Homily: 20th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C)

Readings: Jer 38:4-6,8-10; Ps 40; Heb 12:1-4, 8-19; Lk 12:49-53

As a deacon and an old, retired Navy Captain, I’m often asked to conduct committal services at the National Cemetery in Bushnell. It’s a wonderful opportunity to minister to our veterans, their spouses, and their families…always a true honor.

Often, as I conduct a committal service, I’ll turn to chapter 12 of the Letter to the Hebrews, from which we receive today’s second reading. The chapter begins with the author telling us:

“We are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses.”

This “cloud of witnesses” refers to the saints of the Old Covenant who paved the way for its fulfillment in the Incarnation of Jesus Christ. But there at the national cemetery I point to the graves of a different cloud of witnesses, the men and women who served our country faithfully and honorably in times of war and peace. Yes, indeed, “so great a cloud of witnesses,” that call us back to too many wars and conflicts.

Today’s readings, for example, brought Winston Churchill to mind. Sorry, but that’s the way my aging mind works. Things enter it unbidden. Anyway, in May of 1940, as the new Prime Minister of the UK, Churchill delivered his first speech to the House of Commons. An electrifying speech, it united the nation behind his leadership as it waged war against an evil, yet strong and determined, Nazi Germany, a speech in which Churchill uttered perhaps his most famous words:

"I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat. We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind. We have before us many, many long months of struggle and of suffering."

These weren’t comforting words, but they were necessary words, harsh, motivating words – words of truth that, despite the metaphors, told it like it is.

We encounter something similar in our first reading. The prophet Jeremiah foretells the hard truth about the upcoming victory of the Chaldeans, the taking of Jerusalem, and the long captivity in Babylon. Many in Judah didn’t want to hear all this bad news – so harsh and blunt – so they try to kill God’s prophet, foolishly thinking that will change God’s Word.

In our Gospel passage, Luke proclaims Jesus’ Word. It, too, seems harsh, so harsh that some, even today, resist it, and come away puzzled.

How can Jesus, the Prince of Peace, tell us that He has come “not to establish peace on the earth…but rather division”? That’s not all. He also says He will be the cause of this division, He has “come to set the earth on fire.” Then He adds those remarkable words: “And how I wish it were already blazing.”

These are indeed harsh words, the kind of words many Christians try to ignore, thinking that maybe Jesus was just having a bad day. He really didn’t mean it. Did He?

Churchill was acceptable to his countrymen so long as he was waging war. Once the war ended, he was tossed out of office. For some Christians, and for too many others,  Jesus is acceptable only when He speaks of peace and love and forgiveness. They want their Kumbaya Jesus; but, in truth, Jesus meant everything He said.

Too often we see and hear only the Jesus we’d like Him to be, and ignore the real Jesus, forgetting that the God of truth and fire also speaks to us.

Remember last Sunday’s Gospel, how Jesus reminded us of the demands of discipleship?

"Much will be required of the person entrusted with much, and still more will be demanded of the person entrusted with more" [Lk 12:48}.

These, too, were not easy words for us, indeed, for all Christians who are entrusted with so much. Today’s Gospel words are no different; but let’s look at them more closely, in the context of Jesus’ total teaching, and see what He’s really telling us. The first thing He says:

“I have come to bring fire to the earth.”

Does He speak of the fire of war and destruction? Well, we can’t deny war and destruction; it surrounds us today and plagues our world. And God certainly lets it happen.

But here Jesus is talking about something else. Here He speaks of a fire that cleanses and purifies, the fire of God’s light, the fire of God’s truth, the fire of God’s Holy Presence among us.

It’s the fire Moses encountered when he approached the burning bush on Mount Horeb. This fire that didn’t consume called Moses to discipleship and holiness; it’s a fire that forms and reforms us even today.

It’s also the pillar of fire that led God’s People out of slavery and through the desert on their journey to freedom, to the Land promised by the Father. It’s a fire that calls us and leads us to Him.

It’s the righteous, sacrificial fire the prophet Elijah called down on the altar of God at Mt. Carmel – a fire in which all present saw the greatness of the God of Israel, and the emptiness, the nothingness of the world’s false gods.

It’s the fire of the burning ember that touched Isaiah’s lips and removed his wickedness and purged the prophet’s sin so he could proclaim God’s Word to His people.

In every instance, it’s the unquenchable fire of the Holy Spirit, the same Holy Spirit who appeared as tongues of fire that inspired Mary and the first disciples as they prayed together in the upper room.

Yes, indeed, Jesus calls for fire, a fire of purification.

It’s a fire of a new creation, the fire that brings the Church into being at Pentecost and continues to cleanse and purify her, always calling her back to her holy beginnings.

It’s the Holy Spirit’s painful fire that calls us to repentance and conversion, demanding that we reject the world’s false promises. But it’s also a fire of liberation, a fire that frees us from our slavery to sin and leads us to the freedom of God’s Kingdom.

And then Jesus tells us:

“There is a baptism with which I must be baptized, and how great is my anguish until it is accomplished.”

These words, too, confuse a lot of folks.

Didn’t Jesus already undergo a Baptism when John baptized Him in the Jordan? Yes, but for Jesus His Baptism by John is an example for us; but it’s also a sign, a manifestation of the Trinity: Jesus experiencing the descending dove of the Holy Spirit and the confirming words of the Father. So, what kind of Baptism is Jesus talking about here?

In the early Church, and in many churches today, Baptism is a total immersion in its saving waters. Consider how the Church’s funeral rite begins…

“In Baptism, she died with Christ and rose with Him to new life. May she now share with Him eternal glory.”

Immersed in the waters of Baptism, we die with Christ and become a sign of His suffering and death. Rising from the waters of Baptism, we become a sign of His Resurrection, looking to our own resurrection on the last day.

Is this “Baptism” on the Cross the one to which Jesus must be baptized? His words answer the question.

“…how great is my anguish until it is accomplished.”

Finally, Jesus tells us:

“Do you think that I have come to establish peace on the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.”

Many are confused and alarmed by these words as well. Doesn’t the Gospel preach bringing God’s peace to the world? Doesn’t Jesus tell us to love each other? Aren’t the peacemakers the “children of God?” And perhaps, most alarming, could these words encourage Christians to reject peaceful solutions to the problems that divide us?

Sadly, such questions betray a lack of understanding, not only of Jesus’ teaching, but also of human nature itself.

With these words Jesus gives His disciples, including us, a prophetic glance into the future, showing us how the world will respond to the Good News of the Gospel, of Jesus Christ.

God doesn’t will such divisions, but it’s something that we should expect to encounter. Indeed, it began when Jews and Gentiles called for Jesus’ crucifixion. And it’s been going on ever since.

Christianity and its teachings have not simply been rejected by many, but are also seen as the greatest threat to the plans and schemes of those seeking to gain or maintain power in the world.

It began with the Pharaohs, the Canaanites and Philistines, the Scribes and Pharisee, Sadducees, Greeks and Romans. And it continues today with Communists, fascists, Islamists, atheists, secularists…you name it. Stalin once mockingly asked, “How many divisions does the Pope have?” And yet, ironically, it was the faith of persecuted Polish Catholics that began the liberation of Eastern Europe from the Soviet yoke.

Indeed, there were more Christian martyrs in the 20^th century than all previous centuries combined. Where there is persecution, there is tremendous faith. And it’s always been that way. Tertullian, the 2^nd-century Early Church Father, said it well: "The blood of martyrs is the seed of the Church."

Perhaps most fittingly, the preacher in Hebrews concludes today’s passage reminding his 1^st-century Christians:

“In your struggle against sin you have not yet resisted to the point of shedding blood.”

Yes, “not yet” – perhaps the same thing can be said to us.

Today, while Christianity in the modern, oh-so-civilized West seems to be in decline, in Africa and Asia its growth is dramatic, and so too is the number of martyrs.

The Church, as it defends the truth, demands justice, calls to respect life and human dignity, and pleads for freedom – these will create division.

Jesus reminds us that being a Christian is never easy. Yes, the peacemakers are blessed, but so too are those who suffer persecution for the sake of righteousness. Jesus doesn’t separate the two, and neither can we.

 

Homily: 5th Sunday of Easter - Year C

Readings: Acts 14:21-27; Ps 145; Rev 21:1-5; Jn 13:31-35

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Early in the morning, while it’s still dark, I often take a fast walk through our extended neighborhood. Sometimes I pray the Rosary as I walk. On one of those mornings, a few months ago, as I passed a house on a nearby street, I heard the front door slam, followed by a man’s voice shouting a few choice words that I’ll not repeat here. The man who shouted jumped into his golf cart and backed out of his driveway almost running into me. It was dark. He wasn’t looking, so I doubt he even saw me. He then drove off at full speed…in a golf cart, 20 miles per hour

Now, I didn’t know him. And I certainly don’t know what took place in that house that made him so angry that he left in such a hurry, driving off into the morning darkness. But because it was early on a Friday morning, I was praying the Sorrowful Mysteries...

I don’t know, it must have been the Sorrowful Mysteries, but there I was on a street in The Villages, and my aging brain carried me off to Jerusalem. I took me to John’s Gospel, to the 13^th chapter, to the passage we just heard, when Judas left the upper room, when he left Jesus and the others. Did he leave muttering, swearing, slamming doors…probably not. We don’t know. John doesn’t tell us.

But John does tell us “Satan had entered him.”

Knowing this, Jesus looked at Judas and said: “What you are going to do, do quickly.”

John also tells us, “…it was night.”

Where did Judas go so quickly that night? Out into the darkness, into the world that had rejected Jesus, the world that wanted Him dead. Judas left Jesus and he left the Apostles. In essence he left and rejected the dual institution of the priesthood and the Eucharistic Church…for that’s what took place at that Last Supper. Yes, Judas ran into the darkness away from the Jesus, the Light of the world, away from the Church.

Pope Leo XIV, our new pope, celebrated his first Mass to a congregation of cardinals. And in his homily, he spoke about the world, and how it perceives Christians, how it perceives our faith:

“…today,” he said, “there are many settings in which the Christian faith is considered absurd, meant for the weak and unintelligent...where other securities are preferred, like technology, money, success, power, or pleasure.”

Pope Leo went on, “…where it is not easy to preach the Gospel and bear witness to its truth, where believers are mocked, opposed, despised or at best tolerated and pitied…

“A lack of faith is often tragically accompanied by the loss of meaning in life, the neglect of mercy, appalling violations of human dignity, the crisis of the family and so many other wounds that afflict our society.”

As I listened to his words, I realized they were timeless, and in truth addressed what the Church has faced for 2,000 years.

When we return to that 13^th chapter of John’s Gospel, Jesus really teaches us how to live the Christian life, how to live it then and today. He’d just washed the feet of the Apostles, giving us an example of humility and service, one that even symbolized His giving His life for us on the Cross. But He washed all their feet, including the feet of Judas whom He knew would soon betray Him. Then Jesus did more. He dipped a morsel of bread into His dish and offered it to Judas. Another sign of His love.

John began that 13^th chapter with the words:

“…having loved His own who were in the world, He loved them to the end.”

“To the end.” What does it mean?

To the Cross? Is that what it means? To Jesus’ death?

Or is it something beyond that? As one theologian told me, to the fulfillment of God’s purpose, the salvation of humanity. Is that what is means?

Or perhaps, when John says, “He loved them to the end” it’s more personal…

The washing of feet, the dipping of the morsel of bread – to remind us of the extent, the very depth of His love for every person…not just His love for Judas, but His love for each one of us. Perhaps it meant:

...that Jesus loved Judas, who would betray Him;

…that He loved Peter who would deny Him three times;

…that He loved all of them gathered there, all of them who would abandon Him.

Yes, I think that’s what it’s all about.

It’s about loving the Apostles who let fear smother their faith.

It’s about loving the soldiers of an empire, men who knew nothing of Jesus, and yet mocked Him, flogged Him, nailed Him to a Cross.

It’s about loving the Jewish leaders who saw Him as a threat and wanted Him dead.

And Jesus’ response to it all?

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” [Lk 23:34]

Judas left Him. Walked into the night, to meet with those who despised Jesus, who thought He was an absurdity…And after Judas left, what did Jesus do?

He looked to the Cross, the means of redemption, and told the eleven:

“Now is the Son of Man glorified, and God is glorified in him.”

Jesus speaks here of the crucifixion, an ugly, horrific agony of pain, of torn flesh and death. Adding to it…the mocking, the rejection, the betrayal, the denial, the abandonment.

But in all that darkness, Jesus tells us to behold the glory of God, to understand who God truly is. We can do this because this redemptive act is the manifestation of God’s love for us. For as John reminds us twice in His 1^st Letter: “God is love.”

Jesus continues:

“I give you a new commandment…As I have loved you, so you also should love one another.”

Oh, yes, we are called to “Love your neighbor as yourself” but Jesus adds something new. We are called to love “As I have loved you…” – to love as Jesus loves, to love each other as God loves.

You see, sisters and brothers, it’s also about you and me. And as we live our busy lives, how often do we think of God’s sacrificial love for us? As we encounter all the garbage, you know, the petty betrayals, the snide remarks, the personal attacks, the lies…as we plan our responses to those responsible, how often do we stop and recall…

“As I have loved you, so you also should love one another.”

At the end of Mass, I will do one of those deacon things, the dismissal, and send you all into the world. But why are we sent? Simply to glorify God in all we do. As Pope Leo reminds us, to carry the Light of Christ into a world shrouded in too much darkness. Yes, we belong to the Light, the Light of Christ, which the darkness can never overcome.

Like Paul and Barnabas in our first reading, we’re sent to do something new, to take the Good News to others, to be true disciples of Jesus. And there will be hardships, and much that will hurt us. But others will know, despite themselves, that we are called by Christ.

Because Jesus gave us His new commandment:

“This is how all will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

It’s not so much what we say, it’s what we do; it’s what we are!

At its core, the world hasn’t changed much over the millennia of human history – the same sins, hatreds, violence, lies – yes, the same darkness.

But then, Christ comes and offers us newness beyond our imagining. John tells us what he saw – “a new heaven and a new earth” – and Christ proclaims from the throne:

“Behold, I make all things new!”

Now, I can’t speak for you, but I’m getting old, so this newness God offers us is very attractive.

Indeed, God’s promises, proclaimed in our second reading from Revelation, tell of wondrous new things, eternally new things that never get old. Only God can that. Yes, God has a lot of newness in store for us.

We need only turn to Him in the sacraments, repent and receive forgiveness, taste His Eucharistic Presence, and believe and live the Gospel.

Such a deal? There’s a lot of talk about wheeling and dealing these days, but all that is really nothing like the good deal God offers each one of us.

Praise God!

Homily: 33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year B

Readings: Dan 12:1-3; Ps 16; Heb 10:11-14,18; Mk 13:24-32

About 30 years ago, as a group of us celebrated a friend’s 50^th birthday, her husband raised his glass and wished her happiness, health and peace, and then he added, "And at the end of your days may you go straight to heaven."

Her response? “I really wish you wouldn’t say such things. I don’t enjoy hearing about death and sadness on my birthday."

Okay, she said it with a little smile, but it seemed to be mingled with a touch of fear.

Her husband had offered a prayer of hope and future joy, but she received it instead as an unpleasant subject best ignored.

Jesus’ words in today’s Gospel passage may also seem unpleasant to some, but they, too, are really a message of hope.

And I suppose how we receive that message depends on the depth of our faith.

You know, I’ve always believed the opposite of faith is not despair, but fear. Despair is just a sort of side-effect of fear.

It’s why Jesus so often tells us to “be not afraid,” but instead to accept the gift of faith.

Sadly, this wonderful gift that God extends to all is rejected by so many today. Let me share another encounter from my past.

I’ve actually retired several times in my life. But before my final retirement, I worked for a hi-tech firm in Massachusetts.

We had about 400 employees, and I was the oldest. Most were in their 20s and 30s.

One morning, having heard that a young colleague’s father had died, I stopped by his office and expressed my condolences.

His response was remarkable: “No big thing,” he said. “That’s what happens…death, then nothing. So, who cares?”

“We just have to enjoy life while we can. I do whatever makes me happy, whatever brings pleasure, no matter what."

Raised in a Catholic family, he now believed in what? The pursuit of ephemeral pleasure?

How unbelievably sad for him. He desired a continual earthly happiness that’s unattainable. Because he sees nothing beyond, his life has become essentially meaningless.

Beneath his cynical veneer one detects a deep despair, and an even deeper fear.

The great G.K. Chesterton once remarked that the problem with those who don’t believe in God is not that they believe nothing. It’s really much worse. They end up believing anything.

The early Christians encountered this among both pagan and Jews.

Today’s reading is from chapter 13 of Mark’s Gospel. In that chapter, Jesus refers to two very different events.

He had just predicted the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, something that occurred 40 years later when a Roman army under a general named Titus, fulfilled Jesus’ prophecy.

All that’s left standing can still be seen today – the single Western Wall of the Temple.

I supposed most of those listening to Jesus dismissed His prophecy as ridiculous ravings.

Imagine your reaction if on September 10, 2001, someone had told you the twin towers of the World Trade Center would not be there the next evening.

It's hard to conceive of such things happening.

But Jesus goes on, and begins to tell His disciples that they’re about to enter the final stage of God’s plan, the stage in which they will play a major role.

For they will fulfill the prophecy of Daniel we heard in today’s first reading:

“But the wise will shine brightly…and those who lead the many to justice shall be like the stars forever.” (Dan 12:3)

The destruction of Jerusalem and its Temple will be a sign that this change, this transition, is taking place, all beginning within a generation.

This change is highlighted too in our second reading from Hebrews. Here we’re told the Temple sacrifices of the Jewish priests cannot atone for sin.

Only Jesus’s “once-for-all” sacrifice on the Cross can do that. And every day, here and in churches throughout the world, we make present Jesus’ sacrifice on the Cross.

Yes, the sacrifice on the Cross and the sacrifice right here of the Eucharist are one single sacrifice.

And in truth you and I are made present to the Cross and receive the unlimited grace and power that flow from it.

Jesus is telling us that His passion, death, and resurrection fulfill the promises of the Old Covenant and initiate a New Covenant with Jesus as High Priest.

But Jesus also used His prophecy about the end of the Temple to tell His disciples about the end of time, about the end of the world as we know it.

When we first hear it, His message sounds like a message of fear, with its earthquakes, wars, famines, pestilence, and terrors in the heavens.

But it’s really a message of hope, not fear. Jesus gives us a real, tangible goal: to get to heaven, to gain the eternal life Jesus has promised us.

This is the mystery of our faith, the mystery we proclaim at every Mass:

We proclaim your death, O Lord, and profess your resurrection, until you cone in glory.

Today’s readings shouldn’t distress us because they’re not fearful; they’re hopeful.

How did Jesus put it? When these signs…"begin to take place, look up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near."

But what about today? What about us?

While waiting for Christ to come again, how should we act, how should we live?

Jesus tells us: watch and pray. Live as if He were coming tomorrow! Perhaps He is. We don't know.

Oh, there are Christians who say they have the inside story on the end of the world, and some believe it's right around the corner.

Their message is essentially the same: "The end is near! Repent!"

I suppose that’s not bad advice…but it’s slightly misplaced.

We’re not called to repent simply because we think the end is near. We’re called to repent and live accordingly because we’re Jesus’ disciples.

Jesus, of course, told us not to be deceived by those who come in His name telling us "The time has come."

Whether Jesus comes on Thanksgiving morning or two thousand years from now, we’re called to live as if He were arriving tomorrow.

Or better yet, as if He were already here. Because He is.

Yes, someday He will come in power and glory to place all creation at the feet of His Father.

But, today, He comes quietly, invisibly, wherever you and I are.

Look for Him not on a cloud surrounded by triumphant angels, and wearing the crown of a King.

No, as we wait for that majestic return, look for Him where He already is.

Look for Him seated all around you, beside you, in front of you, behind you, right here in the community of His faithful gathered together.

Here is the Body of Christ, His Church, and He is with us, for the Head cannot be separated from the Body.

Look for Him is His Word, for the Word of God is Jesus Christ. When you hear that Word proclaimed here at Mass, when you read your Bible at home, He is just as present to you as if He were right beside you.

As Jesus told us, “my Word will not pass away.” No, it never perishes, but remains to heal us, to nourish us, to give us strength.

And look for Him in the Bread of Life and His Precious Blood – here in His Eucharistic Presence, present here in a most special way – present in every way – Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity.

Look for Him at home on the faces of those you love, for He is present in them too.

And look for Him especially where He told us to look: in those who hunger and thirst, in the stranger, the sick, the homeless, the imprisoned, in the lonely, that person in your neighborhood who has no one.

You see, Jesus has given us plenty to do before He returns in glory as Christ the King.

And as He instructed His disciples, “It will lead to your giving testimony.”

The day will come, He warns, when they hand you over, when you are powerless, terrified, betrayed.

The day will come when you are tempted by lies and persecuted because of my name.  

The day will come, Jesus says, when all that you have left is your testimony.

That’s right; the day will come when all we have left is our witness to our Christian faith.

Are we ready for that?

As Jesus assured us in today’s Gospel, we are in that final stage of God’s plan and our generation has some work to do.

As Christians, as members of the Body of Christ, we’re called to prepare the world for the Lord's return, but we must first prepare ourselves.

How ready are we to receive Him?

Each of us will have his own end of the world, and for many of us here today that last day will come soon enough.

When we stand in His presence and say, "Here I am, Lord. Did I do your will?"

How will He respond?

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: Wednesday, 34th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Dn 5:1-28; Dn 3; Luke 21.12-19

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If the gospel message is good news, then why do so many oppose it with hostility and even violence? Jesus warns us that we’ll be confronted with persecution, evil, false teaching, and temptation. And how does Jesus tell us to respond to all this? With love, with truth, with forgiveness.

Only God’s love can defeat bigotry, hatred and envy, and all that would divide and tear us apart. Only God’s truth can overcome the lies and confusion in the world; for that’s what the Gospel is, God's word of truth and salvation. Jesus, then, tells his disciples to proclaim the gospel throughout the whole world, even in the midst of opposition and persecution.

If they persevere to the end they will gain their lives – they will see God's salvation.

Such endurance isn’t a product of human effort. It’s a supernatural gift of the Holy Spirit, a gift strengthened by the hope that we’ll see God face to face and inherit His promises. Jesus, of course, is our model: He who endured the Cross for our sake and salvation; Jesus who calls us to love, to die to ourselves.

You know, the Greek root of the word martyr means witness? True martyrs live and die as witnesses to the Gospel, to Jesus. The Book of Revelations calls Jesus “the faithful witness ...who freed us from our sins by his blood." And Tertullian, a second century lawyer converted when he saw Christians singing as they went out to die at the hands of their persecutors. He compared the blood of the martyrs to “seed,” the seed of new Christians, the seed of the Church. St. Augustine spoke of this too: "The martyrs were bound, jailed, scourged, racked, burned, rent, butchered – and they multiplied!"

Christians multiplied because the martyrs witnessed to the truth, to the joy and freedom of the Gospel; and they did so through the testimony of their lives. They witness the truth: "God so loved the world that he gave his only Son…”

 “God so loved the world…” He doesn’t love just part of it. No, He loves it all. He loves each one of us. It can’t be otherwise because He created each human being in an individual act of love. We must remember that Jesus died on the Cross for Jews and Gentiles, for Christians and Muslims, for Hindus and Buddhists, for agnostics and atheists.

By our witness as Christians, others will recognize Christ’s victory on the Cross, his power to overcome sin, fear, hatred, even death itself. When the world looks at us, it has the right to find in us a reflection of the glory of the Trinity. The world has a right to discover in our faith, hope, and love a testimony to the Holy Spirit’s presence.

The problems that have arisen in Christ’s Church over the centuries, and exist even now, are not caused by the Holy Spirit; they’re caused by the mediocrity of Christians, by our lukewarmness. As the great G. K. Chesterton once wrote, “Christianity has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and not tried.”

What brings others to Jesus Christ and His Church is seeing Christians loving their enemies; seeing us joyful in suffering, patient in adversity, forgiving of injuries, and showing comfort and compassion to the hopeless and the helpless. 

This, brothers and sisters, is our calling.

Homily: Tuesday, 11th Week in Ordinary Time

Note: I didn't preach this homily today. Our celebrant decided to preach instead, which is his prerogative. It's no big deal since I always have a homily ready whenever I assist at Mass as the deacon. Sometimes I'm asked to preach, and sometimes I'm not. Anyway, this unpreached homily follows:

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Readings: 2 Cor 8:1-9; Ps 146; Mt 5:43-48

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On Sunday, one of my sons posted a Father’s Day note on Facebook. He began with a bunch of nice words about me, and then he added: “He wasn’t perfect, and he never said he was, unless he was joking.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but it got me thinking of what Jesus told us in today’s Gospel passage from the Sermon on the Mount.

“So be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect."

I suspect these words have made a lot of Christians suddenly pay attention and scratch their heads. Did He really mean that? How can we, these obviously imperfect beings, be perfect. Yes, indeed, Jesus sure can make life difficult, can’t He? 

Back when we were young and doing well in the world, a lot of us thought we were…well, if not perfect, at least pretty good. I remember the first time I realized I harbored some major imperfections – things that separated me from what God wanted for me. 

I was a Navy pilot during the war in Vietnam. At the time, I flew search and rescue helicopters. All I wanted to do was pickup American pilots who’d been shot down, and get them to safety. But at the time, the Communists of both North Vietnam and the Viet Cong were doing their very best to kill me. And here’s Jesus telling me to “love your enemies.” Let me tell you, that ain’t so easy when they’re shooting at you. Yes, they were an easy enemy to hate. But hating them troubled me because I knew what Jesus had commanded of us.

And so, one day I paid a visit to the Catholic chaplain and asked how we could reconcile loving our enemies with this conflict in which we were engaged. I’ll always remember that conversation. I won’t go into our rather lengthy discussion on the just war doctrine. That’s a subject for another time. But I will tell you what this young priest had to say about enemies and hatred and love and forgiveness.

He began by saying that if our enemies are those we hate, we have ceased being Christians. As disciples of Jesus Christ, we are to hate no one. But if our enemies are those who hate us, then we will always have enemies. After all, Jesus had many enemies because He did the Father’s will: He spoke the truth and He loved. He loved all, especially those despised by the world, and He spoke the truth even when it upset people.

Our enemies decide how they will treat us. We decide only to love them or hate them. Love and hate, then, are not emotions. They’re decisions. Jesus calls us to love regardless of the evil others do. And He calls to exclude no one from our love.

These are hard words for us, aren’t they? Hard indeed…until we come face to face with the Cross, and we hear His words:

“Father, forgive them, they know not what they do” [Lk 23:34].

There, on the Cross, we encounter Divine Mercy: God’s perfect love, a love that demands forgiveness. Forgiveness is the only thing we can do to those we are called to love. If we refuse to forgive, we refuse to love.

About 30 years ago I saw the movie, “Dead Man Walking” about a convicted killer named Robert Willie who'd been sentenced to death. Well, one person you won’t see in the movie is Debbie Morris, the one victim who miraculously survived her horrific ordeal at the hands of Willie. After Willie’s execution, she said, “Justice didn’t do a thing to heal me. Forgiveness did.”

Yes, it’s easy to hate and scream for justice, for man’s justice, but it never really brings healing, or the so-called "closure" the world promises. Only forgiveness does that. Only forgiveness heals.

Yes, we can defend ourselves from evil, but in defending ourselves we must not produce even greater evils. The world will never run out of objects for our hatred, especially today when enemies abound. How did Paul put it to the Corinthians:

“…test the genuineness of your love by your concern for others” [2 Cor 8:8].

After all, we were created in God’s image and likeness, so He really does call us to perfection, to live up to His expectations for us, to live up to that image and likeness. He calls each of us to view this life as a pilgrimage of love, one in which we seek out others, finding Jesus Christ in each person we meet, and letting them recognize Jesus in us.

Let God be the one who will judge His creations. We need only love and forgive. I’ve long thought this is what Jesus means when He commands us to “be perfect just as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

Homily: Saturday, 21st Week in Ordinary Time (Year 2)

Readings: 1 Cor 1:26-31 • Psalm 33 • Matthew 25:14-30

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Today we celebrate the memorial of St. Monica, the mother of St. Augustine. She is known for her amazing patience, the depth of her prayer life, and her ability to deal with the challenges of a difficult marriage and rebellious children. Her pagan husband treated her poorly, but eventually was moved to become a Christian thanks to God's grace and Monica's kindness and patience. She also prayed for the conversion of her son, Augustine, who lived a dissolute life for many years. But after almost two decades of Monica's prayer and motherly love, God led him to the Church, where he became not only a bishop but one of our greatest theologians. St. Monica is the patron of wives, mothers, abused women, and patience.

And most interestingly for us at St. Vincent de Paul Parish, it was on her memorial eight years ago that our new church was dedicated by Bishop John Noonan...another good reason for us to celebrate today.

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I usually preach on the Gospel, but St. Paul took me captive the other day as I thought about this homily, and he brought back the memory of an old friend.

Years ago, back in my Navy days, I developed a friendship with another pilot. I was in my mid-20s and he was in his early 30s. Mel was a very competent pilot and naval officer, a man who taught me a lot. He was also an agnostic and found it hard to believe I could believe. One evening, after night flying, we stopped by the officers’ club for a beer, and got to talking about Christianity.

“Just look at the universe,” Mel said, “and how unbelievably immense it is. That you actually believe it was created by this God of yours is in itself truly amazing. But you Christians don’t stop there. You also believe this remarkable God decided to become one of us and came down to this tiny planet tucked away in a non-descript corner of the universe. And then he allowed us to kill him in a particularly brutal, savage way on a Cross. Isn’t that what you believe?”

“Well,” I agreed, “that’s certainly part of it. But you left a few things out. It was all done out of love for us, for those He created. It’s a bit like us. Why do we do what we do? Why are we willing to sacrifice our lives in this weird profession of ours? Because we love our country and think it’s worth dying for and we love our countrymen and think they’re worth saving. You see, Mel, we’re a little like God, created in His image and likeness, and at our best we come close to expressing the love He actually is.”

I really thought I had done pretty well, but Mel just shook his head and downed the rest of his beer. With that we headed back to our homes.

I lost touch with Mel years ago, so I don’t know if he ever changed his mind; but he came to my mind as I read today’s first reading. And I’m sure Mel would agree with Paul that the Cross is a sign of foolishness. How did Paul put it?

“For since in the wisdom of God the world did not come to know God through wisdom, it was the will of God through the foolishness of the proclamation to save those who have faith” [1 Cor 1:21].

But that’s not all, Paul went on to add:

“…we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles” [1 Cor 1:24].

Yes, indeed, the message of the Cross – the Creative Word of God murdered by those He created – is for many a truly foolish message, so foolish it must be believed. But not just believed, dear friends; it must also be lived.

It is the Cross that saves us eternally, for the Cross is the Tree of Life: from Eden to Calvary, from Sin to Redemption. But the Cross also saves us in the here and now. Through the foolishness of the Cross we are given purpose in life. It saves and frees us from our deepest fears, from bitterness and despair, from hatred of others and hatred of self. It brings a forgiveness that saves marriages and families, and it beings healing of body, mind, and spirit.

Believe me, the power of our God – the power of Christ’s passion, death, and Resurrection – the power of His Cross is so far beyond our understanding, that in our humanity we can’t help but underestimate it

Over the years I’ve struggled to minister in hospitals and hospice, and in my weakness have come to appreciate God’s wondrous gifts to those He draws to Himself. I’ve seen anger turn to joy, despair to hope, fear to faith – all driven by God’s enduring love, a love manifested on the Cross, a love nailed to the Cross.

Do you see how real, how very serious, the foolishness of the Cross is? The rulers of the world, those filled with worldly wisdom, always try to tear down and destroy the Cross, but they will always fail.

As Paul went on to reveal, Christ crucified is “the power of God and the wisdom of God.” It is a power and a wisdom that Satan and the world cannot comprehend; for it is a Eucharistic power and a divine wisdom.

As you receive Jesus Christ today, contemplate your crucified Lord and Savior. For through that Communion, you receive His Body sacrificed for you and His Blood poured out for the forgiveness of your sins and the sins of the world. Filled with the grace of God, we will be well-armed to wield the only weapons that matter: truth and love and justice.

Life is a wondrous gift, brothers and sisters, and God wants us to experience the joy of a life well-lived. He wants us to savor the gift of each day just as a young child does. Then, like the good servant in the Gospel, we too might hear those words: 

“Well done, my good and faithful servant…Come share your master’s joy” [Mt 25:21].

 

Homily — Memorial: Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of the Church (May 24)

Readings: Gen 3:9-15; Ps 87; John 19:25-34

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Today we celebrate a rather new feast, the Memorial of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of the Church. Although instituted in 2018 by Pope Francis, it has its roots in apostolic tradition and in the witness of the Chrch Fathers.

For example, St. Augustine wrote that "The Virgin Mary...is acknowledged and honored as being truly the Mother of God and of the redeemer...She is clearly the mother of the members of Christ...since she has by her charity joined in bringing about the birth of believers in the Church, who are members of its head."

And, then, 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.”

Today’s reading from Genesis sets the stage at the very beginning when God promises redemption to our first parents, whose prideful disobedience brought humanity to its fallen state.

“I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; He will strike at your head, while you strike at his heel” [Gn 3:15].

It is these words to Satan that the Church has long called the proto-Evangelium or “first Gospel” because they point to the Redeemer who will enter into the world through a new Eve, through Mary. It was a promise fulfilled when Gabriel told Mary:

“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” [Lk 1:31-33].

Mary, then, knew from the first that this child of hers was the “Son of the Most High.” But in the years that follow, she is given only glimpses of what it will all lead to: the visits of shepherds and Magi, the prophecy at the Presentation, the long trek to Egypt, the Passover pilgrimage to Jerusalem – in each event Mary finds herself in the dark, but in every instance, she ponders these things in her heart.

She need not fully understand it all, and how could she understand? And so, she ponders. She steps away from the crowd, seeks the quiet of contemplation, and savors all that has been revealed to her. She ponders, she returns to the source, to that day when the angel proclaimed her to be, “full of grace” [Lk 1:28], to that day when her heart overflowed.

And in that pondering, Mary teaches the Church how to pray, how to accept God’s will, how to abandon oneself to God’s love. The pondering heart of Mary focuses solely on Jesus. “Do whatever He tells you” [Jn 2:5], she commands at Cana, for Mary is single-hearted. She trusts in God, just as she trusted when Gabriel asked for her response.

At the foot of the Cross, that same trusting, pondering, immaculate heart begins to understand the crucifixion of her Son. It is then that Jesus gives her to the Church and to the world. It’s a double commissioning, and the order is important.

“Woman, behold, your son” [Jn 19:26], Jesus tells His Mother, commissioning her, giving the Apostle, giving the Church, to her.

Only then does He say to the Church, to that faithful Apostle, “Behold, your mother” [Jn 19:27].

With these words, the Mother of God becomes Mother of the Church. Now her prayerful heart is focused on you and me, interceding for our salvation. And as Mother of the Church, she intercedes too for unity among Christians.

I’m convinced that it will be through Mary, through her prayerful intercession that the unity Jesus Christ prayed for in the upper room will finally arrive. Fifty years ago, we never heard of Protestants praying the Rosary, but no longer. Today thousands join in this prayer of intercession. And just a month ago, as Diane and I drove through South Carolina, we passed a church with the surprising name: Virgin Mary Baptist Church.

Yes, indeed, Mary, Mother of the Church, is active interceding for the salvation of all. It is she whom we honor today, Theotokos, the Mother of God and Mother of the Church.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, pray for us. 

And please pray for me today on the 24th annversary of my ordination. As the old saying goes, "Time flies when you're having fun..."