Homily: Wednesday 6th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Gn 8:6-13, 20-22• Psalm 116 • Mk 8:22-26
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I can't speak for anyone else, but my conversion has been a long, often painful process, one that's still ongoing. It certainly wasn't instantaneous. I didn't have a Road to Damascus experience like St. Paul. 

But God does appear to me. He appears to me again and again. He does so through the others He sends into my life. Some are called and tell me so. Not long ago one person said to me, "I was praying and God told me to come to you about this." And it's usually something about which I haven't a clue. How do I deal with that? I don't. I just turn it over to God and ask Him what to do.

But most of those He sends me are just there. They appear in my life and they have a need. I'd like to say that I'm always ready to do what I can to help, but that would be a lie. Sometimes I turn away. Sometimes I make excuses. Sometimes I give a half-hearted response or send them to someone else. And, yes, sometimes I actually turn to God and ask for His help.

Faith for me has been a journey, a process, a long process, probably much longer than the Lord would like. And I suspect that's true for most people.

This is one reason why the saints sometimes discourage me more than they encourage me. Their holiness just seems impossible to imitate. Examining their lives we see what we are called to become, but we don't really see how to get there. That's why I like it when I come across one of those slightly more scruffy saints. You know what I mean, a saint with a past, one who led a sinful life before responding to God's grace.

St. Augustine is the first to come to mind. For a good part of his life he was far from saintly, but he went on to become one of the greatest saints in the early Church. Saints like Augustine give us hope and a glimpse of the mercy of God. They show us a loving God working patiently on intractable material. They show us the path, not just the destination.

Our readings give us a glimpse of the same thing. Several of the early Church fathers describe the passage in today's first reading as a process of worldwide purification or conversion. Noah and his family were brought to a safe haven because they obeyed God's will; they found salvation through a process that took both time, effort, and total trust.

Now this becomes even more apparent in the Gospel passage we just heard. Mark tells only two stories of Jesus restoring the sight of blind men. The first is the blind man in today's reading; the other is Bartimaeus [See Mk 10:46-52].

I've always thought that Mark wants us to see these two blind men as metaphors for the Christian community.  The man from Bethsaida in today's reading stands for the condition of most Christians, while Bartimaeus stands for where Mark would like us to be.

He Laid His Hands on Him

The man from Bethsaida comes across as hard to convert. At first he's only half-healed by Jesus. Compare him to Bartimaeus, who jumps up, runs to Jesus when called, and is healed instantly.

And yet, I find myself more sympathetic to the slow healer, the reluctant blind man who regains his sight slowly over time. Notice what Jesus does with him. First He pulls him away from the others, the skeptics, the curious, from those who might hinder his journey to faith. He needs to be alone with Jesus, up-close-and-personal with God.

Jesus leads him outside the village, for in the village - the place he came from - there is blindness, spiritual blindness. Jesus then begins the cure using what is almost a sacramental rite. He puts spittle on the man's eyes and lays his hands on him. And just as sacramental grace acts in our hearts and souls, the man's sight is then restored in stages as he responds to Jesus' healing touch. Jesus lays hands on the man twice with Mark recording this remarkable miracle in three short phrases: He looked intently and was restored, and saw everything clearly.

Jesus Alone with the Blind Man

Yes, brothers and sisters, that's what true conversion does: it lets us see everything clearly. And because conversion never ceases, Jesus sent him home with a warning to avoid the village, the place of spiritual blindness, the home of those who thrive only in darkness.

St. Jerome in the Desert (Da Vinci)

St. Jerome, the great Scriptural scholar and Father of the Early Church, explains the spiritual significance of this healing for us:  

"Christ laid his hands upon his eyes that he might see all things clearly, so through visible things he might understand things invisible, which the eye has not seen, that after the film of sin is removed, he might clearly behold the state of his soul with the eye of a clean heart."

We are, then, left to consider the spiritual blindness in our own lives, the blindness that obstructs our vision preventing us from following Jesus. What's keeping you and me from being the true disciple Jesus seeks?

Allow the Lord to lay hands on you, to touch you with his grace and power that you may walk in the light of his redeeming truth and love. 

Homily: Monday, 33rd Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: 1 Mc 1:10-15, 41-43, 54-57, 62-63; Ps 119; Lk 18:35-43
 
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 of this miraculous healing by Jesus. Luke then moves his narrative along and 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, and begging for alms as they passed by.

But this day he hears something different, a large, animated crowd, and so in his blindness he asks what the commotion’s all about.

“It’s Jesus of Nazareth,” he’s told.

Now, he’d no doubt heard of Jesus – after all, word gets around – yes, he’d heard about this prophet and healer, and so Bartimaeus seizes the opportunity, and 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. We can just imagine their words: “Be quiet! This is Jesus. He’s an important man, much too important for you.”

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

As we would expect, Jesus 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. “Leaping Bartimaeus” throws aside that old, dirty, moth-eaten cloak. He throws it aside because filled with faith 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 Jesus is about to offer him something new.

Moved by the Holy Spirit, in his blindness Bartimaeus runs straight to Jesus, who 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 addressed Jesus? First, he called him by the Messianic title, “Son of David” and then, when he’s there in Jesus’ presence, up close and personal, he called him “Lord.” Oh, yes, Bartimaeus, this man of blind faith, was filled with the Holy Spirit.

Moved by the faith of this holy beggar, Jesus proclaims the Word: “Have sight; your faith has saved you.” When the Word of God speaks, things happen, and Bartimaeus sees. He sees His Lord standing before him. Of course he can do nothing but follow Jesus giving glory to God.

Mark relates 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 and spiritual blindness and then offers him salvation.

It’s interesting to note that in the Gospel those who are healed, those who experience a most intimate presence of Jesus in their lives, come to recognize who Jesus is, almost instantaneously, 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 we like Bartimaeus, aware of our brokenness, but ready to let the Lord heal us? Can we hardly wait to get close to Jesus? Are we so filled with faith, so bursting with the Holy Spirit, that we’re willing to follow Jesus wherever He leads us?

Or are we, like too many of the disciples, kind of “Jesus groupies” who jealously guard Jesus from those who simply don’t measure up? Do we forget how much Jesus loves the sinner, how He calls them to Him? Are we more focused on ourselves than on seeing Jesus in others?

These are good questions to ask ourselves today.

Homily: 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Jer 31:7-9; Ps 126:1-6; Heb 5:1-6; Mk 10:46-52

A few weeks ago, as we studied John’s Gospel in one of our parish Bible Study sessions, someone asked me why the gospels were so short, why they didn’t tell us more about Jesus and His life. Actually, St. John, at the very end of his Gospel, almost apologizes for this, telling us that the world couldn't hold all the books that would have to be written to tell the full story of Jesus.

I think perhaps too many of us view the gospels simply as a collection of stories about the life of Jesus -- sort of like Boswell's Life of Johnson, only a lot shorter. And so, as we read the gospels, we're often left wondering about what wasn't written. But to do this is to miss the entire point.

You see, the Holy Spirit, in inspiring the gospel writers, knew exactly what He was about. Yes, the gospels are about Jesus, about His life, His teachings, His redemptive passion, death and resurrection -- the centerpiece of human history. And reading them prayerfully certainly brings us closer to Him. But the gospels are also about us, about you and about me. Indeed, we can make a good case for claiming that true conversion to Jesus Christ really begins only when you recognize yourself in the gospel.

The gospels are really a personal encounter with Jesus Christ. That’s their power. That’s the power of the Holy Spirit. The gospels illuminate the blind spots in our lives -- the attachments that keep us from full conversion.

Remember the encounter we had two weeks ago? The rich young man who sought out Jesus and asked what he must do to inherit eternal life. "You are lacking in one thing." Jesus told him. "Sell what you have, give to the poor…come follow me." We can almost feel the man recoil from Jesus, and he went away sad, burdened by his possessions. He came to Jesus sure of his innocence before he Law, but unaware of his weakness before God. He came with a sense that something was missing; but didn’t suspect what it was. For it was everything! His wealth – neither wrongly acquired nor wrongly used – still enslaved him. And for the first time, a great sacrifice was asked of him…but he lacked the heart for it.

Is this materialism our blind spot as well?

And then last Sunday, that other encounter with Jesus? James and John, apostles, brothers, "sons of thunder," the Zebedee boys, so full of zeal…They too asked Jesus a question: “When you come into your glory, may we sit beside you, one on your right and one on your left?”

Jesus' response? "You do not know what you are asking." They too were unprepared for the truth about themselves, about the true nature of their calling. Their status as apostles, their unique relationship with Jesus, filled them with self-importance, the kind that leads to petty rivalries. In essence they said, "Come on, Jesus, tell us that we're better than the others, that we're your favorites."

Oh, yes, they had a blind spot as well -- pride and a lack of Christian humility. We're so much better, they thought, so much holier than the rest. How sad that they can't be like us. And so Jesus illuminates their blind spot: you are called not to be princes, but servants, and you must follow My example in all things, even to the Cross. Of course they don’t understand. It's only later, when confronted by that Cross, that they scatter like scared rabbits, their pride shattered by the reality of Christ's passion and death.

How many of us, blinded by pride, forget that everything comes from God, that we were created in a wondrous act of love, but created to serve, to serve God and to serve each other?

60 years ago I, along with a large group of children, received my First Holy Communion in St. Peter’s Church in Bridgeport, Connecticut. Among those children was a developmentally disabled boy. He was maybe two or three years older than the rest of us and attended a special school so none of us knew him very well. I can’t even recall his name. But I remember he was seated on the aisle at the end of our pew and when it was time to rise and go forward for Communion, he literally leaped to his feet and said, “Jesus!” -- really scared the rest of us. But that’s how excited he was about receiving Jesus for the first time. And whenever I read today’s Gospel passage I think of him.

Because today we encounter Bartimaeus -- Bartimaeus, the son of Timaeus, leaping Bartimaeus, the blind beggar of Jericho. How different from the other encounters with Jesus.

Jesus was leaving Jericho, on His way to Jerusalem, on His way to the Cross, when He passed by the blind beggar named Bartimaeus. Jesus was accompanied by a “sizable crowd,” Mark tells us, no doubt a noisy, pushy crowd, curious about this Jesus.

When Bartimaeus heard Jesus’ name, he cried out, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me." What an interesting thing for this man to say. Like all who encountered Jesus, Bartimaeus knew there was something special, something prophetic, something divine, about Him. And so Bartimaeus didn't hold back. In faith he uses the Messianic title, "Son of David" and by doing so proclaims Christ's mission to the world.

His request? So simple: "Have mercy on me." Yes, like all of us, he’s a sinner, filled with weakness, in need of mercy. His blind spot? Strictly a physical one.

The disciples try to shut him up, this beggar, this blind man who's what? An embarrassment? But Bartimaeus won’t comply. He won’t be silenced: "Son of David, have mercy on me."

And Jesus stops. "Call him," He says.

Notice how solicitous the others suddenly become, but how patronizingly solicitous. "Take Heart," they say, "Rise, He is calling you." As if to say, "Remember, Jesus is very important, and unlike us, you're just a worthless beggar. But for some reason Jesus wants to talk to you." But Bartimaeus, in his blindness, is focused not on these others, but on Jesus alone.

And so he leaps to his feet, throws off his cloak, that symbol of his status as a beggar, and makes his way, through his own personal darkness, directly to Jesus. Jesus asks him the same exact question He asked James and John in last Sunday's Gospel: "What do you want me to do for you?"
But the answer is something quite different. Having already admitted his sinfulness, and tasted Jesus' mercy in his heart, Bartimaeus asks for one thing: "Master, I want to see."

How does Jesus respond to this? Not, as we might expect, with, "Receive your sight." No, Jesus simply says, "Go your way; your faith has saved you."

Instantly Bartimaeus can see. And he went, but not his way. No, as Mark tells us, he follows Jesus on the way. For it is Jesus who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

You see, unlike the young rich man, unlike the apostles, in his faith, Bartimaeus really had no blind spots whatsoever. His physical blindness was a mere technicality. Bartimaeus knew exactly what he was -- not a blind beggar, but a sinner in need of God's mercy and forgiveness. “Master, I want to see” – not to see with his eyes. No, he wanted to be cured of spiritual blindness so he could see the way, the truth, and the life.

And so we’re each left with a question: Where do I see myself in the Gospel? Am I like the rich young man, blinded and enslaved by my possessions, so wrapped up in the world that to follow Jesus is unthinkable? Or am I like James and John, so caught up in myself that I lose sight of God's call to love and serve Him and His people?

Let us pray today that, like Bartimaeus, we can all turn to the Father in humility, begging for His mercy, and that we too may see the way He has planned for each of us.

Homily: Wednesday 6th Week of Ordinary Time

Readings: Jas 1:19-27; Ps 15; Mk 8:22-26

One of the truly remarkable things about the healings we encounter in the Gospels is how different they all are. So often, in response to faith, Jesus cures with a simple word or gesture. But in today’s brief passage from Mark’s Gospel, we encounter a healing that occurs in stages, a process of both faith and healing. Jesus seems to work with the blind man until there’s an inner transformation.

To our knowledge the blind man doesn’t ask for a healing; rather he’s brought to Jesus by his friends. They, too, don’t ask for a healing, at least not directly. Their faith is such that they expect Jesus’ touch will be enough. But the blind man? Well, he just seems to be going along for the ride, doesn’t he? So far we have no real evidence of faith on his part. And so Jesus begins the process of healing, a process that includes a parallel process of faith.

How does He begin? By taking the blind man by the hand and leading him away from the village. “Look,” Jesus is saying, “you’re blind, not just physically, but spiritually as well. If you’ll let me, I’ll lead you away from the source of your spiritual blindness. I’ll lead you away from those who will only take you back into blindness. I will lead you from an unholy place to a holy place, to a place where real healing can occur."

The process of healing itself begins almost sacramentally, doesn’t it? “Putting spittle on his eyes he laid his hands on the man…” This is nothing but Jesus performing a rite of anointing and a laying on of hands.

But the cure doesn’t occur right away. No, Jesus inquires on the progress of the cure, and awaits the findings of the blind man. “Do you see anything?” Are you responding in faith? And, yes, the man responds, tentatively at first, and so Jesus lays his hands on him once again. He then looks intently and his sight is restored. His sight is restored in stages in response to Jesus' healing touch.

Mark records this remarkable miracle in three short phrases: He looked intently and was restored, and saw everything clearly. St. Jerome (347-420), the first of the great biblical scholars, explains the spiritual significance of this healing: 

"Christ laid his hands upon his eyes that he might see all things clearly, so through visible things he might understand things invisible, which the eye has not seen, that after the film of sin is removed, he might clearly behold the state of his soul with the eye of a clean heart."

How did Mark put it? “…he saw everything clearly.”

Village in Galilee

Shortly after we moved to The Villages, my brother – who passed away a couple of years ago – sent me a little refrigerator magnet that read, “Your village called. Their idiot is missing.” Now I had to put up with that sort of thing if only because he was my older brother and deserved my respect. But this funny little message has a real connection to today’s Gospel, and might help us understand what Jesus meant when he told the man he had cured of blindness not to return to the village: “And then he sent him home and said, ‘Do not even go into the village.’”

In other words, you’re not a villager any more; you’re my disciple. You are healed. You are a man of faith. Avoid the company of those who live in spiritual darkness. You are called to be different!

You see, what I think Jesus was really telling him (and us) is to avoid those who lead us to spiritual blindness. A village can be overly restrictive, can’t it? Too close identification with the village can cause us to conform to other villagers in all things. It can remove our freedom to see things differently. It can imprison us…unless, of course, we respond to the call to be different...unless we choose to be the village idiot.

The word ‘idiot’ comes from the Greek word ‘idios’, which means ‘peculiar’ or ‘private’. And, believe me, if you take your Christianity seriously, many will consider you peculiar. We may have to become a village idiot for a time. For it’s a long hard road to the humanity that Jesus calls us to exhibit.

Homily: 4th Sunday of Lent

Readings: 1 Sm 16:1b, 6-7, 10-13a; Ps 23; Eph 5:8-14; Jn 9:1-41

Today, smack dab in the middle of Lent, the Church calls us to rejoice…for today is Laetare Sunday. And laetare simply means “rejoice” or “delight yourself.” Father Peter and I should actually be wearing rose-colored vestments on this day, but since we don’t have any, we’re allowed to wear the usual Lenten violet vestments. But, despite our more solemn color, there’s really a lot over which we can rejoice.

Samuel anointing David

For example, in our reading from the First Book of Samuel, we’re shown clearly that God’s ways are not our ways. Now, personally, I think that’s a great reason to rejoice. I mean… really…would you want God to be just like us? Would you want Him to be hateful one minute and loving the next? Would you want Him to judge you based on human law, really a collection of ever-changing, rather arbitrary standards? Would you want Him to make decisions about you and those you love based on information filtered by deep-seated biases and prejudices? Would you want Him to show you no mercy because of your sinfulness, even after you have repented?

After all, that’s what Lent’s all about – repentance and forgiveness and conversion – three more wonderful reasons to be joyful. No, I think it’s altogether appropriate to rejoice that, unlike us, God loves and forgives, that He knows all and sees all, that He is, in a word, perfect. If only we could love as God loves and see as God sees. Perhaps that should be one of our prayers this Lent, that God will permit us to see as He sees.

Seeing is one of those things that most of us take for granted. We don’t really think much about it…until we no longer have it.

Many, many years ago when I was going through Navy flight training, one of the more exciting milestones was the day we made our first carrier landings. Now I made those first landings in old T-28, which was a big, old single-engine prop aircraft that looked like a World War Two fighter. Right after my sixth and final landing, I began the flight back to our land base only about 15 minutes away. That was when my engine decided to have a major oil leak. Black oil covered the windscreen of the canopy so I couldn’t see anything in front of me.

Now that’s not real comforting since it’s always nice when you’re flying to see where you’re going. And so for the next few minutes I flew blind over the Gulf of Mexico, preparing for an instrument approach, and hoping the engine wouldn’t quit completely. Despite my inexperience my guardian angel and I flew the approach and managed to land safely. About 30 seconds later, right after I cleared the runway, the engine seized up completely.

It was a good feeling when I climbed out of that cockpit and could see once again. I was so glad to have returned safely that I’d forgotten all about those successful carrier landings. Suddenly they weren’t all that important. That day, it was all about seeing.

And that’s actually what our passage from John’s Gospel is all about. It’s about seeing.

This encounter related by John has quite a cast of characters. First there’s Jesus, then there’s the beggar, the man who can’t see, the man born blind, along with the disciples. Then the man’s neighbors are introduced, followed by the Pharisees and finally the man’s parents. It’s quite cast for such a short story.

At first it seemed that all of these people could see, except for the blind beggar. But by the time John finishes telling us about this encounter with Jesus, the beggar can see clearly but most of the others have been blinded by their own lack of faith.

It’s actually a rather strange story. Here’s a man who has suffered mightily his entire life. Being severely disabled in those days was like a life sentence. You were doomed to be a beggar. And yet he’s not the object of much compassion, is he? He’s just been cured of his lifelong blindness, and Instead of being allowed to rejoice, he’s forced to defend himself. Neither his friends and neighbors nor his parents seem very interested in coming to his defense as he’s verbally attacked by the Pharisees.

You’d think everyone would want to share his joy at having been cured. But, no, they actually distance themselves from him, concerned less with him and more with their reputations. Yes, it’s certainly an odd story. There’s a miraculous cure, but there’s no celebration.

There’s something else a little different about this story. Instead of listening to Jesus preach, we find ourselves listening to the beggar. Yes, we’re introduced to this remarkable man of faith, a blind beggar who is given the gift of seeing as God sees. This man, this beggar, ignored by those who walk by him every day, is in a very real sense re-created.

Did you notice how Jesus effects the cure? As the Father did in Genesis, Jesus uses the dust of the earth, adds His own spittle to make clay, and with this creates a new man. Yes, Jesus has come to do the work of the Father, continuing the ongoing work of creation. “I am the Light of the world,” Jesus reminds the disciples right before He gives sight and light to the blind man.

And for this one man, it’s as if Jesus, the creative Word of God, had repeated the words of creation itself: “Let there be light!” Just imagine how that light crashed into the very being of this man who had lived so long in darkness.

As he comes to understand more fully what has happened to him, he also comes to understand who Jesus really is. We watch, as he moves, one step at a time, through a process of conversion. At first he recognizes the Lord simply as “that man they call Jesus.” Later, when first questioned by the Pharisees, he calls Jesus a prophet. And then, when called before the Pharisees to be questioned a second time, he declares openly that Jesus is a man from God. Finally, filled with the Holy Spirit, face to face with his healer, he calls Jesus, “Lord,” and bows down and worships Him.

You see, it’s through this process of conversion that the man was also cured of his spiritual blindness. As he moves toward true discipleship his faith deepens and he becomes more confident. You can hear his confidence in the words he uses to respond to the Pharisees.

Jesus sent the blind man to wash in the waters of Siloam, a name that actually means “Sent.”  And so, with his re-creation, the man becomes a disciple. Like Jesus he too is sent, sent into the world to do the Father’s work…just as we are, brothers and sisters. We have been washed in the waters of baptism. Our eyes have been opened, and we too are sent.

But all too often, like the blind man’s parents and friends, we are blinded, if only temporarily, by fear. Too often we’re afraid, or even ashamed, to profess Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior…to proclaim Jesus as the very Light of the world. But still, the Lord comes to us, touches us, heals us, and does so again and again, over and over, never tiring of extending His forgiveness, always calling us to conversion.

This is the same message we hear from Paul in today’s second reading. Paul calls us to be children of God, “children of light,” he says, bringing “every kind of goodness” into the world.

Today, as we continue our Lenten pilgrimage, what kind of goodness have we produced? Have we deepened our prayer life? Have we come to the Lord seeking forgiveness in the sacrament of reconciliation? Have we spent some prayerful time in God’s presence in the Eucharist? Have we spent some time each day with the Gospels, reading and living the Word of God?

Have we let God teach us to love as He loves, to forgive as He forgives? By loving, forgiving and caring for those in need, by living lives of faith, hope and love, we make God’s kingdom visible and real here on earth. It’s through our lives as faith-filled Christians that we proclaim to all the Good News of salvation through Jesus Christ, the Light of the World. We are sent, brothers and sisters, sent into the world to bring peace, reconciliation, justice and God’s love.

May God continue the good work He has already started in all of us, and may we continue to live as the children of light He created us to be. May He cure us of our blindness, so that like the beggar in the Gospel, we too can proclaim, “I do believe, Lord.” And in all of this may we rejoice today that God has given us this wonderful gift of life itself.

In our creation we are truly blessed with life; through our re-creation God offers us eternal life.