Homily: 4th Sunday of Advent - Year A

Readings: Is 7:10-14 | Ps 24 | Rom 1:1-7 | Mt 1:18-24

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With Christmas just around the corner, I find myself thinking of my children and grandchildren, and how they view Christmas as a time of surprises. As a child, I was the same, and it doesn’t take much to carry me back to my own childhood. These days I can hardly remember what I did last week, but recall everything from 70 years ago. 

In my family the surprises began after Mass on the first Sunday of Advent. Mom would hang up advent calendars, and for the next four weeks, each morning we’d get to open one of the little windows and be surprised by what was behind it. I suppose it was a far simpler time; perhaps we were simpler children back then.

We lived in New York, so we prayed for surprise snowfalls. How great it was to wake up to a world transformed by a thick white blanket.

Every year Dad surprised us with a huge Christmas tree, anywhere from 12 to 18 feet high. We had a circular stairway, so we had a place that could handle a large tree. But a tree like that was expensive, so Dad would wait until about a week before Christmas when the dealers would sell it at half price. Every year, just when we thought we’d never get a tree, Dad would arrive with an enormous tree tied to the roof of the Oldsmobile.

Mom decorated the house with all sorts of wonderful things. Many had been in the family for generations. It was always the same, but a surprise, nonetheless.

And I can still remember my surprise when my parents decided I was old enough to attend Midnight Mass. I was probably seven or eight years old, but that first year I fell asleep in the pew during Monsignor Deagan’s Christmas homily.

Of course, there was Christmas morning, and the opening of the presents…and not just our own. We loved watching our parents’ surprise as they opened the remarkably useless gifts we had given them.

Yes, Christmas has always been a time of surprises, and rightly so, because the Incarnation itself was God’s surprise gift to humanity. We see this manifested in the Old Testament in some of the earliest hints, the prophecies, of a Messiah. 

Today's first reading is a perfect example. There we encounter King Ahaz, not one of Judah’s better kings, for he always chose political expediency over faith in God. The prophet Isaiah, more than a little upset with Ahaz, tossed this gem of a prophecy at him and us:

“…the virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall name him Emmanuel.”

Talk about surprises! A virgin bearing a son! What did the people think of that? We don’t know, but we can guess. And that name: Emmanuel! God is with us! What could that mean?

We find out when we turn to our Gospel passage and encounter Matthew’s wonderful narrative, as St. Joseph ponders how to handle this rather inconvenient situation regarding Mary’s pregnancy.

In those days a Jewish marriage consisted of three elements: engagement, betrothal, and marriage. Marital relations were not permitted until marriage. Joseph and Mary were still betrothed, a period that often lasted a year, so Mary’s pregnancy was a problem. If exposed, the punishment for her would be severe. So, Joseph, this “righteous” man, decided to divorce her quietly. 

And that’s when God steps in and sends an angel to explain it all to Joseph and command him:

"Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home. For it is through the Holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her. She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins."

Three brief sentences that tell Joseph all he needs to know. And what a surprise that must have been. But it’s a surprise of fulfillment. To ensure we understand that this child, this Son of Mary and the Holy Spirit, is the promised Messiah, Matthew repeats God’s prophecy to Isaiah:

“Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel.”

And Joseph?

“He did as the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took his wife into his home.”

Joseph, this Son of David, is called to be like a father to this child of God. As usual, Paul says it best; like all of us, Joseph is:

“...called to be holy…called to belong to Jesus Christ.”

As a righteous man of faith, Joseph obeys. And in doing so epitomizes the words of St. Paul to the Romans: Joseph defines “the obedience of faith.” I think sometimes we forget that our faith calls us to obedience. If you and I claim to believe, but don’t obey God’s Word, then, at best, our faith is shallow and weak and joyless, overshadowed by shame and regret.

Indeed, the joy of Christmas begins with Emmanuel, God’s great surprise to the world: “God is with us.” He becomes one of us. He takes on our humanity. It’s God’s terrible desire to "be with us," to be part of the human condition: God with us in our entirety. With this, He gives our bodies a divine dignity…and that, sisters and brothers, should give us great joy.

Sadly, in today’s world far too many people live joyless lives. As I've discovered in my years of ministry, the most joyless of these are not the poor, but those who are among the most affluent. Having so much, they can’t understand why they aren’t happy.

Back in the seventies the wife of a friend just upped and left him and their children, saying that she had to “find herself.” There was a lot of that going on back then – and it’s still going on today – men and women leaving their families in search of something else, presumably something better.

I’ve always found that a bit odd – people going off in search of themselves, when what they really seek is right there in front of them and within them. They search for meaning but look in all the wrong places.

St. Teresa of Avila, whose works are certainly worth reading, made a point of teaching that it is only in the search for God that we can uncover and discover our own true selves. As Christians, we believe no one can encounter himself until and unless he encounters Jesus Christ.

But who is this Jesus? Is He God? Is He man? Is He both? Do we accept or reject Him as the Way, the Truth, and the Life? Do we acknowledge Jesus as Emmanuel, the Incarnate Word of God? Our answers determine both our entire worldview and how we view ourselves; for once we accept Jesus for who He is, those identity crises disappear.

When we find ourselves through Jesus, and in Jesus, He becomes the very center of our being. It’s then we begin to experience the distance between who we are and who we’re called to be. And who exactly are we called to be? 

Paul tells us, just as he told the Romans: We “are called to belong to Jesus Christ…called to be holy.” Why? Because “we have received the grace of apostleship.” 

Yes, indeed, like the apostles, we have been called and sent. But sent to do what? Listen to the liturgy. In a few moments Father will pray these words in today’s Preface to the Eucharistic Payer:

“It is by His gift that already we rejoice…so that He may find us watchful in prayer and exultant in His praise.”

Are we doing that? As individuals, as a Catholic community here at St. Vincent de Paul, are we “watchful in prayer and exultant in His praise?”

So many around us have yet to know the deep joy of becoming whole in Christ. A few years ago, Pope Francis wrote,

“The joy of the Gospel fills the hearts and lives of all who encounter Jesus.”

We can encounter Jesus because the Messiah has already come. And yet we still wait, don’t we? Jesus is present and working through His Body, the Church, and He will come again in glory, but He must still come more fully into each of our lives. 

Jesus heals. Jesus cleanses. Jesus forgives. Jesus brings back to life that which was dead. Jesus brings good news to those who despair.

Do we share our joy, and live our Christian vocation as St. Joseph did, living the “obedience of faith?” We’re called to prepare the way for Jesus to come into our hearts and the hearts of others, so they, too, may "experience the joy of salvation", the healing, wholeness and holiness we all long for and which alone give real meaning to our lives. 

What will be the message others receive about your life and mine? Do our lives bring hope to others? Will our lives, our voices, open their ears to the Word of God? Do we offer them the light of Christ, the light of hope that helps the spiritually blind see, the light that reveals the presence of God’s salvation in our lives? Will you and I carry Jesus to the ostracized, the cast-offs, the forgotten?

Go to the nursing homes, the soup kitchens and food pantries, the shelters. Go to your neighbors, the ones who are alone, who are ill and forgotten. Bring hope where there is despair. Bring the good news to those who hear so much bad news. Put all that is hurting, stained, and impoverished, and lay it at Our Lord’s feet. He’ll pick it up, so nothing will come between us and Jesus Christ.

Only the love of Christ brings true healing. This is our vocation: to be healers and prophets, to pave the way for Jesus Christ in the world…like a continual Advent. Advent and Christmas are a time of surprising gifts. Include Emmanuel, Jesus Christ, among the gifts you take to others.

Blessed are those who are not disappointed in us.

Homily: 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C)

Exodus 17:8-13; Psalm 121:1-8; 2 Timothy 3:14-4:2; Luke 18:1-8

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The other day Walmart was packed. I tend to avoid those self-checkout lines, so I picked a check-out aisle with a relatively short line and waited patiently. I soon realized my mistake. I was behind a pregnant mom with two little ones, maybe 4 and 6 years old. Standing next to mom, holding onto the cart, the two children weren’t as patient as the deacon. The older one, a boy, began to poke his sister. She started screaming, looking to her mother for justice. The line behind us grew, people were getting antsy.

It was then that brother and sister simultaneously realized two things: First, the nearby shelves in the check-out aisle held candy and small toys; and second, they had their mom in a highly vulnerable position. They went on the attack. The boy grabbed a toy and began to beg just as his sister, cleverly grabbed a bag of M&Ms off the opposite shelf.

I was impressed. It was as if they had worked it all out in advance. This battle of wills went on for maybe a half-minute, and like any parent I pulled for Mom. She was tough. She got the toy back on the shelf but then noticed her daughter had opened the M&Ms and was eating them. Instantly, all was lost. Mom had to buy the candy, and to keep the peace, retrieved the toy and tossed it on the counter as she pulled out her credit card. The kids looked pleased. Mom simply looked relieved.

Now you might find this hard to believe, but as I watched the three of them head for the exit, I found myself thinking about today’s Gospel reading. Do you see what Bible Study does? It leads us to find echoes of Scripture in our everyday lives.

Like the widow in the parable, the children knew their persistence would eventually pay off. And like the judge, the young mom just wanted some peace and to avoid what could turn into a public embarrassment. 

In Jesus’ parable, the corrupt judge had absolute authority to settle cases before him however he chose. The young mom at Walmart had both parental authority and the credit card. And the widow and the children? They seemed to be virtually powerless, and yet actually possessed real power. But any power we possess exists only to the extent that it is recognized, accepted, and exercised.

Years ago, I used to teach a course on negotiation for corporate clients. One small element addressed something I called “the power of no power.” Centuries of martyrs have shown this to the world’s powerful. They willingly suffered death, driven by an unseen power, a power their enemies couldn’t comprehend.

Today’s Gospel passage is really a lesson on God’s power and how, through His love, He has given us the ability to tap into it. Jesus revealed to His disciples that the Father gives us access to His power through prayer. We are called to be persistent, just like the widow, and not lose heart.

Right before He related this parable, Jesus had described the time of tribulation, trials, persecutions, martyrdom, even a final failure of faith. Hearing this, the disciples were afraid. How could they endure such trials? How could they remain faithful to the end? Don’t be anxious, Jesus told them, don’t lose heart, for the power of the Holy Spirit will be with you. Then God will come and establish His kingdom in justice. He will right all wrongs. He will deliver men and women from sin and death.

20 centuries of Christian martyrs all the way back to St. Stephen, give testimony to the power God grants to those who believe in His love. In the face of a worldly power that ultimately took their lives, a power they rejected, these saints persisted in their faith. They didn’t lose heart.

One common trait shared by all the saints and martyrs is prayer. Through prayer we gain access to God, and to the divine power He desires to share with us. 

Prayer gives us strength; it helps us do things we could otherwise never do. Through prayer God invites us into His world, one very different from ours. How did Jesus put it as He prayed in the presence of His apostles the night before He died?

“I gave them your word, and the world hated them, because they do not belong to the world any more than I belong to the world.” (Jn 17:14)

We are called to live in the world, but not be of the world. Hard stuff when the world surrounds us and calls to us constantly. Prayer, then, takes us from the world and lets us go beyond human hopes, human reasons, human fears, human desires.

Recall Jesus in the garden the night before He died. Wracked by human fears and the vision of the world’s sinfulness, He fell prostrate in prayer to the Father. Jesus turned His eyes to the Power of His shared divinity and found the strength He needed from the Father: “Thy will be done!”

The very next day, Jesus was nailed to the Cross with arms outstretched. Did anyone witnessing the crucifixion see the image of Moses, with his arms also outstretched and “the staff of God in his hand” until the battle was won?

Moses’ prayer formed a channel for God’s power. But even then, Moses couldn’t do it himself, could he? Without Aaron and Hur holding up his arms, those pesky Amalekites would have defeated Joshua and his army, changing the course of human history.

But who helped Jesus on the Cross? What did the witnesses scream at Him?

“If you are the Son of God, come down from that cross.”  (Mt 27:40)

But Jesus would not, not until the battle was won, until He had conquered sin and death, until He had made death merely a thing of this world, a thing of time, but one that led to eternal life.

And we shouldn’t overlook that Moses needed Aaron and Hur, just as we need each other. God calls us to communion, Communion with Him in His Eucharistic Presence, and communion with each other on our journey to eternal life. Yes, we need each other. As I like to tell married couples, your primary task is to help the other get to heaven. 

Although, as Christians, we continue to wage spiritual warfare against the powers of this world, Jesus has already won the decisive battle for us…and the outcome is assured. But prayer gives us more than the strength to fight these daily battles. It gives us the insight necessary to accept God’s will in our lives.

Prayer also connects us to the power of God’s love. Prayer, driven by the Holy Spirit, focuses our attention on the needs of others instead of our own. 

And without prayer, our faith will wither and die. Mother Teresa put it beautifully, “Prayer is the oil that keeps the lamp of faith burning brightly.”

How brightly does our faith burn? Did not Jesus ask:

“But when the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on the earth?”

Will we have lost heart because we’ve trapped ourselves in our world, and lost sight of God’s?

Sometimes we excuse ourselves by saying we haven’t the time to pray. And yet we manage to find the time to eat, to study, to work, to play. We nourish our bodies and our minds. We fill our lives with activity, but we starve our souls and deprive our lives of their fruitfulness.

St. Paul instructs us to “pray without ceasing,” because he knew our lives must be a continual prayer. Like breathing, prayer is a necessity. For only through prayer can we receive the help and strength we need to get safely through this life to our true home in heaven.

One pressing problem is that we just love to tell God what to do. We pray only for what we want, never considering what we need…and then we expect instant results. 

Sisters and brothers, we can tell God nothing He doesn’t already know. He won’t refuse what’s good for us, and grants what we ask in His time, not ours. 

But always remember, it's His will, not ours, that will bring peace and goodness. When we get our prayer right, it’s always a prayer that God’s Will be done, in our lives and in the world. Then all will fall into place. 

It doesn’t matter if we’re joyful, depressed, or angry. It doesn’t matter if we’re confused or aimless, if we’re giving thanks or need forgiveness. It doesn’t matter if we’re ashamed of how we’ve lived and sinned. When we pray, we’re in the presence of a dear friend who understands and forgives, a dear divine friend who shares in our humanity.

God, in His Love, always listens. For love calls for love in return, and prayer is an act of love. So maybe we can keep all of this before us and rouse ourselves to love our merciful God – Father, Son, and Spirit – through prayer. Don’t lose heart, brothers and sisters. Believe in His love. Believe in the power of your prayer.

Oh…and please pray for that mom in Walmart. I think she needs lots of prayers.

 

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.