The occasional, often ill-considered thoughts of a Roman Catholic permanent deacon who is ever grateful to God for his existence. Despite the strangeness we encounter in this life, all the suffering we witness and endure, being is good, so good I am sometimes unable to contain my joy. Deo gratias!


Although I am an ordained deacon of the Catholic Church, the opinions expressed in this blog are my personal opinions. In offering these personal opinions I am not acting as a representative of the Church or any Church organization.

Tuesday, August 18, 2020

Homily: Monday 20th Week in Ordinary Time


Readings: Ez 24:15-23 Dt 32:18-21 • Mt 19:16-22
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Our readings are especially meaningful today, not only because of the troubles plaguing our world and yes, even our Church, but also because here, in this community, we are far more likely to experience deep loss in our lives.
We first encounter the prophet Ezekiel, who faced a personal loss, the sudden, unexpected death of his wife, whom God lovingly refers to as "the delight of your eyes" [Ez 24:16]. Aren’t those beautiful words? – “the delight of your eyes” – words that offer a glimpse into the love that must have bound these two.
God tells Ezekiel not to mourn her death openly; more sadness is coming; he must be the example:
“You shall be a sign to them, and they shall know that I am the Lord” [Ez 24:27].
This exchange between God and prophet brought to mind a close friend who died several years ago.
On our way north to visit our children, Diane and I stopped by to Scott and his wife, Marnie. Scott was a retired admiral and he and I had flown together back in our Navy days and remained good friends. But now Scott was dying of cancer and we wanted to see him once more.
That day, as we ate lunch together, Scott’s drawn face suddenly filled with peace. He smiled and said, “You know, Dana, I’m so looking forward to seeing our Lord, I can hardly stand it.”  Scott died exactly one week later. And that comment, made over a salad at a Longhorn restaurant, was a gift. Several weeks later, Marnie told us, “Scott saved me from a lot of grief because he was so joyful about the life to come.”
Do you see how our lives, and how we live them, how our faith, and how we profess it, can have a deep impact on others. Ezekiel ultimately accepted his wife’s death as a blessing that spared her from the calamities about to befall God’s People. It also freed him to do God’s work in the world, to approach his calling worry-free, unaffected by the world and the troubles it so often brings.
Babylon’s long siege of Jerusalem would end in the slaughter of God’s people, the destruction of the city, and the desecration of God’s Temple. The survivors would be carried off into exile. God gave Ezekiel the task of leading the people as they faced these tragedies. “What does this mean for us?” they asked him.
Today as we look at our world, we find ourselves asking the same question. But then God answers with Moses’ words in our responsorial.
“You have forgotten God who gave you birth" [Dt 32:18].
Yes, too many in our world have forgotten God; and we, who are faithful but still sinners, turn to our God and ask, “What does this mean for us? What shall we do?” I can only repeat what Ezekiel told God’s People: Continue to turn prayerfully to our merciful God and ask for the strength to begin again. That’s right! We must begin again as the Church has many times over the past 2,000 years.
800 years ago, our Lord commanded St. Francis: “Go and repair my house which, as you see, is falling into ruin.” It was a time to begin again. The Church has faced many calamities, but Jesus promised:
“I am with you always, until the end of the age” [Mt 28:20].
Today we are led by another Francis, a man who must continue the ongoing task of rebirth. Pray that God gives him and his fellow bishops the will and the strength to confront the challenges to this one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church.
Sadly, some in the Church will turn away. Like the rich young man, they will turn away in sadness, others in anger, unable to accept the Gospel without compromise.
50 years ago, when Pope Benedict XVI was a young Father Joseph Ratzinger, he made some prophetic comments in a radio broadcast:
“From the crisis of today the Church of tomorrow will emerge — a Church that has lost much. She will become small and will have to start afresh more or less from the beginning.
“But in all of the changes at which one might guess, the Church will find her essence afresh and with full conviction in that which was always at her center: faith in the triune God, in Jesus Christ, the Son of God made man, in the presence of the Spirit until the end of the world.
“The Church will be a more spiritual Church… It will make her poor and cause her to become the Church of the meek.”
We’re on our way, brothers and sisters. We must become the Church of the meek, a Church of the humble that approaches God in repentance. It’s what we’re called to do.
We, the faithful, are called to “start afresh…from the beginning,” to forgive sinners and embrace and console the innocents, to share the Good News, and do so in faith, in humility, and in love.

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