Homily: 24th Sunday in Ordinary Timne - Year B

Readings: Is 50:5-9a; Ps 116; Ja 2:14-18; Mk 8-27-35

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“Who do you say that I am?”

An interesting question Jesus asks the apostles. Only Peter answers, but he gets it right, doesn’t he? With a little nudging from the Holy Spirit.

“You are the Christ” [Mk 8:29], he responds. That’s right --  You’re the Messiah, the one who will set us free. Of course, Peter’s understanding is very different from that of Jesus. This becomes apparent just a few moments later when Peter gets it wrong. He gets it so wrong that Jesus calls him a Satan. I guess that’s about as wrong as you can get.

Poor Peter. He’s beginning to understand who Jesus is. We see this in Matthew’s Gospel where this same scene is described. Here Peter answers Jesus by saying,

“You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” [Mt 16:16]

For Peter, Jesus is the promised one, the king who will reign over Israel and bring freedom to His people. But Peter’s idea of a king and freedom are human concepts. And there’s the irony. Peter’s beginning to understand, but for all the wrong reasons. In truth, he hasn’t a clue…at least not yet.

Peter and the others never dreamed that the words of Isaiah, words we just heard proclaimed here, could apply to the Messiah, and still less to Jesus:

"I made no resistance, neither did I turn away. I offered my back to those who struck me, my cheeks to those who tore at my beard; I did not cover my face against insult and spittle." [Is 50:6]

Isaiah’s Suffering Servant isn’t the Messiah they envisioned, nor is He the God they worship. It was a slow, painful process for the disciples to change their thinking, something that wasn’t fully realized until after the resurrection, until Pentecost.

And brothers and sisters, we, too, must sometimes go through the same process. That’s one of the more interesting aspects of this exchange between Jesus and Peter: It’s still going on today. Jesus still asks us who do we say He is…and just like Peter, far too many, don’t have a clue.

Many so-called Christians stopped believing in Jesus’ divinity long ago. I mean, really, how can any educated person today believe that this itinerant 1^st century Jewish preacher was actually God? A powerful teacher, perhaps…a man of strong character…a wise philosopher…all of these things…but the Son of God?

Others will say, okay, maybe he was a prophet…Or a great moral leader…Or a revolutionary hero…Or simply a good man who, like many other good men, died before his time…Or perhaps he was simply a fool…Yes, indeed, these answers, and others like them, are all out there.

But for most of us, for us Christians, at least when things are going well in our lives, Jesus’ question is easy to answer: He’s the Messiah, the Son of the living God.

When you saw your newborn child or grandchild for the first time…Thank you, Lord; Oh, yes, Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the living God.

When a loved one is cured of that life-threatening disease…Thank you, Lord…Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the living God.

When an adult child returns to the Faith. Thank you, Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the living God.

Oh, we know the answer when things are going well, in the midst of success and happiness and the good things of life.

But then, there are other days, aren’t there? Days when that question nags and challenges — even taunts us for a response: But who do you say that I am? When others ask about Jesus, what do you say to them?

“I don’t know!”, we want to cry. “I wish I knew. I wish I could say for certain…”

So often, that question comes to us, not from one of the good places, with nice landscaping, and good food, and valet parking, and room service. 

Sometimes it comes from the deserts of our lives, from the dark woods choked with thorns and brambles. Then it just doesn’t sound very pleasant, does it? No, it sounds sharp, so sharp it can wound. Yes, God’s question, “Who do you say that I am?” comes just as often from places of uncertainty, from places of pain and conflict.

And that’s when we want to scream an answer: “I thought I knew who you were, but not today, not after this…” Not when we’re lost in those wilderness places, places where the border between hope and folly, between life and death, between trust and despair – places where those distinctions are so blurred the words become almost meaningless to us.

A few weeks ago, I conducted a committal service for a family at the National Cemetery in Bushnell. The husband and father, seemingly in wonderful health, had died suddenly of a heart attack while he and his wife were visiting their children. One moment he was laughing and playing with the grandchildren and the next moment he was gone. They were devastated – all of them – and each struggled to answer Jesus’ question: But who do you say that I am? And do you know something? So did I.

For it was one of those days when the answer we want to give, the witness we want to be, the words we long to say – the healing words, the comforting words, the reconciling words, the words of faith and hope – stick deep in the back of our throats, or remain stubbornly silent, too elusive, too fragile, too uncertain to be spoken aloud.

And yet that question, “Who do you say that I am?” continues to echo down through the ages from the hills of Galilee. It lingers in the air of a refugee camp in the Sudan. It shouts from a hospital bed in Leesburg, or a half-way house in the Bronx or nursing home in Palm Beach. It calls to us from a tunnel in Gaza, from an empty kibbutz in Israel, from a burned-out village in Nigeria, or a soup kitchen in Wildwood. From a neighborhood across the globe to one just around the corner and down the street.

Who do you say that I am?

The question arises when good men and women die, when families grieve, when hearts are broken when trust is betrayed. When it’s not a beautiful day in The Villages, who do we say Christ is? Is He still the Messiah, the son of the living God?

After Jesus asked that question, he turned to the crowd and told them:

“Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.  For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and that of the gospel will save it” [Mk 8:34-35].

For that grieving family standing at the graveside, for the woman just diagnosed with cancer, for the man who unexpectedly loses his job…these words of Jesus are hard words to hear. For so many, isn’t life itself burden enough?

But in truth, only the cross can bear the full weight of human suffering. Only the cross contains the promise that death is not the final word. Only the cross offers real hope in the midst of the world’s despair. Just watch the news, folks, and see the chaos and hatred. 

Do we accept and believe this truth even when our world is crumbling and the path ahead seems so uncertain? Not if our lives reflect a double standard. How can we be Christians and yet have the same values as the rest of society? We can’t.

Sisters and brothers, we are surrounded by a Godless culture, a culture of death. As Jesus prayed to the Father:

I gave them your word, and the world hated them, because they do not belong to the world any more than I belong to the world [Jn 17:14].

Do we belong to the world, or do we belong to Jesus Christ?

How can we be Christians if our primary concerns are with material plenty, professional success, great careers for our children and grandchildren? Oh, it’s a full-time job just "saving" our lives, just locking in our security, isn’t it?.

But then Jesus tells us that to be really free, we must let it go, stop clinging. He tells us to give and not to grab, to share and not to hoard, to choose life at every stage, from conception until natural death. To see others as brothers and sisters, not as rivals and competitors. He tells us to love others, to reach out to them, not to guard against them.

Who do you say that I am?  he asks us, every day.

In the end, though, the question doesn’t call for an answer in words; no, it demands a decision; it demands action. Words are easy, aren’t they? Recall what James told us in our 2^nd reading.

"Go in peace…Oh, and if you have no bread, well, don’t worry, God will provide.”

"Sorry, I can't help you now, I’m on my way to Mass."

"Oh, yes, I can imagine how difficult it must be to be homeless. I'll pray for you."

No, Jesus doesn’t want just words; He wants a decision, a decision to pick up our cross, to help others carry theirs, and to follow Him together…for He’s the only one who knows the way…the way home.

God love you.

Homily: Silver Rose Prayer Service

Readings: 2 Cor 9:24-27; Ps 63; Luke 1:26-38

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About 1,600 years ago, way back in the year 431 the Council of Ephesus gave Mary the title, Theotokos, a Greek word meaning “God Bearer” or “one who gives birth to God” or as we say today, “the Mother of God.” By giving her that title, the council didn’t mean that Mary was the Mother of God from eternity. But because Jesus Christ is true God and true man, and Mary gave birth to Him, she is, therefore, the Mother of God in time.

It’s the misunderstanding of the Church’s long-held teaching on this relationship between Mary and Jesus that has led some Christians to think that we Catholics worship Mary as some sort of goddess. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. From the reality of this relationship, we can fulfill her prophecy in the Magnificat and can call Mary the “Blessed Mother.”

As many of you know, motherhood is no easy vocation. Both my mother and my wife had to put up with a lot and sacrifice even more during those years when their time was focused so intently on raising their children. But can you imagine how it must have been for Mary…to be the Mother of God…and be fully aware of it? After all, Gabriel hid nothing from her:

“Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give him the throne of David his father, and he will rule over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”

Mary, then, knew from the first that this child of hers was the “Son of the Most High,” or as Gabriel added later, “the Son of God.”

What a remarkable family life! Mary and Joseph raising Jesus who is fully human, all the while aware of His divine origin, His divine nature. Luke, and to a lesser extent, Matthew, give us a glimpse of life in the Holy Family. It’s as if the Holy Spirit is telling us, “You don’t need to know the details of daily life in this holiest of families, but I will share a few incidents with you, so you will know who Jesus, Mary, and Joseph really are.” Just consider all that Mary encountered:

The long arduous trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem, and the unexpected need to give birth in a cave, a stable fit only for animals.

The Presentation in the Temple, a prophecy of pain she would suffer, sorrow she would experience.

A life-saving flight to Egypt, refugees in a foreign land where they await the death of a brutal king.

The quiet years in Nazareth, when she no doubt wondered how this Son of hers, this Son of the Most High, would fulfill all that had been prophesied. She knew that He would eventually leave her to carry out the Father’s will in the world.

And another event Luke shares with us: the Passover pilgrimage to Jerusalem, when the 12-year-old Jesus is lost in the crowd of pilgrims. The panic she and Joseph experienced, the frantic search, the joy of finding him, and their bewilderment when after three days He wondered at their parental concern.

In each instance Mary wouldn’t fully understand – just as later she wouldn’t fully understand her Son at Cana, or when He asked the crowd, “Who is my mother?” or when she cradled her Son’s lifeless body in her arms at the foot of the Cross.

But always, Mary ponders these things in her heart. She knows God’s ways are not ours. Could she fully understand the crucifixion of her Son, God’s Son? And so, she ponders. She steps away, seeks the quiet of contemplation, and savors all that has been revealed to her.

In doing so teaches us how to pray, how to accept God’s will, how to abandon oneself to God’s love. She ponders, she returns to the source, to that day when the angel declared her, “full of grace,” when her heart overflowed. “…full of grace”, and that’s exactly what Gabriel meant. Mary is literally full of God’s grace, so full there’s no room for any sin within her.

And how could it be otherwise? For God incarnate must enter the world via a spotless vessel, born of woman but a woman without sin. For her pondering heart is immaculate, perfectly pure, because it focuses solely on Jesus. Mary is single-hearted. She trusts in God, just as she trusted when Gabriel asked for her response.

But now, today, that same trusting, pondering, immaculate heart is focused on you and me, interceding for our salvation. This, brothers and sisters, is the immaculate heart, the heart of Theotokos, the Mother of God whom we honor here today. For Our Lady of Guadeloupe presented the world with a gift of Castilian roses and an image of herself, a virgin awaiting the birth of our Savior.

Without Mary’s “let it be done”, her fiat, without her declaration of faith, without the word of Mary, the Word of God could not be Emmanuel, God with us. What did the angel tell her? “You shall conceive and bear a son…the Son of the Most High.” And Mary agrees: “Let it be done to me according to your word.” With this, Jesus is not simply in her thoughts and hopes, in her prayers and yearnings. He is in her flesh. His flesh is her flesh. Hers is His. She waits only to see His face and offer Him to the world. This is Our Lady of Guadeloupe. She knows she is blessed, for she told us…

“…He has looked with favor on his lowly servant. From this day all generations will call me blessed: the Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is his Name.”

Words we too should pray every day, because God has done great things for us well. He’s given us His Son, who in complete humility takes on our flesh, redeems us through His passion and death, and in His Resurrection defeats death.

But isn’t it interesting that Christ’s redemption of the world requires the consent of Mary. We are created in and for love. Had God imposed His will on Mary, without her free consent, love would be absent, and we couldn’t share His divine life, which is freedom.

Through her love for Jesus, Mary is the first disciple, and the one who lived discipleship to the fullest. Jesus told us clearly what it means to be a disciple: “Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother…the ones who listen to the word of God and act on it.” And that is Mary: She hears God’s word within her, and she acts.

She visits her older kinswoman, Elizabeth, who was with child and needed Mary’s help. Mary’s first act as Jesus’ mother is to carry him, not for herself, but for someone in need. And how wonderful, when Mary greeted Elizabeth, John the Baptist leapt for joy in Elizabeth’s womb. Yes, Our Lord was first greeted in the world by an unborn infant who sends a message of life to the world.

Mary, the perfect disciple, follows Jesus. She is blessed, not only because she bore God’s Son, but also because she is the prime example of those who listen to the word of God and keep it. She follows Jesus all the way to the Cross, and beyond. She remains faithful even after her Son’s death, listening to the Lord, joining the apostles in prayer, waiting for the coming of the Holy Spirit.

And just as Jesus came to Mary in poverty and human weakness, He comes to us today, not in glory, but in helplessness. Just as He came to Mary powerless, Jesus comes to us in the hungry and thirsty, in the stranger, the lonely, the sick and dying, the confused and troubled, addicted and imprisoned. Again, in the Magnificat, she sings that

[God] “has scattered the proud in their conceit. He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty…for he has remembered his promise of mercy.”

Today God chooses to proclaim His truth to the world through you and me. That’s right, we must become truth tellers. We must courageously counter the lies and distortions of the culture of death, all the weeds planted and cultivated by Satan. For we are a Church of life. Did not Jesus say, “I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.” Just as Mary said, “Yes,” to life, so must we.

So many cry out to God in their confusion: they hunger for love, for truth, for justice, for life…It’s more than a human cry; it’s God’s Word calling.

I can’t tell you exactly what God is calling you to do, for God works differently through each of us. I can assure you He’s not telling you to do nothing. We are Jesus’ disciples, in imitation of Mary, but only if we listen to his word and act on it. Our faith, then, must be a living, active faith. How did Jesus put it? “Repent and believe in the Gospel.” Yes, indeed, accept and repent of our sinfulness and accept the gift of faith.

This kind of discipleship is not without cost; it’s never easy. “A sword shall pierce your heart,” Mary was told – just as it must pierce the heart of every true disciple. But like Mary we can take comfort in God’s presence within us.

As Jesus told us, if we love Him and keep His word, His Father will love us, and they will come and make their home with us. Christ all around us. Christ leading us. Christ within us. We need only listen to Mary. In her words, “Do whatever He tells you”, and then do it.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, pray for us.