LIFE IN CHRIST

"I have been crucified with Christ, and the life I live now is not my own; Christ is living in me. I still live my human life, but it is a life of faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." - Galatians 2:19b-20

Private Loins: an Ash Wednesday Tale

Private Loins

Not just another dating service, but much, much more.

The bright pink billboard glared at Agnes through the windshield as she waited at the stoplight:

“Spouse giving you the cold shoulder?

Call P-R-V-A-T-L-O-I-N-S.

Not just another dating service, but much, much more!”

Yeah, sure it is.

The light turned green. Agnes squeezed the steering wheel and accelerated.

What the hell do marketing agents know about love?

Less than an hour earlier, Agnes had winced at the face in the mirror as she made herself ready for work. Despite expensive creams, facials, and nutrition supplements, aging was inevitable. Perimenopause was just the first faltering step down a dismal road. She felt unattractive. Anxious. Uncertain.

Her husband, Tom, had certainly noticed. No, he hadn’t said anything. But she could tell he had grown tired of her. She was tired of herself. She was tired of what she had become in the years since high school and those days when she made Tom’s heart throb mercilessly. Now, that throb wasn’t even a faint pulse. Agnes clung desperately to memories of youth and romance, and Tom was unsympathetic. Maybe that ridiculous advertisement was his idea. Wouldn’t that just take the cake?

Agnes flipped on the radio hoping to catch a traffic update. Instead, she heard a slick jingle and giddy adult banter:

Make no mistake—love is for lovers. Let love and happiness happen for you with Private Loins. Don’t live with regret. Put the bang back in your love life! Call Private Loins today!

Agnes arrived at the bank and pulled into the employee lot. She took her cell phone from her purse and punched the buttons impulsively.  Then, just as suddenly, she hit “cancel” and put the phone back in her purse.

Not today. Ash Wednesday. Not exactly the way to begin the Lenten Season. She got out of her car and went inside.

Agnes took an early lunch break and drove to her parish church for Mass. The priest, an old, cantankerous sort, preached on death and Hell. Exactly what Agnes didn’t want to hear. She reached in her purse to make sure her phone was in silent mode. Private Loins came to mind. The priest ranted on.

After sucking the good news out of the Gospel, the good Father descended the steps of the sanctuary to distribute the ashes. Pale and unevenly shaven, he seemed in a hurry to get through the ritual. When Agnes reached the front of the line and stepped forward to receive the ashes, he made no eye contact. Instead, he stared into the small brass bowl of soot, pressed his thumb firmly into the grit and lifted it to her forehead. Agnes started to back up, but too late. She felt ashes falling on her face and nose as the priest etched a cross on her forehead. His breath reeked of garlic.

“Remember, thou are dust, and to dust thou shall return.”

Agnes hesitated. The priest raised his eyes only to glance behind her as he motioned with a blackened thumb for her to move on.

“That’s all there is,” he said, not looking at her.

She returned to her pew feeling empty. The priest’s words stung: That’s all there is. 

       After the recitation of the Our Father, Agnes checked her watch. She had enough time to grab a bite. She knew she should stay for Communion. But today was different. Thou art dust and to dust thou shall return . . . That’s all there is. The priest’s words confirmed her fears. Perhaps he was right. What if this is all there is? She picked up her purse and left the church.

Agnes stopped at a fast-food place a few blocks from the bank. As she got out of her car, she saw another billboard for Private Loins. When she stepped inside the restaurant, the familiar Private Loins radio ad was playing over the PA.  Agnes wasn’t superstitious, but this seemed more than coincidental.  She scarfed down a fried fish sandwich with slaw and sucked a diet cola dry. Then she hurried back to her car.  She put the key in the ignition and fastened her seatbelt. She reached for the shift but changed her mind. She took her phone from her purse and dialed.

Agnes knew this was wrong. But she was thirsty for love. Her cycles of ovulation had become irregular. Hormones were ruling her life.  Her gynecologist had warned her that surges of testosterone could cause her libido to spike.  It even makes some women in their forties want younger men—the cougar syndrome. Hell, it had happened to her best friend. After getting a divorce, the woman installed an exercise pole in her house. Exercise for what? It was the kind of thing one would expect to see in one of the local strip clubs such as the Exotic Erotica—not in the living room of a brick bi-level on a cul-de-sac.

Now here was Agnes, the good Catholic girl from St. Dymphna's Parish, calling Private Loins.

“Thank you for calling Private Loins. Your call is very important. Please stay on the line. An operator will be with you soon to make love happen for you.”

A familiar Private Loins radio ad played, with a man and woman finishing each other’s sentences.

Agnes touched up her lipstick and eyeliner in the rearview mirror. Damned crow’s feet. What else did her future hold?  Tufts of facial hair? Psoriasis? Osteoporosis, arthritis, incontinence? Adult diapers? Male pattern baldness?

The recording droned on, and Agnes tuned it out. She heard another voice, a taunting voice from inside herself.

Your husband doesn’t love you. You’re unattractive. No one hits on you any more. No one even looks twice at you. Why should they?

All the feelings of rejection that had pushed her to this point piled on. What was her purpose in life?  Twenty-five years of career dedication took her from the steno pool to the executive suite. But the corner office meant nothing to her now. She was a failure. A jumbled mess of panic attacks, hot flashes, and self-doubt.

My eggs are dying! No wonder you sleep with a stuffed bear. A stuffed bear! You get more comfort from a damned stuffed bear than you do from your husband.

She recalled the night before, when she had gone to bed weeping.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, Tom. I just need you to be more . . . more understanding.”

“Of what?” Tom mumbled into his pillow.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Agnes whimpered.

“No, I guess I don’t,” Tom sighed, fluffing his pillow.

Agnes turned toward him.

“Won’t you just hold me?”  

He sighed again.

“Tom, you only hold me when you want to have sex.”

“I suppose so,” he said, with a slight snicker.

“You men are all the same.”

“Do you want to . . . ?”

“No! Are you stupid?”

“I’m male, so I guess the answer is yes.”

“Can’t you see what’s happening to me? I have no libido. And you only want me when I am ovulating. You men must smell pheromones.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I saw something about that on TV.”

“Never mind my migraine headaches, bloating, swollen breasts, food cravings, fatigue, and aching joints.”

“I like your breasts.”

“That does it.”

She turned and scooted to the edge of the mattress.

“Just leave me alone.”

Did she really need to tell him that? He hadn’t made love to her in so long . . . 

Thank you for waiting. A Private Loins operator will be with you soon. Love will happen for you.

Agnes wondered how much longer she would have to wait.  No matter. She was in this for good.  She wouldn’t have to do this if Tom would only pay some attention to her. Why doesn’t he? Maybe he has something going with someone else. That would explain things. He’s probably getting his needs met elsewhere. Maybe from the women he works with. Maybe that young one, Maria. Or maybe his sister-in-law’s cousins. Twenty-something hotties. Yes. No wonder he’s been working late and having to go out of town on business. It’s hanky-panky. Well, time for Tom to see who the real hottie is. Time for him to get a taste of . . .

“Private Loins. Love is on your way. This is Heather. Thank you for holding.”

The voice was young, sweet, sexy. 

Agnes tried to speak, but she felt as if her mouth were frozen.

“Hello, this is Private Loins. May I help you?”

“Do you think I’m making the right decision?” Agnes whispered.

Heather waited a moment before answering.

“You tell me.”

“My husband isn’t—he doesn’t seem interested in me anymore.”

“When’s the last time the two of you made love?”

“I really don’t remember.”

Agnes was thinking about an article she had read about the physical changes men and women go through and how it can affect a relationship. For men, a drop in testosterone level can lead to a crisis of identity.  A guy may go out and buy a sports car, quit his job, even leave his family . . . all in an attempt to regain his manhood. 

“Ma’am, are you there?”

Then it dawned on Agnes.

My God, Tom’s been at the advertising agency 20 years with no promotion. He’s lost his creativity, he’s been denied recognition, and he’s continually seeking his father’s approval.

“Oh, it's him, not me,” Agnes said as she took the phone away from her ear and ended the call. She felt a sudden urge to talk to Tom and dialed his mobile number. It rang a dozen times. No answer.

It figures.

When Agnes arrived at home that evening, Tom was sitting in the family room, watching television. 

 “I called your cell phone three times today, but you didn’t answer. What’s up with that?”

“I lost my phone. I think it might be at the office.”

“Uh huh. Did you go to Mass?”

Agnes approached Tom’s chair, but he had yet to look at her.

“No, I didn’t have time,” he answered, focused on the TV.

“I didn’t think so. I don’t see any ashes on your forehead.”

“Oh, yeah, guess so.” He looked at Agnes. “You have enough for the both of us. Did he dump the bowl on your head?”

“No, but for all I care, he could have.”

“You okay?” Tom turned his gaze back to the TV. “You look tired.”

“What do you care?” Agnes raised her voice.

“I’m watching the news here. That damned war in Iraq was one big mistake.”

“Yeah, well, so was marrying you,” Agnes snapped.

“What in the hell does that mean?”

Tom squeezed the TV remote to mute the volume. He glared at Agnes.

“You were working late with that Maria chick,” Agnes said, with a lump in her throat.

“What?” Tom laughed. He turned his eyes back to the television.

“You heard me. I’ve seen how you ogle her sickly figure and I've heard that ridiculous little giggle of hers. She laughs at all your jokes.” Agnes exhaled loudly through her nostrils. “She’s infatuated with you, you know.”

“That’s not true,” Tom laughed.

“Well, then, you’re infatuated with her.”

“She’s twenty years old!” Tom turned toward Agnes again. “And she’s engaged.”

“So? She’s young and sweet. It wouldn’t be the first time an engagement was broken.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tom pointed the remote at the television and clicked it off.

“You’re not implying—”

“You are so good.”

“What? What are you saying?” Tom sat up straight in the recliner.

“You tell me.”

Agnes’ hands were on her hips at this point.

“What’d I do?” Tom shrugged and raised his hands.

“You didn’t answer your phone.”

“I told you, I’ve misplaced it or lost it.”

“Then I guess you and your mistress, Maria, were carrying on.” Agnes turned and walked to the kitchen. She shuffled some mail on the kitchen counter.

“Mistress?” Tom stood. “One woman is enough!”

“Well, I suppose it’s Maria, isn’t it?  I remember those three days she picked you up for work and brought you home. You were giddy as a school boy.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “My car was in the shop and you needed the van to drive the kids. Remember?”

“Oh, that was all too convenient, wasn’t it?”

Agnes leaned against the counter and Tom shook his head.

“Agnes, I have no idea what the hell you are getting at.”

“Your car was not in the shop for three days. Just tell me the truth and get it over with.”

“Tell you what?” Tom stepped towards her.

“Why didn’t you answer your cell phone?”

“I told you. I misplaced it. I had it this morning, but I couldn’t find it after lunch.”

“Well, just maybe, if I call it, Maria will answer.”

“Very funny.”

“Just watch your TV,” Agnes carped.

Tom turned the television on again and sat.

Agnes snatched the home phone from its cradle on the kitchen counter and dialed Tom’s mobile number. It rang three times. A woman answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” Agnes replied, narrowing her eyes as she glared at her husband. “Is this Tom?”

“No, this is Tom’s phone. Who is this?”

“This is Agnes. Tom’s wife.”

“Oh, hi, Agnes. I should have recognized the number. This is Maria at the agency. Believe it or not, I was about to call Tom to tell him I found his cell phone.”

“Well, how’s that for a coincidence?”

Maria laughed.

“Who is it?” Tom asked from his easy chair.

“It’s Maria,” Agnes sang, pulling the phone away from her face. “She has your phone.”

“Oh, good. See, I told you I left it at work. Just ask Maria to leave it on my desk and I’ll get it in the morning.”

“Here,” Agnes harrumphed, handing the phone to him like it was a dead mouse. “You tell her yourself. I have things to do.”

Tom took the phone. “Maria, I'm sorry. My wife’s going through the change or something.”

Agnes climbed the stairs and walked to the bathroom at the end of the hall. She wetted a washcloth and wiped the ashes from her face. The she went into the bedroom, locked the door behind her, and took out her cell phone.

P-R-V-A-T-L. . . .

Independence Day! 

Yet are we not, as believers, totally dependent upon God for our very existence? 

When Christ called us to follow Him we agreed to a radical dependence! A total reliance on God and one another, for he sends His disciples out two by two.

But I ask: Do we truly recognize our dependence upon God? Are we Americans first, then followers of the Gospel? Which messengers are we following? FOX, MSNBC, the National Enquirer, Cosmopolitan – or Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John?

The world says that the more we have, then the better off we are! The world says to consume and use whatever we can to make a name for ourselves. If I can just get that new car or a bigger house or whatever it is, then I’ll be somebody! 

Advertisers spend billions of dollars every year telling us that we need their products to make us acceptable and help us achieve more! Right? Isn’t that right?

But Jesus tells us today to live simply and not be weighed down with all that extra stuff and not allow our possessions to possess us! So maybe that’s the whole point of the gospel message – that we have become so independent-minded, that we are actually too dependent upon the wrong things and not dependent enough on God.

Christ commands us to live radically simple lives, relying less on things, and relying more on Him and one another; not asserting so much our independence as our interdependence upon one another.

This means that we cannot live simply or only as Americans or citizens of the U.S., though that we are, but our worldview must be focused on the Cross of Christ! Christ’s worldview turns the world’s view upside down.

So I ask are we Catholics first, then Americans, or have we allowed American values to dictate what parts of the gospel we like and discard what doesn’t seem to fit our political agenda?

Christ calls all people to himself. And so has the United States in her history. 

Can we imagine what it would be to leave everything we know, leaving our native land and immigrating here with a different language? The people that made the journey to the United States often had little more than a dream in their heart and a hole in their pocket. Many were literally penniless, having sold all they had to simply purchase the ticket to sail on the boat, and with no real guarantee they would be granted entry or survive in the New World. And these exiles, arriving here tattered and torn, with a few words of English, set out to begin a new life. Many of these exiles had nothing to speak of, no money bag, no extra pair of shoes, but only the clothes on their backs. And for many the first sight they beheld upon arriving here was the Statue of liberty.

The image that comes to mind for many of us on this Independence Day weekend is the Statue of Liberty, a universal symbol of freedom and democracy.

The bronze plaque on the Statue of Liberty’s giant pedestal calls her the Mother of Exiles.

How many souls long to belong, long for welcome in this world of ours, and imagine all those who journeyed here to the U.S., whose first sight was the Mother of Exiles, Lady Liberty.

The plaque reads: “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free!

Interestingly, the name "Mother of Exiles" was never taken up as the Statue of Liberty’s name, even though it is engraved in bronze. Yet as Catholics our Blessed Mother and Mother Church herself have both been called “Mother of Exiles”. And isn’t this the hope of all exiles, that they will find welcome and rest and a home?

Yet in a way, as Catholics, we are exiles in this world. If we live by gospel values, we may well be exiled by our neighbors or even our friends. Some may say of us that we’ve gone too far with our faith in Jesus business, that we are unpatriotic to the point where we place gospel values above American values. It is certainly an interesting thought to imagine that the Statue of Liberty is calling us to be better Americans and in the process better Christian, better Catholics.

So if we are marked by the sign of the cross, then we can expect suffering, rejections, and crucifixion. Not everyone can or will accept the gospel cross. We will be judged as fools for Christ. We will be going against the popular opinion. Yet we recognize that Only in God is our soul at rest; our true fulfillment will not be in any political party, except the party of Christ. Our independence day is celebrated on Good Friday. St. Paul encourages us to find our freedom in the cross of Christ.

Finding rest in Christ, recognizing His Mother as our Mother, and knowing that the Church herself is the Mother of Exiles, is truly liberating! The irony of today is that our true independence is found in our dependence upon God, Christ, Mary, the Church, indeed our dependence upon one another.

There is no such thing as a lone Christian. We are in this together. And just as Jesus instructed his disciples, he continues to instruct us that we must trust in God for our defense and depend upon the hospitality of others for our well being. And this is what we celebrate today: our Dependence upon God and dependence upon one another. God alone is enough.

But if God alone is too much for our neighbors or family to handle, if believing in Christ and following the gospel somehow makes us less patriotic than other Americans, then let us repeat the words of Patrick Henry: “If this be treason, let us make the most of it!”

A loved one of so many tears will not be forgotten-as long as we are at the feet of Jesus.

20^th Sunday Ordinary Time Year A     20 August 2017    

Deacon John William McMullen

Lord, help me. 

Gospel: Matthew 15.21-28

Jesus continues to go head to head with the religious authorities, the scribes and Pharisees, who are insistent upon telling Jesus how he has got to focus on who’s in and who’s out, who’s clean and who’s unclean in God’s eyes.  So many voices shouting him down when He calls for mercy and love.

So Jesus took his disciples on a retreat of sorts, a pilgrimage to a location where he could get away from all the arguing. (No Twitter or Facebook and no 24 hour news cycle).

He leaves Jerusalem and goes north, through Samaria and Galilee and continues north. He leaves the comfort of his home in Galilee, and crosses over the border into the territory of Tyre and Sidon! Greek Syro-Phoenicia.

Jesus is not safe. He’s on the move.

The disciples did not want Jesus going into the wrong neighborhoods or, God forbid, crossing any borders.

And that’s when she showed up - A Canaanite woman of that district came and called out, "Have pity on me, Lord, Son of David! My daughter is tormented by a demon."

A Canaanite woman? The Canaanites were the bane of Israel’s existence!

But, wait. In Matthew’s gospel, Jesus’ own genealogy mentions several Canaanite women. One was Ruth. She married the Hebrew man Boaz. She then became the mother of Jesse, and Jesse was the father of King David. So king David’s grandmother was a Canaanite woman!  Ah ha.

The woman says, “Have mercy on ME, but the concern is for her daughter who is tormented by a demon.” How many mothers have children who are tormented by various demons?

Where is Jesus in her desperation? He is silent. This does not mean he doesn’t hear her. He just doesn’t speak. He doesn’t act. Not yet at least.

* The disciples are annoyed by this woman’s prayer. “She’s bothering us! Send her away! Dismiss her! She’s too loud! Just give her what she wants to shut her up, then send her away! Was it because she was a Canaanite woman? Racism? Sexism?

Jesus knew what his disciples were saying and what they were thinking. “She’s too much for us. She’s a mess. Why can’t she be respectable and be a good woman and just be quiet and keep in her place. “Know your place, woman.” We can hear it.

She is disturbing their peace.

But she is calling on Jesus, not them.

Why is it so difficult for some people to allow women or minorities to say what they feel and think and be heard in their own their voice, without their words being distorted or ignored, and their personhood dismissed altogether?

Think of this woman’s courage. I wonder how many other people wanted to call out to Jesus, but didn’t have the courage.

We can hear the voices shouting her down. She’s from a different religious tradition.

Send her away!

Pretty soon all the gentiles will want to follow you and have a share in the kingdom of God.”

She’s a woman of color.

Where’s her husband anyway?

She’s got a demon possessed daughter.

Get her out of here!

Throw her out!

She didn’t send her daughter to Catholic school. She’s not in our women’s bible study.

Why, she isn’t in our parish directory, and she certainly doesn’t have collection envelopes.

Don’t let her kind in here, or else there will be others who will want to come in.

Imagine this woman’s desperation. She will do anything for her daughter.

She casts herself upon the mercy of the Lord only to hear nothing.

But Jesus’ silence and his disciples’ efforts to silence her did not deter her from calling upon the Lord.

Send her away.

Dismiss her.

But Jesus answers: “I was only sent to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” 

The woman then throws herself down at Jesus’ feet: “Lord, Help Me!”

Jesus answers: “It is not right to throw the food (bread) of the children to the dogs.”

The woman boldly replies: “Please, Lord, even the dogs eat the scraps, the crumbs, that fall from the children’s table.”

And Jesus proclaims, “Woman, great is your faith!”

She is humble and admits, “Yes, I am a dog. I confess my guilt. I come from nothing.

But a crumb of your goodness can change my daughter’s life!”

* I wonder if Jesus said, "It is not right to take the food of the children and give it to the dogs" because that's what the disciples were saying, so Jesus allows his disciples to hear what prejudice sounds like.

The woman uses the dog metaphor to her advantage.  "...being so bold as to become Jesus' teacher, or at least the disciple’s teacher.”

  

Did Jesus humble himself and allow her to teach the disciples the nature of mercy?

Did Jesus think, “Well, I‘ve tried to teach them. I’ll allow her to teach the boys a thing or two”?

Regardless, the apostles received a lesson that they would remember for they take the gospel message to the ends of the earth.

“Woman, great is your faith!”

Jesus is challenging all of us who are tempted to cling to a fearful, stingy faith.

Meanwhile the Woman is at the feet of Jesus.

She has cast all of her cares upon the Lord. 

“Woman, great is your faith!”

She reminds us of the Roman soldier who came to Jesus and said, “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my son shall be healed” (Matthew 8.5-13; John 4.46-54).

When Jesus heard this, he was amazed and said to those following him, “Amen, I say to you, in no one in Israel have I found such faith. I say to you, many will come from the east and the west, and will recline with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob at the banquet in the kingdom of heaven…” And Jesus said to the centurion, “You may go; as you have believed, let it be done for you.” And at that very hour [his] servant was healed (Matt. 8.10-11, 13).

So Matthew’s gospel is showing us that Gentile dogs are invited into the kingdom.

Were all like dogs. Aren’t we. We depend totally upon our Master for our daily bread. Woof, woof!

The woman is willing to humble herself, like a dog who eats the scraps, the crumbs that fall from the Father’s table, but the crumbs of bread are bread. She desires to be nourished with the same bread that the children of Abraham eat at the banquet table of God, and these crumbs are a foreshadowing of the Eucharistic feast that we will soon celebrate at this altar.

“Woman, great is your faith!”

But let us reflect on the silence that Jesus gave the woman’s request.

How do we deal with the silence of God?

But what of our own experience of silence when we pray?

Many of us know that anguish.

Many of us know what it is to pray and pray and pray and hear nothing.

The silence of Jesus is difficult. Many of us feel like Jesus does not hear us or at least is not responding to us.

We pray: Lord, help me!

And some still hear the words from certain disciples: “Send her away!”

She stands weeping in the rain at the corner of Vann and Covert waiting for the bus to go to a job interview.

She receives communion with tears in her eyes, but then slips away at the end of Mass, feeling ashamed or less than the beautiful parishioners.

She has worn out the beads of her rosary from her constant praying, wearied from weeping in prayer for her child who is addicted to drugs.

She is exhausted from praying for her husband who is lost in pornography or to alcohol – or both.

Others pray as they go through a separation or a divorce;

others are experiencing terminal illness or unemployment.

Still others may have lost a friend over philosophical or political differences;

or a relative may have joined the Ku Klux Klan.

But take heart.

Keep praying.

A loved one of so many tears will not be forgotten

– as long as we are at the feet of Jesus.

Lord, help me.

Notes:

See the Collect for the 20th Sunday of Ordinary Time in the previous Sacramentary that was in use from the 1970s until 2011 when it was suppressed by the Promulgation of the Third Edition of the Roman Missal.

Almighty God, ever-loving Father, your care extends beyond the boundaries of race and nation to the hearts of all who live. May the wall, which prejudice raises between us, crumble beneath the shadow of your outstretched arm.