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Less, Not More

29/7/2022

A Reflection on the Gospel for July 31st, 2022:
Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Luke
12.13-21

Someone in the crowd said to Jesus, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” But Jesus said to him, “Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?”

And Jesus said to the crowd, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.”

Then Jesus told them a parable: “The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.”’

“But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”

It seems to me that if we have to be ready to go at any time, we’d be better off with less to carry, not more.

It’s so easy for me to slip into this mindset of “more is more.” I love being comfortable, and I associate that with accumulating stuff. After a recent apartment move that coincided with some personal turmoil, I found myself trying to deal with the stress and discomfort by scouring furniture websites for the perfect items. If I could just have that couch, this rug, and those matching table lamps, I was convinced that I’d feel better – at rest, comfortable, and finally able to relax.

Having an abundance of possessions was supposed to make me feel at ease. Instead, I found that once I’d decked out my apartment with new furniture, I wasn’t content. I started searching again. This time, if I could only have the perfect assortment of houseplants to complement the new couch, I’d finally be able to rest easy…

You get the picture. There really is no end to accumulation…no “perfect” state where I’ll feel exactly comfortable. There’s only “more and more and more” and an increasing state of dissatisfaction as the end-goal – perfect comfort, security and ease – always slips one step further away.

God’s words have an urgency. “You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you” (italics mine). Our call to go, in whatever way, shape, or form, could be as soon as tonight, not some far-off day in the future. And my sense is that greed and accumulation of wealth and possessions not only makes it difficult for us to drop everything and go, but also difficult to hear God’s call. Complicating things, we live in a world of easy greed – we’re encouraged to build larger barns and lay up ample goods for many years, and it’s easy to do (especially with the siren call of online shopping). It makes sense that movements like minimalism are rising up in response to this oversaturation of superficial abundance. If God’s call to me is a final one, obviously I won’t be able to carry physical possessions. But even if it’s a vocational or spiritual call, I’ll still be better served – and better able to serve – if my only attachments are to my Lord, rather than my couch and my table lamps.

I need to be ready to travel lightly. That means learning to live with discomfort and uncertainty — yes, to tolerate not knowing, and not being fully in control of my life and my surroundings. Only in God will I find the perfect comfort, security, and peace that I strive so desperately to create in my life. And God will provide. I need only trust, and be ready.

Kim Tan

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Exposed

28/7/2022

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A Reflection on the Second Reading for July 31st, 2022:
Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Colossians
3.1-15, 9-11

Brothers and sisters: If you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.

Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth, for you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life is revealed, then you also will be revealed with him in glory.

Put to death, therefore, whatever in you is earthly: fornication, impurity, passion, evil desire, and greed, which is idolatry.

Do not lie to one another, seeing that you have stripped off the old self with its practices and have clothed yourselves with the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge according to the image of its creator.

In that renewal there is no longer Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and free; but Christ is all and in all!

Maturity is hard. There’s no way to sugar coat it. Even though Saint Paul writes about the maturation process beautifully and with conviction, make no mistake: it was hard for him, too. Every single one of us has weaknesses — Achilles’ heels. Saints don’t become saints without obstacles to overcome. If their lives were merely a series of clouds that they floated between from birth to death, they would not have had the opportunity to enact their surrender to God’s will — the opportunity to marry their wills to His in turning away from the darkness and grasping for the Light.

The lives of saints are riddled with struggle: illness, persecution, poverty, and desire. They all gave in to these struggles at times. When the rubber hit the road, though, they made their ultimate destiny God’s eternal embrace: the road to victory, a freedom like no other, and, also, a series of prayerful, difficult choices made one small step at a time.

I personally stumble clumsily through this process as I attempt to walk a path of integrity and holiness. My Achilles’ heel is passion. Passion leads me into a number of areas of sinfulness when I act on it impulsively, but it can also lead me into places of great good. The tricky part for me is in discerning when the passion is leading me to goodness, and when it is leading me into darkness. More often than not, I see my error in hindsight, but as I come to know myself more — as I come to prayer more — I am learning to see passion stirring within me before it spills out all over the place and makes a terrible mess.

This is not a maturation I’ve come to by way of my own stellar volition — it is coming to me slowly each time I allow my passion to spill out, bounce off someone else, and then find myself facing the difficult task of attempting to clean up the mess I’ve made. I believe the precise moment I experience the greatest growth is in the merciful response of God and the way the one I’ve hurt receives my apology. It is their heart that converts mine. It is the love of God, present in the confessional or in the hearts of others, that heals me and challenges me to do better. And it is God’s great goodness received in prayer that provides me with the courage to face the other in honesty and repentance.

Saint Paul says, “Do not lie to one another, seeing that you have stripped off the old self with its practices and have clothed yourselves with the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge according to the image of its creator.” Prayer reveals God’s knowledge of my sin and renews me in His image — the image I was created in, that I have fallen away from, and that He continually calls me back to.

My prayer today is that we may all come to live so authentically that we refuse to hide our sinful tendencies, but instead continually expose them to the Light so that He might release us into the freedom of true Love. Amen.

Lori MacDonald

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27/7/2022

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A Reflection on the Psalm for July 31st, 2022:
Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Psalm 90

R. Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.

You turn man back to dust, and say, “Turn back, you children of Adam.” For a thousand years in your sight are like yesterday when it is past, or like a watch in the night.

R. Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.

You sweep them away; they are like a dream, like grass that is renewed in the morning; in the morning it flourishes and is renewed; in the evening it fades and withers.

R. Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.

So teach us to count our days that we may gain a wise heart. Turn, O Lord! How long? Have compassion on your servants!

R. Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.

Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love, so that we may rejoice and be glad all our days. Let the favour of the Lord our God be upon us, and prosper for us the work of our hands.

R. Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.

Several years ago, my father sold our family home. I had lived in that house since I was two years old. It was the only home my younger brother knew. It was in a great neighbourhood with mature tree-lined streets, great neighbours, good schools nearby, and all kinds of amenities within walking distance. But my father was getting older and could not maintain the house to the standard he desired. I was not in a position to care for it to his standards, nor was I in a position to purchase the house from him. So, sadly, it was sold. So many memories! Our family mourned the loss. But just because our family home was no longer, that did not mean our family was no longer. We were and are still family because…

Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.

For several years now I have been a part of a team of people who have walked with communities as they’ve said good-bye to their parish home. It is a hard thing to lose one’s church. The parish I grew up in no longer exists – literally. The church building was torn down and a shiny new apartment building now sits in its place. It was hard to come together with the neighbouring parish communities (who also lost their churches) to form something new. Or, rather, to renew what would become our church. Because this community of believers continued to exist in the midst of losing their “homes,” it evolved and grew. The losses of buildings and people were mourned. But the community still believed because…

Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.

Growing up, when I was being belligerent (verging on bratty!) about doing something, I would feign the excuse, “I’ll do it later.” My mother would respond, “Listen, there will never be another May 12, 1985!” – or whatever the date was at the time I was being uncooperative. She was teaching me the value of time. We don’t get time back. It moves forward with or without us. This lesson has stuck with me. While time keeps moving, there is one thing that remains constant: our God. Regardless of the twists and turns of life – moving houses or churches, living through a pandemic, witnessing war, injustice, or violence – we can find hope, and the courage and strength, to keep going when we root ourselves in our home: our Triune God. When I get lost, I can find my way back to Him, where He awaits me. To give me rest. To give me nourishment. To give me love. To give me a home. In this rootedness we are able to take risks, be bold, dream dreams, and truly discover who God made us to be. God is our sense of home, even when at times we lose a sense of home, because…

Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.

Aurea Sadi

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The Gift of Hope

26/7/2022

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A Reflection on the First Reading for July 31st, 2022:
Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Ecclesiastes
1.2; 2.21-23

Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher,
vanity of vanities! All is vanity.

Sometimes one who had toiled with wisdom and knowledge and skill
must leave it all to be enjoyed by another
who did not toil for it.
This also is a vanity and a great evil.

What does a person get from all their toil and strain,
their toil under the sun?
for their days are full of pain,
and their work a vexation;
even at night their mind does not rest.
This is all vanity.

I’ve written about hope here before: about misplaced hope, and the virtue of true hope. I admit, this now seems rather neat and tidy – as if exercising true hope is something as simple as choosing to do so. Since the time that piece was written, I’ve come back to and clung to those words. But they were written by an earlier me whose hope was never truly challenged.

In Ecclesiastes, the term vanity implies meaninglessness. Today I wrestled with the thought: where is the line that one crosses to reach that point? When does that hope, that ability to resist the futility that can sometimes press so unceasingly in life, disappear?

Depression is a reality that needs to be treated with care, attention and accompaniment. But it’s not always a tragic event or a mental health crisis that causes us to reach this point. Any seemingly regular person can have a moment of realization that the world’s problems are overwhelmingly unsolvable, despite their striving to make the world, themselves, or their circumstances better. Even the good we experience can leave us feeling empty – wisdom, knowledge, and skill; food and drink; enjoyment and companionship.

This realization might cause a number of reactions: panic, anxiety, anger, disengagement, disillusionment, depression, despair. We can’t deny there’s an epidemic of these conditions in society. Many of us are not far from today’s writer of Ecclesiastes, even if we don’t recognize it.

When my hope was first challenged, I panicked. What was happening to my faith? Did I even have any? Why couldn’t I just stand aright on the promises Christ gave to me? What did it mean to believe, and would I continue to believe if things didn't turn out okay?

I’ve since come to realize this questioning was not something to be afraid of. God is beginning to deconstruct my “faith” for a truer, stronger version, by peeling back layers of misplaced hope: destroying my false understandings of identity and worth, and annihilating my illusions of security, control and self-sufficiency.

Hope is one of the three theological virtues, along with faith and charity. What I missed about hope as a theological virtue is that it is infused into a person by Divine Grace. It is a gift; it can’t be forced by sheer will or human effort. Hope must be asked for, prayed for, and openly received. God is removing the barriers that impede me from receiving it. The process may be painful, but in my heart of hearts, I am grateful for it.

In 2020, Father James Mallon visited our parish to lead our yearly mission. He reminded us that while both humans and all of creation were created good, everything is subject to the effects of the original sin of Adam and Eve. We must accept that we live in a fallen world, a sort of state of “futility.” If we cannot, we will find ourselves like the writer of Ecclesiastes – in despair, the opposite of hope.

Our hope cannot be dependent on seeing the results we want. We cannot find it by consuming or engaging with the created good in the world. It can’t rest on how we feel or what happens to us, or be guaranteed by our own efforts. I am learning to hope in Him. The more I surrender to this, the more I am at peace.

“For the creation was subjected to futility [...] in hope that creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. [...] Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” (Romans 8.20-21, 24-25)

Michelynne Gomez

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Less, Not More

A Reflection on the Gospel for July 31st, 2022:​Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

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A Reflection on the Second Reading for July 31st, 2022:​Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

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A Reflection on the Psalm for July 31st, 2022:​Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

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A Reflection on the First Reading for July 31st, 2022:​Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

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A Reflection on the Gospel for July 31st, 2022:
Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

A Reflection on the Second Reading for July 31st, 2022:
Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

A Reflection on the Psalm for July 31st, 2022:
Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

A Reflection on the First Reading for July 31st, 2022:
Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time