A Dictatorship of Relativism

Twenty years ago, just a few days before he was elected to succeed Pope John Paul II, Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger preached the homily at the Mass before the conclave for the College of Cardinals. This homily, now often called “The Dictatorship of Relativism Homily”, offered a clear picture of the conflict that exists between the world and the Church. It’s a conflict that has existed since the time of Christ, but one that has intensified over the centuries. 

Since then, relativism has become a defining element in the intellectual, political, and moral life prevalent in much of the world. I can recall many Catholic theologians and commentators criticizing as "extreme" Cardinal Ratzinger's use of the word "dictatorship." And yet, looking back on these two decades, I can think of no better word to describe the means by which the relativists have attempted to supplant the truth. 

Considering the state of our world, and the state of the Church today, I decided it might be good to read once again what Cardinal Ratzinger preached that day to the cardinals who would elect him Pope Benedict XVI just a few days later. 

I have included the entire homily below. Note: If you prefer, you can also access this homily via the following link: Ratzinger Homily 18 April 2005.

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HOMILY OF HIS EMINENCE CARD. JOSEPH RATZINGER
DEAN OF THE COLLEGE OF CARDINALS

Vatican Basilica
Monday 18 April 2005 

At this moment of great responsibility, let us listen with special attention to what the Lord says to us in his own words. I would like to examine just a few passages from the three readings that concern us directly at this time. 

The first one offers us a prophetic portrait of the person of the Messiah - a portrait that receives its full meaning from the moment when Jesus reads the text in the synagogue at Nazareth and says, "Today this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing" (Lk 4:21). 

At the core of the prophetic text we find a word which seems contradictory, at least at first sight. The Messiah, speaking of himself, says that he was sent "to announce a year of favor from the Lord and a day of vindication by our God" (Is 61:12). We hear with joy the news of a year of favor: divine mercy puts a limit on evil, as the Holy Father told us. Jesus Christ is divine mercy in person: encountering Christ means encountering God's mercy. 

Christ's mandate has become our mandate through the priestly anointing. We are called to proclaim, not only with our words but also with our lives and with the valuable signs of the sacraments, "the year of favor from the Lord".

But what does the prophet Isaiah mean when he announces "the day of vindication by our God"? At Nazareth, Jesus omitted these words in his reading of the prophet's text; he concluded by announcing the year of favor. Might this have been the reason for the outburst of scandal after his preaching? We do not know. 

In any case, the Lord offered a genuine commentary on these words by being put to death on the cross. St Peter says: 

"In his own body he brought your sins to the cross" (I Pt 2:24).

And St Paul writes in his Letter to the Galatians: 

Christ has delivered us from the power of the law's curse by himself becoming a curse for us, as it is written, "Accursed is anyone who is hanged on a tree." This happened so that through Christ Jesus the blessing bestowed on Abraham might descend on the Gentiles in Christ Jesus, thereby making it possible for us to receive the promised Spirit through faith (Gal 3:13f). 

Christ's mercy is not a grace that comes cheap, nor does it imply the trivialization of evil. Christ carries the full weight of evil and all its destructive force in his body and in his soul. He burns and transforms evil in suffering, in the fire of his suffering love. The day of vindication and the year of favor converge in the Paschal Mystery, in the dead and Risen Christ. This is the vengeance of God: he himself suffers for us, in the person of his Son. The more deeply stirred we are by the Lord's mercy, the greater the solidarity we feel with his suffering -- and we become willing to complete in our own flesh "what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ" (Col 1:24). 

Let us move on to the second reading, the letter to the Ephesians. Here we see essentially three aspects: first of all, the ministries and charisms in the Church as gifts of the Lord who rose and ascended into heaven; then, the maturing of faith and the knowledge of the Son of God as the condition and content of unity in the Body of Christ; and lastly, our common participation in the growth of the Body of Christ, that is, the transformation of the world into communion with the Lord.

Let us dwell on only two points. The first is the journey towards "the maturity of Christ", as the Italian text says, simplifying it slightly. More precisely, in accordance with the Greek text, we should speak of the "measure of the fullness of Christ" that we are called to attain if we are to be true adults in the faith. We must not remain children in faith, in the condition of minors. And what does it mean to be children in faith? St Paul answers: it means being "tossed here and there, carried about by every wind of doctrine" (Eph 4:14). This description is very timely! 

How many winds of doctrine have we known in recent decades, how many ideological currents, how many ways of thinking. The small boat of the thought of many Christians has often been tossed about by these waves -- flung from one extreme to another: from Marxism to liberalism, even to libertinism; from collectivism to radical individualism; from atheism to a vague religious mysticism; from agnosticism to syncretism and so forth. Every day new sects spring up, and what St Paul says about human deception and the trickery that strives to entice people into error (cf. Eph 4:14) comes true. 

Today, having a clear faith based on the Creed of the Church is often labeled as fundamentalism. Whereas relativism, that is, letting oneself be "tossed here and there, carried about by every wind of doctrine", seems the only attitude that can cope with modern times. We are building a dictatorship of relativism that does not recognize anything as definitive and whose ultimate goal consists solely of one's own ego and desires. 

We, however, have a different goal: the Son of God, the true man. He is the measure of true humanism. An "adult" faith is not a faith that follows the trends of fashion and the latest novelty; a mature adult faith is deeply rooted in friendship with Christ. It is this friendship that opens us up to all that is good and gives us a criterion by which to distinguish the true from the false, and deceit from truth. 

We must develop this adult faith; we must guide the flock of Christ to this faith. And it is this faith - only faith - that creates unity and is fulfilled in love. 

On this theme, St Paul offers us as a fundamental formula for Christian existence some beautiful words, in contrast to the continual vicissitudes of those who, like children, are tossed about by the waves: make truth in love. Truth and love coincide in Christ. To the extent that we draw close to Christ, in our own lives too, truth and love are blended. Love without truth would be blind; truth without love would be like "a clanging cymbal" (I Cor 13:1). 

Let us now look at the Gospel, from whose riches I would like to draw only two small observations. The Lord addresses these wonderful words to us: "I no longer speak of you as slaves...Instead, I call you friends" (Jn 15:15). We so often feel, and it is true, that we are only useless servants (cf. Lk 17:10). 

Yet, in spite of this, the Lord calls us friends, he makes us his friends, he gives us his friendship. The Lord gives friendship a dual definition. There are no secrets between friends: Christ tells us all that he hears from the Father; he gives us his full trust and with trust, also knowledge. He reveals his face and his heart to us. He shows us the tenderness he feels for us, his passionate love that goes even as far as the folly of the Cross. He entrusts himself to us, he gives us the power to speak in his name: "this is my body...", "I forgive you...". He entrusts his Body, the Church, to us. 

To our weak minds, to our weak hands, he entrusts his truth -- the mystery of God the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit; the mystery of God who "so loved the world that he gave his only Son" (Jn 3:16). He made us his friends -- and how do we respond? 

The second element Jesus uses to define friendship is the communion of wills. For the Romans "Idem velle - idem nolle" [same desires, same dislikes] was also the definition of friendship. "You are my friends if you do what I command you" (Jn 15:14). Friendship with Christ coincides with the third request of the Our Father: "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven". At his hour in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus transformed our rebellious human will into a will conformed and united with the divine will. He suffered the whole drama of our autonomy -- and precisely by placing our will in God's hands, he gives us true freedom: "Not as I will, but as you will" (Mt 26:39). 

Our redemption is brought about in this communion of wills: being friends of Jesus, to become friends of God. The more we love Jesus, the more we know him, the more our true freedom develops and our joy in being redeemed flourishes. Thank you, Jesus, for your friendship! 

The other element of the Gospel to which I wanted to refer is Jesus' teaching on bearing fruit: "It was I who chose you to go forth and bear fruit. Your fruit must endure" (Jn 15:16). 

It is here that appears the dynamism of the life of a Christian, an apostle: I chose you to go forth. We must be enlivened by a holy restlessness: a restlessness to bring to everyone the gift of faith, of friendship with Christ. Truly, the love and friendship of God was given to us so that it might also be shared with others. We have received the faith to give it to others - we are priests in order to serve others. And we must bear fruit that will endure. 

All people desire to leave a lasting mark. But what endures? Money does not. Even buildings do not, nor books. After a certain time, longer or shorter, all these things disappear. The only thing that lasts forever is the human soul, the human person created by God for eternity. 

The fruit that endures is therefore all that we have sown in human souls: love, knowledge, a gesture capable of touching hearts, words that open the soul to joy in the Lord. So let us go and pray to the Lord to help us bear fruit that endures. Only in this way will the earth be changed from a valley of tears to a garden of God. 

To conclude, let us return once again to the Letter to the Ephesians. The Letter says, with words from Psalm 68, that Christ, ascending into heaven, "gave gifts to men" (Eph 4:8). The victor offers gifts. And these gifts are apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors and teachers. Our ministry is a gift of Christ to humankind, to build up his body -- the new world. We live out our ministry in this way, as a gift of Christ to humanity! 

At this time, however, let us above all pray insistently to the Lord that after his great gift of Pope John Paul II, he will once again give us a Pastor according to his own heart, a Pastor who will guide us to knowledge of Christ, to his love and to true joy. Amen.

Homily: Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity

Readings: Prv 8:22-31; Ps 8:4-9; Rom 5:1-5; Jn 16:12-15

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First, to all the fathers out there, and to the grandfathers and great-grandfathers...I think I’ll stop there. Happy Father’s Day! Enjoy your special day tomorrow, and the dinner at the fine restaurant, where the waiter will no doubt hand you the check…Hey, it’s what fathers do.

But this day also has a special meaning for me. For 28 years ago I was ordained as a deacon on the Saturday before Trinity Sunday…and that’s today. During the little celebration that followed my ordination, my pastor said, “You know, deacon, since you and I minister at Holy Trinity Parish, and since it’s Holy Trinity Sunday, I think you should preach at the 9 o’clock Mass tomorrow.” I was hoping for maybe a few days to prepare my first homily, but no. I suppose my homily was okay, but I didn’t save it so I can’t reuse it today.

Tomorrow, then, is Trinity Sunday, which we now celebrate at this Vigil Mass. It’s official name? The “Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity.” It’s the day we celebrate the key tenet of our Christian faith: the Trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And yet, interestingly, the word, “Trinity”, cannot be found anywhere in Holy Scripture. The closest we come is final verses of Matthew’s Gospel when Jesus commands the disciples:

“Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.”

This is the great commission Jesus gives to the Church, and it remains in force because we have not yet come to the end of the age. Embedded in that commission we encounter the Trinity: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – the triune God of Creator, Savior, and Sanctifier.

You and I call on the Trinity whenever we pray. When we make the Sign of the Cross, we lift up our prayer in the name of this Blessed Trinity. And yet how many of us really understand this divine relationship, this dogma that in one God there are three divine persons? The answer, of course, is: none of us. For the Trinity is the mystery of mysteries. Over 1,500 years ago, St. Augustine asked:

“Who can understand the Trinity? …who, when they speak of it, also know of what they speak?”

And yet, we continue to speak of it, and we strive to understand at least something of this divine relationship as it has been revealed to us. But in that striving we must be careful, since our theology can  sometimes complicate the simple truths that God reveals.

As I like to remind the folks who take part in our parish Bible Study, the Word of God wasn’t written only for theologians. It was written for all of us. The Holy Spirit inspired the works of Scripture, infused them with many simple truths about God, about humanity, about salvation. And these truths that God has revealed through Scripture and Tradition can be accepted by all of us who respond in faith.

Recall that scene in chapter 16 of Matthew’s Gospel when Jesus and the apostles are gathered in Caesarea Philippi under those towering cliffs, and Jesus asks them, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?”

They replied, “Some say John the Baptist, others Elijah, still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.”

Jesus then asks them, “But who do you say that I am?”

And that’s when Simon Peter, filled with the Spirit, responded with the simple truth:

“You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.”

This was no theologian speaking. These were the words of the disciple, the follower of Jesus; these were the words of the apostle, the one who is sent out to evangelize the world. These are your words and my words, the words of the faithful. But they are also the words of God Himself, for as Jesus went on to say:

“Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah. For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my heavenly Father.”

This and other truths of our faith are packed into the Creed, that wonderful statement of our faith that we’ll proclaim together a few moments from now. Listen carefully today to the words that we proclaim, for the Creed is a statement of faith centered on the Holy Trinity.

It begins with the Father:

“I believe in one God, the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth…”

It continues with the Son:

“I believe in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of God, born of the Father before all ages…begotten not made, consubstantial with the Father.”

And concludes with the Holy Spirit:

“I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son…”

In the Creed we declare in faith what we believe about the Trinity. Yes, we believe, even if, in its mystery, full understanding is beyond us in our humanity. But just like Peter, you and I pray and hear those words, and in faith, we come to understand. Like Peter we know that Jesus is a distinct person, and we believe too what Jesus reveals about His relationship with the Father and the Holy Spirit. It’s a relationship in which neither Father, Son, nor Holy Spirit exist in separation or act in isolation. Where Jesus is, so too is the Father. As Jesus put it to the apostle Philip…

“Whoever has seen me has seen the Father.”

And in today’s passage from John’s Gospel, Jesus spoke, too, of the Spirit:

“…the Spirit of truth…will glorify Me, for He will take what is Mine and declare it to you.”

Yes, the Three are always One, and, sisters and brothers, that’s enough for me.

You see, if we really want to define the Trinity, we can define it with one four-letter word: Love. As St. John reminded us twice in his first Letter, “God is Love”; yes, the Trinity is Love. And John went on to reveal to us that all love begins with God, not with us. That’s right we take God’s love and share it as best we can with others. In the Trinity, then, we see the same kind of love that God demands of us.

As God revealed to Peter, He likes to keep things simple. We’re the ones who complicate everything. Jesus told us to do two things:

Love the Lord your God with your whole mind, heart, soul and strength; and love your neighbor as yourself.

Then he gave us a parable, the Good Samaritan, and showed us that everyone is our neighbor, no exceptions. We must love them all. But He went on, didn’t He? And told us to love each other in a special way:

“Love one another as I have loved you.”

Jesus is always doing that, isn’t He? Telling us to do the impossible.

“Love your enemies...Love one another as I have loved you…Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

And we say, that’s impossible for us. And God replies, “You’re right, you can’t do it, not alone. That’s why I’ve given you My Spirit.”  And through this gift of the Spirit, we can carry God’s perfect love into the world.

Our personal experiences of love, the deep love between husband and wife, the love of strong, long-held friendships, the sacrificial love of a mother for her child – all of these give us a glimpse, if only a glimpse, into the love that is the Trinity.

In loving one another we experience the delight and beauty of unique and close human relationships, of being there for each other, something enriching and satisfying – indeed, mutually life-giving, self-giving!

If the very essence of the Trinity is constant, enduring love, then the mother of a newborn infant must grasp something of the doctrine of the Trinity as she lies awake in a darkened room and listens to the sound of her baby’s breathing. Yes, the love of the Trinity is a vigilant love.

If the essence of the Trinity is ever-giving love, then the care-giving spouse of an Alzheimer’s patient or the parent of a special needs child experience the fury of God to protect, to nurture, and to hold the most vulnerable close to His heart. 

It’s through the best of our humanity that we see the divinity of God within us,

About 40 or 45 years ago, I was waiting for a plane at Dulles International Airport outside Washington. (That’s when visitors could actually go to the gate to greet those flying in.)

As I waited to board my flight, an El Al flight from Tel Aviv landed and the passengers began to file into the terminal as the next gate. One young man, in his thirties and wearing a yarmulke, stepped from the jet-way and looked anxiously around the waiting room. Just then a small boy broke away from his mother, ran to the man and jumped into his arms, all the while shouting, “Abba! Abba!” The love on the man’s face was special indeed.

As I watched this little family drama, I couldn’t help but wonder, if our souls call out to the Father – “Abba! Father!” – can you imagine God’s delight?

This demonstration of love I witnessed, and all other expressions of human love, are mere shadows of God’s enduring love.

Yes, the Trinity exists in a communion of love. And as the Trinity reaches outside itself, it shares it all with us. Again, as Paul wrote to the Romans…

“…the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit.”

The Father loves us so very much…and through this love, the Son gave up his life for our sake…a love poured into our hearts by the Spirit. Through the Holy Spirit we accept within us and extend to others the same love with which God loves us.

And so today, and every day, we pray in the liturgy to our Heavenly Father:

“…through our Lord Jesus Christ, Your Son, who lives and reigns with You in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, forever and ever.”

 

Homily: 5th Sunday of Easter - Year C

Readings: Acts 14:21-27; Ps 145; Rev 21:1-5; Jn 13:31-35

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Early in the morning, while it’s still dark, I often take a fast walk through our extended neighborhood. Sometimes I pray the Rosary as I walk. On one of those mornings, a few months ago, as I passed a house on a nearby street, I heard the front door slam, followed by a man’s voice shouting a few choice words that I’ll not repeat here. The man who shouted jumped into his golf cart and backed out of his driveway almost running into me. It was dark. He wasn’t looking, so I doubt he even saw me. He then drove off at full speed…in a golf cart, 20 miles per hour

Now, I didn’t know him. And I certainly don’t know what took place in that house that made him so angry that he left in such a hurry, driving off into the morning darkness. But because it was early on a Friday morning, I was praying the Sorrowful Mysteries...

I don’t know, it must have been the Sorrowful Mysteries, but there I was on a street in The Villages, and my aging brain carried me off to Jerusalem. I took me to John’s Gospel, to the 13^th chapter, to the passage we just heard, when Judas left the upper room, when he left Jesus and the others. Did he leave muttering, swearing, slamming doors…probably not. We don’t know. John doesn’t tell us.

But John does tell us “Satan had entered him.”

Knowing this, Jesus looked at Judas and said: “What you are going to do, do quickly.”

John also tells us, “…it was night.”

Where did Judas go so quickly that night? Out into the darkness, into the world that had rejected Jesus, the world that wanted Him dead. Judas left Jesus and he left the Apostles. In essence he left and rejected the dual institution of the priesthood and the Eucharistic Church…for that’s what took place at that Last Supper. Yes, Judas ran into the darkness away from the Jesus, the Light of the world, away from the Church.

Pope Leo XIV, our new pope, celebrated his first Mass to a congregation of cardinals. And in his homily, he spoke about the world, and how it perceives Christians, how it perceives our faith:

“…today,” he said, “there are many settings in which the Christian faith is considered absurd, meant for the weak and unintelligent...where other securities are preferred, like technology, money, success, power, or pleasure.”

Pope Leo went on, “…where it is not easy to preach the Gospel and bear witness to its truth, where believers are mocked, opposed, despised or at best tolerated and pitied…

“A lack of faith is often tragically accompanied by the loss of meaning in life, the neglect of mercy, appalling violations of human dignity, the crisis of the family and so many other wounds that afflict our society.”

As I listened to his words, I realized they were timeless, and in truth addressed what the Church has faced for 2,000 years.

When we return to that 13^th chapter of John’s Gospel, Jesus really teaches us how to live the Christian life, how to live it then and today. He’d just washed the feet of the Apostles, giving us an example of humility and service, one that even symbolized His giving His life for us on the Cross. But He washed all their feet, including the feet of Judas whom He knew would soon betray Him. Then Jesus did more. He dipped a morsel of bread into His dish and offered it to Judas. Another sign of His love.

John began that 13^th chapter with the words:

“…having loved His own who were in the world, He loved them to the end.”

“To the end.” What does it mean?

To the Cross? Is that what it means? To Jesus’ death?

Or is it something beyond that? As one theologian told me, to the fulfillment of God’s purpose, the salvation of humanity. Is that what is means?

Or perhaps, when John says, “He loved them to the end” it’s more personal…

The washing of feet, the dipping of the morsel of bread – to remind us of the extent, the very depth of His love for every person…not just His love for Judas, but His love for each one of us. Perhaps it meant:

...that Jesus loved Judas, who would betray Him;

…that He loved Peter who would deny Him three times;

…that He loved all of them gathered there, all of them who would abandon Him.

Yes, I think that’s what it’s all about.

It’s about loving the Apostles who let fear smother their faith.

It’s about loving the soldiers of an empire, men who knew nothing of Jesus, and yet mocked Him, flogged Him, nailed Him to a Cross.

It’s about loving the Jewish leaders who saw Him as a threat and wanted Him dead.

And Jesus’ response to it all?

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” [Lk 23:34]

Judas left Him. Walked into the night, to meet with those who despised Jesus, who thought He was an absurdity…And after Judas left, what did Jesus do?

He looked to the Cross, the means of redemption, and told the eleven:

“Now is the Son of Man glorified, and God is glorified in him.”

Jesus speaks here of the crucifixion, an ugly, horrific agony of pain, of torn flesh and death. Adding to it…the mocking, the rejection, the betrayal, the denial, the abandonment.

But in all that darkness, Jesus tells us to behold the glory of God, to understand who God truly is. We can do this because this redemptive act is the manifestation of God’s love for us. For as John reminds us twice in His 1^st Letter: “God is love.”

Jesus continues:

“I give you a new commandment…As I have loved you, so you also should love one another.”

Oh, yes, we are called to “Love your neighbor as yourself” but Jesus adds something new. We are called to love “As I have loved you…” – to love as Jesus loves, to love each other as God loves.

You see, sisters and brothers, it’s also about you and me. And as we live our busy lives, how often do we think of God’s sacrificial love for us? As we encounter all the garbage, you know, the petty betrayals, the snide remarks, the personal attacks, the lies…as we plan our responses to those responsible, how often do we stop and recall…

“As I have loved you, so you also should love one another.”

At the end of Mass, I will do one of those deacon things, the dismissal, and send you all into the world. But why are we sent? Simply to glorify God in all we do. As Pope Leo reminds us, to carry the Light of Christ into a world shrouded in too much darkness. Yes, we belong to the Light, the Light of Christ, which the darkness can never overcome.

Like Paul and Barnabas in our first reading, we’re sent to do something new, to take the Good News to others, to be true disciples of Jesus. And there will be hardships, and much that will hurt us. But others will know, despite themselves, that we are called by Christ.

Because Jesus gave us His new commandment:

“This is how all will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

It’s not so much what we say, it’s what we do; it’s what we are!

At its core, the world hasn’t changed much over the millennia of human history – the same sins, hatreds, violence, lies – yes, the same darkness.

But then, Christ comes and offers us newness beyond our imagining. John tells us what he saw – “a new heaven and a new earth” – and Christ proclaims from the throne:

“Behold, I make all things new!”

Now, I can’t speak for you, but I’m getting old, so this newness God offers us is very attractive.

Indeed, God’s promises, proclaimed in our second reading from Revelation, tell of wondrous new things, eternally new things that never get old. Only God can that. Yes, God has a lot of newness in store for us.

We need only turn to Him in the sacraments, repent and receive forgiveness, taste His Eucharistic Presence, and believe and live the Gospel.

Such a deal? There’s a lot of talk about wheeling and dealing these days, but all that is really nothing like the good deal God offers each one of us.

Praise God!

Pope Leo XIV

The following was sent to me as a text a few minutes ago. I can’t vouch for its source, but from all I’ve heard of our new pope, I expect it’s accurate. It’s certainly worth sharing, especially with those who feel forgotten or abandoned.

"Brothers, sisters…I speak to you, especially to those who no longer believe, no longer hope, no longer pray, because they think God has left.

To those who are fed up with scandals, with misused power, with the silence of a Church that sometimes seems more like a palace than a home.

I, too, was angry with God. I, too, saw good people die, children suffer, grandparents cry without medicine.

And yes… there were days when I prayed and only felt an echo.

But then I discovered something: God doesn't shout. God whispers. And sometimes He whispers from the mud, from pain, from a grandmother who feeds you without having anything.

I don't come to offer you perfect faith. I come to tell you that faith is a walk with stones, puddles, and unexpected hugs.

I'm not asking you to believe in everything. I'm asking you not to close the door. Give a chance to the God who waits for you without judgment.

I'm just a priest who saw God in the smile of a woman who lost her son... and yet she cooked for others. That changed me.

So if you're broken, if you don't believe, if you're tired of the lies...come anyway. With your anger, your doubt, your dirty backpack. No one here will ask you for a VIP card.

Because this Church, as long as I breathe, will be a home for the homeless, and a rest for the weary.

God doesn't need soldiers. He needs brothers.

And you, yes, you...are one of them."

Robert Prevost (Leo XIV)

Washington Nobodies

Just a brief note, a comment or two on the denizens of Washington, D.C., specifically members of Congress and the media. 

The vast majority of these people have never had to run a business or be responsible for the successful operation of an organization staffed by other human beings. In other words, they’ve never had to manage anything of any consequence, to lead people in pursuit of a common goal, to have to deal with the results of their actions, and to accept responsibility for achieving success (e.g., making a profit). Of course, some have done these things, and done them well, but too many don’t realize that Calvin Coolidge spoke the truth a century ago: “The chief business of the American people is business.”  

As for our members of Congress, We elect lawyers and bean-counters and small-time politicians and turn them into big-time politicians. And because they are paid very well indeed, are smothered with perks galore, and can apparently add substantially to their net worth through “timely” investments, they focus most of their energy on ensuring their reelection. The rule, “Follow the money!”, sadly applies far too often. 

As for the media, too many citizens believe the mainstream media are motivated solely by political or ideological beliefs. You hear it all the time: “The leftist media distort the news and despise the people.” There’s likely a grain of truth in this, because liberals tend to hire in their own image, preferring to keep the organization “pure.” But that’s not their prime motivator. You might not want to believe this, but I don’t care. Over the years, I’ve dealt with media folks at all levels. Most are wonderful, especially the local media. But the others, particularly the big-time media, are among the most self-absorbed people I have ever met. They seek only the approval of their peers, and are so locked into their “stories” they cannot admit that they were either mistaken or, more likely, simply lied. Why do they lie? Because they are all worker bees in the same hive and cannot jeopardize their bond with their peers. Moreover to confess the truth would force them to admit they are living a lie, that their work essentially means nothing. 

Most politicians and media types, then, lack a basic understanding of how things work in a society that survives only by the success of its free markets. Too many today are convinced that government is the source of all societal good, a belief that is essentially Marxist. Of course, most don’t realize they espouse Marxist ideology because they are too ignorant and too thoroughly brainwashed to understand the roots of their convictions.

So, I suggest that you listen cautiously to whatever politicians say and pay far more attention to what they do, how they vote. As for the media, I tend to ignore the mainstream and go right to the source. That’s the nice thing about communication today: the internet gives us access to original sources, so we can see exactly what they say and do. Don’t pay much attention to the “somebodies” because most are just nobodies,

More important, though, pray for our Church and for our country, asking God to shed His blessings on both in abundance. We certainly need it.

Homily: Funeral Mass for Deacon Byron Otradovec, T.O.C.

Note: Early Easter Sunday morning our parish community lost a holy man, Deacon Byron Otradovec, 92, a man I often called my BFF (Best Florida Friend). Byron had spent the past six years in a local extended care facility, part of that time with his wonderful wife, Mary Ann, who died in 2019. 

30 years ago, Byron was the first deacon assigned to St. Vincent de Paul, at the time a mission of St. Lawrence Parsh in Bushnell, Florida. I joined him eight years later as the second deacon, and found a dear friend, an older, wiser brother, and a teacher. A man devoted to serving all, especially those struggling through difficult circumstances, Byron recognized the presence of God in everyone he met. 

I was blessed to be asked to preach at Byron's funeral yesterday. My homily follows...

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Readings: Wis 3:1-6,9; Ps 23; 2 Cor 5:1,6-10; Mt 5:1-12a

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Bishop Noonan, on behalf of Marcia, John, and the Otradovec family, I thank you for being here today to celebrate this funeral mass for one of our own, for our beloved Deacon Byron.

And to you, Marcia and John, I know Bishop Noonan, Fathers Kenny and John, and all my brother deacons join me in extending our loving condolences to you and to Byron’s entire family. 

This has been a sorrowful time for you all, and I know, too, that words are never enough. Indeed, my words here today will soon be forgotten, but not God’s Word, for it never perishes. It remains to nourish us, to heal us, strengthen us, to give us hope. And so today, present here in our midst, Our Lord Jesus offers His peace and divine love.

I can only imagine how much you miss your dad and grandfather, but if you let Him, God will fill this emptiness in the very heart of your family. He'll fill it with His grace, bringing with it His peace and His enduring love. Today I, too, am in need of it, for I loved Byron. He was my friend, my slightly older big brother.

When I arrived here 21 years ago, Byron had already been ministering at St. Vincent de Paul for 8 or 9 years. Of course, back then we were a mission, part of St. Lawrence Parish in Bushnell.

Byron was really the first person I encountered here. Diane and I saw this deacon greeting people after Mass. Just seeing his kindliness, his smile, his warmth…well, we knew we were home. The next day, after meeting with Father Peter Sagorski, Byron and I met officially.

As you might expect, he began by giving me one of his entrapping hugs. I think he was just happy to welcome another deacon. Then he looked at me seriously and said:

“There’s a lot to do here…a lot of good. Will you work with me and do it?”

How could anyone turn down a request like that?

And so, with the blessing of our bishop, I joined Deacon Byron and Father Peter here at St. Vincent de Paul.

It didn’t take long before Byron and I learned a lot about each other. He’d served in the Army for 42 years – oh and coincidentally (or maybe not), he also served 42 years as a deacon. He enlisted during the Korean War, working his way up through the ranks, then to OCS, and ultimately retiring as a LTCOL. Yes, quite a span, serving during Korea, Vietnam, and Desert Storm.

I told him I’d spent 27 years in a Navy uniform and retired as a Captain. And then jokingly remarked, “Of course, that means I outrank you.” Without missing a beat, he said, “Not here you don’t.” And then added, “Here, we’re all rank-less; we’re all just servants.”

Yes, Byron was always teaching me.

I also learned he was a very active Third Order Carmelite, and involved too with Food for the Poor. He and Mary Ann often spend weeks in the Caribbean – Haiti, Jamaica… serving the poor and those too often forgotten by the rest of us.

One day I asked him about opportunities to minister in the local community, beyond the parish walls. He thought for a moment and suggested: “You might try the soup kitchen in Wildwood.”

I really didn’t think much of it until I got home that afternoon. Diane greeted me by saying: “Oh, I signed us up to volunteer at the Wildwood Soup Kitchen.” Assuming she and Byron had conspired, I asked her, “Where’d you hear about that?” Her response: “There was a notice in the parish bulletin asking for volunteers.”

Yes, indeed, the Holy Spirit works in remarkable ways, doesn’t He? And thanks to my friend, Byron, and my wife, Diane, I began to love and learn from those in need. We cooked and fed and ministered there for 16 years.

It didn’t take me long to discover that Byron had a way of teaching you what you thought you already knew. He’d bring it to life simply by doing it and showing you what it really meant. For he was a man always looking to others, one who recognized the seeds of holiness in them, encouraging and loving them.

MaryAnn was the perfect companion. For 64 years, they prayed together, ministered together, and served the Church and the People of God…together. Of course, as Byron aged, and especially after the death of MaryAnn in 2019, his earthly dwelling, that tent, as Paul called it, began to weaken. He lost a leg, but with his prosthesis did his daily physical therapy…and never complained. But few were as ready as Byron to return to the Father. I got the sense that, like Paul, he “would rather leave the body and go home to the Lord.”

I think he spent six years at Cypress Care, a year together with MaryAnn and five more after she died.

I tried to visit him frequently, because he always wanted to know what was happening in the parish. But if I were home, enjoying a good book and maybe a glass of cabernet, and thinking, I suppose I should visit Byron soon, inevitably the phone would ring.

His timing was truly amazing: “When are you coming by?” he’d ask, “Oh, and bring me the Eucharist. It’s been a few days since I’ve received Our Lord.”

Yes, Deacon Byron was always teaching me.

Every few weeks I’d raid my library and take him another book, something I knew he’d enjoy. The next time I’d visit, he’d want to talk about it, share his thoughts, and listen to mine. Then he’d ask, “What are you doing now in your BibIe Study.” I’d tell him, and he’d just serve up some of the most remarkable insights about whatever book we were studying.

But in a lot of ways, Byron was a true blue-collar deacon. He was like the Apostles – a tax collector and a collection of fisherman, not a philosopher among them. Like Byron, they were men of the people, men who sat at Jesus’ feet and listened as He preached the Beatitudes to the crowd, a crowd made up of folks just like them.

Years ago, while we were sharing some of our military experiences, I said something like, “Byron, I guess we we're both peacemakers.” He laughed and said, “I suppose so. But that’s just one slice of what it means to be a Christian. We have to let it all change us."

I then saw the look, and knew I was in for a mini-homily. Later, I jotted down some of what he said.

“To be poor in spirit is to turn from ourselves and comfort those in need, those who mourn, who’ve been overcome by the sorrows and tragedies of their lives.

“We deacons must be meek, yet strong enough to resist the world, strong enough to help others do the same.

“So many hunger and thirst today, so many seek mercy from those who care nothing about them. We must care, and do whatever needs to be done.

“Can we cleanse our hearts so we can worthily serve others, even when it hurts.

“Can we accept the persecutions, and help others through them, the persecutions that are here now and those that are coming?”

In those words, and perhaps a few more, Byron presented the Beatitudes as something very personal and diaconal, making them acts of service.

Yes, Byron was always teaching me.

He and Pope Francis shared more than their return to the Father this Easter. For both understood the call to service, service to the poor, the hungry, the world’s forgotten.

Byron and I prayed together during my visits, always calling on the Holy Spirit to shower us with His gifts. We would usually conclude with Byron recalling Paul’s famous words from Romans 8:

“We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to His purpose.”

Indeed, life in all its joys and sorrows is a gift, just as Byron’s life was a gift to all of us who knew him.

Don’t get me wrong, though. Like you and I, Deacon Byron wasn’t perfect. But those imperfections we carry around with us …most aren’t horrible things; they’re just human things. As we discover in the Gospel, Jesus, our judge, is remarkably tolerant of them. Yes, those imperfections we notice in others are really the things in our lives that call for forgiveness and acts of love.

And so, this funeral Mass is less a celebration of Byron’s life as it is an act of worship, an act of Eucharistic worship in the form of thanksgiving. 

Today we turn to our loving and merciful God and thank Him for the gift of this dear man’s unique, unrepeatable life, a life we were blessed to both witness and share. But even more important, as Christians, whenever we gather in prayer, we thank our God for the gift of His Son, Who gave His life for us.

For without that gift, we would have no hope…no hope of forgiveness, no hope of mercy, no hope of salvation, no hope of eternal life.

It’s because of this gift that we can gather here today and not be consumed by grief.

Because of this gift we don’t despair.

Because of this gift we can go on…We can continue with our own lives knowing that Byron, and you and I have been redeemed by our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Yes, sisters and brothers, Byron’s was a life well lived. He savored that life, that gift, and accepted its challenges and joys, and the pain and suffering that accompanied his final years. How did the Book of Wisdom put it? 

God tried Byron and found him worthy...

Today we ask our Lord Jesus to take Deacon Byron, his “good and faithful servant,” into His loving embrace. We ask Him to take away the pain, to wipe away the tears, and give him the first taste of that eternal joy we all hope to share.

Homily: Tuesday, 2nd Week of Easter, Year 1

Readings: Acts 4:32-37; Ps 93; Jn 7:7b-15

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Did you get the sense that Nicodemus maybe didn’t want to be seen with Jesus? After all he was an important guy, a mucky muck. What did Jesus call him? "The teacher of Israel." 

Maybe Nicodemus was concerned that the wrong folks might see him making this visit, so he goes to Jesus at night. And yet he does go to Jesus, doesn’t he? At heart Nicodemus is a man of God, a seeker of truth.

He’s probably heard reports, maybe even witnessed, Jesus' miracles and has seen the crowds that follow Jesus everywhere. But he was different from his colleagues who see Jesus as a threat to their control of the people. Jesus simply refused to be created in their image. Such men never learn because they're so sure that they already know all the answers.

Dorothy Day once said: "Jesus came to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable." And the Jewish leadership of Jesus’ time was comfortable indeed.

Nicodemus, to his credit, recognizes the signs, as John calls them. How did he phrase it?

"We know you are a teacher come from God…"

And he decides to find out for himself.

The Pharisees questioned Jesus in public, intent only on trapping Him, but Nicodemus met with Jesus privately, for he seeks the truth. But the truth that he hears from Jesus is not what he expects. Begotten from above? Born again? What can these things mean? Confused, he struggles to understand.

Nicodemus probably expected a theological discussion, but Jesus instead speaks of conversion.

Nicodemus expected a meeting of the minds with a peer. But Jesus demands a meeting of the hearts.

Nicodemus is looking for rabbinic exegesis, an encounter with Scripture. Instead, he gets a personal encounter with Our Lord.

Nicodemus was theologizing, while Jesus was evangelizing.

The lesson for us? We take up the revealed word of God for one reason only: to encounter Jesus, the incarnate Word of God. The Scriptures must first be accepted into our hearts before they make any sense to our heads.

Jesus simply took Nicodemus to the next level, to another encounter, an encounter with the Spirit.

"No one can enter God's kingdom without being begotten of water and the Spirit."

You and I, by the grace of Baptism and Confirmation, have been born again from above by water and the Holy Spirit. But what happens sacramentally must now be lived existentially.

How is such a thing possible? Nicodemus’ question is our question – all the helplessness of it, the longing, the discouragement? How can I ever hope to share in all that is Jesus? And Jesus replies: You can’t, not alone.

You and I and Nicodemus must make a free decision – not to change, but to be changed, to allow the Spirit to move us and to lead us with His gentle Love. To be born again in God is only a beginning, an infancy, as St. Paul calls it.

That’s the second lesson Jesus taught Nicodemus: you can't do it yourself. It demands an act of faith and surrender. In faith, you must abandon yourself totally to the Spirit of God.

Such an act can come only through prayer. The trouble is, so much of our prayer life is occupied by telling God what He already knows. God knows your needs. But do you know God's Will for you? Pray daily to be continually renewed by the Holy Spirit, to have the strength to be weak in the presence of God's Will.

And finally, Our Lord introduces Nicodemus to the depth and breadth of His Love. And it's a Love centered on the cross. Just as Moses lifted the bronze serpent in the desert, Jesus would be lifted up on the cross. And those who look on Him and "believe will have eternal life in Him."

This act of faith on our part is also an act of love, for the two are intimately connected. To embrace the cross, the sign of God's infinite Love, and be grounded in truth. For it is love that lifts us up on our own crosses, and helps us realize that a painless, crossless Christianity is a Christianity without love. And it is the truth that enables us to experience the revelation of God's glory in a broken world.

Lord, send us your Spirit that we may be recreated. Give us a new mind that we may grasp your truth, and a new heart that we may grasp your love.

Let that be our prayer today.

Homily: 5th Sunday of Lent - Year C

Readings:  Is 43:16-21; Ps 126; Phil 3:8-14; Jn 8:1-11

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Do any of you watch those TV movies on the Hallmark and Great American Family networks? I recently read they’re the most popular movies on TV. So, it seems a lot of people like these sappy, feel-good movies. 

They depict a world of personal, work, and family problems, all quickly solved by perfect solutions. And the plots? They really don’t vary much, do they? A workaholic or a struggling single parent suddenly encounters someone who at first just adds to life’s challenges. But over time relationships develop, and they’re attracted to each other. But then there arises a seemingly insoluble crisis, followed, of course, by a miraculous resolution, then the happily-ever-after kiss.

Just like real life!

The trouble with real life is that it not only has a present, but also both a past and a future. The past isn’t always pleasant, but we try to forget those unpleasant pieces of it. Unless, of course, your spouse, desiring only to improve you, kindly reminds you of past mistakes.

Today’s readings focus on past problems. In Isaiah, the Jews, exiled in Babylon, had been looking nostalgically to the days of Moses and Joshua, their liberation from Egypt and their entry to the Promised Land. But they were also reminded of their sinfulness and disobedience which led them into exile. Then God, speaking through His prophet, Isaiah, chastised them:

Remember not the events of the past… see, I am doing something new!

Trust in me, God tells them. Put your sins and idolatry behind you and serve the Living God. You remain My Chosen People; and through you I will bring salvation to the world.

In our second reading we find St. Paul facing a past that was hard to forget. Before his miraculous conversion, Paul had been an active persecutor of Christians. Elsewhere, he tells us:

“I not only shut up many of the saints in prison…but when they were put to death, I cast my vote against them.” (Acts 26:10)

Despite this heavy burden, Paul knew that God had given him incredible graces. And so, he could remind us that he was 

“...forgetting what lies behind but straining forward to what lies ahead.”

Paul didn’t forget all God had done for him. And we, too, must thank God for not leaving us where we were. But like Paul, we can’t live in the past.

And that, sisters and brothers, is real life: past, present, and future. And to see it manifested in its fulness, just turn to the Gospel. For Jesus didn’t water down the problems, and the solutions can be hard indeed.

Just consider today’s passage from John. It’s not a little made-for-TV story, is it? No, the situation and the people are very real. It’s about life and death, about sin and hatred and human judgment. It’s about divine forgiveness, about salvation and eternal life.

Picture it: scribes and Pharisees, spiritually entombed by an intractable understanding of the Law, dragged this woman, an adulteress, before Jesus, and surrounded her. They were so sure of themselves, weren’t they?

Yes, they’d used her, this woman who meant nothing to them. The used her to entrap Jesus, whom they considered an ignorant Galilean bumpkin. So they tossed the case to Jesus. Let Him solve this one, in front of everyone, right here in the Temple area.

Should we stone her as Moses prescribed? What do you say, teacher?

A "YES" would deny His own teaching – His behavior with sinners – and also violate Roman law, for only the Romans could execute. A "NO" would violate Mosaic law and show Himself to be a heretic of sorts. Once again, the scribes and Pharisees were certain they had entrapped Jesus.

Just try to imagine how the woman felt. Probably petrified. Is she about to die? Will they stone her? And who is this man? Why did they bring her to Him?

Jesus says nothing. He bends down and with his finger writes in the dust of the ground.

But the mob of holy men is impatient and press Him for an answer. So, Jesus just straightens up and utters those remarkable words:

“Let the one among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.”

Again, He bent down and wrote in the dirt. What does He write in that dust beneath their feet? Names? Sins? John doesn’t tell us. We can only guess.

One thing we know for certain. Jesus Christ, the Creative Word of God, “Who formed man out of the dust of the ground,” spoke and then wrote words that day in that same dust. And the effect? The scribes and Pharisees disperse, “one by one, beginning with the elders” – presumably those, like many of us here, whose memories are filled with a longer list of sins.

Yes, Jesus confronted a lot of sinners that day. An adulteress, who represents us all, all who need and seek forgiveness. But the scribes and Pharisees represent us too. It’s easy to slide into their kind of sinfulness, their self-righteous judgment of others. How easy it is to condemn rather than extend love and compassion.

The contrast is vivid: The woman, now alone with Jesus, hears His voice.

“Has no one condemned you?…Neither do I condemn you. Go, sin no more.”

You see, brothers and sisters, we are blessed with a God who forgives and forgets. The woman will never forget her past, for it brought her to forgiveness and salvation. But she cannot live in it. For she is all of us, everyone from Adam until judgment day, all of us in need of salvation, in need of forgiveness, in need of a Savior.

She’s the very story of salvation, of sin and mercy, of sin committed and sin forgiven. She, like Paul, like the exiled Israelites, like you and I, cannot live in the past; for all of us are called to a new life brought to us by a Savior, God’s only Son. She must go and sin no more, while striving to know and love the God who refused to condemn her.

No, we can’t and shouldn’t live in the past. A sense of nostalgia is a normal, human reaction to the constant change we encounter in the world, in our lives, in our Church. But to try to live in the past, to focus only on what once was…well, that can blind us to God’s continuing shower of gifts.

The point is, the Church remains God’s community of salvation, in which He acts through His people, through you and me. God acts right here. Through the sacraments, the Holy Spirit sanctifies us, making us holy.

Of course, we can also crumble under life’s challenges, and they come in many flavors: debilitating illness, financial problems, aging, assisted living, death of a spouse, wayward children, addictions, family problems…so many things that can turn us from God’s love. If we allow it, they can diminish us, tempt us to look only to happier, more stable times…

But as Christians the glory days aren’t in the past; they’re still ahead: life with Christ in glory. We must keep growing until we die; for full oneness with the living Christ, is never perfected here.

You and I must “strain forward” as Paul did; and keep dying with Christ so as to live more fully. For the true disciple of Jesus Christ, tomorrow is always better than yesterday. Each day is a new creation in the presence of a living, loving, merciful God.

And just like the woman in the Gospel, we must learn to accept Christ’s forgiveness. So many people don’t. They go through life, wallowing in guilt, afraid of hell, tormented by their pasts, burdened by brokenness and human frailty. This isn’t why God became man. This isn’t why He died that death on that dark Friday afternoon.

“Christ loved me,” St. Paul insisted, “and gave Himself for me.” And that love is present, even in my sinfulness. So, fix your eyes not on yesterday’s sin, but on today’s forgiveness and tomorrow’s hope. Repent, yes, but to repent is to re-think, to change. Repentance that saves is not a ceaseless self-scourging, but fresh self-giving, a new birth of love.

Barely two weeks of Lent remain. If you really want to rise with Christ, repeat the song He sings to you:

“Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth.”

Come to think of it, as Christians, we are the new thing. And it’s far better than any Hallmark movie. Why not spring forth? 

Do so gloriously, rejoicing in God’s mercy, His forgiveness, and the New Life, the eternal life He offers to every one of us.