Homily: Tuesday, 21st Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: 2 Thes 2:1-3, 14-17; • Ps 96 • Mt 23:23-26

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Well…good morning, fellow hypocrites!

That’s right…we really can’t deny it. And Jesus reminds us of this. Continuing His 7 woes, He aimed His words at the Scribes and the Pharisees, but you know He’s speaking to us as well. And what words they were! Straining gnats and swallowing camels…cups full of plunder and self-indulgence…hypocrites! It must have been something to hear!

Years ago, I read something that I’ll share with you. It was from an anonymous 5^th-century commentary on Matthew:

“Tell me, hypocrite, if it is so good to be good, why do you not strive to be truly what you only appear to be? And if it is so bad to be evil, then why do you allow yourself to be in truth what you would never want to appear to be? …Therefore, either be what you appear to be, or appear to be what you are.”

I always liked that. And it makes me think that the sinner, who doesn’t try to hide or cover up his sinfulness, might be treated a lot better at the judgment than the hypocrite whose outward appearance hides the sinful truth. We see it in the Church, in the clergy and in the faithful. None of us seem to be exempt.

In my last parish on Cape Cod, a retired bishop often spent the summer in our town, staying with his sister and her family. He’d also help out our parish by celebrating one of our Sunday Masses.

One Sunday morning, before the final blessing, he called a couple forward who were celebrating their 50^th anniversary. They renewed their vows and then the bishop presented them to the parish, and everyone applauded. He then extended the final blessing, and I gave the dismissal. It was a wonderful Mass.

Afterwards, as I made my way across the parking lot, a parishioner approached me with his family in tow. He didn’t look happy. Now, in matters spiritual, he could be a bit scrupulous…okay, more than a bit. He’d often complain to me about something the pope, or the bishop, or the pastor had said. And I knew I’d hear from him after every homily I preached. I’m probably wrong, but he seemed to believe he was holier than the Church itself, certainly holier than this lowly deacon, which was probably the truth…

But what upset him this day was the congregation’s applause for that couple’s anniversary. I thought he was kidding, so I stupidly laughed a little. That was a mistake. He glared at me and then said, “Applause has no place during the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.”

I tried to explain that the Mass is a time of communion…Yes, a Holy Communion with our Lord, but also a communion with each other, and that we should openly celebrate others’ joys and share in their sorrows. Doing so right before we are dismissed to reenter the world is probably a good time.

The Spirit, of course, is wonderful, and He gives us His Word when we need it most. And I found myself turning to St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans, and paraphrasing the Apostle’s wonderful words:

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Have the same regard for one another; do not be haughty but associate with the lowly; do not be wise in your own estimation [Rom 12:15-16] 

I couldn't express Paul's exact words from memory, but thought I'd paraphrased them rather well. Surprisingly, though, he didn’t say, “Oh, thank you, deacon, for clearing that up.”

No, he just walked away, very displeased with me and our visiting bishop. But perhaps the Spirit’s Word had an impact later.

He was so worried about the minutia -- applause as an offence to liturgy -- and so forgetful of the truly important -- sharing in the joy of a faithful marriage in Christ. Was he a hypocrite? Probably, but then so am I.

Recently I’ve been told by several people that they left the Church because it was filled with hypocrites. I just looked at one of them and said, “Well, yeah! We’re a Church of sinners. Let me know if you find a church that isn't.” I probably didn't change his mind, but sometimes I say things I shouldn't.

It's easy to get all wrapped up in the jots and tittles of our rules and rituals. Yes, we should do things well and right, but we are imperfect creatures, and sometimes we mess up.

Liturgy is really the perfect example. I was responsible for our liturgy here for a number of years, and I was always amazed by the comments, suggestions, and sometimes unkind criticism – often anonymous – that I received. I tried to avoid the attitude highlighted in the old joke that the difference between a liturgist and a terrorist is you can negotiate with a terrorist. I listened and studied and learned and prayed and tried to improve, occasionally with success.

Brothers and sisters, we must remember we’re all susceptible to these attitudes condemned by Jesus. We are re not called to be Pharisees; we are called to love.

Let’s beg God to reveal to us the hypocrisy he already sees in us, so we might know ourselves as God knows us, with that same clarity. Jesus invites us to look inward and not to be afraid at what we may encounter.

How to cleanse the inside of the cup?  Whatever is against justice and mercy and faith must be placed in the light of day. As my mom used to say, “Face the truth, son!” The beginning of our union with God is our ability to face the truth, to offer our weakness with a cry for truth and clarity about how we approach God and our neighbor.

COVID-19 Reflection 11: Giving Alms

How long has this pandemic afflicted us? It seems like forever, doesn’t it? 

But maybe that’s the wrong question. Perhaps we should be asking ourselves: How have we used the time we’ve been given? For if there’s one thing COVID-19 has given us, it’s time. And what a time it’s been! A vastly different time for most of us.

A time of uninvited change.

A time of separation from the familiar, from the predictable.

A time of loneliness; or a time to deepen friendships and family bonds.

A time of reflection; or a time of complaint.

A time of openness; or a time of closure.

A time of embraced opportunity; or a time of withdrawal.

A time of joy; or a time worry.

A time of faith; or a time of fear.

In other words, how many of us see this pandemic as something to be feared, as a life-stealing threat?

And how many see it as a gift?

I know, it’s hard to see a virus as a gift. But remember, as St. Paul reminds us, God takes everything and turns it to good for those who love Him [Rom 8:28].

This time, then, is just another manifestation of the Good News, another reason to be joyful.

Let me sum it up with a one more question: Have you and I grown in holiness? For this is what God asks of us. Did we use this time to deepen our love for God and for each other?

A few weeks ago, an acquaintance complained that his spiritual life had suffered greatly because he couldn’t take part in the usual acts of worship and charity that had filled so much of his day prior to the pandemic. “It’s all so different,” he said.

I simply reminded him that when our world changes, when everything is “so different”, our response, too, must be different.

He’s a pretty active guy, so I got the impression that his B.P. spiritual life (his before pandemic life) involved a lot of doing – doing things he believed were good Christian things to do.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Liturgical and charitable ministries are wonderful things because they’re done in response to Jesus’ command.

But so many Christians do all these good things without really thinking very deeply about them. We can get so wrapped up in our Christian work that we don’t take the time to reflect on the totality of our lives.

So certain that we are fine right where we are, we don’t ask God to show us where He wants us to be. Our prayer – when we have time for it – tends to focus on what we believe to be our needs, instead of opening our hearts to what God desires for us.

Of one thing we can be certain: God does not want any of us to remain the same. He wants everyone to grow in holiness.

When I think of the Christian life, I’m always drawn to those traditional Lenten practices: almsgiving, fasting, and prayer. In truth, though, almsgiving and fasting are just other forms of prayer.

Today I’d like to focus on almsgiving.

Gerard Manley Hopkins, the 19^th Century Jesuit poet, frequently corresponded with the poet laureate of England, his friend Robert Bridges. In one of these letters, Bridges, an agnostic, asked Hopkins how he could learn to believe, expecting, I suppose, some deep theological answer. But Hopkins reply consisted of only two words: “Give alms.”

What a wonderful answer! Even though it might have been lost on Mr. Bridges. You see, in his own search for truth, a search that ultimately led him to the Catholic Church, Hopkins had learned something most people never grasp. 

He hoped to show his friend that the love of God is experienced most fully in our love for others. For it’s through loving others that we recognize and experience the source and being of all love. By loving others, we come to see the divine image in every person. By loving others, we come face to face with Jesus.

Of course, when you and I think of almsgiving, we usually think of money – you know, writing a check to Catholic Charities or Catholic Relief Services, or to a local charity like our Food Pantry or the Wildwood Soup Kitchen, and then thinking really well of ourselves.

These are all good things to do – except the thinking well of ourselves – but almsgiving means so much more than this.

The word "alms" has its roots in the Greek word meaning compassion, and "compassion" -- based on its Latin roots -- literally means "suffering with".

Now, for most of us, I don't think writing a check to Catholic Charities really involves a lot of suffering, especially suffering with someone in need. Perhaps we should expand our understanding of almsgiving to include something a bit more up close and personal. After all, it's hard to suffer with someone if you don't know who's doing the suffering. Maybe our almsgiving should include more than just giving money. Maybe it should also include giving of ourselves, more hands-on than usual.

Many of our parishioners are members of ministries that support those in need – for example, the Knights of Columbus or the Council of Catholic Women. These are wonderful ministries, but it’s also easy for members to hide behind the organization’s collective work and forget that each one of us is called to get down and dirty, so to speak, in our almsgiving, in our giving of ourselves.

Giving of oneself is the sort of giving we see at the food pantry, or the free clinic, or the soup kitchen. It's the sort of giving that takes the Blessed Sacrament to the sick and homebound, the sort that visits (or simply calls) those in the hospital or the nursing home or hospice. It's the sort of giving that takes God's love to those who are imprisoned.

It’s also the love that visits a lonely neighbor. Every neighborhood has its share of suffering souls, those who need your almsgiving, your suffering right along with them. How many of us know our neighbors well enough to be aware of their loneliness, their illnesses, their suffering? 

As I mentioned earlier, perhaps we should use this unfamiliar time to reflect on our motives. Why do I do God’s work? Simply because Jesus told me to? Or do I do it out of love? Do I give those personal alms, that compassion, because I see Jesus Christ in every person I encounter?

What have I done, what can I do now, and what will I do once our world re-opens? After all, God’s People – and they are all God’s people, rich and poor – will still have needs that call for our compassion, our suffering with them.

It all boils down to love, doesn’t it? If we answer the call to almsgiving, to compassion, simply because it makes us feel good, what profit is there in that? How did Paul put it?

If I speak in human and angelic tongues, but do not have love, I am a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal [1 Cor 13:1].

In other words, unless we act out of love, our actions mean little.

Take a few moments to read Jesus’ wonderful description of the last judgment [Mt 25:31-46] and reflect on what Our Lord is telling us about those who suffer. I read that passage at least once a week, just to remind me of how often I fail as a disciple of Jesus Christ.

How did Jesus put it? “…whatever you do for the least of my brothers, you do for me.” 

But Jesus didn’t stop there, did He? He tells us not only to give alms, but also to take it a step farther, to do what doesn’t come naturally: to give alms in secret [Mt 6:1-4]. Imagine that! Being charitable but telling no one. Taking no credit for the good we do. No bows, no bouquets, no recognition, no thanks. Why, it’s almost inhuman.

Well…actually…it is inhuman, because it’s what the Father wants, and He will repay us.

At the Wildwood Soup Kitchen, we have a guiding principle we hope will direct our ministry to those we serve. It’s really quite simple: “We don’t serve food; we serve Jesus Christ.”

This is what God wants from us, to see Jesus Christ in others and to be Jesus Christ for others. This is true discipleship.

The disciple should also be filled with joy, for discipleship is celebration, a time in which you share the joy that comes from knowing we are loved by God.

Like all holy acts, almsgiving is an opportunity for evangelization. What an opportunity to carry the Good News of Jesus Christ to those who suffer!

A simple phone call to one who is ill in body, mind, or spirit is a coming together in worship. And God wants us to celebrate when we worship. His is the Good News, not the okay or the so-so news.

This, indeed, is what the Mass is, a coming together in worship, to share not only in the remarkable gift of the Eucharist, but also in each other's joys and sorrows. It is a time of communion. (To come to a deeper understanding of this, read Pope Benedict XVI’s wonderful, little book, Called to Communion.) 

Have you ever considered that Our God is a communion, a communion of three Persons, united in a love beyond our understanding? The Blessed Trinity becomes, then, a model for us as a we struggle to respond to God’s call to communion.

Just look at the words of the Word of God. When Jesus taught His disciples to pray, He didn't begin with, My Father. He began with Our Father. And He didn't end by saying, "…deliver me from evil," but with, "…deliver us from evil." He didn't choose one apostle, He chose twelve. And He didn’t send them out alone; He sent them out in pairs.

God, in His infinite wisdom, knows we need each other to accomplish His Will. We need His Love, manifested through the love we have for each other, to achieve salvation.

St. Paul recognized this. In his First Letter to the Corinthians he celebrates the many spiritual gifts that we, as Christians, receive from the Holy Spirit: wisdom, knowledge, faith, healing, works of mercy, prophecy, discernment, prayer in the Spirit…all wonderful gifts. But each person, each gift, by and of itself, needs the others to make a whole. [1 Cor 12:1-11].

And in that same letter, Paul states emphatically that the Body of Christ does not consist of one member but of many. We must all share in each other’s joys and sorrows. Sadly, not everyone understands this.

Many years ago, in another parish, I was assisting a retired bishop at Mass. He spent the summer in our town and occasionally helped the parish by celebrating Sunday Mass.

One Sunday, right after the homily, he called a couple forward to receive a blessing on their fiftieth anniversary. Everyone in the parish knew them, and so after the blessing, the bishop led us in a round of applause.

Later a parishioner approached me in the parking lot furious that we had applauded during Mass, something he considered sacrilegious. At first, I thought he was kidding, but his reaction to my little chuckle taught me otherwise. He had forgotten about the bishop and was now angry with me.

I also realized argument would be futile, so I simply said, “Read First Corinthians 12:26” and walked away. In that verse Paul simply writes:

"If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together” [1 Cor 12:26].

You know, in all the years I knew that man, I never saw him smile.

We encounter a similar situation in chapter two of John’s Gospel in which we find Jesus, accompanied by His Mother and His disciples at a wedding feast in Cana. Here Jesus joins His people in a joyful celebration of marriage between a man and a woman. But more than that, He sanctifies this marriage by performing His first public miracle – not at a time of human sorrow, but of human happiness.

John draws the picture of Jesus enjoying Himself at this celebration. Jesus chose to be there, to take part in this very human celebration, this party. It wasn’t beneath Him but was something He sought.

Our Christian faith, then, is a cause for joy, and the Christian who goes through life with a long face, spreading gloom behind him should meditate long and hard on this Gospel reading. Jesus told His disciples,

“If you love me you will keep my commandments” [Jn 14:15].

And so, if we aren’t keeping His commandments, if we aren’t loving our neighbor as ourselves, it’s apparent that we’re not loving God either. We can’t, then, grow in holiness unless we love.

In its broadest sense, almsgiving is one of the means through which we grow in holiness. Because it’s also a form of prayer, it helps us fulfill Paul’s call to “Pray without ceasing” [1 Thes 5:17] by the way we live our lives, the way we love.

Since this is supposed to be a reflection, perhaps each of us should do a little reflecting and consider how we give of ourselves to others, how we take Jesus Christ to others in need.

Who in my life is suffering from loneliness, from illness, from heartache?

Who needs to experienced God's love but has received no alms, no compassion, no suffering-with from me?

Homily: Healing Service

This morning one of our visiting priests, Father Ron Oser, celebrated the morning Mass. Deacon Dick Stevens and I assisted. Twice each year we conduct a healing service following this Mass, so the Mass and service draw many who seek healing in their lives and the lives of others. I was asked to preach the homily at Mass, which I have posted below.
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Readings: Is 6:1-8 • Psalm 93 • Gospel: Mt 10:24-33
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A few years ago, on one of my chaplain days at the hospital, I entered the room of a parishioner.

Normally Diane and I minister together, but on this particular day she was ill and couldn't join me. Of course, her absence means I'll more likely say or do something amazingly stupid.

Anyway, I recognized the man, and we talked for a while about his illness. Then I prayed with him and gave him a blessing. He was lonely and afraid, and not all that comfortable as I prayed. Before leaving, I asked if I could add him to the prayer list of parishioners who are ill.

"Oh, no," he replied, "I don't want people to know I'm sick. I'd like to keep it quiet."

"Oh, okay," I said and left his room. I told you I'd do something stupid.

After visiting a few more patients, I entered a room that was crowded with visitors. I apologized for interrupting and said I'd return later, but the patient, a woman of 85, just said, "Don't go. Come on in and join the crowd." And so I did.

She was a Southern Baptist and her visitors included her husband, a sister, a neighbor, several members of her church, and her pastor. Our conversation covered the waterfront -- her family, her hometown, her illnesses.

In her words, "I've got so many things wrong with me, they don't know which ones to work on. But I really can't complain; God let me live a lot longer than I expected."

I asked if I could pray with her, and the whole crowd joined hands.

I prayed for healing and peace, that God's will be done in her life and the lives of all present. We prayed for her doctors, her nurses, and her husband, and thanked God for the gift of friendship. We thanked God too for the gift of discipleship, for those who listen to the Lord when He says, "I was...ill and you cared for me..." Before leaving, I remarked that she was blessed to have so many caring for her and praying for her.

"Yes," she said, "I am blessed. And their prayers mean so much. They let me know that I am loved, that I belong."

When I left home that morning, I asked Diane to pray that I would minister worthily and well. I guess she did, because as soon as I left that room I headed back to the room of our parishioner. I sat down and said:

"Your Baptism made you a child of God, a member of the Church, of a community of the faithful, a community called to love you. Let that community know you need their prayers, because, believe me, you do. The prayer of the community brings healing; it brings you to repentance and brings peace of mind and soul; it brings you the joy you seek in your life, the joy promised by the God who loves you. In your illness you're lonely and afraid. But God wants you to love and be loved. He wants you joyful, not fearful. Don't let pride separate you from those who strive to be true disciples by doing God's will in the world, which includes loving and praying for you. By praying and caring for you they further God's plan for their salvation and that of the world."

Now, I was just as surprised by my words as he was. They certainly didn't come from me. No, the Holy Spirit and Diane's prayers brought those words into being.

Anyway, after the Spirit's little homily, the patient agreed to be prayed for and as I left I asked him to pray for the Baptist woman down the hall. That generated an odd look so I just said: "Pray for her. Her joy will bring you healing."

It's hard not to think of him as I stand before this community of the faithful gathered here today.

We're gathered in communion, as the Church; gathered here in Jesus' holy name; gathered in Christ's Eucharistic presence; and through that communion we're graced by healing today. This, then, is today's first healing thought:

It's through communion with Jesus, communion with each other, indeed, communion with God's created order that brings healing into our lives.

As Jesus reminds us in today's passage from Matthew: He is "Master of the House." We're not the Master. Our redemption, our healing take place on God's terms, not ours. When we come to terms with God's terms, we may well find ourselves confronting some other corner of our lives where the need for healing is even greater.

We're here today in Jesus' name, and so He is with us. He's also with us in Word and Eucharist. Accept His presence and that of His Spirit, for as Jesus told Nicodemus:

"The Spirit blows where it wills, and you can hear the sound it makes, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes" [Jn 3:8].

Let the Holy Spirit move where He wills in your life. For it is through the Spirit, through Him alone, that you receive the healing God wants for you, that you come to know God's will for you. This leads to our second healing thought:

In our brokenness you and I are called to be both healed and healer.

How many of us, pushing aside our own perceived needs, respond to Jesus' call to be healer? How many of you, here today for healing, are pleading with God to heal those sitting next to you? After all, if we've come together as a communion of faith, gathered here to bring God's healing to His Church, we must respond to His call to be healers.

We all need healing, every one of us. But so often we don't realize the healing God desires for us. Instead we just get irrational: "Why me, Lord, why me?" And then we change our tune: "Heal me, Lord, of this evil thing you gave me."

Isn't that amazing! We blame God, and then ask Him to fix it. And we call ourselves intelligent beings.

We plead for healing...alone

Of course we're just focused on ourselves, and by focusing on ourselves instead of God, we find nothing but fear and loneliness...just like the parishioner in the hospital.

Do we ever think of asking God to turn that which is evil in our lives into something good?

Look around you. Reach out to another in need of healing. Set aside your own needs and minister to the other, to Jesus: "I was...ill and you cared for me" [Mt 25:36].

When we break free of our self-imposed loneliness our fears disappear. Fear's a very natural, human thing. It'd be unnatural not to fear when life is threatened by illness. But listen again to what Jesus says to the disciples:

"...do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul..." [Mt 10:28]

You see, Jesus is telling us that His true disciple need not fear the world and the evils it can bring. And how does He explain this? Simply by letting us know that

"Nothing is concealed that will not be revealed, nor secret that will not be known" [Mt 10:26]

In other words, we should never fear because He promised that, ultimately, the Truth will triumph. He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. And He will triumph. As His disciples, we'll join in that victory.

And so, Jesus, the Lord of History, assures us that He will overcome every threat to the body, every illness, every persecution. You see, brothers and sisters, the true disciple - like the martyrs of the past and present who willingly sacrificed their bodies for the Truth - knows he is more than his body. This brings us to our third and final healing thought:

God always heals the human spirit first.

In our sinfulness we need healing of the soul, for only that can bring us eternal life. Three times in this brief passage Jesus tells the Apostles, and He tells us, not to fear. He implies that we must instead rejoice.

I think again of that woman of 85 in the hospital, how she rejoiced in her illnesses, how she rejoiced in the gift of life, how she rejoiced in God's love expressed through those who prayed for her. She knew that God had healed her many times during her long life, healed her body and her spirit. She knew, too, that whatever healing God gives her this day is the healing He meant for her to have.
Simone Weil, the brilliant, young French philosopher who escaped the Nazis, once wrote:

"Love of God is pure when joy and suffering inspire an equal degree of gratitude."

Yes, two very different people - Simone Weil, born Jewish, Catholic by conviction, died in exile in 1943 at the age of 33; and my Southern Baptist patient in The Villages Hospital - and yet they both came to know this truth about the love of God. Let me repeat: 

"Love of God is pure when joy and suffering inspire an equal degree of gratitude."

We see this displayed so often in the Gospel - the love expressed by those who seek healing from the Lord, a love arising out of their saving faith.

We see it in the faith of the woman who had suffered for 12 years with hemorrhages. [Mk 5]

We see it in the faith of Bartimaeus, the blind beggar of Jericho, who leaps to his feet and goes to the Lord...to see. To see what? To see the Way, to see the Truth, to see the Life [Mk 10].

Bartimaeus Leaps for Joy and is Healed

Jesus tells them and so many others like them, "Your faith has saved you."

Brothers and sisters, will all of us gathered here today accept the way of the disciple?

Will we unite our prayers to bring God's healing power to each other, to the world?

In our brokenness, will we accept the call to be healers, taking Jesus to those in need?

Is there enough wonder in us to accept that God, by healing our spirits, by creating in us new hearts - that by doing this He is doing something even greater than the creation of the universe?

Yes, we have a lot of work to do today. For we are all here not just to be healed, but also to carry God's healing power to others.

Like Isaiah in our first reading, we are called, but can we respond to God's call?

"Here I am. Send me" [Is 6:8]

Homily: Healing Mass - Saturday, 14th Week in Ordinary Time

Healing Mass

Year 2: Saturday, 14th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Is 6:1-8 • Psalm 93 • Gospel: Mt 10:24-33
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A few weeks ago, as I was making my rounds as chaplain of the day at The Villages Hospital, I entered the room of a man who happened to be one of our parishioners. Normally my wife, Diane, and I minister together as hospital chaplains, but on this particular day Diane was ill and couldn’t join me. Of course, her absence means I’ll more likely say or do something amazingly stupid.

Anyway, I recognized the man, and we talked for a while about his illness. Then I prayed with him and gave him a blessing. I could tell he was both lonely and afraid. And he wasn’t all that comfortable as I prayed for healing. Right before I left, I asked if I could add him to the prayer list of those in our parish who are ill.

“Oh, no,” he said. “I don’t want people to know I’m sick. I’d like to keep it quiet.”

“Oh, okay,” I said and left his room.

After visiting several more patients, I entered a patient’s room to find it crowded with visitors. I apologized for interrupting and said I’d return later, but the patient, a woman in her eighties, just said, “Don’t go. Come on in and join the crowd.” And so I did.

She was a Southern Baptist and her visitors included her husband, a neighbor, several members of her church, and her pastor. The conversation that followed covered the waterfront. We talked about her family, her hometown in South Carolina, her illnesses. In her words, “I’ve got so many things wrong with me, they don’t know which ones to work on. But I really can’t complain; God let me live a lot longer than I expected.”

I asked if I could pray with her, and the whole crowd joined hands. I prayed for healing and peace, that God’s will be done in her life and the lives of all present.  We prayed for her doctors, her nurses, and her husband, and thanked God for the gift of friendship. We thanked God too for the gift of discipleship, for those who listen to the Lord when He says, “I was…ill and you cared for me…”

Before leaving, I remarked that she was blessed to have so many caring for her and praying for her. “Yes,” she said, “I am blessed. And their prayers mean so much. They let me know that I am loved, that I belong.”

Before leaving home that morning, I had asked Diane to pray that I would minister to God’s people worthily and well. She must have done so, because as soon as I left that room I headed back to the room of our parishioner. I sat down next to his bed and said:

“Your Baptism made you a member of the Church, a child of God, a member of a community of the faithful, a community called to love you. Let that community know you need their prayers, because, believe me, you do.

“The prayer of the community brings healing; it brings you to repentance and brings peace of mind and soul; it brings you the joy you seek in your life, the joy promised by the God who loves you. In your illness you are lonely and afraid. But God wants you to love and be loved. He wants you joyful, not fearful.

“Don’t let pride separate you from those who love you, from those who strive to be true disciples by doing God’s will in the world, work which includes loving and praying for you. By letting them pray for you and care for you, you further God’s plan for their salvation and that of the world.”

Those words certainly didn’t come from me. No, the Holy Spirit and Diane’s prayers brought them into being. Anyway, after my little homily, he agreed to be prayed for and as I left I asked him to pray for the Baptist woman down the hall. He gave me a questioning look and I just said: “Just pray for her. Her joy will bring you healing.”

It’s hard not to think of him as I stand before this community of the faithful gathered here today.

We’re gathered in communion. We’re gathered here as the Church, gathered here in Jesus’ holy name, gathered in Christ’s Eucharistic presence; and it’s through that communion that we are graced by healing today.

And that’s today’s first healing thought: it’s through communion, communion with Jesus, communion with each other, indeed, communion with God’s created order that brings healing into our lives.

And let’s not forget, as Jesus reminds us in today’s reading from Matthew: He is “Master of the House” [Mt 10:25]. As His disciples we are joined together in communion as members of God’s household. But we are not the Master. Our redemption and our healing take place on God’s terms, not ours.

As you work to come to terms with God’s terms, you may well find yourself confronting some other, corner of your life where the need for healing is even greater. For, as Jesus told Nicodemus…

“The Spirit blows where it wills, and you can hear the sound it makes, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes” [Jn 3:8].

We are here in Jesus’ name, and in Word and Eucharist, so God is with us. Accept His presence.

And don’t resist the Spirit. Let Him move where He wills within you. Open your heart to Him today. Follow His lead. It is through the Spirit, through Him alone, that you will receive the healing God wants for you, that you will come to know God’s will for you.

This leads to our second healing thought: the realization that in our brokenness – and believe me we are all broken in so many ways – you and I are called to be both healed and healer.

How many of us, pushing aside our own perceived needs, respond to Jesus’ call to be healer? How many of you, here today for healing, are pleading with God to heal those sitting next to you? After all, if we have come together today as a communion of faith, if we have gathered here to do our part in bringing God’s healing to His Church, then we must respond to His call to be healers.

We all need healing, brothers and sisters, every one of us. But like my hospitalized parishioner we often don’t understand the depth and breadth of the healing God desires for us. How many, as they suffer from an illness or an injury, immediately become what can only be described as irrational?

“Oh, God, why did you do this to me? How could you give me this horrible illness?”

And then immediately change their tune and say:

“Oh, yeah, and while you’re at it, God, please cure me. Heal me of this illness you gave me.”

Yes, we assign to God that which is evil and that which is good. We give him both the blame and the credit. And yet, in doing so, we place ourselves, not God, as the focus of our complaint and our plea: “Why me, Lord, why me? Heal me, Lord.”

Too often we simply want the evil of illness removed. We don’t even think of asking God to turn that which is evil in our lives into something good. At the root of all this, there is only self-centeredness and fear. In the midst of our focus on self, you and I find nothing but loneliness and despair, just like the man I visited in the hospital.

Do you feel isolated and abandoned in your illness and pain? This never leads to healing but only to despair. Well, then, look around you. Reach out to another in need of healing. Set aside your own needs and minister to the other, to Jesus: “I was…ill and you cared for me” [Mt 25:36]. When we break free of our self-imposed loneliness our fears too disappear.

Understand that fear is natural. Indeed, in our humanity it would be unnatural for us not to fear when our lives are threatened by illness. But listen again to what Jesus says to the disciples:

“…do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul…” [Mt 10:28]

You see, Jesus is telling us that the Christian, the true disciple, need not accept such fears. And how does Jesus explain this command not to fear the world and the evils it can bring? Simply by letting us know that “Nothing is concealed that will not be revealed, nor secret that will not be known.”

In other words, we should never fear because He promised that, ultimately, the Truth will triumph. He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. It is He who will triumph, and as His disciples, we will join in that victory. And so, Jesus, the Lord of History, assures us that He will overcome every threat to the body, every illness, every persecution.

You see, brothers and sisters, the true disciple – like the martyrs who willingly sacrificed their bodies for the Truth – knows he is more than his body.

This takes us to our third and final healing thought: God always heals the human spirit first.

In our sinfulness we need healing of the soul, for only that can bring us eternal life. Three times in this brief passage Jesus tells the Apostles, and He tells us, not to fear. By doing so He implies that we, like that army of martyrs, must instead rejoice.

Simone Weil

I think again of the eighty-something woman in the hospital, how she rejoiced in her illnesses, how she rejoiced in the gift of life, how she rejoiced in God’s love expressed through those who prayed for her. She knew that God had healed her many times during her long life, healed her body and her spirit. But she knew, too, that whatever healing God gave her this day was the healing He meant for her to have.

Simone Weil, the brilliant, young French philosopher who escaped the Nazis, once wrote:

“Love of God is pure when joy and suffering inspire an equal degree of gratitude.” [Essay on "Love"]

Yes, two very different people – Simone Weil, born Jewish but Catholic by conviction, who died in exile in 1943 at the age of 33; and my Southern Baptist patient in The Villages Hospital – and yet they both came to know this truth about the love of God.

Let me repeat: “Love of God is pure when joy and suffering inspire an equal degree of gratitude.”

We see this displayed again and again in the Gospel -- the love expressed by those who seek healing from the Lord, a love that arises out of their saving faith.

We see it in the faith of the woman who had suffered for 12 years with hemorrhages. [Mk 5:25-34] It is her faith that initiates her healing and salvation. She touches the hem of Jesus’ garment, and does so in complete faith; healing power flows from Jesus to her; the Lord grants her salvation through her faith; she goes in peace, healed spiritually and physically; she goes a disciple.

We see it in the faith of Bartimaeus [Mk 10:46-52], the blind beggar of Jericho, who overcomes the barriers placed between him and Jesus by the disciples. Moved by the Holy Spirit, he calls out to Jesus as Messiah: “Son of David, have pity on me.” Called by Jesus, he throws off his tunic, leaps to his feet and goes to the Lord.

What does he want? To see. To see what? To see the Way, to see the Truth, to see the Life. And the first one he sees is Jesus, Jesus who tells him “Go your way; your faith has saved you.” But Bartimaeus doesn’t go his way. No, he follows Jesus on The Way. He leaves a disciple.

Brothers and sisters, will all of us gathered here today accept the way of the disciple?

Will we join together in communion to do the work of Jesus Christ?

Will we unite our prayers to bring God’s healing power to the world?

Even in the midst of our own brokenness, will we accept our call to be healers, taking Jesus to those in need?

Is there enough wonder in us to accept that God, by healing our spirits, by creating in us new hearts – that by doing this He is doing something even greater than the creation of the universe?

Yes, we have a lot of work to do today. For we are all here not just to be healed, but also to carry God’s healing power to others.

Praised be Jesus Christ…Now and forever.