Homily: Tuesday, 34th Week in Ordinary Time - Year 1

Readings: Dn 2:31-45; Dn 3:57-61; Lk 21:5-11

If you were in Manhattan, standing down near Wall Street, at Christmas in the year 2000, and someone said to you:

“Do you see those twin towers? A year from now both those buildings will be gone. There will not be a stone upon another stone that will not be thrown down."

You’d probably think he was crazy, or perhaps that he’d just made a terrorist threat. So, you can imagine what the people of Jerusalem thought of Jesus’ comments about the Temple. After all, even then it was one of the wonders of the known world.

This magnificent, glorious building had been under construction for 40 years, since the days of Herod the Great. The great buildings of the ancients tended to last for centuries, so the Temple wasn’t going anywhere.

Of course they were wrong, and 40 years later, Titus, a Roman general, not only destroyed the Temple but went on to destroy much of the city, killing thousands, and enslaving many others.

As you’d expect the locals asked Jesus when it would happen, but He answered not by describing the end of the Temple, but the end of the world. Nations and kingdoms at war, utter destruction, along with earthquakes, plagues, and famines. Sounds pretty bad, and I expect it will be.

In our reading from Daniel, God had already used the prophet to interpret the dream of King Nebuchadnezzar. Daniel describes a series of world empires, from the kingdoms of his time all the way to the end times. This dream confirms that God’s kingdom will endure and never be destroyed.

T. S. Eliot, who’s probably my favorite poet, once wrote, “In my end is my beginning.” It’s a statement I’ve been known to include in cemetery committal services, especially when a grieving family is so overwhelmed by the end of a loved one’s life.

I’ve always liked that statement because it so concisely reflects an important truth of our Christian faith. Yes, indeed, the end of this life is only the beginning of an eternal life. A lot of people, including many Christians, seem to forget this and get all wrapped up in fear as they worry about the approach of the end of the world. 

As for me, I learned long ago that I have absolutely no impact on the end of all things. Believe it or not, God did not delegate that power to me, or to anyone else. Not only that, I also haven’t a clue as to when it will all happen.

And yet, like the people of Jerusalem, or ancient kings like Nebuchadnezzar, so many want to know about the end that God has revealed is coming. Yes, so many, focused on the end, should rather be looking toward the beginning,

Now I’m no prophet, but given the demographics of our parish, I suspect very few of us will see the end of the world. But every one of us will see the end of his or her world and experience the beginning of the next.

If you think about it, Jesus Christ was all about beginnings for He brought the world something wonderfully new. Perhaps St. Paul said it best. Tucked away in his 2^nd Letter to the Corinthians, he wrote:

“If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation” (2 Corinthians 5:17).

Yes, brothers and sisters, because we are in Christ, we are new creations, always on a continual journey of conversion to new beginnings.  

Next Sunday, with Advent, we begin a new liturgical year. So, let’s look forward to that, and yes, as we spend these last few days aware of our mortality, we can also celebrate the truth that God is totally in charge of every aspect of His Creation. There’s no reason to fear.

Indeed, God has given us work to do: to bring others to Jesus Christ and His Church. And believe me, these days they are brought to the Church by 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.

And if we’re not doing it, let’s begin.

COVID-19 Bible Study Reflection #3: The Gift of Trees

The following post is the third of my COVID-19 updates, written for the participants in our parish's Bible Study sessions. 

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"He is like a tree planted near springs of water, that yields its fruit in season; its leaves never wither; whatever he does prospers" [Ps 1:3].

So consumed are we by this virus, this microscopic molecule that defines so much of our lives today, I thought it would be good to step away from it, if only for a while, and turn our attention to another, more benign, of God's creatures.

Galaxies Galore in One Tiny Slice of Our Sky

The universe is filled with wondrous objects, everything from interstellar dust to clusters of galaxies, but God's greatest creative act was life itself. As revealed in Genesis, at the pinnacle of God's creation is man: 

"Let us make man in our own image, after our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over cattle according to their kinds, and every living thing that creeps upon the ground according to its kind' [Gen 1:26].

But before He created sea life and birds and the beasts of the earth, before He created man and woman, on the third day God created a very different kind of life, a lifeform without which the rest of His living creation could not exist. God created the plants and the trees:

"Let the earth put forth vegetation, plants yielding seed, and fruit trees bearing fruit in which is their seed, each according to its kind upon the earth" [Gen 1:11]

It was no accident, then that man and woman were first placed in a garden. There they were nourished by the fruit of the garden's many trees and there, too, they ate the fruit of the one tree forbidden to them:

"And out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil" [Gen 2:9].

We won't dwell on that first, original sin here, except to affirm that it wasn't the fault of the tree. Indeed, as non-sentient creatures trees are inherently faultless. 

It's hard to dislike trees. They live such long and elevated lives that they project an air of quiet stateliness. If you've read any of J.R.R. Tolkien's books, you will know he had a special fondness for trees. Of course, there are his Ents, the wise, rootless tree herders who come to the aid of civilization as it fights the forces of destruction. But I've always thought the outcry of the hobbit Sam Gamgee in the concluding scenes of Tolkien's trilogy mirrored the author's own sorrow over the sacrificial destruction of trees by modern man:

"They've cut it down!" cried Sam. "They've cut down the Party Tree!" He pointed to where the tree had stood under which Bilbo had made his farewell speech. It was lying lopped and dead in the field. As if this were the last straw Sam burst into tears.

Trees offer us a sign of hope. Their very presence seems to restrain the powers of desolation. Deserts and other empty places, treeless places, have never attracted me. I can imagine no more unpleasant place than the Sahara Desert or the appropriately named Death Valley.

In the books of Exodus and Numbers, God leads the Israelites into the desert. This wilderness is no Eden, but rather a place of trial that tests their faith and readies them for their entrance into the Promised Land. Jesus, too, in preparation for His public ministry and all that will follow, is led into the wilderness by the Holy Spirit, a place of desolation, where He encounters the temptations of Satan. One senses that the evil one is quite at home in such places.

Jesus in the Wilderness

I, too, was once led into the desert, but by the United States Navy. As a young pilot, about to join a squadron destined for service in the Vietnam conflict, I was required to complete a course in survival, evasion, resistance and escape (SERE) to prepare me for the possibility of capture by our nation's enemies. Conducted in Southern California's high desert it taught me many excellent survival skills. It also reaffirmed my determination to avoid capture and my dislike of deserts. But deserts are not the only desolate, treeless places. Consider, for example, the island nation of Iceland.

I've been to Iceland only twice, both just brief stopovers. On my first visit, in the summer of 1965, our U.S. Navy transport plane landed at what was then Keflavik Naval Air Station to refuel. We had only a few hours on the ground, but that was long enough to convince me that Iceland was a barren, forbidding looking place. I wasn't sure why until we took off and could view the landscape from above. That's when it hit me: I saw no trees. Indeed, most of the surface was hardened lava and rock, all craggy and stark and seemingly lifeless. As a 21-year-old, I had never met an Icelander so I wondered what kind of people would call this desolate island home. I assumed these descendants of the Vikings were hardy, practical folks who probably considered themselves slightly superior to the rest of humanity. Today, 55 years later, I've still never met an Icelander, at least not up close and personal, so my prejudice remains.

In September of 2012, I visited Iceland once again, this time in the company of Diane. This visit, too, was brief; all of it spent in the terminal. The first leg of our Iceland Air flight took us from Orlando to Keflavik, now a major civilian airport. After a 90-minute wait, we changed planes for the flight to our ultimate destination, London's Gatwick Airport. As we took off, only moments after sunrise, Diane, who had been looking out the window, turned to me and said, "You know what?" I simply replied, "Yes, there are no trees." She laughed, "That's exactly what I was going to say."

Icelandic Landscape

Actually, Iceland is not completely devoid of trees. But, according to friends who have spent more than a few hours there, you have to look for them. One repeated an old Icelandic saying, which has become a common line fed to tourists: "In Iceland if you see three trees together, you're in a forest." In truth, there are a couple of actual forests, although the trees tend to be rather stunted; for example, birch trees that rarely exceed 15 feet in height. For me it's all very sad, and I could never live in such a place, a place where trees are rare.

I suppose I've always enjoyed the presence of trees, these most magnificent of God's rooted creatures. When I was a boy I climbed many trees, especially one of the Japanese maples in our suburban New York front yard.  I often stretched out comfortably on its branches for an hour or so, to avoid life's distractions, or to read a book, or just to observe the goings on in our quiet neighborhood. 

Our front yard was also home to a large weeping willow, another target of opportunity for my climbing skills. Sadly, my parents were forced to remove that tree because its thirsty roots broke into our home's water pipes. 

And what can be more inviting to a 10-year-old boy than a trail leading into a forest? My friends and I would occasionally bicycle several miles to a local woodland called Saxon Woods and spend the day playing imaginative games amidst the trees.

When we lived on Cape Cod, I often took our children to visit a tree we called, "the greatest tree in the world." A European Weeping Beech, it's branches form a magnificent canopy, stretching  haphazardly in all directions. It is a very special tree and, were it permitted, would be a marvelous climbing tree. But aware of its age and fragility, we simply enjoy its shade, surrounded by its presence.

Weeping Beech - Yarmouth Port, Cape Cod

   

Under the Canopy

Let me assure you, though, I am not a tree-hugger and never experienced the urge to embrace any of those perfectly formed climbing trees. Even as a child, I realized that trees, while certainly living creature, lacked awareness of their existence and of mine. People are free to hug trees if they like, even talk to them, but to expect a response...well, that's nothing but a cry for help. As a wise Baptist farmer once said to me, "Don't talk to the garden; talk with the Gardener." Trees, created by God, the cosmic Gardener, deserve our attention, if not our hugs, both for their beauty and their utility.

That utility can be intentional, like the sawed boards I often turned into bookcases, or accidental, like the dead beech recalled by the poet, Wendell Barry:

the great hollow-trunked beech,
a landmark I love to return to,
its leaves gold-lit on the silver
branches in the fall: blown down
after a hundred years of standing,
a footbridge over the stream;

Its beauty destroyed by death, the beech continued to serve other creatures. In Sacred Scripture, too, we find trees blessed for their utility. Indeed, a tree becomes a key element of hospitality during a divine visit to the patriarch Abraham and his wife, Sarah:

"The Lord appeared to Abraham by the oak of Mamre, as he sat in the entrance of his tent, while the day was growing hot. Looking up, he saw three men standing near him. When he saw them, he ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them, and bowing to the round, he said, 'Sir, if it please you, do not go on past your servant. Let some water be brought, that you may bathe your feet, and then rest under the tree'" [Gen 18:1-4].

Abraham and God Under the Oak

In Isaiah we encounter the tree's utility, both for good and for evil purpose. Of the idolatrous woodcutter, Isaiah writes:

"He goes out to cut down cedars, takes a holm tree or an oak. He picks out for himself trees of the forest, plants a fir, and the rain makes it grow. It is used for fuel: with some of the wood he warms himself; makes a fire and bakes bread...Half of it he burns in the fire, on its embers he roasts meat; he eats the roast and is full. He warms himself and says, 'Ah! I am warm! I see the flames!' The rest of it he makes into a god, an image to worship and adore. He prays to it and says, 'Help me! You are my god!' They do not know, do not understand; their eyes are too clouded to see, their minds, to perceive" [Is 44:14-18].

Scripture also offers us symbolic trees as metaphors of something greater. One of the briefest of psalms uses the olive tree to describe the family of the righteous man:

"Your wife will be like a fruitful vine within your home, your children like young olive plants around your table. Just so will the man be blessed who fears the Lord" [Ps 128:3-4].

There are dozens, probably hundreds, of other Old Testament references to trees, far too many to include here. But let me refer you to chapter four of the Book of Jonah, in which God uses a tree to teach His reluctant prophet a lesson in humility and the love of God. It's worth a read.

Jesus frequently referred to trees in His teaching; for example, when He described the Kingdom:

"The Kingdom of Heaven is like a grain of mustard seed which a man took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches" [Mt 13:31-32].

Jesus called on the tree, too, when teaching the apostles of their role in the Church:

"I am the true vine and my Father is the vine grower...I am the vine, you are the branches. Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit, because without me you can do nothing" [Jn 15:1,5].

And perhaps most fittingly and most gloriously, Jesus was nailed to the dead remnant of a tree. He died on that tree, raised up for all to see, making it the universal symbol of our Christian faith. We celebrate that tree, that Holy Cross, every time we bless ourselves and others with its sign. We honor the tiniest pieces of that tree, protecting them in reliquaries spread throughout the world. The Cross is, in a very real sense, the Tree of Life, the Tree of Eternal Life.

As Christians, indeed and human beings, we should praise and thank God for the goodness of all His creation. Take a moment to turn to the Book of the Prophet Daniel and read the beautiful prayer of blessing by Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego as they stood in the fiery furnace in the Presence of God. It is a prayer echoed by all of creation. [See Dan 3:51-90]

This is a good lesson for us today, as we huddle in our homes, separated from others, wondering when it will end. But even now we can walk through our neighborhoods and see Gods creative goodness spread out all around us. Savor it. Breathe it in. Thank God for it.   

Homily: Monday 5th Week of Lent

Readings: Dan 3:14-20, 91-92, 95; Dan 3:52-56; John 8:31-42

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A few years ago I received a small package from the Department of Defense. I wasn't expecting anything from them, but when I got home and opened it, I found it contained a bunch of medals. Among them were medals I didn't even know I'd been awarded. And with two exceptions they all dated back to the Vietnam conflict.

I lined them up on the dining room table and thought, if only briefly: Well, will you look at that, McCarthy. You're a genuine hero.  That thought lasted about two seconds, because it wasn't the truth. I was no hero.

Heroes do remarkable things, far beyond what anyone might expect. I did only what was expected of me, what I was ordered to do. Indeed, if I hadn't done the things for which I received those medals, I would have been court-martialed.

But I knew many men who really were true heroes, ordinary men who did extraordinary things. Today's first reading brought some of them to mind, the real heroes - the same kind of people we read about in the Book of Daniel. Three young men, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, follow their consciences and profess their belief in God - their faith that God will be with them regardless of the consequences.

“I see four men unbound and unhurt, walking in the

fire, and the fourth looks like a son of God.”

For them, the issue was clear: they had no choice but to do God's will, what was good and acceptable. The three believed themselves to be free to do nothing but what is right, what their faith obliged them to do. Believing in the one, true God, they knew their greatest freedom rests in doing God's will. And in their faith, God saves them.

Jesus, of course, understood this well. That's why He declared,

"I came down from heaven not to do my own will but the will of the one who sent me" [Jn 6:38].

Unlike the three men in the furnace, Jesus wasn't saved from the violent death of crucifixion. And it was through Jesus' obedience that He expressed his divine Sonship. This is emphasized in the Letter to the Hebrews where we read,

"Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered; and when he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him" [Heb 5:8-9].

Our whole existence, then, as disciples of Jesus flows from the mysterious roots of our souls where we are called and sustained in supernatural life beyond all human ability to comprehend. How did Jesus put it in today's Gospel passage?

"If you remain in my word, you will truly be my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free" [Jn 8:31-32].

The truth not only sets us free, but we are free only in truth. Too many today think freedom means the right to choose anything - good or evil. But that's not freedom; that's license. Jesus tells us that true freedom is only the freedom to choose what is good - for once we choose evil, we cease being free. Instead we become slaves, slaves to that evil, slaves to sin.

Brothers and sisters, our lives are marked by thousands of decisions and actions, normal everyday responses to the opportunities we confront. But at our core, as Christians, like Jesus we are being begotten by God, and receive a divine life similar to Jesus. And at those crucial moments in our lives we are called to be heroic.

Like the three young men in the furnace, if we want to be truly free, we have no other choice.

Like the true heroes I knew back in my days as a Navy pilot, like those willing to sacrifice all for the sake of others, we have no other choice.

As we respond to life's challenges with heroic obedience, the most divine part of us, the image of God within us, rises to the surface for all to see. When we act according to God's will, in the true freedom God desires for us, our true selves emerge most fully, most courageously, most divinely. God's will always leads to the good, and nothing can interfere with what is good.

Do you believe that? Really believe it?

I hope so because it's the truth. And the truth - the truth of that deep divine life we are all called to share - that truth will set us free.

A Day for Prayer and Fasting

Today, election day, is a perfect day for prayer and fasting, a day when we should step away from the busyness of our lives and turn to God in praise and thanksgiving. 

No one can predict the results of our national election, but whatever the outcome we, as a nation, will face challenges unlike any we have encountered in our lifetime. We cannot address these challenges alone. We will need God's help; or, perhaps more accurately, God wants -- He certainly doesn't need -- our help. He wants us to turn to him in humility and to seek His will for us as a nation and as individuals. He wants us to abandon ourselves completely to Him. But, sadly, too many of our fellow citizens have evicted God from their lives, rejected any thought of humility before their Creator, and actually believe that man can solve all the world's problems without divine help. 

Take some time today to pray together as a family. Spend a few moments in the presence of Jesus Christ in the Blessed Sacrament. He's there in the Tabernacles of every Catholic Church, waiting for you in silence. And fast! Let God be your food today. Let Him fill you with His goodness.

Early this morning as I prayed the Morning Prayer of the Church's Liturgy of the Hours, I was struck by the appropriateness of the selection of the prayer of Azariah from Daniel 3, the prayer he offered from within the fiery furnace. The Church selected the following verses to include in its Morning Prayer:

O Lord, do not withdraw your favor from us.

Blessed are you, Lord God of our fathers: your name is glorious for ever for you are just in all you have done to us.

For we have sinned and done wrong, we have deserted you and done all things wrong.

Do not give us up for ever, for your name’s sake we beg you, do not dissolve your covenant.

Take not your loving kindness from us, for the sake of Abraham, your beloved; and Isaac your servant, and Israel your holy one.

You told them you would multiply their seed like the stars of the sky like the sand on the shores of the sea.

But we, Lord, are made the least of all nations.Today we are brought low over all the earth on account of our sins.

Today there is no prince, no prophet, no leader, no holocaust, no sacrifice. No offering, no incense, no first-fruits offered to you – no way to obtain your mercy.

But in our contrite souls, in a spirit of humility, accept us, Lord. Like a holocaust of rams and bulls, like fat sheep in their thousands, let our sacrifice be like these before you today.

Bring to fruition the quest of those who follow you, for those who trust in you can never be confounded.

And now we follow you with all our heart and we revere you and seek your face.

Yes, indeed, "Today we are brought low over all the earth on account of our sins." We stand in a fiery furnace of our own making; and so, let us too call out to God "in the spirit of humility" and follow Him wherever He leads us.

Pray for our nation.

God's peace...

All you beasts, wild and tame, bless the Lord

"Bless the Lord..."

Knowing my fondness for things squirrely, yesterday morning a friend sent me an email that contained this photo of a squirrel -- obviously a very charismatic squirrel. 

Only moments before I had finished my Morning Prayer of the Liturgy of the Hours, which on Sunday morning includes portions of that beautiful canticle of praise from the Book of Daniel, a canticle sung by the three young men in the fiery furnace: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego [Dan 3:28-68]. Among the verses in that canticle is the following:  

"Bless the Lord, all beasts and cattle, sing praise to Him and highly exalt Him forever" [Dan 3:59].

At one point during my lifelong spiritual formation, I wondered about this canticle in Daniel, questioning its reference to inanimate objects, plants, and animals as sources of blessing and praise. I even recall a theologian once almost laughingly ridiculing this canticle as a symptom of the naive, primitive understanding of the early Hebrews. I suppose I laughed right along with him.

But then I gradually learned to look beyond myself and became aware of all that surrounded me. Unlike that theologian I actually began to grow up. I came to recognize the greatness of God's Creation, a Creation so vast, so complex, and so varied that each unique element, by its very existence, blesses and praises its Creator. 

And, after looking at the above photo, who can deny that even this humble squirrel, probably standing on that picnic bench begging for a treat, praises the Creator simply because he is, because he has been given the gift of life?

Today, when you pray, thank God for His Creation, and for making you a part of it.

Homily for Today: Wednesday, 34th Week of Ordinary Time

Usually I spend quite a bit of time preparing my homilies. Before I sit down to write, I pray, asking the Holy Spirit to guide me. And as I write I dig deeply -- too deeply some might think -- into the Scriptures and Church teaching. After I've written the homily, I inevitably revise and rewrite a few times before I'm comfortable with the finished product. Then I give it my final test, I have Dear Diane read it. If she's happy with it, then I am as well. This is what I usually do.

But this morning I didn't realize I was scheduled to preach until after I arrived at the church. And so I had about five minutes to give the readings some thought and decide what I would say about them. The two readings: Dn 5:1-6, 13-14, 16-17, 23-28 and Lk 21:12-19. As well as I can recall my words, here's what I had to say:

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Last night I had a dream, a very strange dream. I woke up at about 2 a.m. with the dream fresh in my mind. I was in a church, not this church, but a very large church, and as I walked up to the ambo to preach I saw that the church was filled with people. But as soon as I began to preach, everybody in the church simply stood up and left the building. I'm not kidding. That's exactly what happened...at least in my dream.

Now as I lay there in the dark at 2 a.m. I had no idea what this might mean. I think perhaps I need a Daniel to interpret it for me. But after reading today's Gospel passage from Luke earlier this morning, I began to think that it might relate to how well I'm doing as an evangelist. And, apparently, if the dream is accurate, not very well.

How about you? Are you an evangelist...yet? You do know that as a Christian you are called to evangelize, don't you? Indeed, the last three popes -- John Paul II, Benedict, and Francis -- have all made evangelization a key priority of the papacy and, therefore, of the entire Church. For evangelization is the Church's one mission, the mission that Jesus gave to the disciples and to us with His last words before He returned to the Father:

"Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age” [Mt 28:19-20].

He addressed these words to all of us, brothers and sisters. Yes, you and I are called to make disciples and to teach. We are all called to evangelize. And Jesus, in those last words of His, gives us the consolation of His presence. He will be with us until the end of the age, just as He is with us now. He is with us in the Eucharist until He returns in glory. We have Him, the Real Presence,  in our presence every day. What a consolation that is!

And we will certainly need Him because evangelization comes with a cost. Did you hear what Jesus said in our Gospel passage?

“They will seize and persecute you, they will hand you over to the synagogues and to prisons, and they will have you led before kings and governors because of my name...and they will put some of you to death...You will be hated by all because of my name" [Lk 21:12,16-17].

Not very comforting is it? But this is the cost; this is the price you and I must pay if we are to evangelize in a world that rejects Jesus, a world that rejects the Word of God. And so we need His presence if we are to answer Jesus's call to evangelization.

Recall, too, that He will inspire us through His Holy Spirit. How did He put it?

"It will lead to your giving testimony. Remember, you are not to prepare your defense beforehand, for I myself shall give you a wisdom in speaking that all your adversaries will be powerless to resist or refute." [Lk 21:13-15]

Lord knows I didn't prepare these words today, so if they're of any value, they are the Spirit's words. not mine.

And so, today, perhaps you and I should take some time to think about this call issued by Jesus, this call to evangelization.

Are you an evangelist...yet? If not, why not? And don't worry, because God will be with you always, leading the way.

God love you.

Homily: Wednesday, Fifth Week of Lent

Readings: Dan 3:14-20, 91-92, 95; Dan 3:52-56; John 8:31-42

We’re all going to die someday. It’s just one of those inescapable things: life eventually leads to death. Now, this fact of life doesn’t really bother me. I came to accept it long ago. But I have to admit, there are ways of dying I’d just as soon avoid. And at the top of the list is being burned up. It really doesn’t appeal to me at all.

One day, many years ago, when I was flying those Navy helicopters, I had an electrical fire break out right under my pilot’s seat. This was not a good thing, and while I struggled to fly the helicopter back to the carrier, my copilot and crewman were madly trying to put out the fire. As smoke filled the cockpit and my seat began to heat up, all I could think about were Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego standing in King Nebuchadnezzar’s furnace. And I prayed that God would be as kind to me as He was to them. Apparently He was.

Now, before we dig deeply into today’s readings, I think it’s important first to recognize one thing: that Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego are really cool names. In fact, it’s names like these that only reinforce my belief in the historical accuracy of Sacred Scripture. Nobody could make up these names. They simply have to be real people.

Not only were these three young men real people, but they were also tough, faith-filled young men. All they had to do was worship a statue, a hunk of metal, and they would live. But instead they refused and chose what seemed to be certain death. They could kneel and live, or refuse and die…and it wasn’t a very nice way of dying.

I especially like the answer they gave the king. They said they hoped God would save them, but even if He didn’t, they still wouldn’t worship a false god. This was something they simply could not do…ever. In other words, “Sorry, King, but you can do nothing to us unless God permits it – for there is only one God, and it’s not your stupid idol.”

Now, just think about that. Is there anything that you believe in that strongly? Is your faith that rock solid?  Do you and I really have the faith of the martyrs – that unbendable faith that leads one to face death joyfully? Would we be willing to climb into that furnace or stand before a firing squad to defend a belief that’s at the very core of our being?

These may sound like simple questions, but they’re not. You see, far too many Christians never ask these questions. And so they never really examine the basis of their faith, why they hold these beliefs.

Blind faith can never see past a simple statement of belief…and because it cannot defend itself, it will likely crumble when questioned. An understanding, reflective faith is the only kind that will hold up under pressure, the only kind that can be freely held.

For our three young men, the issue was clear: they were free to do nothing but uphold the truth, for that is what their faith obliged them to do. They realized that their greatest freedom was in doing God’s will.

Jesus, of course, understood this well. That’s why he could say, “If you remain in my word, you will truly be my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” The truth not only sets us free, but we are free only in truth.

It’s common for people to think freedom means the right to choose good or evil. But that’s not what Jesus tells us. True freedom is only the freedom to choose what is good – for once we choose evil, we cease being free. Instead we become slaves, slaves to that evil, slaves to sin.

Brothers and sisters, our lives are marked by thousands of everyday decisions and actions, but at crucial moments in our lives we are expected to be heroic. Like the three young men in the furnace, if we want to be truly free, we have no other choice. It’s then, when we act in true freedom, that our true selves emerge most fully, most courageously, most divinely.

Do you believe that? Really believe it? I hope so because it’s the truth. And the truth – the truth of that deep divine life we are all called to share -- will set us free.