Domine, da mihi hanc aquam!

Is there a Thomas in your life?

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Sun, 12 Apr 2026 12:07:00 +0000

2^nd Sunday of Easter

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Thomas, called Didymus, has a problem. It's problem just about every Christian or potential Christian who's lived since the Resurrection has encountered. We can call this problem Doubt. Or, better yet, Denial: “I will not believe until I have physical, verifiable evidence.” Generally, this is a problem about believing the supernatural claims of the faith: the virgin birth, various miracles – healings, water to wine, raising the dead –, casting out demons, the Resurrection, etc. More specifically, in the case of Thomas, it's a problem about believing that his fellow disciples have seen the Risen Lord in the flesh post-Resurrection. Thomas does not believe that the other disciples actually witnessed Christ appear among them. He not only doesn't believe them, he also flatly says, “I will not believe until I put hands into his wounds.” We can imagine the reactions of the other disciples. Are we that untrustworthy? Is he accusing us of lying? Maybe he thinks we're delusional! Whatever they may have thought about Thomas' denial of their witness, Thomas himself is adamant: I will not believe! Taking his denial at face value, Thomas is the first modern Man. How do we respond to the Thomases we encounter every day?

Now, it could be that Thomas is overcome by grief. Or anger. His disbelief, at this stage of mourning, could be a response to losing his teacher and friend. He wasn't there for the revelation of Christ in the flesh. His outburst is just an overly emotional reaction to missing out on the reunion. Perfectly understandable. But his denial seems more serious than that. He has to know that his fellow disciples are hearing him say: “I don't believe you. I don't believe you are telling the truth. You're lying.” Grief or no grief, they can't be happy with him, and he knows it. Christ has established his mission on the power of testimony; that is, the entire project of preaching the Good News depends on the ability of his followers to bear witness to his life and works. To tell the world about how Christ has changed their lives by bringing them into right relationship with divine love. By denying Christ's appearance among the disciples, Thomas is rejecting the very means of building the Church that Christ himself proclaimed. Thomas is the modern person standing against the Gospel-witness of the Church, demanding empirical evidence for her claims. How do we respond to our own Thomases?

Christ responds to Thomas by appearing again – in the wounded, post-resurrection flesh. He invites Thomas to touch his wounds and says, “...do not be unbelieving, but believe.” Is this an option for us? Can we invite our Thomases to touch Christ's wounds and believe? Well, not exactly like Christ does in the Gospel, but we can bear witness to our own wounds and the healing Christ gives us. We can show our Thomas the brokenness we offered to Christ. We can show him our despair, our pride, our envy. We can show him the times we chose against love and mercy and how Christ's love and mercy brought us out of darkness into the light. We can show him how we have been betrayed, rejected, ignored, and silenced. How we stood in the crowd on Palm Sunday, cheering him on, and then screamed for his death on Good Friday. How we deny him when we deny the least of his. We can invite him into our doubts and denials and show him how – in the larger divine plan – our demands for proof fall short. We can even confess to smaller and larger betrayals of Christ in our sin. And then bear witness to the forgiveness we receive when we confess. At rock bottom, all we can do for our Thomases is show them Christ as we've lived with him. From there, it's the HS's mission to bring about a conversion of heart.

That's what we can do for the Thomases we encounter. What if we ourselves are a Thomas? It happens. Maybe no one here is a Thomas all the time...but there are times when believing is a battle. We're asked to believe a host of incredible things. The historical, physical reality of the Resurrection is perhaps the most incredible. But I'm willing to bet that if we experience doubts or express denials, it's not about the Big Dogmatic Stuff. It's about the smaller stuff – have I really forgiven him/her? Am I really forgiven? Is the HS really guiding me? Am I doing everything I need to do to get to heaven? Does God really hear my prayers? When these doubts and denials pop up – and they will! – remember God's mercy. We're not here to provide entertainment for the HT. We're not playing a cosmic game. We are given a purpose – to freely return to God in love. We are given everything we need to make that happen. Whatever happens here – good, bad, ugly – contributes to our progress toward perfection in Christ. And all of it is fueled by divine mercy. He knows our doubts. He says, “Do not be unbelieving but believe.”

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Repent!

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Sun, 25 Jan 2026 16:44:00 +0000

3^rd Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Strip the apostolic faith of its Greek metaphysics, its Jewish prophetic tradition, and its imperial Roman administrative structure and you're left with a simple proclamation: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!” Immediate, forceful, and crystal clear. This is the Gospel in nine words. Without much effort, we could reduce it further to just: “Repent!” That one word holds within it the whole of the Law and the freedom of Christ. Now, you might be thinking, “I thought the Gospel was about love or mercy or sacrifice.” It is. But love, mercy, and sacrifice turn on repentance. In sin, we cannot love, forgive, or sacrifice because all three come first from God. If we are confused in disobedience, deadened to the movement of the Spirit, we cannot receive all that the Father has to give us. Without access to the Source of our freedom, we are slaves to things of the world. So, yes, “repent” is the one word that bears the whole of the Gospel. And the rest – “for the kingdom of heaven is at hand” – is our reason for getting on with repenting. The Kingdom is here. It's coming. And God's promises are bursting at the seams.

Later today – at breakfast or dinner – the novices will likely accuse me of backsliding into my old Southern Baptist ways! You focused on repentance, Fr. Prior! Very Baptist of you! Well, like Paul says, “...Christ sent me...to preach the gospel, so that the cross of Christ might not be emptied of its meaning.” The persistent temptation for us humans is to ease our way toward what we think we want. To shortcut the longer, harder route and arrive early. With the Gospel, we've done this repeatedly. First, we get rid of the necessity of suffering well. Suffering is evil. Avoid it. Medicate it. Psychoanalyze it away. Make it illegal. Next, we make sacrifice heroic. Something done only by the truly saintly, those given extraordinary graces. That way we – the ungifted many – don't have to think much about it. Sacrifice becomes nearly miraculous and therefore rare. Then, we turn love into a sentiment, a feeling of generalized warmth that smothers truth and goodness. Love is no longer a passion worthy of martyrdom but a gesture of mere approval. Now, the Cross is empty. It's been flattened. Squeezed. And mass-produced as a plastic toy. The Way back is repentance.

If I were going to backslide fully into my Baptist past, I'd end this Mass with an old-fashioned altar call. I'd ask Br. Isidore to get on the organ and play, “Just As I Am” or “Old Rugged Cross.” And while he softly played in the background, I'd harangue you all to come forward, kneel, and confess your sins to our brother priests. I'd urge you to accept Jesus into your heart as your personal Lord and Savior. But all that stuff we stripped away from the apostolic faith at the beginning – the metaphysics, the prophetic tradition, and the Roman administration – gives us a different way of repentance. One grounded firmly in the Gospel and sacramentally effective – confession. But repentance isn't limited to the sacrament. It can be an unspoken resolve to turn to God again. It can be a prayer for mercy and the reception of grace. It can be a private conversation with a fellow sinner or saint and the joy of reconciliation. The drama of an altar call and public repentance is compelling. It's also frightening. But it is not as frightening as the coming of the Kingdom and the possibility of choosing not to be an heir. So, in word and deed, repent for the Kingdom of God is at hand!

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Being sane in an insane world

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Sun, 25 Jan 2026 16:41:00 +0000

St. Francis de Sales

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

It shouldn't surprise us that Jesus' family thinks he's crazy. Just look at what he's doing. Listen to who and what he claims to be. Given the Mosaic Law, the religious traditions, the cultural baggage of ancient Israel, Jesus' words and deeds make him seem not only crazy but downright dangerous. If what he says is true, then everything – and I mean everything! – is shaken to its core and has to be rebuilt almost from scratch. Think about it: thousands of years of belief in a yet-to-come Messiah; thousands of years of law, practice, sacrifice, prayer. Persecutions, genocidal exiles, slavery all b/c of one's race and belief. All of this reaches its final form in a young man born of a virgin who lays claim to being the Christ. He's not from a politically connected family. He's not from money or property. His claim to royalty is some 28 generations back into the dusty history of the land. Who is this guy? Even his family and friends thinks he's crazy. He's out of his mind. Well, maybe so. But being “crazy” and “out of your mind” sometimes means simply not see and hearing and speaking like those around you. Sometimes being crazy means being saner than the insane world you were born into.

And what could be saner than being the source of reason and peace himself? What could be saner than being the only-begotten Son of Him Who brought everything that is out of nothing? Jesus isn't irrational or delusional or psychotic. He sees perfectly clearly. He sees the unclean spirits that possess the weak and the strong. He sees the sin that cripples and kills. He sees the lies that an insane world calls truth. And he sees the ugliness that some hold up as beauty. But mostly importantly, he sees you and me and the limits we force on our freedom to love him and follow him. Strange limits like pride, jealousy, unrighteous anger, judgment, fear, and anxiety. Those are the crazy. Those are irrational and delusional. Why? B/c they keep us from reaching out and grasping the source of sanity in an insane world. No, Jesus is not out of his mind. But we are when we pit our limits against his limitless love and mercy. Being sane among the insane is like being the sober one when everyone else is drunk. You can see the stupidity and rejoice that you aren't being a fool.

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Blessedly terrifying

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Wed, 21 Jan 2026 21:54:00 +0000

St. Agnes

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

It's not enough to ask God for the grace of healing. We might say that asking for healing is necessary but not sufficient. One more thing is required: we must offer the disease, the wound, the broken part in sacrifice. We must hold it up and out as a sign, a gesture of humility. We don't do this b/c God needs to see us being submissive, or b/c He doesn't know what needs healing. We do this b/c we need to be free of whatever it is that's holding us back from receiving what He has to give. Almost always, what's holding us back is Pride – that primordial disobedience rooted in the lie that we can become God w/o God. I can heal myself. I can make myself holy. I can be virtuous on my own. And the most vicious of all: I can love w/o Love Himself. NB the man with the withered hand. He doesn't ask for healing out loud. But you know he's asking in his heart. He's watching Jesus and the Pharisee square up – once again! – over the limits of the Law. Jesus has a chance here to perform two miracles – heal a broken hand and open the hearts of the Pharisees to the power of divine mercy. The man offers his hand, and it is healed. But the hardness of the Pharisees' hearts grieves and angers the Lord. Why won't they offer their broken hearts in sacrifice?

We can ask ourselves the same question. The answer is probably the same for us and the Pharisees. Yes, Pride. But how is our Pride being expressed? A deeply seated need for control. A fear of losing independence. Appearing to be weak or needy. Refusing to admit that we can be broken. Maybe we can't face our mortality, so asking for healing turns into an admission that our time here is ticking away. Or maybe, asking God for healing means conceding that we are dependent on Him for everything we have and are. That's a life-changing concession that changes things well-beyond a single wound or a disease. But that's what divine healing does: it changes everything. We shift from being a prideful and wounded sinner into being a humble and healed saint. And maybe that's the scariest part of offering ourselves in sacrifice. What comes next? What happens after I am made whole again? Truly, there is nothing left but surrender, gratitude, and praise. All of which lead inexorably to freedom in Christ. That's not just scary; it's terrifying. Blessedly terrifying.

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A pattern of signs

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Sun, 16 Nov 2025 18:41:00 +0000

33^rd Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Palm readers claim to see the future drawn by the lines in your hand. Astrologers calculate the position of the stars at your birth and claim to know your future. An ancient Roman haruspex would tell you that the significant events of your life could be read in the entrails of a ritually slaughtered animal. That anyone actually ever believed any of this nonsense to be true is dumbfounding. Yet, our impulse to get ahead of events by knowing our future seems to be part of our fallen nature. Every human culture in every age has entertained divination – whether it be reading the flight patterns of birds, or Tarot cards, or the latest election poll. Jesus makes a prediction in the Temple courtyard: “All that you see here – the days will come when there will not be left a stone upon another stone that will not be thrown down.” The crowd – no doubt stunned – asks, right on cue, “Teacher, when will this happen? And what sign will there be when all these things are about to happen?” NB. that they do not ask for a specific date. Or an exact time. They ask for signs. Instead of signs, Jesus gives them a pattern. Or better: a pattern of signs that point to the end.

Over the centuries, many have said that Jesus' “prediction” is vague, almost meaningless. When hasn't there been wars, famines, plagues, persecutions, and just general all-around strife among nations? That sort of “prediction” can't tell us much about what's coming. What if Jesus' purpose here isn't a prediction at all? Sure, the temple was destroyed by Roman troops about 40yrs later – if you accept that the Gospel of Luke was written before 70AD. Even so, remember, he's also talking about himself, the Temple made flesh, his Body, the Church. What if his “prediction” of the Temple's destruction is also a prophecy about the on-going battle btw the Church and the world? Rather than giving the crowd (and us) a foretelling of a specific future event, he's laying out a pattern of conflict that repeatedly plays out over the centuries. There will always be wars, famines, plagues, and persecutions before his Church is destroyed. And the Church in many places around the world has been destroyed – N. Africa, many in the Middle East, Communist China and Russia; a case can be made that the Church in Europe is all but gone. The buildings still stand, but where is the faith? Where are the faithful? Where are those who will love, forgive, and show mercy when the world once again persecutes Christ?

And here is where hope enters the pattern. Just like clockwork, when the world once again decides that the Church can no longer be tolerated, persecution ensues. Our instinct is to fight back, strike out, using the tools of our persecutors. When we do this, if we do this, our persecutors win. We become them. In effect, we join their side in violence and death. Our way of fighting is far more difficult than anything the enemy can manage. Jesus says, “Remember, you are not to prepare your defense beforehand, for I myself shall give you a wisdom in speaking that all your adversaries will be powerless to resist or refute.” Our way is more difficult b/c we must prepare ourselves to be recipients of divine wisdom. Whether the attack is physical or legal or philosophical, Christ will give us what we need at that moment to defend his Gospel. This doesn't mean that we will win every battle. We won't. But it does mean that by responding as Christians we will preach the Good News to the faces of those who hate us b/c of his name. The goal is not total victory in this world, the annihilation of an opponent. The goal is living faithfully the victory we have already won from the Cross. If we cannot do this at peace, how can we do it at war?

We are fast approaching Advent – the annual season of preparation in anticipation of the Christ's birth. Now is as good a time as any to take stock of our faith. Ask yourself: how's my relationship with Christ? How am I praying? How am I being generous with all that God has given me? Am I receiving God's gifts fully, freely? Am I bearing witness to His mercy? Am I forgiving, loving, being Christ where I am planted? All these matter a great deal while you are at peace. Imagine how much more vital they will be at war. Am I predicting a persecution of Texas Catholics next week or next year? No. But I point you back to the pattern of signs laid out by Jesus in the Gospel. We will probably never be rounded up and executed like the Christians in Syria or Nigeria. Not anytime soon anyway. But this doesn't mean the world has surrendered to Christ and given up the fight. It just means the fight takes place at another level, the spiritual level. There the fight is furiously fought. Thanks be to God, our victory is won. Jesus promises, “...your perseverance you will secure your lives.”

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Seek Wisdom

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Sun, 16 Nov 2025 18:40:00 +0000

St. Albert the Great

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Albertus Magus is in trouble with the Prior. In a fit of experimental zeal, he's taken some of the brothers' beer and fed it to a snake. The inebriated serpent escapes Albert's cell and is terrorizing the less scientifically studious friars by flopping around like a...well...like a drunken snake. For the sake of weak hearts and a calmer convent, the Prior forbids any future experiments with alcohol and snakes. You may have heard this story before. I told it last year on this feast to defend Albert against charges of curiositas. I tell it again this year to highlight the effects of seeking wisdom – namely, joy and gladness. Sirach promises, “Happy those who meditate on Wisdom, and fix their gaze on knowledge...Whoever fears the Lord will do this; whoever is practiced in the Law will come to Wisdom...Joy and gladness he will find, an everlasting name he will inherit.” Now, we can't say that Albert's confreres found joy and gladness in his pursuit of wisdom. Nor can we say from this single event that Albert himself did. We can say that he eventually found the Wisdom he sought his whole life and that's sufficient for us to conclude that he was and is joyful and glad. That we celebrate his feast today is enough to know that he has inherited an everlasting name. Seek Wisdom, know gladness and joy!

How do we seek Wisdom? Sirach suggests a sequence: meditate on Wisdom as an object; fix your gaze on knowledge; fear the Lord; and practice the Law. The last two steps in this sequence don't sound like things a seeker of Wisdom and knowledge would do. Fear the Lord. Practice the Law. How exactly do these help in the acquisition of Wisdom? Fearing the Lord, meaning (of course) standing in awe of God, guarantees that the seeker is properly humble as a creature. That is, that the seeker is aware of and lives as one of the Lord's creations and not as a detached observer outside of creation. Self-knowledge is as important to the seeker as Other-knowledge will ever be. Practicing the Law. Here Sirach means following the Mosaic Law, following God's revealed plan for human perfection. As followers of Christ, we take this to mean following the Law of Love: love God and our neighbors as ourselves. Following this law not only keeps the seeker humble but it also ensures that whatever else he/she does they do it for the good of the other. IOW, there is no such thing as “self-serving Wisdom.” Wisdom is, by nature, communal, constructive, and peaceable. So, where is the joy and gladness?

Albert's best student, Thomas Aquinas, teaches us that joy and gladness are effects of love. Love causes joy and gladness. And what better source of love than Wisdom, God Himself who is Love. As the highest cause of all things, God is the object of our search for Wisdom. Find God, find Wisdom. Albert knew this when he searched the Lord's created things, looking for their cause. He knew that studying creatures revealed their Creator. He found in them the logos of the Real. Their reason for being, a created order that ordered them to their given end. And he knew that that logos is Christ. We don't celebrate Albert this morning b/c he was a genius biologist, or a great botanist. We don't celebrate him b/c he was a renowned teacher and preacher. We celebrate him b/c he loved God, found Wisdom, and shared the fruits of his contemplation with his brothers and sisters. For the short time that we are here, revealing to self and others the glory of Christ – that's joy and gladness.

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Don't forget what you signed up for

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Fri, 07 Nov 2025 20:15:00 +0000

Dominican All Saints

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

There's an old joke in the Order of Preachers: “If you want to be a Dominican saint, then live with a Dominican martyr. If you want to be a Dominican martyr, then live with a Dominican saint.” The implication here is that surviving life with a either a Dominican saint or martyr is a sure-fire way to get at least a memorial Mass with your name on it. Why? B/c living saints and martyrs can be challenging housemates. The religious fervor of a still-living Dominican saint easily convicts the evident laxity of less fervent brothers and sisters. And the self-sacrifice of the still-living Dominican martyr similarly exposes the selfishness of those confreres less inclined to surrender their preferences for the common good. Of course, the joke is: the religious fervor of the saint and the ease of self-sacrifice in the martyr is usually only present in the mind of the Dominican in question. The rest of us just chuckle and wonder. And probably pray a little harder for the grace of sainthood and martyrdom. You know, just in case. This feast taps all Dominicans on the shoulder and whispers, “Don't forget what you signed up to do and be.”

It never hurts to be reminded of our ideals. Dominic started this whole thing to “preach the Gospel and care for souls.” From the start, he sent us out two-by-two to universities to study God's Word so that our preaching would be grounded in the ancient apostolic faith. He gathered us together in community so that that ancient faith would always have a contemporary expression. He made sure we prayed together so that we'd learn to express that faith with one voice and at the same time shape that one voice to speak in different tongues. He knew that the Truth is always the Truth. But he also knew that our understanding of Truth grows by nature. So, he gave us the enduring habit of study, the habit of always seeking out the “manifold wisdoms of God.” Most importantly, most fundamentally, he gave us the grace of preaching, the gift of giving the Eternal Word a human voice to bring souls to Christ. On the more practical side of our life together, we have the vow of obedience, our only vow. It binds us, frees us, and makes everything we do and are possible. It gives life to Peter's declaration to Christ: “We have put aside everything to follow you.” Ideally, you could ask any Dominican, “What have you given up to follow Christ?” And he/she would answer, “Everything.” “And what have you gained?” The answer, “Even more.”

Our saints, blesseds, and martyrs show us what “even more” means in light of what they all sacrificed. From the 13^th c. to just a few weeks ago, they still bear witness to the power of Dominican life to bring the preaching of the Gospel to every nook and cranny of this needful world. Jesus promises Peter that his surrender will result in a hundredfold multiplication in this world and the world to come. That promise is our inheritance. What will we do with all that wealth? We'll pray, study, care for souls; and live together with one heart and one mind; forgiving one another; loving the grumps, the self-made martyrs and saints; correcting, teaching; and being docile to the Spirit, waiting for the advent of our Christ; and never forgetting that we do all of this willingly, freely for the sake of the Gospel. IOW, we'll spend our inheritance in the same way it was given to us – with generous abandon for the salvation of the world.

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The dead minister to us

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:50:00 +0000

All Souls

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

The Christian dead minister to the living by reminding the living that we too will one day be dead. That's not exactly a cheerful reminder for a Sunday celebration of the Eucharist. But it is a necessary reminder. While we move about in this space and time-limited world, we can neglect the reality of the possible worlds we'll come to haunt. With faith lived in earnest hope, we look forward to haunting the Lord's table at an eternal wedding feast. That's one – hopeful – possibility. Another possibility – despairing, at best – is to choose to live eternally rejecting God's love. And then there's a third possibility, the Between Possibility, where we haunt for a while while being purged of whatever keeps us from the feast. If we're honest, most of us will confess to shooting for the third option. Fingers-crossed, relying on the prayers of family and friends, we are confident that purgatory seems our best after-death bet. Here's where the already-dead do their best work. We pray for those in purgatory and in doing so keep our hearts and minds turned toward the inevitable day of our own death. The dead minister to us by just not being here.

If all this talk of death and purgatory seems funereal, it's meant to. In its way, the Feast of All Souls is a funeral Mass for all the faithful departed. One day, one celebration for the repose of all the souls who are no longer with us. And like any funeral Mass for a single soul, this Mass has a double purpose: to pray for the eternal rest of the deceased and to shake the living out of their spiritual complacency. Mourning the dead is a ministry of the living. Shaking the living is a ministry of the dead. If we think the passing of “just souls” is a tragedy, their leaving us behind an affliction, remember that they are at peace. The Book of Wisdom says, “...chastised a little, [the souls of the just] shall be greatly blessed, because God tried them and found them worthy of himself.” Of course He did! Paul writes to the Romans, “God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us.” Jesus himself says, “Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and I will not reject anyone who comes to me...” Why wouldn't the just souls be greatly blessed and found worthy of God Himself? Even if they must be chastised for a little while.

It's too hard to think that one day you and I will be laid out in a box or poured into an urn. But that day is as inevitable as sunrise and sunset. That we are here this morning asking for God's mercy on the faithful departed is just one clear sign that we know our time is short. While we are here, still breathing, our work as those given to Christ by his Father is sanctifying; it's designed to bring us to and keep us in holiness. That work is the work of living freely in the hope of salvation, living freely in the love of God, and trusting absolutely that we are beloved sons and daughters of the Most High. If we are truly free to live as Christ remade us to live, then we will expend what time we have left in proclaiming in word and deed the mercy our Father offers to sinners. And we will be compelled in our proclamation by the reality that at some unknown hour it will be our turn to pass through the purging fire and onto the Narrow Gate. One mercy we can do for the dead is to pray for them. And ask for their prayers. In every sense that matters, they are more alive than we are. Even if they are being chastised, they are closer to God. Mourn for your dead joyfully b/c grace and mercy are with His holy ones. Allow them to bring you into the Wedding Feast.

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You gotta be the hose!

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Sat, 01 Nov 2025 21:34:00 +0000

All Saints

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

I hear from the seminarians and my UD students all the time, “Father, I want to be a saint.” I usually respond with, “Good for you. And good luck.” If they get my weak attempt at humor, we smile and part ways. If they don't, well, we spend some time talking about what attaining sainthood entails. For the most part, they seem to think that becoming a saint is all about absolute moral purity. It's about never violating the 10C's. Or never thinking bad thoughts. Or being dramatically and publicly “humble.” Or all of the above. They usually have a favorite saint they try to imitate. And that saint is usually one with a fantastic backstory, including a harrowing conversion and a list of miracles James Cameron would find difficult to re-create in a movie. Nothing wrong with any of this. Having a holy hero to look up to is nothing to sneer at. But...we have to be careful that we do not make our saints out to be the Christian answer to the Avengers or the X-Men. Saints – those men and women fully realized in Christ – are more than superheroes. They are children of God who see Him as He is.

John tells us that we – those not yet fully realized in Christ – are children of God too. He says, “...we are God's children now; what we shall be has not yet been revealed.” So, we might say that we are saints-on-the-way. I'm sure you feel it too. That “on-the-way” part seems much more real than the saint part. That is, the feeling of being incomplete, not-yet, almost-there but not quite. Am I right? We can spend years, decades striving for saintliness – building our merits in prayer and good works, going to Mass, avoiding sin – and still barely limp toward the next step. Just barely making it. And then the whole thing starts all over. The frustration is maddening. What's missing in all this struggle? Maybe, just maybe, we let it slip our mind that we are already children of God. We are already graced with everything we need to become saints. We are already well-equipped to live with Not Yet and Almost There. John says it plainly, “...what we shall be has not yet been revealed.” If what we shall be has not yet been revealed, then why are we fighting so hard to figure it out? We know what we are now: children of God. Can't that be enough right now? Can't just being the best children of God we can be be enough until what we will be is revealed?

John goes on to say, “We do know that when [what we shall be] is revealed we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.” So, we do know something about what we will be. We will be like God b/c we will see Him as he is. What is it “to be like God”? The Catechism of Trent gives us a partial answer: “...beatitude consists of two things: that we shall behold God such as he is in his own nature and substance; and that we ourselves shall become, as it were, gods. For those who enjoy God while they retain their own nature, assume a certain admirable and almost divine form, so as to seem gods rather than men” (I, 13, 7). For us to be like God then is to be fully human and almost divine. That is, for us to be like God is to be saints – first, children of God; then, Christs. Christ plural. To be Christ imperfectly now and perfectly then. To embody the beatitudes right when and where we are. Jesus says again and again that to be among the blessed is to be poor in all the ways that the world thinks is rich. To be among the blessed is never about the work we ourselves put into becoming blessed. We can do nothing w/o Christ. Whatever work we put into becoming saints is first the work of Christ done through us. To believe otherwise is to believe that we can make ourselves into saints. That error is known as Pride. And nothing motivated by Pride can enter the Kingdom of God.

How do we become saints and enter the Kingdom? It is both insanely simple and devilishly complex. Simple b/c all we have to do is receive sainthood from God. Receive His perfection into our imperfect nature. Receive Him and then simply be His son and daughters. But it's complex b/c we have trouble shaking the idea that anything free is valuable. Anything worth having is worth working for. Anything worth anything at all should be difficult to obtain. So, we fight temptation. We struggle against sin. We wrestle with our demons. We bargain with God to get what He has already given us for free. What the Saints know now – being in the presence of God – is that nothing they did on earth was done w/o Christ doing it first. Their prayer, their fasting, their devotion, their miracles, all of it was Christ himself working in them. And they understood their role: get out of his way and let him work! Let him work in you and through you. I'll leave you with a weird image. You're washing your car. Which gets wet first? The car or the hose? Right. To become a saint, you gotta be a hose for God's abundant love!

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The Idol of Ingratitude

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Sun, 12 Oct 2025 19:18:00 +0000

28^th Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

The benefits of gratitude are obvious: a deep humility and a graced clarity in seeing God's blessings. When we give God thanks and praise for His abundant goodness, we reinforce the central truth of our being: we are made from dirt and divine breath. As dirt, we are not worthy of His notice. As divine breath, we are made worthy to participate in the life of the Trinity. Humility is the good habit of living as dirt made worthy of divinity. And gratitude keeps us honest. If the benefits of gratitude are obvious, can we say that the perils of ingratitude are obvious as well? They should be. But there's something about us that tempts us to believe that all that we are and all that we have is ours by right, or ours by hard work, or ours by clever invention. This idol is praised everyday in the market, the office, our school and universities, our sports arenas. It seems as though we begin with the idea that we are blessed or cursed to the degree that we are busy getting more, having more, accumulating more. And what's worse, we seem to think that all that More makes us better – wiser, holier, stronger, just. . .better overall. I think of Flannery O'Connor's Ruby Turpin* who says, “You have to have things to know things.”

To break this idolatrous spell, we turn to our Gospel scene. Jesus is met by ten lepers in a village. They beg him for pity. He heals all ten. Only one returns to give God – Jesus – thanks. He asks the fateful question: “I healed ten. Where are the other nine?” Apparently, the other nine think their renewed health is an entitlement, a miracle they received as a right. Jesus tells the lone, grateful former-leper that his faith has saved him. The other nine? Not so much. NB. the connection Jesus makes between gratitude and salvation. The act of returning to Jesus to say a simple Thank You is enough to bring this man into the Holy Family of the Father. Everything he is right now and everything he has right now is a freely offered gift from God. He received it all as a gift with praise and thanksgiving. He was not owed healing. He didn't earn healing. He didn't borrow it or steal it. He humbly took it from the hands of Christ, went to the priests as commanded, and then returned, “glorifying God in a loud voice; and he fell at the feet of Jesus and thanked him.” Maybe Mrs. Turpin is right. You have to have things to know things. But having things must teach us humility and gratitude.

The idol of ingratitude seems to thrive on the idea that if I don't think of my things as mine first, I will lose them. Or if I don't think of myself as mine first, I might end up a slave to someone else. The problem here is that – as a follower of Christ – nothing is truly mine. Not my stuff, not even me. This truth is expressed for religious in our vows of poverty and obedience. What about all of you “just normal Catholics”? Well, you aren't immune to the effects of ingratitude. And you reap the benefits of giving God thanks and praise! You can find humility in living your marriage vows. Your spouse is given to you as a help in gaining heaven. You can find humility in raising your children in the faith by example. They are given to you as a help in growing in patience and strength. Children, you can grow in humility by being a help to your parents and siblings. Do you say “thank you” to mom, dad, brother, sister? You depend on them, so be grateful! Whatever your state in life, there is someone or something there to goad you toward humility. A co-worker? A classmate? A professor or teacher? A student? That middle-aged guy in the red Miata that cuts you off every morning on the commute to work? If you look, you will find abundant reasons to give God thanks and praise. If you cannot see these reasons, ask God to heal your blindness.

Mrs. Turpin is a haughty, middle-class white Southern woman, living in the late 1950's. She's an unrepentant racist, a snob, a gossip, and, according to a college girl at her doctor's office, “a warthog from hell.” That college girl hits Ruby in the face with a textbook. She deserves it. But that textbook and her new status as a warthog push her to contemplate her pride. While hosing down her hogs on the farm, Ruby has a revelation. A vision. She sees everyone – even those she thinks unworthy – rising to heaven on a bridge of light. And she knows – it is all a gift. It has nothing to do with race or property or cleanliness or good manners or being law-abiding or having or knowing. It's all about taking in what God gives and giving Him thanks and praise. Ms. Ruby, her story ends in shocked gratitude.

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They need to believe in Someone

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Sun, 05 Oct 2025 15:06:00 +0000

27^th Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

If you pay no attention to social media you may not have heard – there's an unprecedented boom going on in the Church. Specifically, a surprising increase in the number of 18 – 24yo's being baptized and confirmed worldwide. For example, btw 2023 – 2025, the number of young people entering the Church in France has doubled. And then doubled again. Campus ministries in the US are also noticing a huge increase in Mass attendance. So are regular parishes. This boom isn't restricted to the Catholic Church. Protestant and EO ministries are also reporting similar revivals. What's going on? Secular media are pointing to CK's assassination and attributing the booms to reactionary forces taking advantage of populist sentiments to rile up the rabble. There may be some of that going on. But the vast majority of these young people seem to be drawn to the Church by everything but politics. Their motivations vary but the common thread seems to be: they are tired of the incessant drone of nihilism and the performative morality of their peers. IOW, they are tired of the emptiness preached by the spirits of the world and fake utopias of godless ideology. They want to believe in something. They need to believe in Someone. They are seeking faith.

(Forgive me for Going Professorial. But it's always a danger with Dominican preachers). We've been calling the last eight decades of turmoil in the West a “culture war.” And it is that – at some level. All sorts of ism's get thrown around: capitalism, modernism, nihilism, progressivism, fascism, etc. It's a near-blinding flurry of warring ideologies and philosophies, each trying to define the Real and insisting that only its solutions can truly bring about utopia. What all these ism's have in common is their disdain for faith in a transcendent referent, something to point to beyond the material world that gives meaning. If your only way of making meaning in the world is the world itself and the world itself is constantly changing, then who and what you are is always changing. These young people are living with the war-torn leftovers of their cultures' failed revolutions, most especially the horrific failures of the sexual revolution. I don't need to list all the failures but here's a few: abortion-on-demand, the collapse of marriage, the destruction of the family, and transgender ideology. From this moral and social chaos, these young people are looking for – needing! – a way to give their lives meaning.

Thus, the culture wars. But these wars aren't just being fought in the world. They are being fought in the Spirit. I don't mean some sort of cosmic battle btw the equally matched forces of Good and Evil. That's heresy. Christ has won. He won from the Cross and the cosmic war is always, already won. The spiritual wars I mean are being fought within the hearts and minds of each man and woman. They fight to choose Christ. These men and women were born and raised in de facto Christian cultures. And they have in them the seed of God's Word (however deeply buried!). Paul writes, “...God did not give us a spirit of cowardice but rather of power and love and self-control.” It is this spirit who is stirring and finding its voice in the tumultuous lives of these young people. I see it everyday in my UD students, the seminarians I direct and teach; and in our own novices. What I hear them saying is that they are exhausted by defeat in a worldly war that can have no winners. They are tired of the stupidity of politics and the pablum of therapeutic religion. Where is the Spirit of power, love, and self-control? Where are the witnesses who will testify to the saving power of God?

The Sexual Revolution has failed. Paraphrasing Cardinal George from 2007, the progressive revolution in the Church has failed. One Utopian revolution after another has failed. Now it's time for a Spiritual Revolution and – as usual – our young people will lead the way. What can we older brothers and sisters do to help them choose Christ? Again, Paul writes, “...do not be ashamed of your testimony to our Lord...but bear your share of hardship for the gospel with the strength that comes from God.” Show them your scars. Tell them about your battles and how Christ rescued you. Let them see you fight yourself and win with God's grace. Don't be ashamed of your battleground. With Christ, it's where you won. This is not a fight where you must maintain your polite, middle-class American facade to save face. Your fight may be private but the war is public. Share your hardship. But most importantly, share your victory in Christ Jesus. They are looking for witnesses. You've been there. Tell them what you know. Tell them what to expect. And then show them nothing but mercy and the love Christ died for sinners. For you and for me.

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Spiritual Direction: Diagnostic Mode

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Sun, 31 Aug 2025 15:17:00 +0000

You work from home. Your laptop is a necessity. It's your only source of income. One day, right in the middle of a major project, your laptop crashes. You panic. Once you've calmed down, you call your company's IT department for help.

The tech arrives and spends about two hours fixing your laptop. As he's leaving, he says, “You can prevent this from happening again if you run the included diagnostic software. It will warn you about problems and suggest fixes.”

Relieved that your laptop is working again, you get back on-task with that project. An hour in, you recall your earlier panic and decide to run the diagnostic software. Just to be safe. It only takes about ten minutes. You get a big green thumbs-up on the screen. Great! Back to work.

Another hour in and you start feel like your machine is teetering on the edge of breaking down. There's no objective reason for feeling this way. It's working just fine. But there's something comforting about knowing for sure that all is well. You run diagnostic mode again. Again, big green thumb. Whew.

Each time you use diagnostic mode, you lose about ten minutes of productivity. Add to that number the cost of disrupting your focus.

This pattern of running diagnostic mode several times a day continues through the month. Everything is fine. But you can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. Then it hits you: what if the diagnostic mode is malfunctioning? What if the software designed to tell you what's broken is itself broken?

You call the IT department. The tech checks out your machine and assures you that all is well. Though you are relieved, doubts linger. What if the tech is wrong? Maybe he missed something. Maybe his diagnostic software is faulty. . .

And the cycle of relief, anxiety, doubt continues rolling along until you're fired b/c you're spending half your working day diagnosing your laptop.

If you allow it, this is what the Devil does to your spiritual life. Rather than spending your time growing in holiness through prayer, fasting, etc. you obsess over what's wrong, what could be wrong, what will be wrong in the future. You spend your time looking for fixes to problems that don't exist and will probably never exist. The really insidious part of this cycle is that you come to believe that Diagnostic Mode is what your spiritual life is supposed to look like.

There's nothing inherently wrong with the occasional diagnostic scan of your spiritual life. But being in a constant state of diagnosis is damaging.

Pray, fast, give alms, read spiritually beneficial literature; build good friendships; celebrate the sacraments, and stop wasting your time and energy on endless diagnostic scans.

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Are your feet beautiful?

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Sun, 10 Aug 2025 21:17:00 +0000

Simple Profession 2025

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

Church of the Incarnation, TX

Novices brothers, please stand and face the congregation. Folks, I want you to look at these young men very closely. Take a second to really SEE them. Now, here's my question: do these novices have beautiful feet? It's difficult to tell with their shoes on, right? In yesterday's reading for the feast of St. Dominic, we heard read the words of Isaiah: “How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news.” We can't see the novices' feet at the moment. They may be beautiful already. Or they may need some work. We don't know. What we do know is these men are here this morning to announce to this congregation, to the Order of Preachers, and to all the People of God that they are ready to take next step in a life-long transfiguration, growing from novice preachers into men walking on the most beautiful feet! One year down, brothers. Seventy years or eighty with good health to go. What must they do to become the great preachers God has called them to be? What must they give to Christ to be bearers of his Word?

The RYM asks Jesus a similar question. “Teacher, what must I do to gain eternal life?” We can imagine the RYM preparing himself for all sorts of answers. Climb that mountain and sit in silence for a year. Wash in the river everyday while singing the Psalms. Cross the desert w/o food or water. Instead, Jesus says, “If you wish to enter into life, keep the commandments.” We can almost see the RYM's relief. Whew! I'm doing that already. But just to be sure, he asks, “Which ones?” Jesus quotes the first few commandments. The RYM, maybe growing anxious again, says, “I'm doing all that. What do I still lack?” What do I still lack? This tells us that the RYM isn't happy. He's not fulfilled. Following the commandments isn't enough to attain eternal life. What's fueling his lack, his sense of not having what he knows he needs? Jesus answers, “If you wish to be perfect, go, sell what you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” You can see the RYM's face drop. Not the answer he is looking for. Why? Because he has many possessions. We goes away sad. He goes away with that lack still gnawing at his heart. IOW, he is unwilling to do what it takes to follow Christ, to become a witness to Christ's Word in the world.

These novice brothers asked Christ to teach them the way to eternal life. He taught them to detach from the world and follow him. They've answered his call to work out their salvation in fear and trembling as Dominican friars. They've chosen to cooperate with God's grace in the perfection of their nature by taking simple vows and striving to live those vows as faithfully as they are able. Their gifts will be turned toward bringing divine love and mercy into the lives of everyone they meet and in turn that love will be perfected in them. What “rough edges” they have will be smoothed out over time. Community life will see to that! Whatever deficiencies each may have will be made up for by the gifts of their brothers. And together with their brothers and sisters in the Order, they will contribute to a more perfect witness to the Father's mercy wherever they go. They know that Dominican life is both the hardest and the easiest life they can live. Hard b/c we expect great things from them. And easy b/c they will receive in abundance the mercy they need to flourish. I've lived with these five for the past year. I can bear witness that they are good men motivated by a love of God, a longing for holiness, and a readiness to learn what they must learn. Their vows bind them to us and at the same time free them to be what God has made and remade them to be. Where do they go from here?

Literally, they go to St Louis to begin six years of study. Spiritually, they begin what will be a life-long formation in charity under the vow of obedience. To modern American ears, “vow of obedience” sounds ominous, almost draconian. Images of identical little robots marching in step come to mind. Not even remotely close. If you know Dominicans, you know we may look alike from a distance but up close we're a grab bag of everything from Martin de Porres to Garrigou-Lagrange, from Rose of Lima to Catherine de Ricci. Our variety is marshaled and freed in obedience – the vow to listen to one another; to submit our preferences to the good of the community; and to wholeheartedly follow those elected to lead us. These brothers know that life of a Dominican friar is never lived in its Platonic Form. We are men not angels. They know we fall. They know we sin. They know we sometimes want to quit. And this is why we take vows. We say Yes to the mission of the Order once for all our lives. We should never need to say Yes again. We've said it. And once is enough. But when we do start to feel the urge to backslide, we have the brothers to strengthen us. And they will, if we let them.

Brothers, I've been your Prior and Professor this year. I can't resist one more priorial lesson: surrender. You've heard my wild stories of my novitiate and studium years. I was the RYM who refused to surrender his possessions to follow Christ. My possessions weren't the stuff of wealth and privilege. What I refused to surrender – at first – was my Pride. It kept me in trouble. So, I admonish you: do not be like me! It's not worth the anguish. Instead, go to STL with an open heart and critical mind ready to learn what you need to learn to be great preachers. You're going to be challenged. You're going to balk on occasion. And you will likely find yourself wondering, “What have I done?” Persevere. The studium is not the province; the province is not the Order; and the Order is not the Church. Stay the course. Be obedient. Contribute your gifts. And you will flourish. Detach from whatever it is that keeps you bound to this temporary world of things and strive for all the treasure in heaven. Brothers, we are proud of who you've become this year, and we give God thanks for your vocation and your Yes. God has amazing things in store you and through you for us. May your feet become as beautiful as they were made to be.

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You have no power here

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Wed, 23 Jul 2025 19:05:00 +0000

16^th Week OT (W)

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Parables usually have a villain – a character or character-type who exemplifies an obstacle for or foil to the hero. Our villains this morning are the birds, rocky ground, and thorns. Individually and all together these villains thwart the good fruit the sown seeds are sown to produce. They prevent the seeds from taking root, or from germinating, or from blossoming. If we understand the seeds to be the Word of God sown into the world, then we can take to the villains to be the enemies of the Word. If we were to give contemporary names to these villains, what would they be? Perhaps the birds would be the people in our lives who come along and devour our hope with their cynicism. Or maybe those who peck away at our faith with their anxiety. The rocky ground could be how we were raised, or our current living conditions. Faith can take root in the most hostile soil, but it's a fight to see it flourish. The thorns would be temptations – pricking skin, drawing blood, causing infection. We all know these thorns too well. They grow even in the best soil. If these are our contemporary villains, how do we combat them? We don't. We surrender to Christ's victory on the Cross and allow the ground where we are planted to be made fruitful.

The idea of not fighting a villain is almost outrageous. Goes against everything we've ever heard about “fighting temptation.” But the truth of the matter is that you and I have already won the fight. Or rather, we haven't won, Christ has won, and we are hidden in him. We win with him. Whatever power the villains have, they have b/c we give it to them by fighting them. They are already defeated. Why fight the loser? Doing so clearly proclaims that the loser isn't really the loser and that Christ has failed to win his victory on the Cross. When one of these villains threatens to damage your good harvest, to choke the seed of the Word given you by God, remember – at that moment – to surrender to Christ's big win and say – aloud if you have to – “You have nothing I want. You have no power over me.” And then give thanks and praise to God for making your soil rich and fertile. You have ears to hear. You understand already. There is nothing and no one to fight. Nothing and no one to lose to. Stay hidden in Christ and produce much good fruit.

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You are The Much More

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Wed, 28 May 2025 17:23:00 +0000

6^th Week of Easter (W)

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

How much more is there to say? What else is there to reveal? Jesus admits, “I have much more to tell you. . .” And then he adds this ominous line: “. . .but you cannot bear it now.” He's already revealed his fate and the fate of those who faithfully follow him – persecution, arrest, torture, and death! He thinks we can bear that but not the “much more” he has to tell us? Maybe we don't want to know much more. Maybe we know enough. Just enough to get by and get to heaven. The “much more” left unspoken could tempt us to think that there's a trove of secret knowledge out there just waiting to be discovered. Some cryptic manuscripts of forbidden lore that will explode everything we think we know about the faith. The early Church battled several Gnostic sects that claimed to possess occult knowledge about how we are saved. Dan Brown and his anti-Catholic fantasies are just the most recent manifestations of this ever-present shadow fiction. Since the serpent whispered to Eve, we've been tempted with feeling special b/c we know something others don't. Well, here's the secret: you and I are the “much more” that Jesus has to reveal. You and I are “much more” b/c the HS is with us.

You and I are the Body of Christ. His Body is animated by the HS. Just like the human person is body + soul, so the Church is a body and a soul. One Body, one Spirit. The “much more” to be revealed isn't a new truth or a treasure of secret knowledge. It's me and you and the whole Church living minute-by-minute in the world, for the world, revealing to the world all that Christ has left us to reveal. The disciples couldn't bear the “much more” b/c they couldn't live past their own witness to Christ in the first century AD. Imagine the HS showing Peter, Paul, and James the horror of the Holocaust and the Church's faithful response. They couldn't bear it. Each century needs its own witnesses. Each era needs its own saints. The HS raises voices to speak the Word where the Word is needed most. Right here, right now, you and I are needed right here, right now. We are the “much more” that Jesus has to say. Living confidently, zealously right where we are, we bear the HS, standing for the truth of the Gospel. To the world, we are a plague. For the world, we are a revelation.

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Productively pruned

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Wed, 21 May 2025 15:16:00 +0000

5^th Week of Easter (W)

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

It's the summer of 1991. I sit on a five-gallon pickle bucket all day everyday pruning tomato vines. The hothouses line up like barracks, baking in the Mississippi heat. Each of the twelve houses, covered in thick plastic, flutter as a huge fan pulls the air through, cooling the plants. I start at the first house nearest the road and work slowly each week from the first house to the twelfth house, pruning the suckers that grow in the between the branches and the vine. They look exactly like every other branch of the plant. But cutting them away is a necessary step in the growth of the plant. Suckers drain moisture and nutrients from the vines. Cutting the branch that bears no fruit makes the whole plant healthier. At the end of the day, I sweep up the drying suckers and burn them at the edge of the field. Had I been Catholic at the time, I might've thought about baptism or confession, clearing up and cleaning out the trash that stunts good fruit from ripening. Had I been Catholic, I might've remembered the parable of the branch and the vine.

Jesus reveals to his disciples that he is the true vine and that his Father is the vine grower. His Father cuts away branches that do not bear fruit and prunes the ones that do. Then Jesus says to the disciples: “You are already pruned because of the word that I spoke to you.” Because I have revealed the Father to you; because I have taught you the way of salvation in mercy; because I have given you to one another as a Body; because I am the Word speaking the Word to you; because you have died with me and will suffer for me; because you will rise again with me and see the Father face-to-face; and because I am the way, the truth, and the life – because I have taught you, given you, shown you, led you, and because I love you, you are pruned, productively wounded and more than ready to bear the fruit of the Spirit that marks you as mine. The difference btw tomato suckers and the followers of Christ is that the suckers have no choice in their cutting. Or their burning. You and I do. You and I can confess what needs to be pruned. Is it the lie that I need to earn God's love and mercy? It is the lie that I can bargain for His grace? Or that I am right to pass judgment on sinners? Maybe it's the Original Lie that I can be a god w/o God? Or maybe it's the Great Deception of the Modern Age – I can love w/o truth? Christ is the true vine – the Way, the Truth, and the Life. And there is no love that can save w/o him. Whatever suckers there are stealing your spiritual nutrients, ask the Lord to cut them off. Ask him to be productively wounded. The sweeping up at the end of the day is fast approaching.

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We gonna need a bigger boat!

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Sun, 04 May 2025 23:59:00 +0000

3^rd Sunday of Easter

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Judas sells Christ to his enemies for thirty pieces of silver. Peter, the Rock, denies belonging to Christ three times that same night. In the ensuing chaos after Christ dies on the Cross, Judas commits suicide. Tellingly, he hangs himself on a tree. The disciples flee to the Upper Room in despair. Everything they'd hoped for, planned for, dreamt about is in ruins and nothing makes sense. Then, Jesus starts appearing to them in the flesh, his resurrected flesh. He proves who he is with his wounds. He eats with them. He teaches them. Even Doubting Thomas is convinced! Now, they are together in Galilee where Jesus promised to meet them. Peter decides to go fishing, but the fish are too busy to be caught. Jesus appears to the disciples with some helpful advice. And they land a net full of fish. Finally! All the chaos, despair, grief, and fear begin to fade and a mission starts to take shape. With one question, Jesus sets this band of sorry students on their apostolic path, “Peter,” he asks, “do you love me more than these?” Peter, you denied me in the Garden as I said you would. But now, do you love me? This is also Christ's daily, hourly question to you and to me.

Why does Jesus need to hear the answer to this question? Surely, he knows Peter's heart. Surely, he knows that Peter denied him in the Garden out of panic and fear. Of course, Jesus knows this. But does Peter? Does Peter know why he denied Christ? It would appear that he doesn't. Just look at his luck with the fish. Twice we read that Peter goes fishing and catches nothing; that is, not until Christ appears and re-teaches him how to fish. Peter fails to provide...twice. Peter fails to see the Lord for who he is...twice. And twice Peter is confused by the Lord's instructions, nearly drowning himself in a panic. This time he is distressed b/c the Lord keeps asking him, “Peter, do you love me?” He answers, “Yes, Lord, I love you.” Three times he hears the question and three times he answers yes. And each time he answers, Jesus, orders him to feed his sheep. To feed the Lord's sheep, Peter must love the Lord. Fear, panic, despair, crippling doubt, anxiety, distress...none of these put fish in the boat. None of these put sustenance on the table. Peter the Rock, the foundation of the Church, must himself be grounded on the bedrock of loving Christ. Love me first, Jesus says, then feed my sheep.

When Jesus is finished teaching Peter that loving him is the bedrock of feeding his sheep, he turns to you and me and asks, “Do you love me?” We might wonder why Jesus needs us to love him. He sounds like a too-needy friend who pesters us for constant attention. Or maybe a spouse who doesn't trust the weekly “I love you” and needs more. Of course, Jesus isn't asking us this question for his benefit. He knows the answer already. The question is for our benefit. Hearing the question and answering it requires us to pause and survey our thoughts, words, and deeds. We have to take stock, a quick inventory of how we actually feel about the Lord. Do I love him? Or do I love the idea of him? Do I love my image of him? Maybe I love my version of him, my personalized concept of who and what he is to me. Maybe I love the Good Shepherd and the Teacher but not the angry guy flipping tables in the temple yard, the one talking about unrepentant sinners going to hell. Maybe I love the Just Judge who rigorously enforces the moral standards I approve of but not the one who forgives with the Father's mercy. You'll notice that Jesus doesn't ask Peter, “Do you love your version of me?” You'll notice that he doesn't ask you or me if we love what we like about him.

The Lord asks, “Do you love me?” Does all of you love all of me? Do you love the Good Shepherd, the Just Judge, the one who feeds the five thousand; who whipped the money changers; who shamed the ones who accused the adulterous woman; who threatens divine torture for those who refuse to forgive; who called the little child to him and taught us that we must love him and hate mother, father, son, and daughter? Do you love Him? Jesus the Social Worker and Jesus the Great High Priest? Jesus the 1^st century rabbi and Jesus the Incarnate Son of God? Peter fails as a fisherman b/c he loved his fear, his panic, and his doubt more than he loved his Savior. When Peter obeys the Lord, his net is full and so is his love. And out of this love, Peter will feed the Lord's sheep. When the Lord's sheep are fed in love, they mature in love and love in turn. The net gets bigger. The catch grows. More and more are fed. More and more come to love the Lord. And we welcome more and more fishermen. Jesus looks down from heaven, smiling, and says, “I think we're gonna need a bigger boat!”

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Satan's teeth never dull

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Thu, 17 Apr 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Wednesday of Holy Week

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Dante the Pilgrim and Virgil the Guide stand in awe of Satan frozen in hell. He has three faces. One “fiery red” and the other two – “weirdly wonderful” – a sickly yellow and a pale bronze. “In every mouth [Satan] worked a broken sinner/between his rake-like teeth. Thus he kept three/in eternal pain at his eternal dinner.” Brutus, Cassius, and “[t]hat soul that suffers most” – Judas Iscariot – “he who kicks his legs/on the fiery chin and has his head inside.” Why is Judas eternally chewed in Satan's fiery mouth? Because he asked the Chief Priest, “What are you willing to give me if I hand [Jesus] over to you?” He accepted 30 silver pieces – the price of a murdered slave – to betray his friend and teacher. No doubt we would say that Judas had it coming. No doubt we would say that his betrayal deserves to be immortalized in verse by Italy's greatest poet. And no doubt we would say, if suspicion fell on us, “Surely, not me, Lord!” Before we wag our finger at Judas and his traitorous nature, we should think long and hard about what it takes to betray Christ. Or rather, what we'd take to betray him.

Judas' betrayal is a straight up snitch operation. Coin in exchange for information. Dirty, yes, but also a tidy quid pro quo. And don't forget that he regrets his crime, repents, returns the coin, and, finally, offs himself. The tidy treason turned messy in the end. Can we claim that we would never, have never betrayed Christ? If not, can we say that our betrayals have been so commercial, so obviously mercenary? I doubt it. Judas had three years with Christ. We've had our whole lives. Judas had vague promises of a future kingdom. We've had centuries of a kingdom growing and flourishing. Judas had his instincts, his heritage, and a shallow understanding of sacrificial love. We've had two millennia of Church teaching, philosophy and theology, biblical scholarship, mystical and ascetical experience, and the lives of the saints. Not to mention our own encounters with the Christ in the sacraments. None of this excuses Judas. But it does implicate us. It makes our betrayals – even if infrequent – all the more damning. Judas may have known better. But we know best. He is an anti-example for our lives in holiness. One we can point to and say, “Not me, Lord!” Listen carefully and you'll hear Jesus respond, “If you say so.” Go into this Holy Week with your heart and mind wide open to the ways you've betrayed Christ. Not in fear. Not in shame. But with an eagerness to repent and return the coin you've taken. God's mercy is eternal. And Satan's teeth never dull.

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Trust needs no evidence

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Fri, 11 Apr 2025 17:59:00 +0000

5^th Week of Lent (F)

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Ghosts are real. UFO's are actually demons. Bigfoot walks the hills of Montana. All living things are embodied souls. God exists. We can label all of these as statements of belief. And we can assent to each with varying degrees of certainty. What these statements have in common is difficult to see. “Bigfoot exists” and “God exists” seem to be radically different sorts of beliefs! Nonetheless, we name both “beliefs.” Philosophers distinguish “to believe” and “to know.” Knowledge is necessarily true given the available evidence. Belief takes authoritative testimony as evidence. Now, we have a distinction btw evidence and authority. Do I believe Bigfoot is real b/c the available evidence requires I do so? Or do I believe b/c Youtube is packed with videos of people witnessing to an encounter with him? OR, is testimony just a form of evidence? All this is just the beginning of the problem of teasing out the question of what it is to believe that something is true or false. The Gospel tells us that many begin to believe in the Christ b/c they come to believe that what John the Baptist said about him is true. Before they believed in Christ, they believed in John.

If asked, could you explain your own belief in Christ? If so, how would you do it? You could take the route of popular apologetics and demonstrate the truth of your belief using history, archaeology, science, and good ole logic. The problem here is that you concede the standards of evidence to your opponent and open your belief to being treated as a scientific claim. IOW, your belief that Christ rose from the grave becomes equivalent to your knowledge about the atomic structure of hydrogen. Another popular route is to claim that religious belief is immune to rational explanation and simply assert the truth of your beliefs w/o the need for evidence. This approach turns your beliefs into opinions and leaves them easily refuted with opposing opinions. The better way is found in the Gospel. Over time, John's testimony about the Christ is proven true. Bit by bit, everything he says about Jesus is laid bare and found worthy of belief. Testimony is not scientific knowledge, but its weight can tilt the scale toward trust. And it soon becomes apparent that trust needs no evidence. In fact, trust based on evidence is no trust at all. Where does this leave us as believers?

As followers of Christ – as believers in his mission and ministry – we are not charged with demonstrating the scientific truth of our faith. We are charged with bearing witness, with giving testimony. We have moved from being unrepentant sinners to forgiven heirs. How did this move occur? What was it like? How are we different now that we've hidden ourselves in Christ? We point to God's mercy and lay claim to His promise of salvation. What does this look like day-to-day? If I remain the same miserable person I was before Christ, then what difference has Christ made for me? If my joy is dead, where is Christ? If I refuse to love, forgive, rejoice – why bother with Christ? If nonbelievers watch me go through my day and I come across as sour, defeated, morose, and angry – then what will they think belief will do for them? Think about it this way: you need to convince a jury you are not a dangerous criminal. Who do you want to be a witness on your behalf? Someone who lives his/her life with you as though you are innocent? Or someone who says you're innocent but refuses to live with you? The best evidence that Christ is Lord is a Christian who speaks and acts like Christ is Lord. Trust needs no evidence. But faith needs a witness.

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Hard questions, honest answers

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Tue, 08 Apr 2025 22:46:00 +0000

5^th Week of Lent (M)

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Humans are really good at creating gods. We are also pretty handy when it comes to find and using sources of light in the darkness. Predictably, it never fails that these gods and sources of light perfectly reflect what we think we need or exactly what we want. We are, after all, expert craftsmen of our own divinity. Even those of us who claim to be followers of Christ can – on occasion – erect an altar to a made-up god and offer a desperate sacrifice. So, our Lord reminds us, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” NB. he doesn't say that he's the light of the Church or the light of those with pure intentions or those with no other light available to them. He says that he is the light of the world. The whole world, the whole of creation. The good, the bad, the ugly, everyone, everywhere. Anyone who follows him – in his light – will never walk in darkness. Yet, even with this promise, we still fall into the vice of running after less lights. Going so far at times to invent some artificial light just for our use. What fake lights have you invented to avoid following the light of the world?

Lent calls for hard questions and honest answers. It's a time for us to burn away the fat and fluff and get down to the raw bones of our relationship with Christ. Maybe you like Christ's ethical teachings but not the supernatural stories. Maybe you like the liturgical elements of the faith but not the juridical. The miracles – old and new – keep you attentive but the philosophical and theological stuff seems excessive. Social justice fires your belly but the ancient moral teachings turn you off. In each case, there is a brighter light for you than the light of Christ. There's another light that outshines his light, leaving him in the shadows. A greater part of the work of Lent is the work of switching off any lights that compete with the light of Christ. Switch off each in turn until you are left with the light of sacrificial love, the light that demands everything of you and everything from you. He emptied himself to die on a cross. That's where his light will take us if we follow him. As scary as that is, it's the path we've chosen. It's the path we've vowed to walk and bear witness to. Only the light of his sacrifice can push back the dark and show us the way.

Sorrow, Suffering, Surrender: Mary at the Foot of the Cross

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Thu, 13 Mar 2025 00:41:00 +0000

Lenten Mission

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

Church of the Incarnation, UD

We find ourselves at the foot of the Cross. With John and the three Marys. Looking up from the ground, all we see are the soles of his feet. Bloody. Ruined. A single iron spike driven through both into the wood. The flesh is torn. And bruised. We can hear him breathing. Barely. Mary, his mother, weeps. John and the other Marys weep. Their sorrow like a millstone in the chest. Looking down, he sees his mother and his beloved disciple. He calls, whispers to his mother: “Woman, behold, your son.” Looking at John, he says, “Behold, your mother.” Hearing this, we glance at the two and see that they see how they are now bound together in suffering. If we could start at the beginning, we might see her freed from the burden of Adam's sin in the womb. We might witness Gabriel's visit to the adolescent Mary. We might see her freed determination, her surrender to the divine will. Her Yes. We might see her as a Young Mother – her love, her protection, her maternal care for the baby and the boy, Jesus. We might see her knowing looks at his precocious questions. We might hear her occasional gasp at some boyish stunt. We might see her smile at his filial obedience and her frustration at his apparent willfulness. We would see – as his public ministry drew to a close – her surrender to the sorrow that she knew would be his suffering. At the foot of the Cross, we bear witness to her sorrow, her suffering, and her surrender.

If the BVM is to be our model for taking on the challenges of Lent, we need to make sure we know what Lent is about. We can start with the via negativa – what Lent is NOT about. Lent is not about sin. Lent is not about fasting, praying, or giving alms. Lent is not about making sure that all our family and friends see us doing Lenten things. Our Lord couldn't be clearer in the Gospels that what we do during Lent cannot be about the veneer of repentance – faux religiosity, playing with the deadly serious weapons we are given for growing in holiness. Just last Sunday, the first Sunday of Lent, Jesus is led/driven into the wilderness by the HS. Why – precisely – is he in that desert? To pray? Yes. To fast? Yes. He does both for 40 days. But he's not there to pray and fast. When he is beyond hunger and exhaustion, the purpose for his time away appears. Luke tells us that Jesus is led into the desert “to be tempted by the devil.” Christ Jesus, the Son of God, the Messiah is to be tested. Like newly pressed steel, his strength and endurance must be proven.

That word “proven,” is telling. He is baptized in the Jordan by John. And confirmed in his mission by God Himself – “this is My Beloved Son; listen to him.” But he has yet to be proven b/c he has yet to be tempted. It's the Enemy's job to probe for weakness; to authenticate his identity by showing him everything and anything a man could want or need. And then, to challenge him to love these things of the world more than he loves his own Father. Hungry, exhausted, weak from exposure, Jesus – in his human nature – is dared to abandoned everything he has been sent to accomplish and make the things of the world his god. Despite his hunger, exhaustion, and weakness – or maybe b/c of them? – he refuses. Luke closes the scene: “When the devil had finished every temptation, he departed from him for a time.” That “for a time” is right now. Right now, the devil is here to probe, test, and dare us. Forty days before Easter, we follow the pattern of Christ's time in the desert to set ourselves against the Enemy and for God. Lent is when we are to be tempted. Fasting, praying, and alms giving are our weapons. Lent is not a time for playing religious games. It's a time to prove ourselves heirs of the Kingdom.

One last thing before we attend to our Marian strategy for proving ourselves. Who is the Enemy? We will likely say, “the Devil!” Yes. But here's the problem: he is already, always defeated. From the moment he was cast into Hell, he has been the loser. Christ won the victory on the Cross and that victory reverberates through eternity – from the first syllable of Creation to the last breath of the age. Christ won, is winning, and will always win. And so do we as heirs to the Kingdom. We've been baptized into his life, death, and resurrection. When we deny ourselves; take our crosses; and follow him, we follow him into an eternal victory that the Enemy cannot deny or undo. He has no power over us. We are in Christ Jesus, hidden in him, waiting to go to the Father. So, yes, the devil is your Enemy, but the only way he wins is for you to succumb to his temptations and permit him to rule you. The true enemy we face during Lent is ourselves. The battle between Eternal Life and Eternal Death is fought in the divided human heart. And our Marian strategy places us in a position to fully cooperate with every grace God the Father has to give us.

Our BMM weeps at the foot of the Cross. From the moment Gabriel speaks to her to her tears at his death, she has known that her son would die for the sins for the world. She carries this sorrow daily. Until her deathless assumption into heaven, she carries the deep loss of her child. Any mother would grieve but the BM shared in her son's suffering, surrendering to his sacrifice and accepting his death as the price to redeem human nature. There is his sacrifice on the Cross. And then there is hers at the foot of the Cross. He learned obedience through suffering. She accepted suffering b/c she was obedient. From the moment of his conception, Mary hears God's Word and follows her freedom to Golgotha. None of this lessens her sorrow. None of this eases her grief. None of this makes her mourning any less painful. She lives with sorrow like it's another child. Always there. Always needing. Her sorrow abides. But she never succumbs to despair. She never gives up on the Father's plan for our redemption. Even as she weeps at his bloodied feet, she is steadfast in her trust that her son's suffering and death will culminate in the transfiguration of the world. Imagine living day in and day out with nearly unbearable sorrow AND the knowledge that your sorrow will be vindicated. Imagine your grief living with near beatific joy!

For us, during our Lenten testing, the BM's sorrow establishes a pattern, a model for approaching the Cross. There's no disputing the truth that sin – the willful, deliberate choice to disobey God – that sin prevents us from participating fully in the divine life of the Blessed Trinity. When we sin, we choose to say to God, “No, thank you. I don't want your help. I don't want to be a part of your holy family! I can do this on my own.” In effect, we say, “I can be good w/o God. I can be god w/o God.” This is the First Temptation. The temptation of the serpent in the Garden. Knowing the Father's plan to bring Adam and Eve into the divine family, the Enemy dangles before our first parents the possibility of being divine w/o the help of the Divine. NB. the Enemy does not force or coerce their disobedience. He merely suggests an alternative plan, a plan built on a truth and twisted ever so slightly away from obedience. They bite. And their sorrow begins. But this is the sorrow of regret. Not the sorrow of loving-absence. Mary – sinless from conception – sorrows in love. Her sorrow abides in trust and ends in joy.

How does the serpent tempts us in our testing? First, he tempts us to choose to believe that God is merely our occasional rescuer from sin and not our sustaining Father in love. This temptation requires that we adopt a self-sufficient attitude toward growing in holiness: “I can do this on my own. I'll call on God when I get in trouble.” Rather than seeing our lives as fully immersed in the divine life, we see ourselves struggling to achieve some sort of Goodness Goal, a sort of measurable level of Moral Cleanliness. When we fail – and we always do! – we run to God in shame and ask for forgiveness. That's regret. Sure, we're sorry – we sorrow – but it's more of a disappointment in our own strength than it is a sorrow with our failure to love God. The Enemy's next move is to tempt us into believing that our disobedience is inevitable b/c we are fundamentally wicked. If we sin b/c we are weak, then we just have to be stronger! Stronger than what? Stronger than ourselves? Than sin? Stronger than the Enemy? NB. how the devil is keeping us focused on our immediate choices. What about the choices we make to follow Christ? The choice we make daily to live in the divine life? What about the sorrow we feel b/c we have chosen not to love God? Can you live with both your sorrow at sin AND the joy of knowing you are an heir to the Kingdom? A full participant in the victory of the Cross? Do not let the Enemy convince you that you are irredeemably sinful. Our sinless Mother felt sorrow in love daily. She's your weapon against the pride of Eve! Joy in being a child of the Father sends the Enemy packing.

Along with that joy comes suffering. Here we have to be very careful b/c the Enemy knows how to tempt us even when we are being consistently obedient. We cannot doubt that the BM suffers at the foot of the Cross. Hers is not a physical pain due to injury but a spiritual pain, a loss. She grieves. Even knowing all along that the Cross was her son's end, she grieves. And she lets herself grieve. She suffers well. That is, with full knowledge and the consent of her perfectly freed will, she permits/allows herself to mourn the loss of her son. She doesn't try to mitigate her grief. She doesn't beg God to bring him back. To the fullest extent possible, she suffers with our Lord. An arrow piercing her heart as the lance pierced his side. What is this suffering? It is not merely the physical experience of pain or the emotional experience of radical loss. Her suffering is permissive; she allows her pain to be exactly what it is and...still she loves. John is now her son and she his mother. Without diminishing her grief for even a second, BM joyfully receives John as a filial gift, thus receiving all of us as her beloved children.

Here's where the Enemy will tempt us: suffering is to be avoided; it is to be alleviated; or, at best, apathetically endured. Addressing Beelzebub, Satan says, “Fallen cherub, to be weak is miserable,/Doing or suffering. . .” The proper demonic response, he argues, is to fight back! Show your resolve not to be pitied! Defy accepting any defeat! Never kneel! No, non serviam. I will not serve. But Christ says, “Deny yourself; take up your cross, and follow me.” If we follow Christ, we follow him to the Cross; and we suffer as he suffered. We permit the pain of sin and death and defeat it in sacrifice. By giving it all to God so that he can remake it holy. The BM does exactly that at the foot of her son's Cross. By saying Yes to His will; by tending to his Word through the years; by her patient permission when he goes to Pilate; by everything she does for 33 years, she suffers – allows – knowing how he will end on Golgotha. For us, the BM show us how to not only endure the burden of mortality but also how to find joy in its limits: sacrifice in love when the sacrifice is everything you love most. This is why Jesus teaches us that we must love him first and most to be his disciples. Our test is no small thing. It is everything, everyday. It's Abraham and Isaac on the mountain. It's Christ on the Cross.

And here is where the BM's surrender enters our arsenal. We can surrender in the face of a superior enemy, or we can surrender before the war. If there is no war, or the war is already won, then there is no shame in surrender. Especially if we are surrendering to divine providence. Remember: Christ has won. Already, always won. The devil is defeated. He is allowed to test us, but he can never win. . .unless we give him our victory through sin. Our principal opponent in our Lenten testing is ourselves, our divided hearts. If we sorrow in love for our disobedience and allow ourselves to mourn the death of the Old Self, always giving over to God so that He can make all we are and have holy, then there is no war to fight. Temptations are only reminders of who we used to be, memories, at best, of how we used to believe that we could be gods w/o God. When the BM gave her fiat to Gabriel, she gave her perfectly freed will to the plan for our salvation. When we were baptized, we gave ourselves to that same plan and for the same reason: we could see the wisdom of providence at work, and we believed in the promises of the Most High! Those promises have not faded. They have been kept. So, what do we surrender when everything we have and are already belongs to Christ? We surrender our need to control. To control outcomes. To control others. To control God. In the face of divine providence, and at the foot of the Cross, we follow Mary's example: we weep for loss and we love sacrificially, giving whatever is in us that we have not already given to Christ. We did not create ourselves. We cannot re-create ourselves. No amount of prayer, fasting, or good works will fix a wounded soul on its own. God does not want our rent garments or ashen heads or checks in the collection plate. He wants our contrite hearts. Split open and burning on the altar. That's the only sacrifice that matters when the time for testing comes. He wants us to turn our lives around, face Him, do His will for our sake, and love to the limits of our graced capacity. Lent is a long 40 days to test our willingness to be sorrowful in our disobedience. To suffer well, knowing we are heirs. And to surrender everything, everything so that we are truly free!

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Authority, obedience, conscience

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Sat, 22 Feb 2025 17:10:00 +0000

Chair of St. Peter

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

What's wrong with the Church? Why can't the bishops get their act together? How much obedience do we owe this Pope? I hear these kinds of questions a lot. I heard them in 2001 when JPII was Pope. And in 2010 when BXVI was Pope. And pretty much just yesterday while Francis is still Pope. Who is asking these questions seems to depend a lot on who is sitting in the Chair of St. Peter! The questioners change. The Popes change. But the questions themselves never do. It's always a problem with authority, obedience, and freedom of conscience. If Your Guy is sitting in the Chair, then authority/obedience is the bedrock of the Church. If not, then freedom of conscience is the foundation of right religion. The folks preaching freedom from BXVI in 2010 are the same ones preaching obedience to Francis in 2025. And the ones preaching obedience to BXVI in 2010. . .well, you get the idea. Unfortunately, for both camps – that's not how religious authority works. Here's what Christ has to say, “I say to you, you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my Church, and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it.” That's the authority we submit to in obedience.

And what does this authority entail? Christ says, “I will give you [Peter] the keys to the Kingdom of heaven.” IOW, Christ appoints Peter as his royal steward. His caretaker and vicar. This means that “whatever [Peter] bind[s] on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatever [Peter] loose[s] on earth shall be loosed in heaven.” We all know this to be the authority of the Holy Father to govern the Church and to define the faith and morals of believing Catholics. Are there any limits to this authority? Yes. These limits are canonically defined by the First Vatican Council in its declaration on papal infallibility. But more importantly, the Holy Father's authority and our obedience are defined in terms of charity – the governing theological virtue. Charity requires the presumption of grace; that is, charity starts by assuming that the one in authority is governing in accord with the faith handed to the Apostles. The alternative is to assume a lack of grace and suspect deception. Grace cannot thrive in a mind ruled by constant suspicion. The whole point of giving us Peter as our rock is to dispel any nagging doubts about what is and is not in accord with the apostolic faith. Christ knows what he's doing. And he knows Peter. . .better than we ever will. So, trusting Peter is trusting Christ.

American Catholics are often Protestants at heart. We live and breathe the individualist, freedom as license, pick and choose consumerist religion of modern Protestantism. And it doesn't help that we've had five decades of moral theologians telling us that the job of conscience is to invent personal truths. Peter makes a world-changing declaration of trust: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” That's not Simon Peter's “personal truth.” It is The Truth. And on this Truth is the Church founded. And b/c he revealed this Truth, on Peter himself is the Church founded. From Peter and his confession is the whole of the apostolic faith handed on. We celebrate the Chair of St. Peter to be reminded that the faith we profess is a guarantee of victory against the works of the netherworld. But that guarantee is good only when we hold steadfast to the trust Peter expressed to Christ and his disciples. We are saved as a Body. Not as free-floating individuals picking and choosing what we believe. So, who do you say the Son of Man is? Say it with Peter: “[He is] the Christ, the Son of the living God.”

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What's blinding you?

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Sat, 22 Feb 2025 17:09:00 +0000

6^th Week OT (W)

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

At first go, Jesus fails to heal the blind man fully. It's an easy-to-miss moment. It takes a second attempt to get the healing right. What's happening here? Is Jesus running out of juice? Was he distracted? Most ancient commentators read this story as a symbol for “gradual enlightenment”; that is, a symbolic story pointing to Jesus' bit-by-bit revelation of his mission and ministry to the public. In the same way that the blind man's healing doesn't happen all at once, Jesus' self-revelation as the Messiah doesn't happen all at once. Fair enough. But I'd wager that there's another reason for the failed first attempt at a cure. The blind man isn't fully prepared to be healed. Notice that the blind man is brought to Jesus by his neighbors. He doesn't approach Jesus himself. Notice too that it's the man's neighbors who ask for healing. Not the man himself. If he's been blind since birth, he knows no other way of being. He's more than just used to being blind. Being blind is who he is. Being cured will not only allow him to see, it will radically change who he is. It's possible that Jesus' first attempt at the cure fails b/c the poor man is scared to death of being able to see. Who will he be if he can see?

Read this way, the story is symbolic of our reluctance to let go of our darkness and embrace the light. What if I like my darkness? What if I AM my darkness? It's familiar and comfortable. I know how to navigate in the shadows. Allowing Christ to heal me fully means that everything changes! It could mean losing friends, alienating family, changing jobs. It could mean a shift in my politics or the way I do business. Being healed in Christ Jesus obligates me in ways I can't even begin to imagine right now. And then there's the whole Church Thing – going to Mass, going to confession, being a volunteer, donating money. Yeah, so, the first try doesn't take. We see indistinctly. Better but still blurred. What becomes clear – between the first and second try – is that we cannot remain in darkness when the light is our calling. When being free from sin and death is how we were made to be. Sin and death are unnatural. Not according to our nature. The comfort we feel in darkness isn't comfort. It's just familiarity. We've gotten used to it. Now we are being dared to receive Christ's healing and live in the light. What familiar darkness is holding you prisoner? What's making you blind?

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Your reward is great already

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Sat, 22 Feb 2025 17:08:00 +0000

6^th Sunday OT

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

The promise of heaven and the threat of hell for good behavior or bad behavior is really all about social control. It's about using the promise/threat of an afterlife to keep us in line while we're still alive. Pie-in-the-sky, fire and brimstone – all that nonsense. I believed this lie when I was younger; that is, I believed the lie that heaven and hell were just fables told to keep us peasants under control. Back then, in my twenties, I thought everything was about power and control. Who has it? Who suffers b/c they don't? Who benefits from the system of religious myths and rituals? Now, have ecclesial and political authorities used religion as a means of social control? Sure. Anything humans touch can and will be twisted to an evil end. That a hammer can be used to murder doesn't mean that hammers are morally bad. That the Beatitudes can be used to pacify the angry masses into believing that things will be better in some fictitious heaven – well, that doesn't mean we are not blessed when we follow Christ and work toward being perfected in him. “Rejoice and leap for joy on that day! Behold, your reward will be great in heaven.” Better yet: rejoice and leap for joy for your reward is – right now – already great!

We make a big mistake when we assume that we must wait for heaven to receive our reward for being faithful followers of Christ. Sure, the fullness of our reward will be great then – no doubt! – but we start sharing in the Kingdom we've inherited even now. What is the Mass but a foretaste of the heavenly banquet? What is confession but a glimpse into the Father's mercy? What is baptism and confirmation but our first steps as heirs and members of the holy family? Marriage makes the married couple a sacrament of Christ's love for his Bride, the Church. And the sacrament of anointing brings us directly into the healing power of God. Jesus preaches the Beatitudes not to pacify us deprived peasants into a compliant citizenry but to show us that our suffering now shapes us into perfected vessels for his gifts. But. . .we must suffer well. We can suffer now with an eye on some distant reward. Or, we can suffer now, suffer well, and benefit immediately from how we choose to suffer. The sacraments help. Prayer certainly helps. Good works always increase merit. But nothing beats loving sacrifice in bringing us close and closer to our perfection in Christ.

There are two components of loving sacrifice: surrender and gratitude. Together these two result in obedience. Not mere compliance. But obedience – truly loving God, listening to His Word, and following His will. Surrender is about coming to know a simple truth: I am not in control. Never have been. Never will be. I was thrown into this world by my parents. I wasn't consulted. No one asked for my permission to be born. I didn't get a choice in my race or sex or anything else for that matter. Yet – here I am. At some point, I started making choices. And at that point, I started thinking (falsely) that I was in control. The sum total of my choices up until I surrendered proved to be...less than spectacular. MUCH less than spectacular, in fact. At death's door from an internal staph infection at 34yo, I chose surrender. I let go of the wheel. Did I occasionally snatch it back? Yes. Did I successfully drive my life toward Christ when I did? No. Ended up in a ditch every time. Age helps surrender b/c age helps you see the Real as it is...not as you want it to be. Think of surrender as your first sacrifice. Your intellect and will upon His altar, your contrite heart and mind raised up and given over to be made holy. A sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving.

Giving thanks is harder than we sometimes imagine. Saying “thank you” is an admission of dependence. It's a confession of needing help. Once you've surrendered, once you've offered your heart and mind in sacrifice, the help you need is abundant and freely given. Turning your prayer life toward gratitude deepens your humility, and you begin to understand what Jesus means when he preaches about being blessed. Blessed now, blessed then. Always blessed in thanksgiving. The deeper you grow in humility, the easier obedience becomes. You learn a new habit, or rather, you relearn an old habit in a new way: faith. It's not just trust anymore, or hope, but a still, grounded, rock-solid certainty that God's promises will not be fulfilled. BUT...they have already, always been fulfilled and you participate fully in them. That's blessedness this side of paradise. And with that blessedness comes the driving need to bear witness to the gift you have been given, the gift you have freely received. When you do, when you bear witness, you offer loving sacrifice. And you grow closer to Christ. Blessed are those who die to self in surrender and gratitude and become Christ for another.

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Time to be contagious

noreply@blogger.com (Fr. Philip Powell, OP) — Sat, 22 Feb 2025 17:06:00 +0000

5^th Week OT (W)

Fr. Philip Neri Powell OP

St. Albert the Great, Irving

Getting Catholic holiness right in a libertine world can be a challenge. For e.g., picking out the Catholics at an office Christmas party or 4^th of July cookout with co-workers could be a betting game. Are the Catholics the ones not drinking? Not necessarily. Not smoking or dancing? Maybe. But that's no sure-fire indicator. Dressed modestly? Who knows? You can't tell much about someone's holiness from their casual behavior, clothing choices, or venial habits. They would have to be out, loud, and proud about their holiness for you to notice. . .and then they could be accused of hypocrisy! Holiness is never in-your-face aggressively proud. It's never a display for public consumption, or carnival act for an adoring crowd. Holiness is simply being Christ where you are to the limits of your capacity. Jesus speaks of holiness in terms of cleanliness and uncleanliness. These are terms defined by the Mosaic Law. What you eat, touch, associate with, or even go near decide your level of clean. You become unclean through contact with something or someone unclean. Your uncleanliness is then a source of infection for others. And so on. Being unclean is contagious.

Jesus wants his holiness – our holiness – to be contagious. So, he says that what goes in cannot make us unclean. What goes in – food, drink – cannot determine moral worth or ritual purity. It all ends up in the sewer anyway. If holiness can be measured, it's measured by what comes from the heart and mind in word and deed. What's said and done by a heart and mind given over to Christ signals holiness. And fruitful holiness is always humble. Never loud, out, and proud. Humility is the honey to self-righteousness' vinegar. We might prefer that the Rules of Holiness specify permitted and forbidden behaviors. Like children who need enumerated rules, we find it easier not to have to guess about what is good and evil. But hearts and minds vowed to Christ already know that love comes first. Willing the Best, who is God, comes first. And then forgiveness, mercy, faith, hope. Surrender and thanksgiving. None of these go into the body to make it clean. All of them, however, come out of the body and soul – immediately contagious, ready to propagate. Think of yourself as Jesus' Patient Zero. And go infect someone with Divine Love!

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