Homily: 4th Sunday of Easter - Year B

Readings: Acts 4:8-12; Ps 118; 1 Jn 3:1-2; Jn 10:11-18

I’m going to tell you a story; and it’s a true story.

Back when I was flying off aircraft carriers, we pilots tended to hang out with each other when off duty. We’d talk about aviation, working on improving our skills -- you know, stayin’ alive. But we’d also talk about other stuff, especially over meals. We'd always been told that officers shouldn’t talk religion or politics in the wardroom. In truth, though, we often talked about these things; but we knew each other well and forgave our differences.

One of our squadron pilots, a friend named Bill, talked a lot about religion. I thought that was strange since at best he was agnostic. Anyway, it really bothered him that so many of us were believers, especially Christians. One evening, before one of those tiring night missions, several of us were probably on our fifth cup of coffee, when Bill started on his favorite rant.

“Just look at the universe,” he said. “It’s just too big to imagine with its billions of galaxies. Then we have earth, this tiny planet of ours, so infinitesimally insignificant, stuck in some little cosmic corner.

“Is there a God who made all this? Maybe so. I don't know. 

“But you Christians believe that this God who created everything, and maintains it all, that He decided to come down here to our nothing little planet, become one of us, tell us how to live, and then let us kill Him by nailing Him to a Cross.”

Then he said, “I’m sorry, but this is just beyond…as you would say, beyond belief.” Yes, indeed, Bill thought Christians were idiots. 

Now, I was just another pilot, but felt I had to say something in defense of our faith, so I just said, “Bill, do you love your wife?”

Well, that surprised him. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. Do you love Marie?”

“Of course I do.”

“Yes, I’ve seen you together. I can tell you love her.  And you’d do anything for her, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, I would.”

“Would you give your life for her?”

“Of course I would. Heck, I’d even give my life for you guys, though you don’t deserve it.”

“Yeah, we know that. You see, Bill, the God who created that great universe you described, also created you and me, and created us in His image and likeness. 

“He created us out of love and created us to love. And because of His love, you can love Marie.”

All Bill said was, “Well…maybe.” I guess I wasn't very convincing.

A few years later I received word that Bill had taken his own life. When we first heard the news one of my more fundamentalist friends said, “How sad that he’s now in hell.”

Well, that made me angry, and for a moment, I just stared at him in disbelief. Finally, I said, “You really think you’re God, don’t you? That you can decide who's saved or who or isn’t. But salvation is God’s business, not ours. All we can do is what Paul told the Philippians:

“…work out your salvation with fear and trembling” [Phil 2:12].

"Only God knows what Bill struggled with, what fears claimed him. Only God knows what was in his heart. All I know is God will look on Bill with love and mercy, for 'His mercy endures forever.'  Because that’s who our God is. And I know nothing else, nothing else for certain.”

I just walked away angry, which was stupid. I’d like to think I’d handle both situations differently today. 

Sisters and brothers, today on Good Shepherd Sunday, we celebrate God’s great love for us, and we do it despite the skepticism and disbelief of so many in the world, people like my friend Bill.

In John’s Gospel we hear Jesus clearly revealing who He is and how important we are to him.

“I am the Good Shepherd. The Good Shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.”

Jesus doesn’t abandon us in the face of danger; no, He sacrifices Himself.

Just consider what it means for God to sacrifice His life for us. This divine sacrificial act has led some to ask: Is God of the Christians insane? Is He crazy? I suppose Bill thought that too.

But our Gid isn't crazy; no, our God is Love. His is a love, not simply beyond our capability, but it’s beyond our understanding. In St. Paul’s words, “He emptied himself” and became one of us to offer His life to save ours. And He did this solely out of love. Do you see the kind of God we have, this Good Shepherd who cares so much for us?

Then, to ensure we get the point, Jesus turns to us and tells us to love others as he has loved us, to be willing to give our lives for them, even for those the world says just aren’t worth it. Our love for God, Jesus tells us, must be mirrored in our love for others.

Remember that wonderful scene described in John’s Gospel when, on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, the risen Jesus asks Peter three times:

“Simon, son of John, do you love me?”

…and each time Peter responds,

“Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”

To the first yes, Jesus said “Feed my lambs”; to the second, “Tend my sheep”; and to the third, “Feed my sheep.” Your love for me, Jesus is telling Peter, will be evidenced by how well you tend my sheep, my people, those for whom I sacrificed my life to save.

But Jesus didn’t stop with Peter. He turns to all of us, all of us in the Body of Christ. He doesn’t say, “love me as I have loved you.” No, instead He commands, "love one another as I have loved you." 

In our first reading, we learned that our love for others must manifest God’s love, and the good that we do must be done in Jesus’ name. As Peter proclaimed:

“There is no salvation through anyone else, nor is there any other name under heaven given to the human race by which we are to be saved."

It’s all Jesus Christ, in Jesus Christ, through Jesus Christ, and only Jesus Christ.

John presents this a bit differently in our 2^nd reading:

“See what love the Father has bestowed on us that we may be called the children of God. Yet so we are.”

Children of God… you and me… all of us:

• the poor in need of a meal or a place to sleep...they're God's children
• the Alzheimer’s patient in memory care...is a child of God
• the lonely, the depressed, whom nobody visits...a child of God
• the neighbor undergoing radiation and chemo-therapy...she's a child of God
• the prisoner locked away in his cell...yes, he too is a child of God
• the single mother struggling to make ends meet...a child of God

And, yes, many of us may be suffering as well, but that doesn’t mean we stop loving. 

For all of us, children of God, are brothers and sisters in Jesus Christ. We’re not strangers; for children of the same loving Father can’t be strangers. Brothers and sisters of our Lord, Jesus Christ, can’t be strangers.

Jesus calls us not simply to love others, but to see and hear Him in them, to realize that what we do for and to each other, we do to Him.

“I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.’

I suppose at judgment we will judge ourselves by our response to this calling as children of God.

Years ago, Diane and I attended a papal audience in Rome, and heard Pope Benedict say:

“As a community, the Church must practice love…The Church cannot neglect the service of love any more than she can neglect the Sacraments and the Word.”

At every level, then — the universal Church, the diocese, the parish, the home – we must love. This is how the Church shows who she really is.

Outside a Catholic church in Syracuse, NY there’s a statue of a man seated on the sidewalk. I think there's a similar statue at Ave Maria University here in Florida. It’s a statue, a sculpture, of a beggar, wearing a hood, his face covered. His hand is stretched out toward those who walk by, much like the hand of the beggar reaching out to Peter in our reading from Acts. 

But if you look closely, you’ll notice a nail hole in that hand. Yes, it’s Our Lord, the risen Jesus bearing the wounds of His love; it’s the Jesus who humbled Himself to became like a slave, a beggar.

For those who pass by it’s a constant reminder to look beyond appearances and see Jesus in all who reach out to them.

And for you and me it’s a reminder that Christ has His hand stretched out to us right now.

God love you.

And please…pray for my friend, Bill, and for all those veterans who found their lives to hard to live.

Homily: Tuesday, 31st Week in Ordinary Time - Year A

Readings: Rom 12:5-16; Ps 131; Lk 14:15-24

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Back in 1951, I was seven years old. My dad was an Army officer stationed in Germany and that Christmas we were vacationing in Bavaria. We spent a few days in Munich, and one morning while my mom and brother were back in the hotel restaurant having breakfast, my dad and I went for a walk headed for a nearby newsstand where he knew he could buy an English language newspaper.

And as we walked, for the first time in my brief life, I saw a man on the sidewalk begging. He had no legs and sat on a makeshift wooden pallet with roller skate wheels. He propelled himself with two pieces of wood, one in each hand, that he pulled along the ground. The war had ended only a few years before, and he had a couple of military medals pinned to his old coat. In his lap was a tin can with a few small coins in it.

I remember all this because I had stopped to look at him. Children aren’t easily embarrassed, and neither was he. He smiled at me, so I decided to try out my German and said very formally, “Guten Morgen, mein Herr” – Good morning, sir. With that, his smile grew and he replied, “Guten Morgen, Junge” – Good morning, boy.

At that point Dad spoke to him and they exchanged a few words in German, which I didn’t understand. They both laughed, and then Dad put four five-mark coins in the tin can. 20 marks was quite a lot back then. The man then called me closer, reached out and with his fingertips, made the sign of the cross on my forehead. As we walked on to the newsstand, Dad simply said, “Two things, son. First, Jesus is always present in others, and second, that could be you.” 72 years ago, but I’ve not forgotten that encounter with a war-torn beggar on a Munich street.

Of course, back then I hadn’t read Paul’s letter to the Romans; but my Dad had. Much of the letter contains great theological insights about God and our relationship to him in Jesus Christ. But then, here in chapter 12, as his letter draws to a close, Paul offers us some very practical advice on actually living the Christian life. He begins with:

“We, though many, are one Body in Christ and individually parts of one another.” [Rom 12:5]

Because Christ is present in each of us, we’re united, bound to each other, “parts of one another.” Have you ever thought about that? In other words, that legless beggar, my father, and I are together in one Christian family. To ignore that man on the street would be like ignoring my brother. And because we’re essentially fused together in the Body of Christ, we can serve Jesus Christ only when we love and serve each other.

That’s the wonderful thing about Christianity: we’re not isolated individuals. We’re a community, each of us offering his particular gifts to help the others. And because evangelization is the Body of Christ’s primary responsibility, we must reach out into the world, and bring others into communion with us.

I’ve always thought Paul’s awareness of this communion in the Body of Christ, originated when he heard those words of Jesus on the road to Damascus:

“Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” [Acts 9:4]

Hearing those swords, pondering them, Paul came to understand that by persecuting Jesus’ disciples, he had been persecuting Jesus himself, because they are one. And I really believe that question of Jesus was the catalyst for Paul’s teaching on the Body of Christ.

Paul then lists many of the gifts, the charisms that let Christians build up the Body of Christ. Among them is almsgiving. In Paul’s time, many Christians were poor, unable to give alms. Every community had its sick, poor, elderly, orphans, and widows. But some Christians had a surplus to share, and Paul told them to give generously.

The same is true today, brothers and sisters. But living here in The Villages, in our rather antiseptic enclosed community, we don’t see it, despite the reality that surrounds us. Diane and I served at the Wildwood Soup Kitchen for many years.; and when I was on the board, I’d often go out with one of our drivers, delivering meals to shut-ins. We’d drive down streets where the poverty was so palpable it simply enveloped you; and then enter dwellings where no human being should live.

On Thanksgiving, our secular feast, will we just thank God for all He’s done for us, for all those gifts? Or will we also thank Him for leading us through our own highways and hedgerows, to seek out those with whom we can share those gifts he has let us use?

After all, we’ve come together this morning to receive the Body of Christ, so let’s leave here in Communion as the Body of Christ – to love and serve the Lord by loving and serving one another.

Homily: Moonday 33rd Week of Ordianry Time

I have embedded a video of this homily below. Preached on Monday, November 18, 2019, the complete text follows the video.

Readings: 1 Mc 1:10-15,41-43,54-57,62-63; Ps 119; Lk 18:35-43

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Jesus cured thousands of people during his public ministry, but of all those He cured I’ve always had a special liking for this blind beggar of Jericho.

In today’s Gospel passage Luke just gives us the basic facts and then goes on to tell the story of Zacchaeus the tax collector. But in Mark’s Gospel this blind beggar has a name: Bartimaeus, the son of Timeous.

I don’t think you and I can imagine what Bartimaeus’ life must have been like. There was no Department of Health and Human Services, no Social Security to provide him with a monthly disability check, no charitable organizations to provide assistance or caregivers. No, Bartimaeus was pretty much on his own.

His family probably expected him to pay his way by begging at the city gates, and so there he sat, every day, wrapped up in his cloak, the symbol of his beggary, crying out to people, begging for alms as they passed by. But this day he hears something different, a large, animated crowd, and in his blindness asks what the commotion’s all about.

“It’s Jesus of Nazareth,” he’s told.

Now, he’d no doubt heard of Jesus – word gets around – yes, he’d heard about this prophet and healer, and so Bartimaeus seizes the opportunity…and he cries out, as loudly as he can. “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Of course, the disciples, who have not yet learned what discipleship is all about, try to shut him up. 

“Be quiet! This is Jesus. He’s an important man, much too important for you.”

Bartimaeus will have none of it, and continues to cry out: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” 

Jesus, of course, hears him and calls for him. In Mark’s Gospel we’re told that Bartimaeus leaps to his feet, throws off his cloak, and runs straight to Jesus. Yes, Bartimaeus is certain that something wonderful is about to happen to him, and in his excitement he can hardly control himself.

He leaps to his feet and throws aside the symbol of his beggary, that old, dirty, moth-eaten cloak. He throws it aside because he knows he’ll never again need it. That cloak is the symbol of his old life, a life of darkness, a life of begging, a life of slavery. And moved by the Holy Spirit, in his blindness he runs straight to Jesus.

Jesus simply asks him: “What can I do for you?”

And Bartimaeus replies, just as simply: “Lord, please let me see.”

Did you notice how Bartimaeus addresses Jesus? First, he calls him by the Messianic title, “Son of David” and then, when he’s there in Jesus’ presence, he calls him “Lord.” Oh, yes, Bartimaeus, this man of blind faith, was filled with the Holy Spirit.

Moved by his faith, Jesus says, “Have sight; your faith has saved you.” And then Bartimaeus follows Jesus giving glory to God.

Mark has a slightly different ending. According to Mark, Jesus said, “Go your way; your faith has saved you.” And then Mark adds, “Immediately he received his sight and followed him on the Way.” 

In other words, he became a disciple. And it’s no wonder because he received a kind of triple healing. Jesus cures him of physical blindness, his spiritual blindness, and offers him salvation.

It’s interesting how often in the Gospel those who are healed, those who experience the intimate presence of Jesus in their lives, how quickly they come to recognize who Jesus is, while the apostles and other disciples plod along cluelessly. There at the gates of Jericho, the disciples were decidedly un-disciplelike as they attempted to limit those who could come close to Jesus.

You and I, which are we?

Are you and I like Bartimaeus, filled with faith, bursting with the Holy Spirit, and willing to follow Jesus wherever He leads us? Or do we simply go through the Christian motions?

Or are we, like the disciples, kind of “Jesus groupies” who jealously guard Jesus from those who aren’t as holy as we? Are we more focused on ourselves than on seeing Jesus in others?

These are good questions to ask ourselves today.