Homily: Christmas Vigil

Note: This isn't a newly written homily. I wrote it some years ago, but tend to use if I'm called to preach at the Christmas Vigil Mass. This year I won't be preaching, but I thought some folks might enjoy my take on Matthew's wonderful genealogy of Our Lord Jesus.

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Readings: Is 62:1-5; Ps 89; Acts 13:16-17,22-25; Mt 1:1-25

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People often wonder why the Church includes this Gospel passage, this rather long genealogy, in tonight’s liturgy. It seems to be a strange selection, doesn’t it? All those names scattered across the generations from Abraham to Moses, then on to David and Solomon, then to the traumatic exile of God’s People in Babylon, and finally to Joseph and Mary and Jesus Himself.

Yes indeed, it might seem a bit odd to have us listen to all those names on the night we celebrate the birth of our Savior. After all, isn’t the name of Jesus enough? Isn’t it enough to know that Jesus is the Son of God? Is it really necessary to tell us about these human ancestors spread out over the centuries from the time of Abraham?

Well, actually, yes! It is. You see, Matthew is simply saying, “Welcome to God’s family! -- because Jesus’s family is also our family.”

Tonight we not only celebrate Jesus’ birth, but we also celebrate our own spiritual roots, deep roots that stretch back nearly 4,000 years to Abraham, our father in faith. You can trace that spiritual lineage from the priest (or deacon) who baptized you, through the bishop who ordained him, all the way back to the apostles and to Jesus Himself. And then you need only turn to these opening verses of Matthew’s Gospel and follow the path all the way back to Abraham.

And do you know something else? You and I share these roots. That’s right – we all have that same family tree. What a gift this is! It’s one of the key messages of the Gospel, a message that takes us deeply into those spiritual roots, and binds us in a living connection with Jesus Christ Himself.

Each of the four Gospels begins by telling us who Jesus is, but each tells us in a different way.

Mark, in his usual Sergeant Friday, just-the-facts-Ma’am approach, begins by saying:

“The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God…”

Yes, Mark wastes no time identifying Jesus.

Luke’s a bit more subtle. He takes half a chapter before he finally gets to Jesus, and then he lets the angel Gabriel do the honors:

“Therefore, the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God.”

And John? He echoes the opening words of the Book of Genesis and proclaims the eternal divinity of the Logos, of Jesus, the creative Word of God.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

But Matthew is different. Writing to a Jewish audience, he offers them a very Jewish family tree of Jesus Christ, true God and true man. He begins by proclaiming:

“The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham.”

Any Jew would recognize these titles, for they are Messianic titles. At the very start, Matthew is declaring Jesus to be the Messiah, the chosen one. Then, filled with the Spirit, he presents us with a family tree, one generation after another…right here in the very first verses of the New Testament. It’s as if God can’t wait to tell us all about His family.

Realize first that Matthew didn’t intend his genealogy to be complete. And his Jewish readers would know this too. No, Matthew wants to make a point. He wants his readers to understand and accept Jesus’s messianic roots. And so, he divides his genealogy into three sections of 14 names, or 6 sections, each with 7 names.

To the Jew 7 and 14 symbolized completion or perfection. And so Matthew completes his genealogy with the first and only name in the 7^th group of 7: the name of Jesus. For a Jew this was as perfect as you could get.

Although some of these names sound a bit strange to us, they’re all real people and offer a glimpse into the entire history of God’s People. As we run through that list of names we encounter every aspect of human life, and not just the good parts, but also murder, treachery, incest, adultery, prostitution…

We also meet five women, something rarely encountered in ancient genealogies. The last of these is Mary herself, but the first four – Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba – are all Gentiles: 2 Canaanites, a Moabite, and a Hittite. Jesus’s family wasn’t so purely Jewish, was it? Those Gentiles among His ancestors highlight the fact that He came from all of us, and for all of us. How did Isaiah put it?

“Nations shall behold your vindication, and all the kings your glory; you shall be called by a new name, pronounced by the mouth of the LORD.”

It’s a global family, but it’s also a family of sinners. Tamar disguised herself as a prostitute to fool her father-in-law, Judah, and ending up giving birth to his twin sons. Rahab was a prostitute, and yet she becomes a faithful woman. And Bathsheba? King David watched her bathing from his rooftop, invited her in, seduced her, and had her husband killed, so he could marry her. Solomon, their son, started right with God, but then joined his many wives in worshipping idols. It sounds a lot like fodder for the tabloids. 

Some members, like Mary and Joseph, are extraordinary; others, Ruth and Josiah, are faithful; some, like Manasseh and Rehoboam, are despicable; others, like Eliud and Azor, are anonymous, nondescript, men about which we know nothing.

Welcome to my family, Jesus tells us, welcome to my world. It’s the world we encounter when we open the Bible and realize how forgiving our God is. Yes, Jesus’s family is a human family and like most human families, has its share of saints and sinners. But from this, we learn that God’s plan was accomplished through them all, and that He continues to work through us, His people.

Notice, too, throughout the genealogy it's all father to son, and father to son…except at the very end. Matthew completes the genealogy with the words:

“Joseph, the husband of Mary. Of her was born Jesus who is called the Christ.”

For Matthew doesn’t declare Joseph to be the father of Jesus. Jesus, the Christ, is born of Mary, the virgin, with God as His Father. Again, what a gift – to be members of God’s eternal family! Indeed, what a gift all of Revelation is!

Do you realize how blessed we are to be Catholic Christians? What we believe and how we worship are not things we’ve concocted. For Christianity is really a revelation rather than a religion. Christianity is God’s Word and Work, not something we came up with. It’s not a collection of man’s feeble attempts to placate some higher power.

It comes totally from God Himself. We believe God revealed Himself through the many generations Matthew enumerates in his genealogy.

It’s a Revelation that runs from Abraham to Moses to David through all the prophets and eventually to Jesus Himself – Who is the fulfillment of it all. Yes, it’s a revelation that reaches its climax in the Incarnation when Mary gives birth, as Matthew describes it, to “Jesus, who is called the Christ.”

You see, brothers and sisters, it’s all a gift. As St. Paul asked the Corinthians: “What do you possess that you have not received?” The answer, of course, is “Nothing!”

And right there at the top of the list of God’s gifts, is that which we receive through our Baptism: the gift of adoption. We became sons and daughters of the Father, part of the Family of God. And so, we join Jesus on that family tree described by Matthew. We are heirs and inherit the fruit of God’s promises made to Abraham and to those who followed him. But as members of God’s family, we must behave as any good son or daughter would behave. We must live in a way that honors the father, in a way that doesn’t dishonor the family.

Another great gift that comes out of this adoption is the privilege of eating at the table of the Family of God. Yes, we can take part in the Eucharistic Feast, the Mass. And what a gift this is! For here, at this altar, Jesus Christ, gives Himself to us, body and blood, soul and divinity, and allows us, the members of His family, to join Him in the most intimate way imaginable. Here, as we come forward to receive the Body and Blood of Christ, we also join each other in a unique Communion in which the Church is most completely herself. Eucharist – the word itself means thanksgiving – is like a great family dinner, Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners all rolled into one… and yet far more wonderful and fulfilling.

Brothers and sisters, we are sons and daughters of God! These roots are deeper, stronger, and longer lasting than any human family roots. Indeed, they’re so strong they’ll carry us all the way to eternal life.

And so tonight, as we rejoice in the birth of our Savior, let us also rejoice that our names are written in heaven, as members of the family of Jesus Christ.

Come, Lord Jesus!

 

Homily: Mass and Healing Service

This morning, after our usual Saturday morning Mass celebrated by our pastor, we conducted a healing service for those who sought healing of any kind: body, mind, or spirit. We conduct these services several times each year. They are always very special gatherings in which the Holy Spirit blesses us with His presence and power. Each person in need of healing is individually welcomed by one of our prayer teams. We pray with and over each person asking God to fill us all with His Spirit and His healing grace.  

This morning I was asked to preach. My homily follows.

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Readings: Acts 9:31-42; Ps 116; Jn 6:60-69

How good it is to see you all here today – here to praise our God for the healing graces He showers on us through the sacraments of His Church.

In today’s readings we encounter a wonderful blend of God’s gifts – of peace, of healing, of sacramental grace, and of Jesus’ continued Living Presence among us and within us. As I read our readings the other day, I couldn't help but recall those wonderfully powerful words of Jesus from Luke’s Gospel:

“Give and gifts will be given to you; a good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over, will be poured into your lap. For the measure you give will be the measure you get back” [Lk 6:38].

Now, although this passage from Luke isn‘t one of today’s readings, doesn’t it beautifully sum up the Scriptural passages we just heard? God indeed showers His gifts on us, asking only that we use them for His glory.

But how and why do we get these gifts from God? Do we deserve them? No. And what does God get out of it? Nothing. And that’s the difference between God and us.

Years ago, I had an insurance agent who always gave me a gift on my birthday. Nothing elaborate, maybe a little pocketknife, or a coffee mug, just something to remind me that he was thinking of me. Of course, I realized he gave all his clients the same gift. Why did he do it? To keep our business. I’m pretty sure he didn’t do it because He loved us.

And that’s the difference. God offers His gifts to everyone, not because He gets anything out of it. After all, God is perfect, and nothing we do can make Him more perfect. No, God gives out of love, and He gives lavishly.

Look at Peter in today’s reading from Acts. Since the martyrdom of Stephen and the conversion of Paul, things had quieted down for the early Christians. As we hear from Luke: 

"The church throughout all Judea, Galilee, and Samaria was at peace." [Acts 9:31]

Peter, then, leaves Jerusalem to spread the Gospel throughout Judea, and heads for the towns along the coast. In Lydda he encounters Aeneas, a man paralyzed and bedridden for years. And don’t you just love what Peter says to him?

“Aeneas, Jesus Christ heals you. Get up and make your bed” [Acts 9:34].

In other words, Peter tells him, it is not I, but the living Lord, Jesus Christ, who heals you. And so, rise! Rise to new life! And make that bed of yours because you will no longer need it during the day.

In the Gospel we catch brief glimpses of this strong and faithful Peter, this man so sure of himself…Indeed, John shows us this side of Peter in today’s Gospel passage. Many disciples had abandoned Jesus because they couldn’t accept His revelation, His Eucharistic promise, the gift of Himself, Body and Blood…

Our Lord then turned to the 12 and asked: “Do you also want to leave?” And it’s Peter who responded with those powerful, faithful words: “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

Yes, the strong, faithful Peter…well, sometimes, until things got rough. But then, with Pentecost, with the arrival of the Holy Spirit, everything changed, including Peter. Filled with and driven by the Holy Spirit, Peter is a changed man. And this is the Peter we encounter in Acts.

The healing of Aeneas brought many conversions in the local towns, and led the people of another town, Joppa, to send for Peter. It seems Tabitha, a holy, generous, much loved woman, had died. Peter arrives and finds her ready for burial, her body washed and laid out in an upper room. He clears the room, kneels, prays, and says to the dead woman: “Tabitha, rise up!” She does. And taking her hand he presents her to her friends, alive. Once again, faith in Jesus Christ spreads as many in Joppa come to believe.

The miracles, the healings and restoring of life, are signs of the presence of God in the living Jesus Christ preached by Peter. People are baptized. And so, the sacraments, too, manifested by visible, outward signs that point to something far greater than themselves, become the source of God’s healing graces.

But turning again to today’s Gospel passage, John tells us that many couldn’t accept the Word of the Word Incarnate. “Eat my body. Drink my blood.” Hard words, indeed.

But, Jesus asked them, if you can’t accept this, how can you possibly accept my Resurrection and Ascension to the Father? In other words, it all demands an act of faith. For faith, too, is a gift, open and available to all, to all who are open to receive it.

As John reveals to us, the Twelve at least were open, accepting the Word of “the Holy One of God,” the Messiah, God’s Chosen One. Peter answered Jesus’ question with his own question: “Lord, to whom shall we go?” You see, sisters and brothers, once we accept the gift of faith, there’s only one answer to Peter’s question. We can go to no one, but Jesus Himself.

Because of our faith, our trust in Jesus, His healing and life-giving work continues among us still. Just as Jesus, through the prayer and faith of Peter, brought healing and life to others, so too does Our Lord make each of us a source of healing.

Without faith, prayer is empty, like the self-centered prayer of the Pharisee who prayed only to himself. And remember what happened when Jesus visited his hometown of Nazareth?

“…he did not work many mighty deeds there because of their lack of faith” [Mt 13:58].

Yes, without faith, healing doesn’t happen; without faith sacraments are seen as mere symbols, signs pointing to nothing. But when we are filled with faith, our prayer, especially our communal intercessory prayer, is very powerful indeed.

Our faith, then, is at the heart of it, isn’t it? Yes, indeed, faith must be there, but something else as well: our love.

We see this with the Twelve. Their faith often wavered, but not their love. Even in their denials and their fears, in their mistakes, their lack of understanding, in their pride, and their arguments…throughout it all, they continued to love Jesus. As he often did, St. Augustine said it well.

“This is what love is all about: to obey and believe the one you love.”

You know, God really doesn’t ask very much of us. He likes to simplify things. We’re the ones who tend to complicate it all. Because you are faithful, He says, love Me with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength. And love your neighbor as yourself. Not very complicated.

So, you’re here for healing today? Well, take a look at those sitting next to you, your neighbors. They’re here for healing too. Have you prayed for them, for their healing?  

In a little while, you will see the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ raised up from this altar. And as you consume that gift, as Jesus becomes one with you, thank God for His presence and pray for your neighbor’s healing.

Yes, Jesus calls us to come to Him, to know and love Him as He knows and loves us. In calling us to Himself He also sends us into the world afire with the flame of His love.

Lord Jesus, you have the words of everlasting life. Help us to cast aside all doubt and fear so that we may embrace your word with trust and joy. Help us surrender all to you…measure for measure.

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: Saturday, 5th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: 1 Kgs 12:26-32;13:33-34 • Ps 106 • Mk 8:1-10

Mark’s Gospel has often been described as a Passion narrative with a long introduction. And that introduction moves right along.

Mark also offers us the story of the disciples and their often confused response to Jesus’ call. Moved by the Spirit, the twelve attach themselves to Jesus with little understanding of His teachings or what His call to discipleship really entails. It’s a story, then, of spiritual growth, of gradual formation, a time when the Spirit plants seed after seed in the hearts of these friends and followers of Jesus.

Like every seed planted by the Spirit, these sprout and bloom according to His schedule, not ours. The Spirit can move quickly indeed, or He can lead us to the truth over a lifetime. And it’s our response that makes all the difference. We see signs of this in today’s Gospel passage.

4,000 people, a huge crowd, have been with Jesus for three days, and have eaten nothing. But we hear no complaints from the crowd, for in their hunger for Truth they have been fed with the Word. They seem satisfied. For them it has been three days of contemplative prayer, for what is contemplative prayer but placing oneself in Jesus’ presence and listening, listening to the Word so He can alter one’s very being.

It’s also a time of fasting. But in his compassion, Jesus knows once He leaves them, their fast will end, and they will return to the world hungry. They will need to be restored so they can carry the Word to their homes, into their everyday lives where they can live from faith.

Jesus turns to His disciples and simply states a truth: “They have nothing to eat.”

“How can we get bread in the desert?” they ask.

They have not yet understood that He is the Bread of Life, that wherever Jesus is, there is Bread. Yes, Jesus is the Eucharist, a gift He will institute at the Last Supper – the bread, His Body – the wine, His Blood – the gift of His Presence until the end of the age. But as yet they don’t know this.

Have they so soon forgotten His earlier feeding of the 5,000? Miracle upon miracle, healing upon healing, and yet they ask: “How can we get bread in the desert?” Does Jesus answer their question? No. Instead, He asks the disciples another. “How many loaves have you?”

This, brothers and sisters, is a moment of grace and the loaves are its image. Grace is present because Jesus is present. It flows outward from Him to all who are open to receive it. But grace can never be a private possession. It must be passed on, flow from one to another.

Yes, how many loaves do you disciples have? How much faith do you have? Do you have enough? Are you instruments of grace?

“Seven,” is their one-word reply. Does it point to the Spirit’s seven gifts they will receive at Pentecost when the full meaning of their discipleship is revealed? Perhaps so.

Jesus takes the loaves, but He takes nothing without thanking the Father. He gives thanks for the disciples’ bread, bread meant for them and for Him, but now destined for thousands. He breaks the bread, as He will break Himself in the Eucharist, and hands the bread to His disciples. They, in turn, distribute the bread; doing the miraculous, as the Bread received from the Church carries His miraculous Presence into the world.

Here we see the Church in the process of becoming, for the Bread it is given, the Eucharist – it, too, is blessed, broken, and multiplied. Jesus, through the work of the Holy Spirit, offers Himself, but His disciples carry Him into the world.

Jesus also blesses a few small fish so the people can eat an ordinary meal, the same kind of meal the disciples would eat with the Lord. This meal, this everyday experience, becomes for the people an extraordinary, miraculous experience. Were those few small fish a sign, a reminder that Simon Peter and the others must soon abandon their boats, their nets, their lives and become fishers of men?

Did the disciples learn this day that when they give all that they have – even if it’s only seven loaves and a few fish – God will multiply it a thousand fold?

And what about you and me?

Can we abandon everything in our lives that is keeping us from true discipleship?

Can we, too, hand the loaves and fish of our lives to the Lord and let Him bless, break and multiply them – so we can carry Him into the world?

Will you let God work His miracles in the everyday ordinariness of your life, so you can be an instrument of His grace?

We are all called, dear friends.

 

Homily: Christmas Vigil - Year C

Readings: Is 62:1-5; Psalm 89; Acts 13:16-17,22-25; Mt 1:1-25

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People often wonder why the Church includes this Gospel passage, this rather long genealogy, in tonight’s liturgy. It does seem like a strange selection, doesn’t it? All those names scattered across the generations from Abraham to Moses, then on to David and Solomon, then to the traumatic exile of God’s People in Babylon, and finally to Joseph and Mary and Jesus Himself.

Yes indeed, it might seem a bit odd to have us listen to all those names on the night we celebrate the birth of our Savior. After all, isn’t the name of Jesus enough? Isn’t it enough to know that Jesus is the Son of God? Is it really necessary to tell us about these human ancestors spread out over the centuries from the time of Abraham?

Actually, yes! It is.

You see, Matthew is simply saying, “Welcome to God’s family! -- because Jesus’s family is also our family.” Tonight, we not only celebrate Jesus’ birth, but we also celebrate our own spiritual roots, deep roots that stretch back nearly 4,000 years to Abraham, our father in faith.

You can trace that spiritual lineage from the priest (or deacon) who baptized you, through the bishop who ordained him, all the way back to the apostles and to Jesus Himself. And then you need only turn to these opening verses of Matthew’s Gospel and follow the path all the way back to Abraham.

And do you know something else? You and I share these roots. That’s right – we all have that same family tree. What a gift this is! It’s one of the key messages of the Gospel, a message that takes us deeply into those spiritual roots, and binds us in a living connection with Jesus Christ Himself.

Each of the four Gospels begins by telling us who Jesus is, but each tells us in a different way.

Mark, in his usual Sergeant Friday, just-the-facts-Ma’am approach, wastes neither time nor words and identifies Jesus from the beginning: 

“The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God…” [Mk 1:1]

Luke's a bit more subtle. He takes half a chapter before he finally gets to Jesus, and then he lets the Archangel Gabriel do th honors:

“Therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God' [Lk 1:35].

And John? He echoes the opening words of the Book of Genesis and proclaims the eternal divinity of the Logos, of Jesus, the creative Word of God.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” [Jn 1:1].

But Matthew is different. Writing to a Jewish audience, he offers them a very Jewish family tree of Jesus Christ, true God and true man. He begins by proclaiming:

“The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham” [Mt 1:1].

Any Jew would recognize these titles, for they are Messianic titles. At the very start, Matthew is declaring Jesus to be the Messiah, the chosen one. Then, filled with the Spirit, he presents us with a family tree, one generation after another…right here in the very first verses of the New Testament. It’s as if God can’t wait to tell us all about His family.

Realize first that Matthew didn’t intend his genealogy to be complete. And his Jewish readers would know this too. No, Matthew wants to make a point. He wants his readers to understand and accept Jesus’s messianic roots. And so, he divides his genealogy into three sections of 14 names, or 6 sections, each with 7 names.

To the Jew 7 and 14 symbolized completion or perfection. Matthew, then, completes his genealogy with the first and only name in the 7^th group of 7: the name of Jesus. For a Jew this was as perfect as you could get.

Although some of these names may sound a bit strange to us, they’re all real people and offer a glimpse into the entire history of God’s Chosen People. As we run through that list of names we encounter every aspect of human life, and not just the good parts, but also murder, treachery, incest, adultery, prostitution…

We also meet five women, something rarely encountered in ancient genealogies. The last of these is Mary herself, but the first four – Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba – are all Gentiles: 2 Canaanites, a Moabite, and a Hittite. Yes, Jesus’s family wasn’t so purely Jewish, was it? Those Gentiles among His ancestors highlight the fact that He came from all of us, and for all of us. How did Isaiah put it?

"Nations shall behold your vindication, and all the kings your glory; you shall be called by a new name, pronounced by the mouth of the Lord" [Is 62:2.

Yes, it’s a global family, but it’s also a family of sinners.

Tamar disguised herself as a prostitute to fool her father-in-law, Judah, and ending up giving birth to his twin sons.

Rahab was a prostitute, and yet become a faithful woman who served the God of Israel.

And Bathsheba? King David watched her bathing from his rooftop, invited her in, seduced her, and had her husband killed, so he could marry her. Solomon, their son, started right with God, but then joined his many wives in worshipping idols.

Some members, like Mary and Joseph, are extraordinary; others, Ruth and Josiah, are faithful; some, like Manasseh and Rehoboam, are despicable; others, like Eliud and Azor, are anonymous, nondescript, men about which we know nothing.

Welcome to my family, Jesus tells us, welcome to my world. It’s the world we encounter when we open the Bible and realize how forgiving our God is. Jesus’s family is a human family and like most human families, has its share of saints and sinners. And from this, we learn that God’s plan was accomplished through them all, and that He continues to work through us, His people.

Notice, too, the genealogy relates father to son, father to son, father to son…except at the very end. Matthew completes the genealogy with the words:

“Jacob the father of Joseph, the husband of Mary. Of her was born Jesus who is called the Christ.” [Mt 1:16]

For Matthew doesn’t declare Joseph to be the father of Jesus. Jesus, the Christ, is born of Mary, the virgin, with God as His Father. Again, what a gift – to be members of God’s eternal family!

Indeed, what a gift all of Revelation is! Do you realize how blessed we are to be Catholic Christians? What we believe and how we worship are not things we’ve concocted. For Christianity is really a revelation rather than a religion. Christianity is God’s Word and Work, not something we came up with. It’s not a collection of man’s feeble attempts to placate some higher power. It comes totally from God Himself.

We believe God revealed Himself through the many generations Matthew enumerates in his genealogy. It’s a Revelation that runs from Abraham to Moses to David through all the prophets and eventually to Jesus Himself – Who is the fulfillment of it all. It’s a revelation that reaches its climax in the Incarnation when Mary gives birth, as Matthew describes it, to “Jesus, who is called the Christ.”

You see, brothers and sisters, it’s all a gift. As St. Paul asked the Corinthians:

"What do you possess that you have not received?" [1 Cor 4:7]

The answer, of course, is “Nothing!”

And right there at the top of the list of God’s gifts, is that which we receive through our Baptism: the gift of adoption. We became sons and daughters of the Father, part of the Family of God.

And so, we join Jesus on that family tree described by Matthew. We are heirs and inherit the fruit of God’s promises made to Abraham and to those who followed him. But as members of God’s family, we must behave as any good son or daughter would behave. We must live in a way that honors the father, in a way that doesn’t dishonor the family.

Another great gift that comes out of this adoption is the privilege of eating at the table of the Family of God.  We can take part in the Eucharistic Feast, the Mass. And what a gift this is! For here, at this altar, Jesus Christ, gives Himself to us, body and blood, soul and divinity, and allows us, the members of His family, to join Him in the most intimate way imaginable.

Here, as we come forward to receive the Body and Blood of Christ, we also join each other in a unique Communion in which the Church is most completely herself. Eucharist – the word itself means thanksgiving – is like a great family dinner, Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners all rolled into one… and yet far more wonderful and fulfilling.

Brothers and sisters, we are sons and daughters of God!  These roots are deeper, stronger, and longer lasting than any human family roots. Indeed, they’re so strong they’ll carry us all the way to eternal life.

And so tonight, as we rejoice in the birth of our Savior, let us also rejoice that our names are written in heaven, as members of the family of Jesus Christ.

"Come, Lord Jesus!" [Rev 22:20]

 

The Eucharist, Abortion, and Politics

I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this book before -- The Habit of Being, a collection of letters by Flannery O'Connor (1925-1964). If I haven't mentioned it, I certainly should have, because it's among my favorites, one of those books I return to occasionally, just to sample the wisdom of this remarkable woman who left us far too early.

Anyway, included among the letters are many O'Connor wrote to a friend, Betty Hester. (As the letters were being compiled for publication in 1979, Hester asked the editor not to reveal her name. Referred to as "A" in the book, her identity has since been revealed.) In one of these letters, written on 16 December 1955, O'Connor described a dinner she attended at the New York home of the novelist, Mary McCarthy. The guests included Robert Lowell and other literary luminaries. O'Connor, only about 25 at the time, had just been published and was considered a new, up-and-coming writer and storyteller with a future. Of course, this girl from Georgia felt more like a fish out of water in the presence of these big-city notables. But as the conversation continued into the early morning hours, it got serious, at least for this faithful, young Catholic. Here's an excerpt from the letter, written perhaps five or six years after the events described:

"Having me there was like having a dog present who had been trained to say a few words but overcome with inadequacy had forgotten them. Well, toward morning the conversation turned on the Eucharist, which I, being the Catholic, was obviously supposed to defend. Mrs. Broadwater [i.e., Mary McCarthy] said when she was a child and received the Host, she thought of it as the Holy Ghost, He being the 'most portable' person of the Trinity, now she thought of it as a symbol and implied that it was a pretty good one. I then said, in a very shaky voice, 'Well, it it's a symbol, then to hell with it.' That was all the defense I was capable of but I realize now this is all I will ever be able to say about it, outside of a story, except that it is the center of existence for me, all the rest of life is expendable." [The Habit of Being, p. 125]

Yes, indeed, if the Eucharist is just a symbol, why bother? And yet, how many Catholics today believe what Mary McCarthy believed, that the Eucharist is no more than a symbol, although "a pretty good one?" I can't say for certain, but I suspect those 60 pro-abortion, Catholic, Democrat representatives who accused the U. S. Bishops of "weaponizing" the Eucharist consider the Sacrament little more than a symbol. Like Flannery O'Connor, do they accept the Eucharist as "the center of existence," and like the Fathers of the Second Vatican Council, do they understand the Eucharist "the source and summit of the Christian life?" If so, they are sending the rest of us a very confusing message, since they certainly don't worry about approaching the Sacrament unworthily. How did St. Paul put it?

"Therefore whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord unworthily will have to answer for the body and blood of the Lord. A person should examine himself, and so eat the bread and drink the cup. For anyone who eats and drinks without discerning the body, eats and drinks judgment on himself" [1 Cor 11:27-29].

To deny the explicit teachings of the Church -- and believe me the Church has been consistently explicit in declaring abortion an "inherent evil" that must be rejected by all Catholics -- and to then receive the Eucharist is to do so "unworthily."

The U. S. Bishops have stated that when it comes to permitting or promoting abortion or euthanasia, Catholic politicians may not "promote such laws or vote for them." One can only hope their upcoming document on the reception of the Eucharist will clear up this issue for Catholics who are confused by the statements of politicians and by the resulting silence of too many bishops, priests, and deacons. In 2003 Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, the future Pope Benedict XVI, was Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. In that capacity he issued a very clear teaching on this subject. You can access it here: Worthiness to Receive Holy Communion. It's certainly worth a read by anyone confused about recent statements made by some of our Catholic politicians.

For example, Nancy Pelosi, the Speaker of the U. S. House of Representations, when asked for her reaction to the U. S. Bishops' condemnation of abortion, simply stated, "I think I can use my own judgment on that." By these words, Pelosi, a self-declared "devout Catholic," confirms that she considers her judgment superior to that of God's Church. This, of course, simply echoes her denial of a number of truths proclaimed by the Church, including the inherent evil of abortion and that Sacramental marriage exists solely between a man and a woman. Such denials are really nothing less than heresy, which the Catechism of the Catholic Church describes as "the obstinate post-baptismal denial of some truth which must be believed with divine and Catholic faith" [CCC #2089].

For more on this, read Deacon Keith Fournier's article on the subject of Ms. Pelosi's heresy: Nancy Pelosi, Heretic. Sadly, President Biden is really no different.

And just now, I discovered I'm not the only one who thought of Flannery O'Connor's statement on the Eucharist in the midst of today's political chaos. Ken Craycraft, writing for the UK's Catholic Herald, also referred to O'Connor in a recent article: If the Eucharist Isn't Political, To Hell with It.  Read it (although you might need a subscription to the Catholic Herald to access this particular article), since Craycroft is certainly a far better writer than yours truly.

Emptiness

Today, Holy Saturday, is the Church's day of emptiness. In Sacred Scripture, the events of the first Holy Saturday are described by Matthew:

The next day, the one following the day of preparation, the chief priests and the Pharisees gathered before Pilate and said, "Sir, we remember that this imposter while still alive said, 'After three days I will be raised up.' Give orders, then, that the grave be secured until the third day, lest his disciples come and steal him and say to the people, 'He has been raised from the dead.' This last imposture would be worse than the first." Pilate said to them, "The guard is yours; go secure it as best you can." So they went and secured the tomb by fixing a seal to the stone and setting the guard [Mt 27:62-66].

Of course, by the next morning, on the third day, the tomb was empty. Jesus Christ had risen, just as He had told all who would hear. It's that emptiness we experience today, an emptiness encountered in our churches as well.

When I was a boy, my mom would usually stop by our parish church during the day on Holy Saturday. Sometimes she'd take me along. I suppose she wanted me to experience how different the Church was compared to other days. We'd enter the church and kneel in one of the back pews and pray for a few moments. Then we'd leave.

St. Augustine Church in Larchmont, NY was a beautiful neo-Gothic church. I've included below two photos taken a few years ago when Diane and I attended a reunion -- really just a luncheon -- with a few members of my 1958 eighth-grade class from St. Augustine School. I suppose I wanted Diane to see my childhood church where I served as an altar boy, along with the adjacent school which I attended for four years. Sadly, the parochial school is no longer open, but the church still thrives. The photos, particularly the interior photo, give you an idea of the kind of emptiness we experienced on Holy Saturday.

If you visit a Catholic Church today the emptiness is apparent. The holy water fonts are empty, awaiting the evening blessing of baptismal water. In many churches statues are also covered only to be uncovered before or during the Easter Vigil. More telling, though, the sanctuary lamp is extinguished because the tabernacle is open and empty in anticipation of the Easter Vigil Mass. Without the Eucharistic Presence of our Lord, the emptiness becomes very real indeed.

Today, unfortunately, in light of the COVID pandemic many Catholic Churches are unlocked only for the celebration of Mass (with very limited attendance) or on a few other special occasions; otherwise the doors are locked up tight. I find that odd and disturbing, especially during a pandemic when people experience a greater need to visit their parish church, to take time to pray in a sacred place. It's not as if hordes of parishioners will suddenly descend on the church and willingly violate the "social distancing" protocols. Even more disturbing, as a Eucharistic Church, we have denied the Eucharist to thousands of Catholics who, because of age, illness, or injury, are unable to attend Mass or suffer from conditions that might result in serious health issues if they contract the virus. Hospitals and healthcare facilities have developed the means to safely treat those in their care. It would seem the Church could apply some of these same protocols to address the spiritual health of its people. All that's needed is a little creativity. But I suppose it's much easier just to listen to the politicians and attorneys and shut things down.

Some months ago, a parishioner, an elderly, home-bound woman, phoned me just to chat. During our conversation she challenged me with, "My Methodist neighbor visits and prays with me several times each week. I get the feeling my own Church simply doesn't care about me at all. They used to bring me the Eucharist. Now, nothing. When I call them, I'm told to go online, something I can't do." She, too, is experiencing a kind of emptiness, but not just on Holy Saturday. How many others sit at home, forced into spiritual loneliness, while struggling to keep the faith?

I don't know the answer. I'm not that smart. But I'm sure there are those in our Church, creative and faithful people, who can come up with better ways to care for God's people than by locking the doors. Otherwise, we run the risk of coming across like the chief priests and Pharisees described by Matthew. Are we trying to hide our Lord by securing the churches, fixing a seal, and setting the guard?

Homily: Eucharistic Adoration

Readings: Jas 3:13-18; Psalm 122; John 14:23-29

Listening to St. James is always a bit of an awakening. He certainly didn’t pull any punches. His Letter is filled with wonderful truths about living our faith; but when reading this passage, I was especially struck by his words, “…in the humility that comes from wisdom” [Jas 3:13].

I'm pretty sure He's telling us that wisdom means having a true sense of the reality of things. And perhaps the greatest of all realities is the vast difference between us and the God who created us. Recognizing this difference can do nothing but fill us with humility. Yes, indeed, humility comes from wisdom, the acceptance of God’s greatness and our seeming insignificance.

And yet, our God created us in love…

He wants us to spend an eternity with Him, out of love…

He humbled Himself to become one of us, out of love…

He blesses us with His greatest gift, the gift of Himself in the Eucharist…again, out of love.

And as St. James reminds us, the fruit of it all is God’s peace, a peace that frees us from anxiety and fear.

Of course, we hear much the same from Jesus.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid” [Jn 14:17], He told the Apostles – a message for all of us.

Are you afraid? If so, you're in good company. The apostles were certainly afraid and confused.

Jesus spoke to them about His death, His execution at the hands of His enemies. In our passage from John, we can almost sense their confusion. 

If He’s the Son of God, one with the Father, how can this happen? How would they cope without Him? Would they also be arrested and executed? Yes, they were afraid, and fear undermined their faith. They began to doubt. 

These fears remained, throughout Jesus' Passion and Death, and even after His Resurrection. Only with the arrival of the promised Holy Spirit on Pentecost did their fears evaporate, replaced by God's peace.

“Peace is my farewell to you; my peace is my gift to you” [Jn 14:27].

And, yes, God’s peace is so very different from the peace the world offers.

For God doesn’t promise the absence of war or conflict. His peace doesn’t free us from suffering or persecution, from pain or illness. It’s not the peace of a tranquil life, nor is it peace of mind.

This is the peace the world promises, always unfulfilling, superficial, misleading, ephemeral, and unjust.

It’s not the peace Jesus gives us. How did He put it?

“Not as the world gives do I give it to you” [Jn 14:27].

Because the peace that Jesus promises completely transcends anything the world can offer us.

Victor Frankl, an Austrian psychotherapist who died in 1997, spent much of World War II as a prisoner in Auschwitz and other death camps.

Frankl, a Jew, wrote a book of his experiences called, “Man's Search for Meaning.”

In it he describes how, in the midst of brutality and degradation, he encountered so much remarkable faith and unselfish love.

Amazed by those who had achieved victory over the sinfulness that surrounded them, Frankl had a revelation. He wrote:

“Then I grasped…The salvation of man is through love and in love.

For the first time in my life, I was able to understand the meaning of the words, ‘The angels are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory.’”

Yes, in the midst of the horror that was Auschwitz, Victor Frankl had encountered God’s peace. 

This is the peace proclaimed by Christ, a peace that is achieved by victory over sin, something that comes only through the power of God.

The basis of peace, the peace of soul Jesus promises, is God and God alone.

And the very soul of peace is love, which comes only from the love of God and expresses itself through us in our love for others.

Only by turning to God can we rid our lives of all that is driven by selfishness and greed, by hatred and bitterness. For whatever takes away God’s peace from your soul cannot come from God.

Only by turning to God can we replace the evil in our lives with love for God and neighbor, with forgiveness, with the will to help others, and the desire to share the Good News of Jesus Christ.

The secret of peace? Trust, trust in the will of God.

Too often we trust only in ourselves. We think we can achieve peace in our lives by our own efforts, but in doing so we become only like the Pharisees.

How different are the saints…who sought only to love and serve God.

For the saints knew that one doesn’t become a saint. It is God who makes saints…out of sinners who trust in Him and accept His will for them.

No saint ever had a plan to become a saint. Had this been the case, he would have become only a perfectionist, not a saint.

Brothers and sisters, we can possess the peace of Christ, a fruit of the Holy Spirit, but only if God’s Spirit lives within us.

As Jesus promises us:

"If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him" [Jn 14:23].

And that’s exactly what our loving God does when we receive Him worthily in the Eucharist.

When God dwells within you, there’s no room for anything else, no room for anything but God's peace – and certainly no room for fear.

Fear never comes from God. To escape it simply turn to our Lord in total trust.

And remember, wherever Jesus is, so too is the Holy Spirit – with us to guide us, strengthen us, encourage us, just as He guides, strengthens, and encourages the Church.

Anyway, what is there to fear when you have been promised eternal life?

As St. Paul tells us again and again, Christ – and only Christ – is our peace [Eph 2:14].