Homily: Monday 5th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Gn 1:1-19 • Ps 104 • Mk 6:53-56

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I was all grumbly for a few weeks because they ran out of vaccine and canceled my vaccine date. Diane looked at me, shook her head and said, “And you’re the one always telling others not to worry, so let’s just pray that God’s will be done.” That's what we did and within a week they told us to pick a date, and we got our shots last Wednesday.

God is present, folks, always present, always here with us. We certainly see this in today's readings -- readings that cover it all.

First, we’re taken back to the very beginning of time and space: “In the beginning, God…”

Yes, those four words that begin the Book of Genesis are really enough, and tell us that in the beginning it was only God. He needed nothing. He certainly didn’t need creation. His creative act resulted from His free will, a will that desired to make creatures who would share in His divine life. Quite simply, the world was made in an act of love for the glory of God. As we read in the Book of Revelation:

“Worthy are you, Lord our God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things; because of your will they came to be and were created” [Rev 4:11].

Creation, then, is a remarkable act of love that sets the stage for all that follows. God speaks His Word and Creation happens. Have you ever considered how Eucharistic that is?

That’s right, when Jesus, the Incarnate Word,  speaks, “This is my Body…This is my Blood,” wonderful things happen…and He is here, in a very Real Presence, another manifestation of God’s ongoing creative love.

And it’s in the Gospel where we encounter that Incarnational love in a very personal way. There we see the Word bringing His healing power to us, awakening us to the reality of God’s Presence, for it’s always a healing Presence.

Mark takes us along the Sea of Galilee to Gennesaret where we encounter a people who could hardly contain themselves. How did Mark put it? Having recognized Jesus, they “scurried about the surrounding country” to bring the sick to Jesus, wherever He was.

Can you picture that? Dozens of people, perhaps hundreds, carrying the sick and disabled, leading the blind and the deaf, the roads and footpaths filled with those in need of healing. Wherever he went – every town, every little village – He found the sick laid out in the town square, just waiting for His healing Presence – a word, a touch.

According to Mark the ill sought only to touch his clothing -- this was enough to bring healing. Their faith, their trust in Jesus’ healing Presence was all it took. That and the infectious faith of those who carried them to Jesus.

It is the same deep faith we encounter in the 20^th century saint, St. Josephine Bakhita, whose memorial we celebrate today. A remarkable woman – an African from the Sudan, she was born in 1869, kidnapped at 12 by Arab slave traders. She spent years in slavery, bought and sold frequently, and often treated horribly by those who enslaved her.

A long torturous path led her to Italy and the convent of the Canossian Daughters of Charity in the town of Schio, near Venice. From the sisters she learned of Jesus Christ, and was baptized, received First Communion and Confirmation, all on the same day by Cardinal Sarto of Venice, who would go on to become Pope St. Pius X.

Lovingly known by the people of Schio as their Black Mother, she often prayed for her kidnappers, and thanked them publicly. Had she not been kidnapped, she might never have come to know Jesus Christ and entered His Church. In World War II, the townspeople regarded her as their protector, and although bombs fell on their village, not one citizen died.

During her painful, final illness she remained ever cheerful, happy to suffer for the good of others: “As the Master desires,” she would say. She knew exactly what Paul means when he said, “All things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to His purpose” [Rom 8:28] She died on this day in 1947, so she’s a kind of contemporary to many of us who were born while she was still alive.

I think of St. Josephine and the people of Gennesaret and my own petty troubles just melt away into insignificance. 

Like St. Josephine, are we filled with joy because of the Real Presence of our Lord, Jesus Christ? The Eucharist, too, is a healing Presence, just like Jesus’ Presence in the towns of Galilee. Do you come here today with the assurance that God will heal you in ways you can never imagine?

Do you “scurry about” like the people of Gennesaret looking for others in need of healing, telling them about Jesus’ Eucharistic Presence, His healing Presence?

Maybe it’s time we all did a little scurrying, and a lot less worrying.

 

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

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

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

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

Galaxies Galore in One Tiny Slice of Our Sky

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus in the Wilderness

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

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

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

Icelandic Landscape

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

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

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

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

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

Weeping Beech - Yarmouth Port, Cape Cod

   

Under the Canopy

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

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

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

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

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

Abraham and God Under the Oak

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Homily: December 17

Readings: Gn 49:2,8-10; Ps 72; Mt 1:1-17
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When people first turn to the New Testament, they often get discouraged because right there on the first page of the first book is Matthew's genealogy. And so they just jump ahead to the Nativity story. That's really unfortunate because this rhythmic poetic passage tells us some very important things.

Indeed, Matthew begins as Genesis begins, with the beginning, and summarizes 2,000 years of history, from Abraham all the way to Jesus Christ. In this genealogy Matthew offers the Gospel as the New Genesis, a new beginning through Jesus.

Abraham, Our Father in Faith

From this we encounter a major Gospel theme: the New Testament doesn't replace the Old; it fulfills it. And Matthew first aims this Good News directly at you and me - at sinners - by drawing our attention to Judah, Tamar, Rahab, and David.

He reminds us that the sinful relationship between Judah and Tamar led to King David and ultimately to Jesus Himself.

Nathan to King David: You Are the Man! (1 Sam 12:7)

He reminds us that Rahab, Boaz's mother, was a prostitute, and that Solomon's mother was Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah the Hittite. We recall how David seduced her and had her husband killed so he could marry her.

Yes, Jesus' family tree is littered with sinners, just like mine and just like yours.

St. Joseph: Blessed are the Merciful

But through this revelation we come to realize the depth of God's mercy. Despite our sinfulness, we're all called into God's family. What a gift! Here too God pleads with us to extend mercy to others. For in that genealogy we encounter those who went far beyond the demands of the law: Judah, Boaz, Uriah, and especially Joseph.

It's a plea expressed explicitly a few chapters later in the Beatitudes: "Blessed are the merciful for they shall be shown mercy" [Mt 5:7]. Advent, then, is the perfect time to repair shattered relationships, especially family relationships, the perfect time to extend mercy to others and to yourself.

But Matthew's not finished. He also reminds us that God's ways are not man's ways. Throughout the genealogy we find God rejecting our ways, tossing aside the patterns of inheritance and choosing whom He will choose.

Jacob is "the father of Judah and his brothers" [Mt 1:2; Gen 49:8] Here and elsewhere Matthew reminds us that God will bypass first sons and choose younger brothers like Isaac, Jacob, and Judah to lead His People. This, too, is Good News, for unlike man, God is not only merciful, but His ways are just.

God continues to pile up the Good News, for Jesus' family, the family of the Kings of Israel, is not a family of ethnic purity. It's littered with Gentiles. For example, with the sole exception of Mary, the women mentioned are all Gentiles: Tamar and Rahab are Canaanites, Ruth a Moabite, Bathsheba a Hittite. God's plan of salvation, then, is universal. The entirety of humanity is called into God's family.

The Women in the Genealogy of Jesus (Mt 1)

This is the Advent message, brothers and sisters, the message of the angel: "You shall name him Jesus and he shall be called Emmanuel" [Mt 1:23; Lk 1:31], which means, "God is with us."  God is with us - not some nameless, faceless them, but us - and not some of us, but all of us. It's the message of a passionate God, of a God whose love is overpowering. This is what we celebrate: God's fierce zeal for us, His commitment not to leave us abandoned.

It comes down to this: God is unwilling to leave us in the darkness of our own sinfulness. Advent demonstrates God's terrible desire to "be with us," to be part of the human condition: God with us in our entirety. Quite simply, God won't let us alone. He wants to be Emmanuel.

Inundated by materialism, by the spiritual sickness of the world, so many forget why the Magi carried those first gifts to a newborn baby in a manger. The true Advent and Christmas message isn't Amazon dot com. It's Emmanuel, God with skin on and a human face. God became one of us to turn His face to us, to speak words of comfort, reconciliation, and redemption, words we can understand. This is what we anticipate today, an advent that heralds our salvation.

A few years ago at the soup kitchen, while schmoozing with our guests, I spotted a mother and her little baby girl. As I approached, little Alisha saw my smile and reached out her arms to me. I couldn't resist. I picked up this beautiful child and she just snuggled right up against me and buried her little head into my chest with her tiny hands gripping my shoulder.

My first thought? "Here's a little baby that needed a hug." Then I realized how wrong I was. Alisha had been perfectly happy being held by her mom, with whom I could never hope to compete. No, Alisha didn't need my hugs. But she knew that I sure needed hers.

You see, brothers and sisters, in a very real way, little Alisha is the meaning of Advent. God with us. God with Alisha. For that brief moment Alisha is God's love. She's the Advent of God reaching for us. She's God's arms; she's God's zeal; she's God's passion for each of us.

For God loves us despite our foolishness. He loves us with our broken lives, our selfishness, our tattered relationships, our foolish sins. God is two tiny arms determined to break into our lives. On Christmas Day He's a fierce little baby who makes no distinctions but embraces the least likely along with the most likely.

This is what Advent is all about: preparing us for God's unrelenting love feast. Not a sappy sentimental love, but a love as searing as any passionate romance. We celebrate God's fulfilled desire to be with us. This is His gift.

If God isn't Emmanuel, if He's not with us, if He hasn't embraced our tattered lives, then there's no hope, no light, only darkness and despair.

If God isn't with us, we're here today out of fruitless hope, or pressured routine, or empty sentimentality.

But if we're here out of love, if we're here like ragtag shepherds to kneel and rejoice and let God take us in His arms, then we've caught the meaning of this Advent: Emmanuel, the passionate God, has had his way and has hugged us fiercely.

When sin, suffering and death scatter our souls far and wide that's when we need God the most. And that's when Jesus comes to us to guide us to His Father's loving arms.

It's all grace, brothers and sisters. It's all gift. What more is there to say?

Course Presentation: Biblical Typology Session 2

I conducted the second session of the course in Biblical Typology on Wednesday evening. Again, we had a good crowd of almost 80 people. I didn't get pelted by soft fruit so I assume the session was well received. I'll conduct session three next Wednesday evening.

You can either go directly to my Bible Study page and view the course presentations and other handout material: Bible Study Website. 

...or you can view the PowerPoint here: Typology Session 2

(I corrected the bad link to the Session 1 presentation in the previous post. My apologies, and thanks to those who pointed it out to me.)

...to know the mind of God?

Over the past few months I've been studying and reading and rereading the Book of Genesis, along with a number of excellent commentaries addressing the book's remarkable first three chapters. Genesis has always intrigued me, ever since I opened our family Bible for the first time as a child and encountered the dramatic illustrations by Gustave Doré, illustrations that brought the creation story to life. I no longer have that particular Bible, but I can still remember several of the illustrations: God creating light; the creation of Eve; and the eviction from the Garden of Eden. Such images are extremely powerful, for even today, almost 60 years later, when I read those passages from Genesis, these images instantly appear in my mind's eye. 

Gustave Doré: Adam and Eve driven out of Eden

This recent study of Genesis has on occasion generated peripheral thoughts that lead me away, sometimes far away, from the book itself. For example, in Genesis we find Adam and Eve enjoying a preternatural existence that apparently included a close personal relationship with God Himself, who from the first couple's perspective must have been the true and perfect Father. While their relationship with God could not even begin to approach the level of intimacy that exists within the Trinity, it was certainly far closer than that which exists between God and man after the fall.

Now this has led me to think about the different ways we humans have tried to reclaim this close relationship with God. For me prayer, Scripture, meditation, and the sacraments -- especially the Eucharist -- have been the most rewarding means. But for some people it seems these disciplines are too demanding. Instead of coming to God in prayer, humbly opening themselves to Him, they come to God demanding that He open Himself to them. They want an Eden kind of relationship with God. No, that's not correct. They want a relationship with a god who will do their bidding.They are searching for a god who isn't there. They want a god created in their image, or in an image they have imagined. They really want themselves wrapped in a false cloak of divinity, a god they can fully comprehend, a god who is like them, one they can grasp and understand. 

The theoretical physicist, Stephen Hawking, in his best-selling book, A Brief History of Time, typified this attitude when he concluded the book with these words (p. 193):

"However, if we discover a complete theory, it should in time be understandable by everyone, not just by a few scientists. Then we shall all, philosophers, scientists and just ordinary people, be able to take part in the discussion of the question of why it is that we and the universe exist. If we find the answer to that, it would be the ultimate triumph of human reason -- for then we should know the mind of God."

"...we should know the mind of God." This is the great temptation to which so many succumb. To know the mind of God is to be like Him, to be a god. Do you hear the echo of the serpent's words in Eden? "...your eyes will be opened and you will be like gods" [Gen 3:5].

This is a temptation that follows God's people throughout salvation history. It appears again at the foot of Mount Sinai when the Chosen People decided the God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses was too unapproachable, to "other", and had Aaron construct the golden calf, a god they could see, and touch, and understand because they had created it themselves. And as we can see by Dr. Hawking's comment above, it's a temptation that remains with us today.

But the Father, who knows the human heart so well, disrupts Satan's plans through the remarkable gift of the Incarnation. He sends His Son, God Himself, to take on our nature, to become one of us, to save us from our sinfulness and folly. And so for the first time God becomes truly approachable. Jesus Christ in His humanity is one with us and in His divinity one with the Father. Our Redeemer, our Intercessor pleads for us at the right hand of the Father, for He is like us in all things except sin.

This isn't all though. For Christ doesn't leave us orphans, but promises to be with us always until the end of time. To fulfill this promise He gives us His Word, especially the Gospel. But He also offers us the gift of Himself in the Eucharist; and through this gift we are united with Him, Body, Blood Soul and Divinity. 

You and I don't need to search for a comprehensible God, one we can fully grasp within our finite minds, or try to mold God by transforming Him into something He isn't. All we have to do is accept God just as He is, turn to Him who became one like us, and let the love and mercy and forgiveness of Jesus transform us.

Blessings...

Homily: Wednesday, 5th Week of Ordinary Time

Today's Readings: Gn 2:4b-9, 15-17 • Psalm 143 • Mk 7:14-23

The Genesis story of the creation and fall should really overwhelm us, filling us with thankfulness for God’s creative act. For creation was an act of pure love, a completely unnecessary act by God, one matched only by the redeeming act of His Son on the Cross. There’s an element of sacred irony in all this: that God would offer His Son in this second great act of love because we rejected His first great act of love.

What a loving God we have! And how undeserving we are of that overpowering love! And how clearly that love is expressed in Genesis. I’m always a bit distressed when I hear Catholics dismiss these first chapters of Genesis: “Oh, they’re just old myths.” or “Genesis and all that stuff about Adam and Eve? No way.” How foolish of them. By ignoring these first chapters of Genesis – a story that was never meant to be a scientific explanation of our coming into being -- they miss the entire point.

Genesis was written for one primary purpose: to tell us that God created the world…that all of creation comes from one power, from God’s eternal Reason, which became the power of creation…and that all of this comes from the same Word of God we meet in the act of faith, the very one we meet in the Word of Holy Scripture.

It’s in today’s reading from Genesis that we first encounter ourselves, that we first get the answer to the question: Who are we?

Well, the first thing we discover is that we were formed from the dust of the earth, something both humbling and consoling. Humbling because we are told implicitly, “You are not God. You didn’t create yourself. You don’t rule the universe, or even your little corner of it. You’re a limited, very limited being. You’re just earth, a being destined for death.”

Now, that’s humbling! But it’s consoling as well, because we’re also told: “You aren’t evil spirits, formed by some kind of negative force. You weren’t formed by chance, by a roll of the cosmic dice. You were formed from the elements of God’s creation.”

And Genesis has more to tell us. We also see how man was introduced, created into Paradise, how he was brought into the very presence of God – the glory God originally gave to man, a glory lost by sin. And so we learn something else: that God called us to a life which surpasses our limited human nature. He called us to participate in His Life. In other words, from the very beginning God has called us, His creatures, to a participation in a life that, by our nature, we don’t possess. That’s right, from the very start, were called not to a natural end, but to a supernatural end. We were called to be with God in Paradise, a destiny He still holds for us. It remains our destiny.

And so, just as Genesis introduces us to the secret of our origins, something that neither science nor myth can penetrate, so too does it make known to us the most mysterious depths of our future. It’s in Genesis, inspired by the Holy Spirit, that we are given our first glimpse into the mystery of God’s marvelous plan for us.

These pages, written so long ago, still shine forth today like precious stones. How sad that so many are blind to their beauty. In some respects today’s atheist is even further from the truth than the ancient pagans. Yes, give me a good, old pagan anytime.

The atheist tries to change the image of man; tries to make us into something other than creatures of God, to make us unto something we aren’t. Unwilling to accept their divine origins they see themselves as either everything or nothing. And yet, if they would only turn to Genesis they would encounter the truth about themselves, they would see what being a child of God really means.

Emperor, president, CEO, beggar, prisoner, child, the dying, the newborn, the unborn…we are, in the final analysis, all the same, children of God. The unity of all humanity becomes something very real. We are all one, one humanity, formed by God’s hand from God’s one earth...all children of a loving God

Yes, in the face of human division and human arrogance and human hatred, where one person sets himself against another, God declares humanity to be His one creation from His one earth.

I suppose the question here (and the lesson) for all of us relates to how we see others. Do we look at every other person and see one with whom we will one day share God’s joy? Do we see them as persons who, together with us, are called to be members of the Body of Christ? And in our limited, unfocused, myopic view…do we really see them as our brothers and sisters? Do we actually see ourselves and others as brothers and sisters of Jesus Christ, as children of the Father?

Perhaps in our arrogance you and I may answer, “Yes, of course I do.” But do our actions, or words, our thoughts say something very different?

That should give us something to ponder today.