Homily: Conversion of St. Paul

Readings: Acts 22:3-16; Ps 117; Mk 16:15-18                          

The call to conversion by Jesus can come at the most inopportune times. Recall how Peter and Andrew, James and John were working hard at their profession as fishermen when Jesus showed up and called them away.

“Follow me and I’ll make you fishers of men” [Mk 1:17].

They probably didn’t have a clue about what this would mean for them, but they followed, nonetheless.

Then there was Matthew, the tax-collector. He had a sweet deal going, collecting taxes for the Romans, and pocketing plenty of cash for himself. But Jesus comes along and simply says, “Follow me!”, and Matthew drops everything [Mk 2:14].

Imagine what their friends and relatives thought. You’re doing what? With whom? And you’re leaving everything behind…your business, your family, everything?

Called by Jesus these practical, down-to-earth men willingly gave up everything for something they did not yet understand. Yes, Jesus wasn’t just some itinerant preacher. Obviously, there was something very different about Him, something beyond normal human experience.

Imagine, too, what the future apostles thought when John the Baptist pointed out Jesus to them: "Behold! The Lamb of God!" [Jn 1:29] Behold the sacrificial lamb, the one who will give His life for the world. Jesus was something more than special. He was, as Peter would later profess, “The Christ, the Son of the Living God!” [Mt 16:16]

But not everyone agreed. One was a young Jew named Saul. He was a Pharisee, a Jew of the tribe of Benjamin, a native of the cosmopolitan city of Tarsus in the region of Celicia in Asia Minor. As Paul later described it, Tarsus was “no mean city” [Acts 21:39].

Yes, indeed, Saul was no peasant. Paul’s family was apparently distinguished enough that the emperor had made them Roman citizens, a rare honor. And for his fellow Jews, he had the prestige of being schooled by the famous and learned Gamaliel.

As a Pharisee, now in Jerusalem, Saul had no patience for the new and dangerous sect that worshiped this Jesus of Nazareth as Messiah and Son of God. What a blasphemy! This Jesus could be only a false Messiah, for He had been crucified as a criminal, and had preached such foolishness as the brotherhood of Jew and Gentile.

Certain of himself and his mission, arrest warrants in hand, Saul was on his way to Damascus, 135 miles distant, to root out the followers of this Jesus and bring them back in chains for prosecution. But it is here, along this road to Damascus, that Jesus calls him. 

Knocked to the ground, blinded, overwhelmed by the voice of God, Saul is accused of persecuting Jesus Himself. But Jesus has plans for Saul. Renamed Paul, he is in God’s own words, “His chosen instrument.” This zealous Jew will now carry Jesus, the living and incarnate Word of God, to the world, to both Jew and Gentile.

Paul’s calling might have been exceptional in manner, but it was really no different from the calling of every Christian. For, just like Paul, we are all called to follow Jesus in holiness, to enter into an ongoing conversion; and like Paul it is our response that makes the difference. We are all called to the apostolate, to be apostles of Jesus Christ, to be the ones who are sent.

God’s voice comes to us all, that inner voice that brings both a calm acceptance and a restlessness to obey. It speaks to us in the words of the prophet, revealing all that God wants of us, dispelling uncertainty and fear, calling us to respond with our entire being.

Can we abandon ourselves, our autonomy? Can we accept that we too are called, we too are chosen to do, to give, to speak, to pass on to others all that He has given us, done for us? Can we make this our prayer? “What would you have me do, Lord? Tell me and I will do it.”

As Pope Paul VI preached: “…it becomes a need to hasten, to work, to do everything one can to spread the Kingdom of God, to save other souls, to save all souls."

Of course, God gives us a choice. But how did St. Paul put it?

“Christ Jesus has made me his own” [Phil 3:12].

That’s right, like Paul we belong to Jesus Christ now. To turn away from that would be foolishness indeed.

More News Brought to Light

Our faith is truly under attack, not just here in the good ol' USA, but throughout the world. I don't have to search for examples of this, for these attacks are not only evident but also celebrated by those who despise Christ and His Church. These misguided people wrongly think that by attacking Jesus Christ, they will somehow destroy Him. Such attitudes do nothing but underscore their tacit disbelief. Here are just a few stories that highlight this.

Abortion Industry Discretely Targets Black Babies.  In recent years, the abortion industry (aka, Planned Parenthood) has tried to separate itself from its founder, Margaret Sanger, a notorious racist who planned and hoped for the destruction of the "lesser races" and came up with a diabolical plan to accomplish this. But with the rise of cancel culture, Sanger's racism could cause Planned Parenthood some problems, so it seemed best to downplay her involvement as perhaps the founder of the industry. 

Sanger's plans, though, have never really been discarded. For decades Planned Parenthood has targeted minority communities, and they continue to do so. CURE, the Center for Urban Renewal and Education, is a wonderful organization that has investigated the abortion industry's attack on our nation's Black communities.

As a recent press conference, leaders of CURE and a number of other organizations devoted to helping minorities thrive, focused on the Abortion industry's targeting of minority communities. Quite simply, the industry hasn't left Margaret Sanger behind but has actually increased its attack on Black women and Black babies. The percentage of abortions obtained by minority women, particularly Black women, continues to increase, making them "disproportionately, the leading consumer of abortion service." Black women account for more than 1/3 of abortions although they make up only 15% of the childbearing population.

And this wholesale murder, this genocide, of the unborn is supported by the vast majority of Democrat politicians.

Canada Attacks Christian Belief. That's a nice way of saying it. About a week ago, the Canadian Senate and House of Commons unanimously approved a ban on what it called "conversion therapy." In truth, though, it condemns Christian doctrine on the sinfulness of homosexuality and so-called transgenderism, and "ism" that does not exists in reality. The legislation also threatens pastors with up to five years imprisonment if they actually are faithful to the Gospel.

These Canadian pastors aren't preaching hell and brimstone. In fact, like Pastor David Lynn, of Christ Forgiveness Ministries, they're preaching a theology of love, of forgiveness, or mercy. And as they preach, as they share the Gospel, they receive nothing but hate from those who can't stand to hear any criticism of their sinful way of life. "We hate nobody..." Pastor Lynn explained as he described the enduring love of God.

Pastor Lynn was, of course, arrested as he preached the Gospel publicly in Toronto. Even though surrounded and physically assaulted by the crowd of LGBTQ+ whatevers, he was the one arrested.

One result of this has been the outpouring of support by thousands of American pastors who preached last Sunday on the immorality of the homosexual and transexual lifestyles. Unfortunately, I have yet to find an article in praise of Catholic pastors preaching similar homilies. That's the subject of another post...perhaps soon.

A Catholic University Denies Church Teaching. Isn't it interesting that so many universities and colleges love to claim and proclaim their Catholic identity, presumably to placate Catholic parents who will foot the exorbitant education bill, and yet regularly deny major aspects of the Catholic Church's magisterial teaching? It's just a wild guess, but I suspect 75% of so-called Catholic institutions of higher education are really not Catholic. 

The latest school to hit the headlines is DePaul University in (where else) Chicago. DePaul advertises itself as the nation's largest Catholic university. On the "Mission Page" of its website. DePaul declares:

"Guided by an ethic of Vincentian personalism and professionalism, DePaul compassionately upholds the dignity of all members of its diverse, multi-faith, and inclusive community."

As someone who has read many of St. Vicent de Paul's homilies, studied his life, and ministers in a parish blessed with his name, I'm not all that certain the saint would grasp what "Vincentian personalism and professionalism" actually means.

On its home page the school also states that "Chicago is Our Classroom, The World is Our Focus," a motto that (despite its strange capitalization) seems to ignore its supposedly Catholic foundation.

And then, under a heading proclaiming the school's "commitment to Anti-Discrimination," we encounter the following:

"DePaul University does not discriminate on the basis of race, color, ethnicity, religion, sex, gender, gender identity, sexual orientation, national origin, age, marital status, pregnancy, parental status, family relationship status, physical or mental disability, military status, genetic information or other status protected by local, state, or federal law in matters of admissions, employment, housing, scholarships, loans, athletics and other school-administered programs. Individuals who believe they have been subjected to discrimination, harassment or retaliation are encouraged to report what happened."

Heavens! What a list of potential bases for discrimination! Although some are a bit confusing. Why both sex and gender? In fact, why gender at all? I'm pretty sure sex is what separates male from female, and I have always considered gender to be a grammatical term; you know: feminine, masculine, or neuter nouns. Ah, well, the more things change...

DePaul University, however, has determined that sex comes in many more forms than the obvious two that have served humanity well since pre-historic times.  The university's web-based Campus Connect system was established to aid communication among students, faculty, and staff. Since January 4, "In addition to the Legal Gender, students may now also include a gender identity." Here are the choices: male, female, intersex, non-binary, transgender male, transgender female, cisgender, unspecified, and "I do not wish to self-identify." 

Having these options is especially important at DePaul since the university's student government has declared misgendering an "act of violence," a rather unique way to define violence.

The Church, of course, teaches the existence of only two sexes: male and female. And so, from the perspective of DePaul University's students, who seem to set the policies, the Catholic Church is committing repeated acts of violence. Maybe it would be best if the school just dropped its Catholic identity so prospective students (and their parents) understood that they were about to pay thousands of dollars to be educated by idiots.

That's enough...I'm tired.

Homily: Thursday, 2nd Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: 1 Sm 18:6-9; 19:1-7; Ps 56; Mk 3:7-12

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Today we are blessed to celebrate the lives of two 3^rd-century martyrs. St. Fabian was a layman, who was elected as Bishop of Rome. (To my knowledge, he is unrelated to the 1950s teen idol of the same name.) But, in the event any of you are planning such a career change, realize Canon Law no longer permits this. Interestingly, though, Fabian’s body now rests in the Basilica of St. Sebastian, whom we also celebrate today.

Sebastian is probably best known for having been pierced by multiple arrows. Surprisingly, he managed to survive this, only to be clubbed to death later. There’s a certain irony in the fact that he is the patron saint of archers.

St. Sebastian

It's good for us today to remember the courage of these martyrs, who are such wonderful examples of lives well lived, of lives offered up for God’s glory.

Back in my other life, a life not always so well lived – a life before the diaconate and before The Villages – because of my work, I would often be asked to speak at corporate management meetings, or at industry conventions, usually on subjects related to management or customer focus.

I’ll admit, it was nice to receive a warm response, even the occasional standing ovation, and realize what I had to say struck a chord with the audience. But to keep me humble, someone would often come up to me afterwards, very upset about something I had said.

I was perhaps a bit like Saul in today's passage from 1^st Samuel, a man who sought accolades and resented anything negative…and I'd often argue with those who disagreed with me.

It took me quite a while to realize I could never please everyone. It also took me a while to understand that those who came to me upset simply wanted someone to listen to them.

Instead of just dismissing them, I began to listen. And in that listening, and in the questioning that usually followed, I learned that sometimes these “great thoughts of mine” might not always lead to success when put into practice.

Yes, I learned that some of what I believed about the subjects on which many thought I was an expert needed to be adjusted a bit. It was humbling, but in the listening, I think I became better at what I did.

I thought of this other life of mine as I read today’s Gospel passage. And how the crowds must have moved Jesus. And how very different He is from us, how different from me. Unlike me, Jesus is not concerned about Himself. His focus is entirely on those who have come to Him.

We see Jesus followed and surrounded by huge crowds, so large that the disciples worried the crowds would crush Him. When I spoke to an audience, it was to a gathering of like-minded people, and I usually knew what they wanted to hear. They weren’t hard to please. But Jesus was surrounded by huge crowds of such different minded people.

Oh, the Pharisees and Scribes were always there, despising Him, listening in, hoping to trap Him.

The Twelve were there, too, probably acting a bit officious, and basking a little in His reflected glory.

Many came to Him hoping for cures. They came themselves or they brought those who suffered, those who wanted only to touch Him. And so, He heals them.

But these crowds weren’t just Jews. No, Mark says they came from Tyre and Sidon, and from beyond the Jordan…that’s Gentile country. Yes, the Word had gotten around, hadn’t it? The Word. Even among the Gentiles. They, too, just sought healing, longed to hear a Word that might bring some hope into their confused and often desperate lives.

But someone else was there too. Some who came were possessed by evil spirits.

They fell down before Jesus and cried out, “You are the Son of God!” [Mk 3:11] Jesus ordered them to keep silent. He knew their cry wasn’t a confession of faith; rather it was an attempt to turn aside the threatening power of Jesus by using His exact name.

Jesus also knew the crowds weren’t ready to receive this revelation of the Messianic Secret. Their understanding was still superficial. They came for their own needs, not for discipleship. They came to receive, but not yet to give. But notice, Jesus never turned them away. They had needs only He could satisfy, and His mercy and His compassion brought physical and spiritual healing into their lives.

His warning to the spirits, though, came from the very nature of His mission. God became man so that man might share in divine life, an incredible thing in itself. But scandal and folly result from the means by which He accomplishes His mission: the glory of the Cross. To reveal His mission before its time would drive away many whom He wished to save.

His purpose, then, through His self-revelation, is to save folks like me – folks like you – from our self-delusions of grandeur.

Brothers and sisters, we can’t save ourselves, for salvation comes only from love – from God’s love and from our willingness to love God and each other.

It comes from carrying our own cross in union with the crucified Christ.

Homily: Saturday, 1st Week in Ordinary Time - Year 2

Readings: 1 Sam 9:1-4,17-19; 10:1 Ps 21; Mk 2:13-17

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In Rome, not far from the touristy Piazza Navona, is the church of San Luigi dei Francesi (St. Louis of the French). In one of its side chapels are several paintings by Caravaggio depicting events in the life of St. Matthew. They’re all masterpieces but one is especially wonderful: “The Call of Matthew.”

Caravaggio: The Call of Mattthew

The painting depicts the same scene Mark describes in today’s Gospel passage: the call of Levi, the tax collector, a man you and I know better as Matthew. Caravaggio depicts an indoor scene, with Matthew seated at his money table, surrounded by a group of his well-dressed associates. Unlike these others, Jesus is barefoot, as if His simplicity and holiness separate Him from everyone else in the scene. Peter stands beside Jesus.

Although the room is rather dark, a beam of light appears to extend from Jesus, who is pointing directly at Matthew. And Matthew? Seated there with a questioning look on his face, he points his finger as well, but at himself, as if to say, “Who me? You’re calling me?” We seem to sense that Matthew was surprised by this call from our Lord.

Jesus had just called four fisherman -- Simon, Andrew, James and John – and I suspect they, too, were skeptical of this latest choice, the tax collector. After all, the people had nothing but contempt for tax collectors, who not only worked for the despised Roman rulers, but were also known for enriching themselves through a form of legal extortion.

But isn’t it remarkable? Matthew didn’t hesitate. Indeed, he responded immediately. As Mark tells us, “He got up and followed Jesus.” How different from the call of the future King Saul we heard in today’s reading from 1^st Samuel. Matthew and Saul both respond to God’s call, and both will stray. But one repents in faith and becomes apostle and evangelist, while the other continues in his obstinate rejection of God’s will.

Mark then takes us to Matthew’s house, where Jesus and the disciples join the tax collectors and others for a meal. The Pharisees, of course are scandalized that Jesus, this reputed holy man, would associate with these public sinners. But those who consider themselves holier than others are always scandalized, aren’t they?

How does Jesus respond?

“Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do. I did not come to call the righteous but sinners” [Mk 2:39].

Indeed, you and I should love and cherish these words because we’re the sinners he’s talking about. How did Paul put it to the Romans: 

“…for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” [Rom 3:23]. 

Six months ago, I had my semi-annual meeting with my physician, a man I think the world of. He informed me that, despite my age and all my aches and pains, I was doing OK, and was probably good for another six months as long as I do as he tells me. Hopeful reassurance indeed. I guess I’ll find out next week when I meet with him once more.

But in Jesus we have a divine physician who promises us, not six months of health, but eternal life.

Brothers and sisters, that He came to call sinners should fill us with hope. As Jesus reminds us, to be a sinner is to be sick, sick spiritually. It’s an illness for which only He has the cure. But we’re called to celebrate that cure and to carry it to others.

Sometimes, though, as a Church, I think we spend an awful lot of our time and resources preaching and teaching and evangelizing the already converted – to the righteous, as Jesus called them.

Now, I know we can’t ignore those who are faithfully following the Way. But how present are we to others, to those who really need to hear the Gospel message? How present are we to those locked in their sinfulness?

It’s easy to fall into the trap of the Pharisees and avoid those who have drifted far away from God, those who believe they have no hope because they’ve never heard God’s saving Word or experienced His healing touch.

Maybe that’s what you and I should do today, shine a little beam of light, the promise of salvation, on another trapped in darkness.

Unmasking

Yesterday I noticed our president complained that a third of Americans apparently never wear masks. The irony, of course, is that this percentage almost exactly reflects national support for his job performance. I suspect, however, this is a mere coincidence since most of the maskless are probably not avid supporters of the president. 

Anyway, this estimate of mask deniers — I can’t call it a fact because it comes from the White House — apparently made President Biden angry enough to label all these maskless citizens “unpatriotic.” It would seem I am counted among them even though I cannot claim to never wear a mask. I must occasionally hide behind one of those irritating face coverings that really accomplish very little. Because of my ministry as a deacon, I am required by my parish to wear a mask when I am distributing Holy Communion at Mass. And, believe me, I always do so…except when I forget. I am also required to don a mask whenever I visit patients in a nursing home or rehab facility. But other than these rare mask mandates, I refuse to wear a mask. I don’t believe I’ve ever shopped at a store or eaten at a restaurant that requires masks. But that’s me.

Of course, as Dear Diane reminded me, masks are not only uncomfortable but also severely disrupt her ability to breathe. But most importantly, like me she doesn’t believe they really accomplish much. I think she also said something about masks messing up her hair, but here I might have misheard her.

To ensure there’s no misunderstanding, Diane and I are, as they say, “fully vaccinated.” We have no problem with vaccinations or boosters, and even wade through the deepening flow of decrees pouring out of the mouths of the national health heavies, even though their announcements are often contradictory, inexplicable, and unintelligible. As they like to remind us, “Just following the science.”

The truth too many seem to ignore is that science, as always, is a moving target. In truth, very little science can with any certainly be called “settled.” We clever, little human creatures keep expanding our knowledge of the universe in which God has placed us, thereby redefining our earlier assumptions and tossing aside the theories of the past. Real science demands real debate and valid, repeatable experimentation. It is never achieved by mere fiat, regardless of the stature of the scientist.

Even more troubling, understanding the science that relates to our actions often takes quite a while. For example, I suspect it may take years before we fully grasp the effects of forcing children to wear masks in school. Parents and honest teachers have already spoken out about the obvious problems affecting the social and intellectual development of children because of masks, not to mention the failures of “remote learning.”

But there are other issues, deeper societal, moral, and spiritual issues, related to hiding the faces of humanity. How can we enjoy the blessing of God’s face when we hide ours not only from each other but also from God? Every day I extend these words of blessing to others — a blessing God gave Moses and Aaron [Num 6:24-26]:

The LORD bless you and keep you: 
The LORD make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you: 
The LORD lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace. 

I could go on, but the other day I read a wonderful essay on The Federalist website. Written by Maureen Mullarkey, it beautifully addresses the importance of showing our faces. It’s well worth a read, so here’s the link:

What Hiding Our Faces Tells Js about the Condition of Our Souls

Keep smiling, friends, and let the world see your smile.

Faith over fear…always.

P.S. -- A brief addendum to the above. Today (Jan 15) I visited Maureen Mullarkey's web log -- Studio Matters -- as well as her website -- Maureen Mullarkey -- and encourage you to do so as well. She is an artist of some renown, an art critic, and regular contributor to major publications. I have no doubt read some of her articles and essays in the past, but simply didn't make the connection because of the ongoing loss of my aging memory cells. That's the good thing about aging -- I always have a ready excuse for my failings.

God's peace.

Memories of Wounded Wombats

A brief memory...

Years and years ago -- actually during my senior year of high school -- I was introduced to the writings of H. H. Munro (1870-1916), who wrote under the penname Saki. A wonderful writer of very funny stories, Munro lived far too short a life. During World War One he enlisted in the British Army as an ordinary trooper, even though he was already in his mid-forties and certainly would have been offered an officer's commission. Sadly, like so many of the UK's most promising young men, Munro did not survive the war. He died in November 1916 after being shot by a German sniper during the Battle of Ancre.

Anyway, my initial introduction to Munro's work back in 1961 consisted primarily of his stories featuring a rather odd, young Edwardian named Reginald. I went on to read almost everything Munro wrote, but especially loved the Reginald stories. Reginald was a clever, affected, witty, and sometimes heartless young man who nevertheless caused me to laugh out loud as I turned the pages of Munro's brief stories.

I can't say why, but occasionally, very occasionally, certain phrases become cemented into my rather unreliable memory. Among these is a phrase that appeared in a Munro story, Reginald's Rubaiyat. For some reason, the phrase -- "Where the wounded wombats wail" -- simply never left my regularly accessible brain cells. I suppose its retention stems from the oddity of it all. At the time, I realized only that a wombat was some sort of strange Australian marsupial, but I couldn't have described this odd critter even under torture. In truth, I know little more about wombats today.

But if you need an occasional laugh -- and these days, who doesn't? -- read Saki's stories. As a New Year's gift, I thought I'd share the following opening words of the brief story mentioned above, describing a typical event in young Reginald's life, as he injects wounded wombats into a less than promising poem.

The other day (confided Reginald), when I was killing time in the bathroom and making bad resolutions for the New Year, it occurred to me that I would like to be a poet. The chief qualification, I understand, is that you must be born. Well, I hunted up my birth certificate, and found that I was all right on that score, and then I got to work on a Hymn to the New Year, which struck me as having possibilities. It suggested extremely unusual things to absolutely unlikely people, which I believe is the art of first-class catering in any department. Quite the best verse in it went something like this —

“Have you heard the groan of a gravelled grouse,
Or the snarl of a snaffled snail
(Husband or mother, like me, or spouse),
Have you lain a-creep in the darkened house
Where the wounded wombats wail?”

What does it all mean? Your guess is as good as mine...or Reginald's.

Happy New Year to my small but select group of loyal readers...