, Paul, nonetheless shows no despondency. He sounds content. Why?

Paul knows that the real question in life is not that which we value the most. Rather, the real question in life is what is upon what foundation upon are our lives built? Jesus tells us in the Gospel that Paul has built his life on a foundation that will never collapse. Paul has built his life upon the foundation of the One who created him, namely, God.

In a nation where one’s success is judged primarily on how much money one earns, how much property one owns, how many possessions one owns, it would seem that Jesus’ words would be falling on deaf ears. It matters not what side of the political aisle to which one adheres. We, as a nation, hear relentlessly the propaganda of prosperity as the only means by which one is able to gauge success and by which we can control our lives. The commercials that assail us throughout the day on our radios, televisions, tablets and cell phones, the insane promises of political candidates, entertainments, everything hammers this message without mercy.

Even when it comes to education, perhaps one of the most valuable commodities that society can offer a citizen, we are told that the foundation of education is not to expand our knowledge and of the world, or to better our lives more fully. We are told to be educated so that we can earn more money than the next person, to advance ourselves to a higher economic level within our society, to gain control. The whole notion of a “college liberal arts education” is scoffed at and ridiculed by the wealth chasers of our society.

At the present, with wealth and the acquisition of wealth as the only goal in life, our nation’s foundation is built on nothing more solid than quicksand. How well do the words from the Book of Wisdom described the situation in which we are living. “For the deliberations of mortals are timid, and unsure are our plans. For the corruptible body burdens the soul and the earthen shelter weighs down the mind that has many concerns.”

So Jesus is asking us to examine very carefully upon what are we basing our lives. What is the foundation of our lives? This is a very pertinent question if we are to be a disciple of Jesus. If our lives are based only upon that which our world recommends, then we will be incapable of being a disciple of Jesus. All the propaganda of wealth, security, possessions will not advance us as disciples of Jesus. In fact, if our sole attention is spent pursuing those ends, then our progress to be disciples of Jesus will be impeded.

Throughout all four Gospels, we are told by Jesus that if we are to be his disciples we must travel lightly and be willing to hand the control of our lives over to God. He tells us to jettison all that will impede our travel. If we have luggage, how much junk of our world have we packed into that luggage? If we insist on carrying our luggage as we follow Jesus, we will lag behind Jesus and, eventually, be left behind. How are we to get into heaven if we all the stuff by which we keep control of our lives is weighing us down?

If wealth is weighing us down, get rid of it. If security is weighing us down, get rid of it. If our possessions are weighing us down, get rid of it. Even if our personal relationships are weighing us down, get rid of them. If God is truly the foundation upon whom our lives are built, then, all we need to carry to follow Jesus is our cross, and, like St. Paul leave the rest to God.

 

 

Glass butterfly wind chime Ruthie gave to me on August 12, 2011, my birthday, the day the orthopedic surgeon had to remove my first artificial hip because of a deadly MRSA infection.

I posted this message on Facebook this morning.

“First day home. It is both wonderful and incredibly scary to come home from the hospital. There are worries surrounding getting into the car, getting out of the car, walking from the car to the house, getting up the steps, and, then, what to do once you get into the house. Of course, generally, there is nothing about which to worry, but somehow life would not seem normal without it. Ruthie provides for me such a safe, comfortable environment and in the midst of worry I fail to appreciate it. I was wondering why I was a bit of an incorrigible asshole last evening and found at its roots the horrifying memories of 2011 and a MRSA infection, a visceral reaction to something that happened a long time ago. There are some things we just don’t forget that get locked into our memory and body memory. I apologized profusely to my beloved Ruth and thanked her for putting up with my sorry ass. Thankfully, reason does win out and stupid fears are put to rest.”

As a pastoral minister, I share in the joys, the hardships, and the tragedies that accompany people in life. While my role is to support others, there is such a thing as role reversal, when the one who provides support is the one most desperately in need of support. The visceral memory of August 12, 2011 is one of those memories that will never go away. Along with the horror of that past, are also the memories of tremendous support. The first starting with that wind chime that my beloved, Ruth, gave me on my birthday. As I was wheeled up to that hospital room, ironically the same room in which I spent these past few post-operative days following my right knee replacement, I saw the wind chime hanging from the trapeze apparatus that was above my hospital bed. Multi-colored glass butterflies, symbol of the Resurrection, new hope and new life, greeted me as I was moved from the surgical gurney to the hospital bed. And, of course, there was my beautiful Ruth, smiling and kissing me as I tried to grapple with the uncertain future of my new condition.

In the days that followed, I remember an aide, arms carrying two large brown paper grocery bags, filled with get well cards. “Just who are you?” he asked as he placed the two bags on the hospital bed side table. “No one ever gets this much mail!” Later, as I spent two to three weeks at the former Queen of Peace Hospital in a swing bed, learning how to hop properly (yes, there are proper and improper ways of hopping) and building up an endurance to hop 100 feet, my daughter Beth took this picture of this perennial  beautiful red Hibiscus blooming next to the bird bath in our front yard. I had this picture as the wallpaper on both my cell phone and computer for the next couple of years. There was something about that picture that gave me a much needed lift in a very dark and foreboding time in my life.

At times, like yesterday evening, when worry and uncertainty clouds the mind, and the best one can say of another is, “he is being a reprehensible, unreasonable butthead,” it is hard to see the hope and the promise that lays beyond the immediate situation. I have written about having to pass through darkness in order to find light. By faith we know that it was only passing through the darkness and misery of his passion and death, that Jesus was able to rise from the dead. We know this by faith but sometimes preclude that that was something only applicable to Jesus and not to ourselves. Whether one believes in Jesus or not, or even whether one believes in God or not, the passage through darkness to light is a part of every human’s life. No one is exempt from this passage, Christian, Jew, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Atheist alike.

Sometimes, all that it takes to see beyond the immediate darkness is something very simple, a glass butterfly wind chime, two big grocery bags of get well cards, or a blooming bright red hibiscus blossom. While not an end unto themselves, these simple objects point us to that ultimate light which will fulfill all, a God who loves us into eternity.

Many of us, especially as we age, are in a constant search for our humanity. It seems that as we get older we equate what it means to be human to that which we once did when we were young. The time and money in advertisements offering the qualities of life that once had been ours in our youth, whether it be eliminating the sagging of skin on one’s body, or revitalize former sexual functions is enormous.

At the typical viewing of an NFL football game one cannot begin to count the number of erectile dysfunction commercials, whether it be Viagara or Ciales, on both hands … we run out of fingers (if only our hands were larger). Then there are those manufacturers that market everything from skin lotions and creams to smooth out the wrinkles on one’s face and body, to hair replacement clinics, and plastic surgery to eliminate the scars and stretch marks and other sagging tissue from pregnancy to over eating. How will this constant human pursuit of the fountain of youth in the form of chemicals and plastic surgery ever measure up to the quality of being truly human? Will any of these pursuits increase our humanness? I think not.

In the second reading today, Paul tells the Collosian community to NOT put on their old self, but rather to put on their NEW self. Fr. Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, in his masterpiece, “Becoming Human Together”, speaks of St. Paul’s idea of anthropology. In the cosmic schema of St. Paul, there is the epic of Adam and the epic of Jesus, the New Adam. The epic of Adam is that of humanity of the first creation cursed and tainted by Sin prior to Jesus. This is human life marked by self-centeredness, greed, hate, and violence. Paul calls this kind of human existence “sub-human.”

The Epic of Jesus is the new creation, one in which humanity is recreated into what God meant humanity to be before the Sin of the first parents. Jesus is the new Adam free from sin. To truly be Human, life is lived for others in love and compassion. We look to Jesus to see and experience what it means to be really human.

Paul is telling the Collosian community that to put on their old self is to slip back into living a sub-human state of life. They have been baptized, it is time now to live truly “Human lives.”

The same is addressed in the gospel. It is not the things of the “old self” that are ultimately the most important. Wealth, security, power are not treasures that are long lasting but are fleeting.  As this is expressed very well in the first reading, “Vanity of Vanities. All things are vanity. “If our entire life is focused on on these pursuits, we spend our lives chasing after emptiness.

Rather Jesus is telling us to focus on the treasures that are everlasting, the things of heaven. It is love and compassion, the focusing our efforts and attentions on God and on others that is the true treasure of heaven. Everything that we have in life, including the graces we have received, are to be shared with others. It is there where true happiness will be found.

Like it or not, we all eventually realize that to attempt to go back to the bodies, and the libidos of what we once had in our youth, is a waste of time and effort. As we get older, let us put aside all that marks our “old selves” and focus on putting on our “new selves”, that which will last forever.