Homily

I've often been puzzled by people, by Christian people, by Catholic people who think that they truly don't sin very much, or hardly at all. I don't know, of course, how many such people who think like this are in the Church, but there are more than a few. How does it happen that people come to believe that they are relatively sinless? I can't say I have all the answers but here is one suggestion or idea.

We are running our life from our desk. Let's say our lives are like sitting at a desk, a big desk with a lot of drawers. On the top of that desk where we are sitting, there are photos, pens, a few awards we have won—all the things on the top of that desk represent our virtues and our strengths and they are the parts of our lives that are out in the open, very easy for us to see, with little effort, anytime we want to. It is not as though we are fixated on those virtues sitting on the top of our desk. We don't sit there and stare at them all the time. In fact we tend to take them for granted most of the time, but still they are the parts of our lives we like to leave out for us, and for everyone, to see.

But our sinful tendencies, and our sins, and our weaknesses, we keep not on the top of the desk, but in the many drawers below—out of sight and out of mind. The sinful tendencies are close at hand when we feel pushed or pulled or tempted, even if they are out of sight most of the time. We simply open their drawer and let them out. After we've sinned we throw that sin, and the evil inclination, back into the drawer and shut it. Out of sight, out of mind. Our weaknesses have their own drawers as well. They are not sins in themselves, but sometimes when we are opening one drawer, they pop out as well. We don't like seeing our weaknesses, and we surely don't like other people seeing them either, so that's why we keep them shut away from view. Out of sight, out of mind, both my sight and mind, and your sight and mind.

So that's my mental picture to describe how it might be that people feel themselves to be so sinless. They may not be focused on their particular strengths and virtues but those things on the top of the desk are what they see as truly representing their lives and that is not only the public image they believe others see, it's also the image they believe represents who they are as a person. Oh, sure they know there are some sad things and some bad things in those drawers, but they are shut away, closed, out of sight, hardly important in their lives at all. Yes, once in a while it may be that a drawer or two gets opened, and that's bad, but those things don't truly represent them. Look at the desk top. That's who they are! That's the real person! Not that stuff tucked away!

This past week, as often happens for me at some point in Lent, the Lord was kind to me and, so to speak, He began to open some of my desk drawers, one after another. Not all of them, by any means, because I'm not strong enough for that, but just a small number, but all at the same time. "Oh, so you think you are loving and generous? Look at this and this and this. You think you are faithful? Look here and here and there. Does it comfort you to think you are better than other people? Well, look on these things here. And if you're tempted to think you're doing a great job, let's open these drawers here and take a good look at these thoughts and deeds and see if you still feel the same after you look at them." And I start to get a renewed sense, once again, that I am indeed a genuine sinner, not in a small or insignificant way, but at the very core of my life. This is not a bad thing to understand.

It's not bad, because it's more honest. It's not bad, because it brings me to Christ. He alone can pardon. He alone can heal. He alone can help me to root out my sinful tendencies. He alone can strengthen me despite my weaknesses. It is indeed a very good thing to have a bunch of those drawers opened, and even if it's painful to see what is inside, that is the time when I clearly see how much I need a Savior, and that is the time for me to call on His name. I cannot come to Christ, and I will not come to Christ if I think my life is truly represented by what is on my desktop. It's only when I truly acknowledge what is tucked away beneath it that I will put myself into the Lord's hands and beg for His help, not with disappointment in myself, but with great hope in Him.

This is like a mini-conversion. For me it is very small, I fear. You would probably need the Hubble telescope to spot the difference in me. But even if it's very small, still it is there, and it is still a grace and a help. Lent is meant to provide us with such conversions—and yours may be great and more profound, and I pray it is, because only sinners need a Savior, and if we don't need a Savior, then we are without Christ.

St. Mary of Egypt, when she had a conversion in Jerusalem, completely changed her life and spent the rest of her days in prayer and penance living naked in the desert. I'm not sure if I have the heart to be converted that strongly. I don't think you'll ever see me living in my underwear on the outskirts of Dexter. But I urge you to ask the Lord to help you see your own sinfulness, not that you may find self-loathing and condemnation, but rather confession, conversion and Christ. He did not come to save the healthy and whole. Instead He came, and he will come, for all of us, the people who know we need Him.