When the storm rages (justice)

AMEN, Amen, I say unto you, the hour is coming, and now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God; and they that hear shall live. For as the Father hath life in Himself, so hath He given to the Son to have life in Himself, and hath given Him authority to execute judgement also, because He is the Son of Man. Marvel not at this; for the hour is coming in which all that are in the graves shall hear His voice and shall come forth: they that have done good unto the resurrection of life, and they that have done evil unto the resurrection of condemnation. As I hear, I judge, and My judgement is just; for the Son of Man shall come in the glory of His Father with His Angels, and then shall He reward every man according to his works.

-- John 5:25+

Since I last saw you, I was ordained a priest. Please keep me and that vocation in your prayers.

And since I saw you, we started St. Mychal Judge Liberal Catholic Church in Dallas. The church holds Sunday Mass in a meeting room within a Holiday Inn. We have a permanent home, too. It is a chapel in what used to be a garage apartment. It is about the size of a postage stamp. I call it The Basilica Of The Upper Room. The word "basilica" is reserved in the Roman church for the largest and grandest churches.

Fixing up the basilica was more fun than you're supposed to have in Texas. Everything is illegal there, you know. Except guns, of course. We have a choir, which looks a lot like a boom box. We have a sacristy for vestments, which bears a striking resemblance to a closet. We have a Fellowship Hall, which amounts to a coffee pot... but it is a big 12-cup coffee maker. There's a little shrine to Our Lady of Grace, and one to our patron: St. Mychal Judge.

When Archbishop Roberts gave me today as the date he wanted me to come to New York, I dashed over to the Liberal Catholic online calendar to see what the readings were. I looked at the assigned topic for today: JUSTICE.

Oh, great. I have nothing profound or helpful about justice. What do I know about justice? I have nothing to say.

The same day I got the archbishop's e-mail message, a group of us in Dallas went to see Fahrenheit 9/11. After the movie, I found that I had too much to say.

When I went up to the basilica to do some cleaning, I asked the choir to inspire me. I have a hundred or so songs plugged into my boom-box, and they play at random. What popped up was the recording of a song by Les McCann and Eddie Harris from the Swiss Movement: Compare to What. Even though the song dates to the 60s, I can still relate to it in the current state of affairs. One line: Half of one doubt and they call it treason. JUSTICE... I now have WAY too much to say, and I am whipped into a lather.

I don't always see justice. I see good people going through hard times. I see holy people suffering at the hands of unholy people. I see wrongs that I want to right.

I don't always see justice. I see friends living in a nightmare, praying for a dream. And I get so angry.

I don't always see justice. The Lottery ticket I bought should have won, but I didn't even lose gracefully. And that's not right.

I don't know what I'm seeing, but it isn't justice. I've got doubts -- honest doubts, and that's treason. I've got fears, and that's not manly. I've also got a Harley, and that means I'm way too rough for polite society. And there's lots more to that inventory. Just a thought... when I don't see justice... maybe... just maybe... it is my seeing that's the problem. The law of gravity is really clear: you throw something off a building, it **will** go down. The law of gravity is a law, and no holy person or politician can change one letter of that law. It is predictable. God made that law predictable, and aren't we glad He did? Can you imagine the problems if we couldn't predict gravity. Every day, you jump off your balcony to go to the store, like you had jumped so many times before. But one day, you do the same thing and go splat on the sidewalk with a broken leg. With the law of gravity, after you've broken enough bones, you finally detect a pattern to this universal law. You learn (eventually) to stop jumping off balconies... to stop putting your hand on the iron.

I don't always see justice. The law of justice is just as predictable as the law of gravity. I'm not saying that every time you go through hard times is punishment. I'm not saying that, but the reading this morning said "what you sow, so shall you reap." What I am saying is that you hold inside of you the power to break the cycle. If you plant weeds, don't expect to be harvesting corn. If you do hateful things (even if those hateful things are 'justified'), don't expect the universe to cut you any slack. If you think hateful things, the gospel says that thinking puts out the same energy as doing.

What I am saying is that the universe doesn't always make things lay down the way I want them to. My eyes see the universe as cold and hostile, when it may just be the universe.

When somebody does hateful things, you may be justified in returning some hate. But there's a difference in the word "justified" and the word "justice." You may be justified in seeking revenge, but you aren't required to do so. Remember the law of Universal Justice, and remember that you can arrest the cycle if you want. You can stop sowing injustice, and begin reaping justice. When you see hate, plant love and that's the crop you will be harvesting. When you see injury, plant pardon... and pardon's what will be on your table. When you find fear, plant a bed of hope. Where there's sadness, plant laughter.

You can break that cycle of universal justice. You can ... especially if you are angry enough ... stand up and say: I love you, Mister Hateful. I love you, Madam Scorn. I love you, Osama. You can stand up to injury. You can take responsibility for your tiny part of God's world. It's hard sometimes -- scary. It goes against the grain, but so what? You aren't doing this by yourself, you know.

I don't always see justice, but sometimes I'm just blind. Sometimes the words of justice are said, but I am just deaf. Sometimes I'm hoping for tomorrow instead of looking at today. Right now, in the Eternal Now is when justice happens. It isn't tomorrow... tomorrow is just something inside your head. The only thing you can put your hand on is Today... the Eternal Now.

When I hear people talk about doing such-and-such in order to get into heaven, I feel so sorry for them. They've taken their eye off the ball. They're going to waste their entire life. They're going to walk around for decades like zombies. They're never going to see today because they're wrapped up in planning for tomorrow.

With that in mind, let me say again the opening words of today's gospel. Listen with the ears of the Eternal Now... "AMEN, Amen, I say unto you, the hour is coming, and now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God; and they that hear shall live." Those are the words of our Lord, and who should understand the way the universe works better than Him?

When I am alive in this moment, justice is all around. Justice ... equity ... is here and now. When I am alive in the moment, I see justice. When I know the Eternal Now, it doesn't matter what's going on around me. Things can be falling apart, and I'm okay. I don't want to miss the Eternal Now. When today is happening, I don't want to call in sick.

• I don't want to be like a walking dead person, ignoring today. Being here now is called faith.
• Living for today and staying out of tomorrow... that's called hope.
• And when you stand up and stop the cycle of retribution (or even thinking bad thoughts)... that's love.

Mark this then: When the clouds come (and they will) and the storm shrieks (and you can take it to the bank that there'll be some shrieking), sometimes God calms that storm. Sometimes God lets the storm rage and calms His children.