Homily Notes
What we offer in this section are not homilies, as Fr. Paul preaches without a written text or notes. Rather, what follows are some of his thoughts as he prepares a week-day or Sunday homily. At times, some of the material may be used in a given homily; at other times, he focuses on other questions for the sake of those present. Homilies must be responses to the spiritual needs of the people gathered for a given Mass. They are not canned talks or generalizations which often have the ring of being safely divorced from real life, from the people who share in the homilies by active participation.
WPM, MTmonk, Feb 2019.
WPM, MTmonk, Feb 2019.
Title: Mary’s Choice
From the Gospel appointed to be read at Mass today (July 21, 2019): “Mary sat at the LORD’s feet and listened to His word.” (Luke 10:38-42)
Note well: Mary sat besides the feet of Jesus, on the floor, in a position of a disciple, a learner. At the feet of Jesus—who is himself a lay person—and not at the feet of one of the priests or biblical scholars in her Jewish society. Mary had the good sense to know the genuine man of God from the outwardly-appearing men of God. Some of these outwardly religious men may have had some wisdom, but they were “human, all too human,” and by their lack of response to the presence of Christ, they showed that they were, for the most part, “blind guides,” not men of the Spirit. Mary had the good sense to avoid such men, who were merely empty show.
“Mary sat at the LORD’s feet, and listened to His word.” She questioned, she expressed her heart and mind to Jesus, but far more importantly, Mary listened. She heard what Jesus said to her, and took it to heart. She listened actively to everything Jesus said to other guests in the home, and Mary took those words to heart, too. When her sister complained to Jesus, “LORD, do you not care that my sister has left me alone to serve. Tell her to help me.” In simple words, “Jesus, make my sister do what I want. Look, Jesus, my sister is just sitting on her tail, and not helping me with these pressing chores.” Mary does not speak up and defend herself, does not chew her sister out for saying such nonsense, but listens, and lets the LORD do the speaking. And Jesus speaks bluntly to the busy-body heart of the busy-body: “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things. One thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, and it will not be taken away from her.”
What is “the good portion,” often translated as “the better portion”? It is “the one thing needful.” And what is that “one thing needful” in the human condition? Believe it or not, I’ve actually heard preachers claim that Jesus is telling Martha that only one thing is needful for the meal she is serving—only one dish, not various foods. How trite, how spiritually empty. What Jesus is saying is that in all of human existence, one and only activity is truly and utterly necessary for a human being: humbly to assume one’s place under the all-wise God, and humbly to listen to “every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.” In simple words: what matters is to receive from God, not try to “serve God” by one’s anxious activities. Martha has not placed herself humbly beneath the LORD at all. This one little mortal being tries to tell Christ, the living God, what to do. “Tell my sister to help me." In other words, “Jesus, do what I want you to do. I know better than you, Lord God. I am Martha. So tell my sister to get up and help me!” In this episode Martha is a prototype of people—whether Jews, Christians, Muslims, Hindus, or others—who try to tell Almighty what they want, and how God ought to act on their behalf. Such prayer is an act of hubris, of human arrogance, and not at all an exercise of humility, of knowing one’s proper place in the world. “O God, I want, and you better give me what I want—or I will not obey you, I will not listen to you, and I surely will not love you.” Martha plays the part of a fool, because she is “anxious and troubled about many things.” In other words, Martha is caught up in the tangled web of herself, her desires, her feelings, her worried thoughts. “But Jesus, I feel so tired, so rushed. Tell my sister to help me, darn it!”
And the LORD gently but boldly replies: “Mary has chosen the good portion, and it will not be taken from her.” Mary has done the best that a human being can do here and now: She recognizes who the LORD is, and she humbly accepts her position beneath the LORD, and lovingly, eagerly seeks to absorb all that God is and says. Mary is wise in the human way: she knows her own lack of wisdom, and so draws near to the living God and LISTENS to all that proceeds from God. And what does Mary hear? Far more than we can know or tell, but she surely hears the LORD praise her choice: “Mary has chosen the good portion, and it will not be taken from her.” The living God accepts and delights in Mary’s choice, and rewards her with the deepest longing of her heart: to be at home in and with God, where she is at peace and filled with joy. And this sheer gift of the generous Creator will never be taken away from Mary—not now, and not for all eternity. Mary has made the right choice for her life, and for ever.
—Wm. P. McKane
21 July 2019
From the Gospel appointed to be read at Mass today (July 21, 2019): “Mary sat at the LORD’s feet and listened to His word.” (Luke 10:38-42)
Note well: Mary sat besides the feet of Jesus, on the floor, in a position of a disciple, a learner. At the feet of Jesus—who is himself a lay person—and not at the feet of one of the priests or biblical scholars in her Jewish society. Mary had the good sense to know the genuine man of God from the outwardly-appearing men of God. Some of these outwardly religious men may have had some wisdom, but they were “human, all too human,” and by their lack of response to the presence of Christ, they showed that they were, for the most part, “blind guides,” not men of the Spirit. Mary had the good sense to avoid such men, who were merely empty show.
“Mary sat at the LORD’s feet, and listened to His word.” She questioned, she expressed her heart and mind to Jesus, but far more importantly, Mary listened. She heard what Jesus said to her, and took it to heart. She listened actively to everything Jesus said to other guests in the home, and Mary took those words to heart, too. When her sister complained to Jesus, “LORD, do you not care that my sister has left me alone to serve. Tell her to help me.” In simple words, “Jesus, make my sister do what I want. Look, Jesus, my sister is just sitting on her tail, and not helping me with these pressing chores.” Mary does not speak up and defend herself, does not chew her sister out for saying such nonsense, but listens, and lets the LORD do the speaking. And Jesus speaks bluntly to the busy-body heart of the busy-body: “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things. One thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, and it will not be taken away from her.”
What is “the good portion,” often translated as “the better portion”? It is “the one thing needful.” And what is that “one thing needful” in the human condition? Believe it or not, I’ve actually heard preachers claim that Jesus is telling Martha that only one thing is needful for the meal she is serving—only one dish, not various foods. How trite, how spiritually empty. What Jesus is saying is that in all of human existence, one and only activity is truly and utterly necessary for a human being: humbly to assume one’s place under the all-wise God, and humbly to listen to “every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.” In simple words: what matters is to receive from God, not try to “serve God” by one’s anxious activities. Martha has not placed herself humbly beneath the LORD at all. This one little mortal being tries to tell Christ, the living God, what to do. “Tell my sister to help me." In other words, “Jesus, do what I want you to do. I know better than you, Lord God. I am Martha. So tell my sister to get up and help me!” In this episode Martha is a prototype of people—whether Jews, Christians, Muslims, Hindus, or others—who try to tell Almighty what they want, and how God ought to act on their behalf. Such prayer is an act of hubris, of human arrogance, and not at all an exercise of humility, of knowing one’s proper place in the world. “O God, I want, and you better give me what I want—or I will not obey you, I will not listen to you, and I surely will not love you.” Martha plays the part of a fool, because she is “anxious and troubled about many things.” In other words, Martha is caught up in the tangled web of herself, her desires, her feelings, her worried thoughts. “But Jesus, I feel so tired, so rushed. Tell my sister to help me, darn it!”
And the LORD gently but boldly replies: “Mary has chosen the good portion, and it will not be taken from her.” Mary has done the best that a human being can do here and now: She recognizes who the LORD is, and she humbly accepts her position beneath the LORD, and lovingly, eagerly seeks to absorb all that God is and says. Mary is wise in the human way: she knows her own lack of wisdom, and so draws near to the living God and LISTENS to all that proceeds from God. And what does Mary hear? Far more than we can know or tell, but she surely hears the LORD praise her choice: “Mary has chosen the good portion, and it will not be taken from her.” The living God accepts and delights in Mary’s choice, and rewards her with the deepest longing of her heart: to be at home in and with God, where she is at peace and filled with joy. And this sheer gift of the generous Creator will never be taken away from Mary—not now, and not for all eternity. Mary has made the right choice for her life, and for ever.
—Wm. P. McKane
21 July 2019
Thursday, Feb. 7, 2019
HEB 12:18-19, 21-24
HEB 12:18-19, 21-24
"You have not approached..."
“You have not approached that which can be touched…you have approached God, the just judge of all…” (from Hebrews 12:18 ff)
The word “religion,” partially useful in everyday conversation, is of little value in thinking or in one’s quest for truth. It is a topic of common speech, and little more. As with many seemingly weighty terms in common use, “religion” is so vague that one can read almost any desired meaning into it. Or out of it. Other than in everyday language, “religion” is about as meaningless and as empty as “democracy.” In fact, the two words are virtually twins in their analytical worthlessness: useful shorthands in the marketplace, useless concepts in “critical science,” in any genuine philosophical analysis. That many people are not aware of this uselessness in genuine thought does not render the point less valid So if I do not sprinkle around words such as “religion” and “democracy” in what I say or write, now the reason is made known: the terms are too vague, too general, too ill-defined, too unanalyzable to be of theoretical or analytical value. This point, I trust, has been made sufficiently clear—whether accepted as true or not. That many would disagree is irrelevant. Many speak of “motors,” when engineers have more precise terms. Many play church, rather than seek the living God.
“You have not approached that which can be touched…” Many human beings want a tangible God. They want holy books, laws, rules, rituals, sacraments, vestments, holy water, priests, bishops, and all sorts of “religious things." Those who want such “things” are finding ways to touch what cannot be touched, to possess what cannot be possessed, to have present to them that which is not present in space-time, not present physically. Only by letting go of “what can be touched,” can one begin to seek that which cannot be touched; only by seeking what cannot be touched, can one come to a true appreciation for what can be touched, and ways in which the touchable may in truth communicate the untouchable. The God that can be touched is not God. The many want their touchable gods—by whatever names: Bible, priest, Sacrament, church…. Many Catholics, Protestants, Hindus, others, are in the same boat: to paraphrase a popular song, “they are looking for God in all the wrong places.” They are looking in places for that which is unplaced. They cling to words of the unspeakable. They want a holy thing of that which is wholly non-thing—and perhaps not “holy” in our sense at all.
What many call “religion” is generally touchable, and as such, it is a hindrance to the ascent of the mind into the untouchable. For those who want “holy books,” there are many lying around. (And if not used properly, all such “holy books” lie.) For those who want “priests,” they can find no lack; for pretenders are ever in abundance. For those who want “the church,” and “sacraments,” and so, they may choose what they want. For those who want “holy things,” how many indeed there are.
Perhaps faith begins by giving up religion. One does not learn to swim by clinging to the sides of the pool. One learns to swim by entering into the deeps, where the bottom cannot be touched, and there are no supports accept one’s buoyancy in the water, aided by slow movement of arms or legs. “Launch out into the deep” is ever a call to abandon all “religion,” all political attachments, all “democracy,” all that is familiar and known or assumed to be known—even oneself. Launching out, one abandons all that is thought to be known and loved, for that which is essentially and utterly untouchable. Unless one abandons “God” and all the trappings of “God,” how can one find that which is? Unless one suspends all beliefs, how can one simply trust? Unless one releases from an inner grasp all that one thinks is real and true, how can one venture into the unknown true? Unless one suspends all attachments to holy books, proven facts, political leaders, religious leaders—unless one suspends all such attachments, how can one enter into the wholly unattached state? Suspending all beliefs, one can begin to exercise naked faith. Nay, rather, unless one separates his or her willing from all that can be touched or known or believed in any way, one will not fare forward into the deep darkness of the nameless—into what feels and seems to be sheer nothingness. Oh, how terrifying a sound to those who want stuff—even religious stuff.
How frightening it is for many to leave the comforts and supports of beliefs, knowledge, science, religion, politics, and all such mental drugs. How frightening to let the self seemingly be dissolved into the unself. If one truly had naked trust and non-attached love, one would fare forth into the seeming and feeling darkness of nothingness. If one truly believes, and does not have mere beliefs, how empty, how dark, how uncertain the way forward. So many are afraid to venture into the heretofore non-experienced. And why are they so afraid to let go? Could it be because they know that they cannot control the uncontrollable?
Into the one most emptied of religion, democracy, science, and so many “holy things,” the darkness of non-thing enters in. Into the mind that suspends all belief in what it “knows,” empty unknowing enters. Into the heart devoid of all “loves,” the non-lovable non-imaginable is present. Only in silence and unknowing, can the unspeaking and unspeakable speak. Only into that which is not can that which is not be.
“You have not approached… You have approached…” What have you approached? If you think you know, then surely you do not know in truth.
Wm. P McKane
MTmonk
04 February 2019
The word “religion,” partially useful in everyday conversation, is of little value in thinking or in one’s quest for truth. It is a topic of common speech, and little more. As with many seemingly weighty terms in common use, “religion” is so vague that one can read almost any desired meaning into it. Or out of it. Other than in everyday language, “religion” is about as meaningless and as empty as “democracy.” In fact, the two words are virtually twins in their analytical worthlessness: useful shorthands in the marketplace, useless concepts in “critical science,” in any genuine philosophical analysis. That many people are not aware of this uselessness in genuine thought does not render the point less valid So if I do not sprinkle around words such as “religion” and “democracy” in what I say or write, now the reason is made known: the terms are too vague, too general, too ill-defined, too unanalyzable to be of theoretical or analytical value. This point, I trust, has been made sufficiently clear—whether accepted as true or not. That many would disagree is irrelevant. Many speak of “motors,” when engineers have more precise terms. Many play church, rather than seek the living God.
“You have not approached that which can be touched…” Many human beings want a tangible God. They want holy books, laws, rules, rituals, sacraments, vestments, holy water, priests, bishops, and all sorts of “religious things." Those who want such “things” are finding ways to touch what cannot be touched, to possess what cannot be possessed, to have present to them that which is not present in space-time, not present physically. Only by letting go of “what can be touched,” can one begin to seek that which cannot be touched; only by seeking what cannot be touched, can one come to a true appreciation for what can be touched, and ways in which the touchable may in truth communicate the untouchable. The God that can be touched is not God. The many want their touchable gods—by whatever names: Bible, priest, Sacrament, church…. Many Catholics, Protestants, Hindus, others, are in the same boat: to paraphrase a popular song, “they are looking for God in all the wrong places.” They are looking in places for that which is unplaced. They cling to words of the unspeakable. They want a holy thing of that which is wholly non-thing—and perhaps not “holy” in our sense at all.
What many call “religion” is generally touchable, and as such, it is a hindrance to the ascent of the mind into the untouchable. For those who want “holy books,” there are many lying around. (And if not used properly, all such “holy books” lie.) For those who want “priests,” they can find no lack; for pretenders are ever in abundance. For those who want “the church,” and “sacraments,” and so, they may choose what they want. For those who want “holy things,” how many indeed there are.
Perhaps faith begins by giving up religion. One does not learn to swim by clinging to the sides of the pool. One learns to swim by entering into the deeps, where the bottom cannot be touched, and there are no supports accept one’s buoyancy in the water, aided by slow movement of arms or legs. “Launch out into the deep” is ever a call to abandon all “religion,” all political attachments, all “democracy,” all that is familiar and known or assumed to be known—even oneself. Launching out, one abandons all that is thought to be known and loved, for that which is essentially and utterly untouchable. Unless one abandons “God” and all the trappings of “God,” how can one find that which is? Unless one suspends all beliefs, how can one simply trust? Unless one releases from an inner grasp all that one thinks is real and true, how can one venture into the unknown true? Unless one suspends all attachments to holy books, proven facts, political leaders, religious leaders—unless one suspends all such attachments, how can one enter into the wholly unattached state? Suspending all beliefs, one can begin to exercise naked faith. Nay, rather, unless one separates his or her willing from all that can be touched or known or believed in any way, one will not fare forward into the deep darkness of the nameless—into what feels and seems to be sheer nothingness. Oh, how terrifying a sound to those who want stuff—even religious stuff.
How frightening it is for many to leave the comforts and supports of beliefs, knowledge, science, religion, politics, and all such mental drugs. How frightening to let the self seemingly be dissolved into the unself. If one truly had naked trust and non-attached love, one would fare forth into the seeming and feeling darkness of nothingness. If one truly believes, and does not have mere beliefs, how empty, how dark, how uncertain the way forward. So many are afraid to venture into the heretofore non-experienced. And why are they so afraid to let go? Could it be because they know that they cannot control the uncontrollable?
Into the one most emptied of religion, democracy, science, and so many “holy things,” the darkness of non-thing enters in. Into the mind that suspends all belief in what it “knows,” empty unknowing enters. Into the heart devoid of all “loves,” the non-lovable non-imaginable is present. Only in silence and unknowing, can the unspeaking and unspeakable speak. Only into that which is not can that which is not be.
“You have not approached… You have approached…” What have you approached? If you think you know, then surely you do not know in truth.
Wm. P McKane
MTmonk
04 February 2019
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