Homily: Tuesday, 20th week in Ordinary Time (Year 1)

Readings: Jgs 6:11-24a • Ps 85 • Mt 19:23-30

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Today’s readings always make me more than a little uncomfortable.

Our first reading from Judges really addresses something we’ve all encountered. No, we all don’t have to face armies of nomadic Midianites out to destroy us. But we’ve all experienced times in our lives when things seemed to be crumbling, when all that we hoped for seemed suddenly unattainable. Or when work problems or family problems or health problems just erupted and got to the point where we simply couldn’t handle them well.

And so, like Gideon, we turn to God and ask that question: “Dear Lord, You know I’m faithful; if You’re with me, why is this happening?”

We pray every day, we attend Mass, we read our Bible, we do what we can to serve the poor and we give freely of our treasure to those in need. How come God doesn’t seem to see all the good we’re doing?

And then, inevitably, when all seems to be going so wrong, God brings some level of healing into our lives. We come to realize there’s only so much we can do ourselves, that the only real solution is to let God handle it, most often by leading us to where we need to be.

Unlike Gideon, one of the Judges of the Israelites, God has never sent an angel to guide me – at least one that I could see. But He has sent me others – perhaps they were angels – but they were often the least likely people, and yet they inevitably showed me the way.

Looking back on my odd life, I find myself concluding that God is truly responsible for all the accomplishments I like to take credit for. But it’s not just my successes that are touched with pride. Even in my failures, I find it hard to admit that I was the cause…and that’s pride too.

Yes, it’s all pride. St. Augustine called pride "the love of one's own excellence." I’ve come to think that sums it up pretty well. When we’re doing well, it’s hard to admit that everything is a gift from God.

Then, we’re faced with today’s Gospel passage. After the sad meeting with the rich young man who could not accept Jesus’ invitation to be a disciple, Our Lord comments on the effects of wealth. In doing so, He offers us the wonderful metaphor that it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God. Some say Jesus was referring to a narrow gate in Jerusalem’s city wall called the “eye of the needle.” But if so, that still means little, since He’s really telling us it’s next to impossible – except for God.

So, what does the Gospel mean by being rich? I think it means having a large surplus while around us are so many who lack the basic needs of life. With all that going on around us, but too often unnoticed, how can we claim to belong to the Kingdom, the reign of God, which is a kingdom of love and justice?

Later in his Gospel, in chapter 25, Matthew describes our judgment, at a time when Jesus equates Himself with those in deepest need.

“I was hungry, you gave me no food; I was thirsty, you gave me no drink; a stranger, you didn’t welcome me; naked, you didn’t clothe me; ill and in prison, and you did not care for me.”

When I hear this, and stop, and look inward, I see all the things that trouble me, everything that takes up my time, all the stuff I think is so very important…and discover it all has nothing to do with caring for "the least" of Jesus' brothers and sisters.

And yet, this is how we will be judged. It’s all about how we use the gifts God has given us. You see, it all belongs to Him, not to us. And so, we’re called to return it all to him, by serving those He loves.

Dear friends, God is omniscient; He knows and sees everything we do, and it gives Him great joy when we live the Gospel.

But for too many today, this is a hard thing to accept, a hard thing to do, especially here in our little Florida island of moderate affluence.

Homily: Tuesday, 2nd Week of Easter, Year 1

Readings: Acts 4:32-37; Ps 93; Jn 7:7b-15

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Did you get the sense that Nicodemus maybe didn’t want to be seen with Jesus? After all he was an important guy, a mucky muck. What did Jesus call him? "The teacher of Israel." 

Maybe Nicodemus was concerned that the wrong folks might see him making this visit, so he goes to Jesus at night. And yet he does go to Jesus, doesn’t he? At heart Nicodemus is a man of God, a seeker of truth.

He’s probably heard reports, maybe even witnessed, Jesus' miracles and has seen the crowds that follow Jesus everywhere. But he was different from his colleagues who see Jesus as a threat to their control of the people. Jesus simply refused to be created in their image. Such men never learn because they're so sure that they already know all the answers.

Dorothy Day once said: "Jesus came to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable." And the Jewish leadership of Jesus’ time was comfortable indeed.

Nicodemus, to his credit, recognizes the signs, as John calls them. How did he phrase it?

"We know you are a teacher come from God…"

And he decides to find out for himself.

The Pharisees questioned Jesus in public, intent only on trapping Him, but Nicodemus met with Jesus privately, for he seeks the truth. But the truth that he hears from Jesus is not what he expects. Begotten from above? Born again? What can these things mean? Confused, he struggles to understand.

Nicodemus probably expected a theological discussion, but Jesus instead speaks of conversion.

Nicodemus expected a meeting of the minds with a peer. But Jesus demands a meeting of the hearts.

Nicodemus is looking for rabbinic exegesis, an encounter with Scripture. Instead, he gets a personal encounter with Our Lord.

Nicodemus was theologizing, while Jesus was evangelizing.

The lesson for us? We take up the revealed word of God for one reason only: to encounter Jesus, the incarnate Word of God. The Scriptures must first be accepted into our hearts before they make any sense to our heads.

Jesus simply took Nicodemus to the next level, to another encounter, an encounter with the Spirit.

"No one can enter God's kingdom without being begotten of water and the Spirit."

You and I, by the grace of Baptism and Confirmation, have been born again from above by water and the Holy Spirit. But what happens sacramentally must now be lived existentially.

How is such a thing possible? Nicodemus’ question is our question – all the helplessness of it, the longing, the discouragement? How can I ever hope to share in all that is Jesus? And Jesus replies: You can’t, not alone.

You and I and Nicodemus must make a free decision – not to change, but to be changed, to allow the Spirit to move us and to lead us with His gentle Love. To be born again in God is only a beginning, an infancy, as St. Paul calls it.

That’s the second lesson Jesus taught Nicodemus: you can't do it yourself. It demands an act of faith and surrender. In faith, you must abandon yourself totally to the Spirit of God.

Such an act can come only through prayer. The trouble is, so much of our prayer life is occupied by telling God what He already knows. God knows your needs. But do you know God's Will for you? Pray daily to be continually renewed by the Holy Spirit, to have the strength to be weak in the presence of God's Will.

And finally, Our Lord introduces Nicodemus to the depth and breadth of His Love. And it's a Love centered on the cross. Just as Moses lifted the bronze serpent in the desert, Jesus would be lifted up on the cross. And those who look on Him and "believe will have eternal life in Him."

This act of faith on our part is also an act of love, for the two are intimately connected. To embrace the cross, the sign of God's infinite Love, and be grounded in truth. For it is love that lifts us up on our own crosses, and helps us realize that a painless, crossless Christianity is a Christianity without love. And it is the truth that enables us to experience the revelation of God's glory in a broken world.

Lord, send us your Spirit that we may be recreated. Give us a new mind that we may grasp your truth, and a new heart that we may grasp your love.

Let that be our prayer today.

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: Friday, 10th Week in Ordinary Time (Year 2)

 Readings: I Kgs 19:9a,11-16; Ps 27; Mt 5:27-32

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A few days ago, as I read today’s readings, I found myself recalling many of the conversations I’ve had with atheists and agnostics over the years. In almost every one of those conversations I could detect a subtle, but very real, hope that God does exist. As one young self-declared agnostic said to me, "It would certainly make life more understandable, knowing there’s a God behind all this. As it is now, for me, life is pretty meaningless.”

Yes, without God, life becomes meaningless, just a physical, chemical accident. And yet that hint of hope has always been there. It’s really the same desire expressed in today’s psalm, a Psalm of David, sung 3,000 years ago:

I long to see your face, O Lord.

We all seek God, to see Him, to as know Him, and it’s true even for those who don’t believe in Him. As my mom use to say, “Hope can lead us to faith; otherwise, we’re just consumed by fear.”

Perhaps St. Augustine, who took a rather odd, winding path to the Catholic Church, put it best: “…our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”

Yes, we’re all on a pilgrimage, brothers and sisters, even those who aren’t fully aware of it. We can wander aimlessly, achieving little, or we can open our hearts to the Spirit and let Him lead us.

A few weeks ago, in one of our Bible Study sessions, a participant, concerned about a tragic event described in Genesis, asked me: “Why would God do that? Why would He let that happen?” Well, we discussed the event hoping to achieve some understanding of God’s purpose. But in truth, what I wanted to answer him with: “How do I know? I’m not God!”

That’s really not a bad answer. So often, we simply underestimate our all-powerful, all-knowing God, whose ways are so far above us. As the Archangel Gabriel said to our Blessed Mother: “nothing will be impossible for God” [Lk 1:37]. I suppose the question for us is do we believe that? Or are we like Peter when Jesus rebuked him:

“You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do” [Mt 16:23].

Just consider Elijah in today’s reading. Hunted by enemies who sought his death, in particular a rather evil queen Jezebel, Elijah seemed to have had enough, enough of everything, enough even of life. He actually hoped to die. But fed by angels, he obeyed God and made his way to Horeb, God’s holy mountain. There, God asked him:

“What are you doing here, Elijah?”

The prophet, zealous and faithful, told the Lord what He already knew “I alone am left, and they seek to take my life.” He was afraid and alone. So, God put on a remarkable display of His power. Then, when the noise and violence had ceased, Elijah encountered the God of Creation – as one translation put it – in a “sound of sheer silence.”

God passes by like a soft breeze and the man covers his face because God has not yet become man. Only then will we see Him in the flesh, face to face. And only then will we adore Him as well in the gift of His Eucharistic Presence. And that’s what the world needs today. With senses inundated by the noise of this world, how can people recognize Him as He passes by? How can they see His face or hear the sheer silence of His holy Word?

Elijah Hides His Face

Elijah, whose faith was beyond question, was often left in the dark by God. Yet the Spirit was always there, leading and aiding the prophet as he tried to accomplish all these missions he’s been given. God expects obedience, and in a sense says: “Just do what I say, and I’ll handle everything else.” For Elijah, God’s immediate purpose becomes clear over time. But His ultimate purpose looks ahead 1,000 years, pointing to something new and wonderful: humanity’s redemption by Jesus Christ.

How about us? Are you and I prophets? Are we courageous enough to evangelize, to be God’s messengers, to speak His Word to the world? Yes, we’re called to do just that. But like Elijah and Jesus we face a culture, a culture of death, that screams its lies at us.

In our Gospel passage Jesus gets the attention of the crowd with His vivid images of plucking out eyes and cutting off hands. He’s not encouraging bodily mutilation, but He is he’s telling them: this is serious stuff; pay attention.

Then stressing the sixth commandment, Jesus really addresses the dignity of every person, the respect people should have for each other. We cannot simply use others for personal pleasure or to satisfy appetites. For Jesus is really addressing the nature of love, which is not just an emotional feeling, or a physical attraction. As anyone who’s been married a while realizes, true love demands a continual decision.

In contrast to today’s cult of self-absorbed pleasure seeking, the Gospel sets high standards. Not only does love demand faithfulness but it also calls us to be chaste in both thoughts and actions. Interesting too is that Jesus puts men and women on a morally equal level, which later causes some dismay among His disciples.

Today we often encounter the painful breakdown of marital relationships. While each case must be treated with pastoral sensitivity, we cannot neglect the fundamental values Jesus stresses here.

I suppose it’s all encompassed in Jesus’ first words of His public ministry:

"Repent, and believe in the Gospel" [Mk 1:15].

Yes, indeed, we must change our hearts and minds, and accept the Gospel, the Good News of Jesus Christ in our lives.

Homily: Year A, 20th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Here's another unpreached homily...but I was ready, more or less, just in case. That's something I've learned to do over the years: always be ready to preach. Anyway, it focuses on one of my favorite healings, so well described by Matthew, so I decided to share my imperfect thoughts with you all.

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Readings: Is 56:1, 6-7; Ps 67; Rom 11:13-15, 29-32; Mt 15:21-28

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It would be easy to overlook this brief encounter depicted in today’s Gospel reading from Matthew. It would be easier still to discount its importance. After all, Jesus cured hundreds, probably thousands, during His public ministry. What makes this one so special?

But this encounter with the Lord was special because it was different…very different. First of all, it took place in the region of Tyre and Sidon, outside the land of Israel. And the woman he meets there is a Canaanite, a non-Jew, a pagan. Jesus, Matthew tells us, is withdrawing from Israel, and she is coming out of her own land, searching for what? It appears they are searching for each other, a meeting the Father has scheduled. And we know that Jesus never misses an encounter at the precise time and place arranged by the Father.

We can also see what the disciples thought of her: "Send her away, for she keeps calling out after us." Yes, the simple word, “Canaan,” evokes everything contrary to Jewish faith and tradition, everything they have been taught to despise.

And yet this pagan woman comes to Jesus, a Jew; and she comes to Him as her Lord and Savior: “Lord, Son of David…” Yes, each has left something behind to fulfill a deep yearning: Jesus yearning to save, and the woman’s to be saved. No power on earth can thwart this encounter.

Are our encounters with Jesus like this? For Jesus is seeking each one of us you just as He sought the Canaanite woman. He will gladly leave the holy places; He will enter into the unholy land of our sinfulness, in search of lost sheep.

But like the woman, we must turn to Him. And turn to Him she does. Yes, her only business that day was to find Him and to express her desperate need in the strongest possible terms. And in doing so she becomes the very embodiment of fervent intercessory prayer.

She screamed out her need, a parent agonizing over the suffering of her child, a daughter possessed by a demon. Without knowing it, this earthly mother appeals to the compassion of the heavenly Father, who understands well the agony of a child’s suffering. Her daughter’s distress is her distress: “Have pity on me,” she begs. “Lord, help me,” she pleads, as if she and her daughter are one, as if her daughter’s distress reverberates through her very being.

She is on a mission; one her daughter cannot complete. She must become her daughter’s voice, her daughter’s hands…just as Jesus became the Father, His hands, His feet, His voice, His Word. Does Jesus recognize in this woman and her attitude a mirror image of His own mission?

And yet, despite all this, Jesus responds with silence…the same silence that often greets our own prayer. Does this mean she should turn away, and just hope for the best? Does it mean she should address Jesus differently? Did she shout too loudly, or not loudly enough?

Should she have realized, as the disciples apparently thought, that Jesus was on a greater mission, a mission to save the world? That He really couldn’t be troubled with one woman’s problems? Was this saving, this healing of His strictly a Jewish thing? Did all this pass through her mind?

We can almost picture her, face flushed, eyes frantic, hands reaching out, pleading, as her mind jumps from one concern to the next…but she too says nothing, her pain muted by Jesus’ seeming indifference.

And yet, God’s silence, His silence in us is one of the choicest works of His grace. Her speculation and worry are no different from that which we experience when faced with God’s silence. But eventually, if we stop speculating, stop worrying, and become silent ourselves, we can come to hear God’s Word in the silence.

The disciples can’t stand it. In effect they tell Jesus, “For crying out loud. This woman’s driving us nuts. Do something, will you?”

But Jesus just says, "I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel." He dismisses them just as He seems to have dismissed her. But this comment only causes her to plead once more, “Lord, help me.”

Her only solution is to throw herself at Jesus’ feet and cry for mercy. Although she’s probably never heard a single line of Scripture, her entire being is intuitively reduced to the cry of the psalmist: “Let thy mercy come to me and I will have life.” For she realized that day what St. Bernard realized a thousand years later, “The torrents of grace do not flow upward to the heights of pride…but downward into a humble, low-lying heart.”

Jesus now utters what to our ears seems a horrible insult: "It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs."

How can He say such a thing?” we ask. Where’s the voice of the Good Shepherd? Where’s the Jesus who consoled the woman of Samaria? Where’s the Savior who died to set all people free?

Well, he's right here, right here in this encounter. He's the teacher goading the student. He's the coach pushing the player to give his all. He's the debater throwing down the verbal gauntlet so the argument can begin, and the truth can be seen by all.

The woman is no fool. She seems to recognize this. She may have no claim on the inheritance of Israel, but she still needs God’s promises to be fulfilled in her. And so, she doesn’t disagree, but in effect declares that Jesus speaks the truth, that she is, indeed, among the least of His creatures, nothing more than a dog in search of its master.

We can almost hear her joy as she plays this trump card on Jesus and realizes what its effect will be. For in her deep faith, and filled with the Spirit, she knew all along that Jesus would answer her prayer. After all, how could the Son of God turn her down?

After all, had she wanted to risk sounding insolent, she could have asked Him what on earth He was doing in pagan territory to begin with if, as He claimed, He had come only to redeem Jews? Why indeed had He come to this place, to encounter those in need, if He intended to do nothing about it?

You see, brothers and sisters, it is this wonderful woman’s genus to have understood the truth, the divine secret, that in order truly to win – that is, to be overtaken and sheltered and saved – she must allow herself to be defeated by Jesus.

She and you and I win only by submitting to God, by adoring God, and by finding that adoration accepted. The whole drama is shot through with an indestructible passion of faith, with her inability to conceive of God in Jesus as anything but an inexhaustible fountain of mercy.

Yes, it’s all about faith. “Kyrie,” [Lord] she cries out four times in this brief encounter.

“If you’re indeed Lord,” she seems to say, “the all-powerful Lord, then you must be the loving Lord of all, of the high and the low, of the sheep of Israel and the dogs of the pagans. I don’t care which I am, only that I am with you. If you’re truly the One Son of the One God, then you’re the Lord of all, then you’re my personal Lord too, and my rejoicing over it will never end.”

Unlike so many who demand that God serve them at their table, she has no problem abiding on the floor under His table. She has no problem with crumbs, glorious crumbs from that table, heavenly crumbs falling from the hands of Jesus Himself.

For she knows that wherever Jesus is, there is abundance; that wherever sin is, God’s compassion ensures that grace is there too, superabundantly. Just as we know that here, at this very altar, at the Eucharistic table, Christ’s mercy will forever be raining those crumbs of life.

"You’ve got great faith, woman," he says, "You’ve got remarkable faith!"

Won't it be wonderful when he says the same thing to you and to me?

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.

Fear and Spiritual Paralysis

Much of humanity seems to be afflicted by a kind of spiritual paralysis, something that has infected far too many of the once Christian nations of Europe and the Americas. Sadly, it has also infected many in our Church. And the cause? I wish I were smart enough, or holy enough, to give a definite answer, but I'll instead just pass along my best guess. It's a guess based on what I see, and hear, and sense as I interact with so many others. Quite simply, the cause, as I see it, is fear.

So many seem to fear the world, its ills, and its threats. For instance, the COVID pandemic left much of the world paralyzed in fear. President Putin rattles his nuclear saber and the West trembles. Communist China declares its intent to displace the United States as the reigning world power and we cower, wondering, fearing when and how this will happen. We seem to seek out things to fear. Terrorism, climate change, crime, border crises -- they're all packed together into the collection of fears we've created. I suppose if I believed this brief time on earth was all there is, I too would be overwhelmed with fear. But we are believers, faithful Christians, who trust in the Lord, so why should we be fearful? 

Many Christians believe the absence of faith — that is, faith’s opposite — is disbelief, doubt, or denial. But for me I’ve always considered the opposite of faith to be fear, which so often leads to despair. It’s why faithless people are never truly happy. Lacking faith in God, they cannot help but see life as something that must end, followed by absolutely nothing. And that must be a fearful realization. I’ve always liked  Mark Twain’s comment on fear of life and death: “The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is ready to die at any time.” I would only modify the second sentence to read: “A man of faith is ready to die at any time.” But I suppose the two mean the same thing, for to live a life of faith is to live fully.

Mark Twain might have had a clever way with words, but God’s Word, revealed in Sacred Scripture tells us a lot more about faith and fear. Sometime ago I read that the phrase “Be not afraid” (or similar words) appears 365 times in the Bible, presumably once for each day of the year. I can’t recall where I read this, but it was probably on some Bible-Study website written by someone with way too much time on his hands. I also don’t know if this claim is true, and I suppose I’ll never know since I don’t intend to pore over the entire Bible to find out. Anyway, if I wanted to be picky, I’d ask if the deuterocanonical books were included in the count. And what about all those leap years that include 366 days? Are we free to fear every February 29th? 

As you might suspect, I’m not a big fan of such an approach to Sacred Scripture. I suppose there’s nothing inherently wrong with it, but it can cause us to focus a bit too much on the numbers at the expense of the message. And it’s the message that’s so important, especially today. So, let’s just say our loving God commands us to be fearless always. In effect, that command, whether or not it occurs 365 times, covers the entirety of the human condition. We must, then try to avoid responding in fear to all that we encounter in our messy lives. 

Looking back to my days as a Navy pilot, I can recall a number of occasions when things got pretty dicey, and I had to follow my training and rely on my experience to deal with potential life and death situations. But do you know what was most interesting about each of these situations? I was so busy trying to keep my crew and me alive that I never really knew fear. If I experienced any kind of fear, it was after the fact when the fight surgeon asked, "Maybe you'd like a little glass of brandy?" I recall thinking that was a marvelous idea.

Maybe, then, as Christians the key to avoiding fear is simply to stay busy doing the work of discipleship. I can't help but recall what St. Paul had to say on the subject to the Philippians:

"Brothers, I for my part do not consider myself to have taken possession. Just one thing: forgetting what lies behind but straining forward to what lies ahead, I continue my pursuit toward the goal, the prize of God’s upward calling, in Christ Jesus. [Phil 3:13-14]

Yes, indeed, that's our job: working and pursuing the goal. We must also accept that “Be not afraid!” and “Fear not!” aren't mere suggestions. They are imperatives, commands God issues to all His disciples. But they’re not mindless, arbitrary commands of the sort we humans tend to utter. How often as a child did you hear the words “Because I said so!” when you questioned a parent’s command? Our God isn’t like that, for He is the perfect Father who always tells us why. Yes, He reveals everything we need to know to become true disciples, everything needed for salvation. 

If we are believing, faithful Christians, we should know that our God cares for us, that He loves us with a love far greater than any human love. The Incarnation, and the Life, Passion, Death, and Resurrection of God’s only Son is, of course, the miraculous proof and manifestation of His love. But God’s love is also an eternal love, one that extends beyond our lives on earth. It is a love that offers us salvation, an eternal life greater than anything we could ever imagine. How did St. Paul put it?

"…no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him" [1 Cor 2:9].

Understanding this, we must develop an eternal worldview, one that focuses on the salvation promised to us. Once again St. Paul comes through with another of his wonderful metaphors:

Do you not know that the runners in the stadium all run in the race, but only one wins the prize? Run so as to win. Every athlete exercises discipline in every way. They do it to win a perishable crown, but we an imperishable one. Thus I do not run aimlessly; I do not fight as if I were shadowboxing. No, I drive my body and train it, for fear that, after having preached to others, I myself should be disqualified [1 Cor 9:24-27].

Yes, indeed, salvation is quite a prize. Why, then, do we fear when as Christians we are offered an eternal life that must overcome all the hardships, the challenges, the sorrows, and, yes, the fears of this short life on earth? Because, I suppose, we're human and are plagued by the effects of sin, especially the original sin of our first parents. We turn to the past and fear repeating the same mistakes, the same sins, we've committed again and again. And we look to the future, the unknown, and fear that which might happen and its consequences. We worry about our children, our grandchildren, forgetting that they, too, are loved by our merciful God. We fear the global effects of sinfulness and wonder how, as a people, we will ever solve the problems we have created. Here's the Good News: We won't. Only God can do that.

We fear all these things and many more because we forget the unconditional love and infinite power of our God. We need only turn to Him as a Christian people, accepting that only He can bring His creation to the wholeness He intended from the beginning. The power of prayer is far greater than any human power, but how many of us truly believe this? Wouldn't it be wonderful if the Catholic Church, our Holy Father and our bishops, joined together with the other Christian communities of the world and set aside a day, even better, a week of prayer? We need not pray for specific intentions; far better if we came together and prayed only that God's holy will be fulfilled. St. Paul reminded us of this as well when he instructed the Romans with those now-famous words:

"We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose" [Rom 8:28].

And I suspect our Jewish brothers and sisters might well join us in this prayerful effort. As the psalmist reminds us:

Teach me to do thy will, for thou art my God! Let thy good spirit lead me on a level path! [Ps 143:10]
…and

Not to us, LORD, not to us, but to your name give glory because of your mercy and faithfulness [Ps 115:1].

We must also repent, both as individuals and as God's Church -- no excuses, no rationalizations, no evasions. We need only turn to God, motivated by an honest desire to return His love for us and to change our lives.

Be not afraid, brothers and sisters. God is in charge.

Homily: Mass and Healing Service - 11/12/2022

Readings: 3 Jn:5-8; Ps 112; Lk 18:18

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Today’s readings are all about faith, and prayer, and healing; but, essentially, they’re really about faith. Without faith, prayer is empty, like the self-centered prayer of the publican 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. Faith, then, is at the heart of it, isn’t it? Even though we’re all in need of healing, it’s through our faith we can cry out to God in our need.

But in our relativistic, politically correct world, faith is seen as little more than superstition. I’m speaking, of course, about supernatural faith, not natural faith in what others tell us and do. We express natural faith: faith that the plane we’re in will get us safely to our destination; faith that my phone calls the right number, that the pharmacist gave me the right prescription; faith that Mongolia exists, even though I’ve never been there; faith that the other driver will stop at the stop sign. Human, natural faith drives almost everything we do.

But supernatural faith is our free assent to all that God has revealed, all which we profess in the Creed, that which we celebrate here today. As Scripture reminds us, 

“Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” [Heb 11:1].

Supernatural faith is a gift from God, one that calls for obedience, but obedience demands humility. Those who live in a world without humility, a world that needs no God, simply reject the gift of faith. They can neither accept what God has promised, nor believe He actually loved them into existence. Lacking faith, they face the world alone, and afraid.

Some of us here today are afraid: afraid because of an illness; afraid of getting old; afraid of death. Some of us are afraid because our lives haven’t turned out quite the way we’d planned, and we fear an unknown future. Some of us are plagued by guilt, and guilt breeds doubt and fear in our hearts. Some of us can’t accept forgiveness because we are unable to forgive others, or to forgive ourselves. And so, the doubts and fears remain. There’s a beautiful verse from Psalm 95: 

"If today you hear His voice, harden not your hearts" [Ps 95: 7-8].

Well, His voice is calling us, calling you and me, calling each of us individually. But hardened hearts are unlikely to listen to or even hear His voice. That’s what Satan does when he attacks our faith; he does it through doubt and fear. And that’s why Jesus tells us so often: “Be not afraid.”

And doubts? Don’t let them trouble you. Even the Apostles doubted, when their faith should have been strongest. At the very end of Matthew’s Gospel, as the 11 accompanied the Risen Jesus to the mountaintop, immediately before His Ascension, Matthew reveals:

“When they saw him, they worshiped, but they doubted” [Mt 28:17].

Remarkable, isn’t it? It’s why the Risen Jesus, after confronting Thomas and his doubts, says to us:

“Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed” [Jn 20:29].

And that’s you and me. We are blessed.

Let me share an experienced from a few years ago. The deacons in my previous parish on Cape Cod conducted a weekly Liturgy of the Word with Holy Communion at a local nursing home. After the liturgy, if we had time, we usually helped our volunteers return the residents to their rooms.

Well, one day I was pushing Teresa in her wheelchair. Now, I’d known Teresa for several years. She was in her early 90s, but had recently started to have some mild memory problems. But one thing hadn’t changed: Teresa talked incessantly. It didn’t always make complete sense, but it never stopped.

On this particular day as we approached the elevator, Teresa was chattering away when we encountered Connie. Connie, also in her 90s, stood in the center of the corridor, but was screaming, loudly. Teresa asked me to stop the wheelchair, and then reaching out she touched Connie’s forearm, rubbing it gently, not saying a word. The three of us remained there for what seemed like an eternity – Connie screaming, Teresa rubbing, and I wondering how long this would go on. But then Connie’s screaming eased and soon stopped completely. She became very calm. Teresa gave her arm a final squeeze and said quietly, “We can go now.”

I wheeled her into the elevator and as soon as the door closed, she said, “Connie’s OK, she’s just afraid because she doesn’t have much faith.” She then went on talking about how good the lasagna had been the night before.

Whenever I read today’s Gospel passage from Luke, I inevitably think of that day, about Connie's fears and her lack of faith, and about Teresa's faith and her lack of fear. You see, at the very end of that Gospel passage Jesus asked a rather frightening question:

“But when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” [Lk 18:8]

If we’re here on that day, will you and I be another Teresa or another Connie? Of course, I learned something else in that nursing home. I learned that faith is contagious. Through her faith Teresa calmed Connie’s fears, helping her accept God’s gift of faith. And, not surprisingly, Teresa taught me my own faith was far from perfect.

God, you see, gives us this wondrous gift so we can share it with others, just as Teresa shared it with Connie and me. This is how much God loves us. He loves us so much that He entrusts us to share this most valuable gift with everyone we encounter.

Teresa recognized something else. She had come to understand that God calls us to do one thing in this life: to serve Him and His people. We’re called to be servants, expecting nothing in return. God doesn't promise his servants safety. He doesn't promise us long and happy lives. He doesn't promise success, or fame, or wealth, or beautiful children, or a nice home. 

God promises us one enduring thing: eternal life, which is the greatest gift He could ever give us. He also told us that to achieve eternal life, to collect on this promise, we must love Him in return, and do His will. That can mean carrying our cross.

Now, you might think this is a strange thing to say right before a healing service. After all, shouldn’t we be talking about healing rather than cross-bearing? Shouldn’t we be like the widow in today’s Gospel passage? Through persistence didn’t she ultimately get exactly what she wanted? Yes, but how does Jesus explain this parable to the disciples? Listen again…

“Will not God then secure the rights of his chosen ones who call out to him day and night? Will he be slow to answer them? I tell you, he will see to it that justice is done for them speedily” [Lk 18:7-8].

Did you hear the promise? You can expect justice from God – not man’s justice, but divine justice. And His justice is an enduring, eternal justice, always tempered with mercy. If we have a faith that endures, a faith that refuses to give up even when all else has been taken from us, God will bless us with His justice and mercy.

What form this justice and mercy will take, we don’t know…and so we leave that up to God, for He knows what is best for each of us. But the faith that endures is the faith Jesus showed us, a faith that persisted to the end, even as He hung on the Cross.

Jesus’ sacrificial act of faith was for us; it was for our salvation. This is the Good News. Our God loves us so much, He’s willing to die for us...which begs the question: what are we willing to do for Him? Fortunately, Jesus answers this for us: We must serve. How did John put it in our first reading?

“Please help them in a way worthy of God to continue their journey” [3 Jn 1:6].

Here again, then, we called to serve, even as we ourselves beg for God’s mercy. In other words, those of us who seek healing must also become healers. I’ll repeat that: if you seek healing, you must become a healer, and a forgiver. That’s right, all of us here today for healing are called to be healers and forgivers of others.

Think of what that means. Do we spend our days and our nights wrapped up in ourselves, thinking only of our own brokenness, our own fears and doubts, our own need for healing, thinking about those who have hurt or offended us?

Or do we follow the example of our Savior? Do we reach out to others, as Jesus reaches out on the Cross, helping them overcome their fears by extending God’s love.

John also promised that “perfect love drives out fear” [1 Jn 4:18] and only God’s love is perfect. But just as we are called to share the gift of faith, God expects us to spread his perfect love throughout the world, at least in the tiny slice of the world in which God has placed us.

Today, as you come forward in need of God’s healing touch, carry all those you know in need of healing, all those in need of forgiveness…carry them with you and lay them at the foot of the Cross.

Brothers and sisters, become healers, ambassadors of God’s love and forgiveness.

God’s peace…