Homily for Ordinary Time 21
August 24, 2025
Discipline to Discipleship
The word
“discipline” gets a bad rap. Sometimes we associate it with punishment, or we imagine
rigorous asceticism like a thousand push-ups or sleeping on the floor. But discipline
comes from discipulus, meaning “follower, pupil, student” – from which
we also get disciple. And the two ideas are closely connected: if we
wish to be a disciple (a follower) of Jesus Christ, then we must engage in the disciplines
that make us one. The Christian life here is training for Heaven!
Before
Original Sin, all of us were naturally inclined to Heaven. Our first parents enjoyed
prayer. They loved to make sacrifices. It was easy for them to resist
temptation. But one of the most far-reaching results of original sin is called concupiscence
– the weakness of will by which our desires are disordered. So now we love
watching TV more than prayer, even though intellectually we understand that
prayer is better for us. Now we love donuts more than broccoli, we love getting
our own way more than sacrificing for others, we love ourselves more than God.
So, with
God’s grace, we must use discipline to bring our unruly desires back into their
proper order. Since it is no longer natural for us to love God, we must learn
to do so: by prayer. We no longer automatically choose God over physical
pleasure – we have to practice fasting and sacrifice. We are often drawn to
fame and fortune over God, so we must retrain ourselves by almsgiving and
generosity to the poor.
All of
this training is difficult – as it would be to learn any skill that did
not come naturally, such as piano playing or lacrosse. This is why the second
reading speaks of God disciplining us through suffering. Sometimes we think
that we suffer because God rejects us, but Scripture makes it clear that we
suffer because God loves us and desires, not our comfort, but our
holiness. He is training us! Consider those great training scenes in those
movies we love so much: how Mr. Miyagi treats the Karate Kid, or how Yoda
treats Luke Skywalker. They are often tough with them, challenging them,
looking none too loving. But it is loving to help them to become the
best they could be. We, too, must be trained in the art of loving God – it does
not come naturally to us.
And what
is the fruit of discipline? Our second reading makes clear: peace and holiness.
It was said of St. John of the Desert, an early church hermit, that when he
would go out to spend time with others, he would return home with his mind so
full of chaotic thoughts that he would spend an hour of prayer to calm his mind
and put his thoughts in their proper order. Don’t you ever feel that way – like
our mind or spirit is just disquieted? If so, then the disciplines of prayer,
fasting, almsgiving, and accepting the suffering God sends can restore peace
and holiness to our souls.
But not
everyone wants to overcome concupiscence through discipline, which is why Our
Lord says that it is a narrow gate, and that few are saved. Many like the idea
of Heaven but not actually what Heaven is. It’s not clouds and harps and an
endless party – it’s union with the One Who created us and loves us and gives
us life. Such a mind-blowing gift – to be united to God – requires that we be
prepared for it.
A job
that I very much admire, but couldn’t do, is being one of the linemen to fix
power lines. Five hundred thousand volts coursing through those lines – I am
very glad those men are well-trained on how to handle it! Something that
powerful can do great damage if they do not practice the proper disciplines.
They have to train for years. Likewise, being in the presence of the Living God
would completely overwhelm us unless we have “trained” here on earth for years
– prayer, fasting and sacrifice, almsgiving and generosity, giving our lives to
the Lord. Increase your capacity for Him here and you will be prepared to
receive Him in His fullness in Heaven.
Our
Lord’s injunction about the number of people saved is meant to help us avoid
two dangerous extremes: presumption and despair. Despair is the
belief that our sins are too big for God’s mercy, that we could never be saved.
This, of course, is an error – no sin is bigger than the mercy of God. But the
opposite is far more common these days: presumption, the belief that
we’re going to Heaven no matter what. I hear that all the time at funerals:
“Oh, we know Aunt Sally is in Heaven.” Actually, we don’t know that, and
it is spiritually dangerous to think that way, for two reasons. First, if we
assume our loved ones are in Heaven, then we don’t pray for them – and if they
are in Purgatory (which is where most people probably go when they die), they
need our prayers! Second, we will tend to overlook their sins. We no longer
allow eulogies in the Church (I could tell horror stories) but one family really
wanted to do one at the graveyard. So I allowed it, and he told a story about
how his grandfather used to take him out to restaurants and tell the waitress
that he was only twelve to get the child discount when he was really fourteen.
And the man telling the story was saying, “Oh wasn’t Grandpa just so much fun!”
Uh, that’s a lie and a sin – we should not admire that side of grandpa – and we
should not assume that God will overlook those small sins!
So
what’s the middle ground between presumption and despair? Hope. Hope is the
firm confidence that God alone can make us holy and save our souls. Not
our own efforts, not just “being a good person”, but by His grace and mercy
alone. But we receive that grace through those disciplines: prayer, sacrifice,
generosity.
One of
my favorite saints – who lived a wild life – demonstrated this so well. His
name was St. Moses the Black, and he was a gang leader from Ethiopia in the
400s. He led a gang of 75 men across the countryside, murdering, pillaging,
burning down villages. After a while, the authorities were after him, so he
decided to hide out at a local monastery of Catholic monks. He went up and
banged on the door, preparing to break it down, when the abbot opened the door
and did something surprising…he welcomed him in. Moses was shocked, and saw in
the abbot’s face a joy and peace and love that he had never before experienced.
He went in to speak with the abbot and came out two hours later, and dismissed
his men, saying that he had decided to become a monk.
But old
habits die hard. He struggled mightily with lust and a terrible temper. It got
so bad that he made up his mind to leave. But the wise abbot one morning took
Moses to the roof of the monastery just as the sun was cresting the horizon and
said, “See how the sky does not light up all at once, but only gradually. Thus
it is with your soul – through persevering in discipline, the light of Christ
will begin to dawn.” It took many more years of persevering in prayer,
self-sacrifice, and charity, but he eventually experienced the freedom and
peace of a well-ordered life. He became a priest and founded his own monastery
with 75 men, figuring that since he led 75 men into sin, he must now lead 75
men into Heaven.
Discipline
is not something to be feared – it is a training in the ways of the Lord. Those
whose souls have been prepared by the disciplines of daily prayer and frequent
reception of the Sacraments, who are freed from slavery to physical pleasures
through fasting and sacrifice, and who are not attached to material goods
through generosity to the poor will be able to contain the fullness of God in
Heaven.
Let us
be like those great, disciplined souls!