Homily: Christmas Vigil

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, Mark wastes no time identifying Jesus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Come, Lord Jesus!

 

Homily: Feast, St. Luke, Evangelist

I didn't actually preach this homily today, since the celebrant decided to preach, which is certainly fine with me. But since I had prepared a homily for St. Luke's feast day, I thought I might as well post it here.

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Readings: 2 Tim 4:10-17b; Psalm 145; Luke 10:1-9  

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Today we celebrate the feast of St. Luke, evangelist and companion of Paul – author of the Gospel that bears his name and also the author of Acts of the Apostles. Of all those early Christians, those we read about in the Gospels and in Acts, Luke is the one I’d most enjoy meeting and spending some time with.

He was a physician – “beloved physician” Paul calls him – and therefore like Paul an educated man – something that’s evident by the quality of his writing. Most scholars believe he was a Greek and a Gentile, but whatever his background, it’s apparent Luke was in the first wave of Gentile converts to the Faith. 

His Gospel was aimed at the Gentiles, those unfamiliar with Jewish Law and custom. In other words, he wrote for folks like you and me, so his approach is quite different from the other Synoptic gospels. For one thing, he rarely quotes the Old Testament, and never refers to Jesus with the Hebrew title of Rabbi, but always with the Greek title of Master. Unlike Matthew, Luke doesn’t trace Jesus’ genealogy from Abraham (the founder of the Jewish race) but from Adam (the ‘founder’ of the human race). 

Luke gives women a more prominent place in his Gospel. The nativity and infancy story, much more extensive in Luke’s Gospel, is told from Mary's point of view. And it’s through Luke that we know about Elizabeth, Anna, the widow of Naim, and the woman who anointed Jesus’ feet.

Luke also gives us some of the most beautiful parables, for example, the Prodigal Son; and only Luke relates the parable about the non-Jew, the Good Samaritan. Without Luke we wouldn’t have the road to Emmaus or those three great canticles -- Mary’s Magnificat, Zechariah’s Benedictus, and Simeon’s Nunc Dimittis – canticles we pray every day in the Liturgy of the Hours. But what I like most about Luke’s Gospel is the emphasis he places on prayer and praise, and the mercy and goodness of God. He describes Jesus praying at all key moments of his life.

What sort of man was Luke? Well, in today’s first reading we get a glimpse of the real Luke. Writing to Timothy, Paul describes how he’s been abandoned by co-workers and friends except for two key companions.

Onesiphores, had traveled far and found Paul, seemingly without help from the Christians in Rome. And Luke who had remained with Paul, endured the imprisonment with him and cared for him. It would seem Luke’s friendship was important to Paul. Cut off from his own community, perhaps unappreciated by the Roman Christians, Paul faced certain execution, and was unable to move about and preach the Good News. We sense his loneliness. 

Luke, trying to complete his texts, found himself attending to Paul who was probably held in some sort of house confinement or possibly even imprisoned. We can only imagine what this friendship might have cost Luke personally. He probably wondered whether he’d also be caught up in Rome’s campaign to destroy the Christian message. But his loving care remained authentic, and he stayed beside his friend.

True friendship is a uniquely human experience and is often most clearly shown by the small acts of care and attention one person shows for his or her friend. It’s also a simple thing, something in which even a child can participate. And yet it has a divine element as well. Listen, again, to these words from today’s psalm: 

“Your friends make known, O Lord, the glorious splendor of your Kingdom” [Ps 145:12].

Yes, the compassion and love that are the signs of friendship are also signs of the Kingdom of God, signs of God’s grace. Knowledge of the Kingdom is made possible by experiencing the quality of love that a friend bestows.

The Gospel, too, invites this insight. Friendship brings a Spirit of Peace with it; and where the Spirit of Peace is found, one discovers true hospitality. It is, then, in the heart of true friendship that the lost, the lonely, the abandoned, the imprisoned, the hurting, and the broken find encouragement and are made whole and healthy and strong again.

Saint Luke is the patron of physicians, not just because he was one himself, but because he was a healer of the both the heart and the soul. He was a true friend to Paul, who no doubt was in great need of consolation. 

But St. Luke is also recognized as a friend of the poor and the outcast, because he recorded how Jesus took pains to care for the least, the most rejected, the impoverished. At the Last Supper, Jesus set the example for all of us saying, “I call you friends,” because a friend will lay down his life for the other.

Luke, recognizing the divine character of this most human of relationships, followed the Lord’s example. Perhaps, then, we should honor St. Luke as the patron saint of friendship.

Homily: Christmas Vigil - Year C

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

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

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

Actually, yes! It is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The answer, of course, is “Nothing!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Homily: Saturday, 4th Week of Easter

The following is a homily I preached a week ago, but simply forgot to post.

Readings: Acts 13:44-52; Ps 98; Jn 14:7-14

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“Believe me," Jesus says.

Back in my Navy days, I sat through many, many briefings, and most were eminently forgettable. But I recall one intelligence briefing vividly. We were aboard an aircraft carrier during the Vietnam conflict, and after the intelligence officer briefed us on enemy missile emplacements, the admiral asked a question about the confidence level of the intelligence. Well, the young intelligence officer mistakenly answered the admiral’s question with a simple, “Believe me, Admiral.” I won’t tell you how the admiral responded. In one sense, though, he was like the apostle Philip in today’s Gospel passage from John.

“Believe me…” Jesus said to Philip, the apostle, and, of course, He says the same to each of us: “Believe me.”

Believe everything I have told you, everything you have witnessed. Believe, not only that the Father has sent me, but also that the Father and I are one.

Indeed, this call to believe, this call to faith, is a recurring theme in John’s Gospel. Toward the end of his Gospel, John makes this clear when he writes:

“But these are written that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through this belief you may have life in his name” [Jn 20:31].

In other words, our faith in Jesus is the foundation; and everything else, including eternal life itself, derives from it. Our faith, therefore, must be a living faith, one that carries God’s love into the world; otherwise, our faith is sterile, like an artifact or trophy displayed on a shelf – interesting but essentially useless.

But Jesus knows that for many of us childlike faith is beyond us, that in our adult sophistication, belief is cast aside, overpowered by the things of this world. Like the Admiral, the apostles needed and looked for proof. And well aware of their still weak faith, Jesus tells Philip and the others:

“Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me, or else, believe because of the works themselves” [Jn 14:11].

Yes, even the apostles still doubted, didn’t they? Even the apostles, who’d listened to Him and seen all those miracles, those signs, John calls them – those signs of divinity -- even the apostles needed to be reminded they’d already seen the proof. Jesus then told them something truly remarkable:

“Amen, amen, I say to you, whoever believes in me will do the works that I do, and will do greater ones than these, because I am going to the Father” [Jn 14:12].

Your belief, He told the apostles, will manifest itself to the world, and will do so through your works. In effect, Jesus told them that what He had done as He ministered throughout Galilee, Samaria, and Judea will lead to even greater works. His work on earth was just the beginning of something much greater, and these words of His are aimed far beyond the apostles.

Jesus only occasionally interacted with Gentiles, but in today’s reading from Acts, Paul and Barnabas begin the Church’s active ministry to the Gentiles. The immediate result? Luke tells us:

“All who were destined for eternal life came to believe, and the word of the Lord continued to spread through the whole region” [Acts 13:48-49]. 

Greater works, indeed. It was a ministry that led to the conversion of much of the Roman Empire. And because it was God’s work, not simply that of Paul, Barnabas, and those who followed them, it turned apparent failure into success. It overcame all the human obstacles placed in its path: jealousy, hatred, pride, anger, despair, fear, and disbelief.

Jesus, in His risen Body, the Church, continues this great work today through all who believe, though His One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic, Church. And that, brothers and sisters, means you and me. We, too, have some greater work to do, work Jesus has placed in our hands.

But what have you and I actually done? Are we willing to turn away from the self and turn to others in dire need, to those who are ill, to the hungry, the despairing, the lost, the forgotten? Are we willing to suffer for proclaiming Jesus’ message of life and love to a world steeped in hatred and immersed in a culture of death?

Yes, God’s work always comes complete with a cross, but a cross that Jesus carries with us. And through the help of the Holy Spirit you and I can also believe the promise of Jesus:

“And whatever you ask in my name, I will do, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If you ask anything of me in my name, I will do it" [Jn 14:14].

So let’s get to it!

Homily: The Epiphany (5 Jan 2020)

I have embedded a video of this homily below. The text of the homily follows the video.

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Readings: Is 60:1-6; Ps 72; Eph 3:2-3a, 5-6; Mt 2:1-12

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As a child I was fascinated by the Magi. Who were these wise men, or these three kings as we often called them? To me they were romantic, mysterious figures -- dressed in their finery, perched high on their camels, and bearing those intriguing gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh. I knew what gold was, and I assumed frankincense was like the incense we used at High Mass. But myrrh? It was and remains an unknown. I don’t think they sell it at Publix.

It wasn't until I was in eighth grade, when Sister Francis Jane had us read T. S. Eliot's poem, "Journey of the Magi," that I came to a clearer understanding of these three men and their mission. Eliot’s opening lines dispelled my earlier romantic notions of the Magi’s journey from their distant homelands to greet this unknown King.

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a Journey, and such a long journey;
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.

Why did they do it? And why did they alone recognize the signs that compelled them to make this first Christian pilgrimage? 

Again, who were these three men? One thing we know for certain: they were Gentiles, not Jews. Were they kings? Probably not. Were they astrologers? Also, probably not, at least not in today's superstitious sense. More likely, the Magi were sages of their people, men committed to the propagation of wisdom, committed to finding the truth. And it’s this search for truth that brought them to a stable in a cave in the little village of Bethlehem.

The Hebrew Scriptures, what we call the Old Testament, were not unknown among the people of the ancient Middle East. As true wise men, they might well have been familiar with these Scriptures, perhaps even with Micah's prophecy of Bethlehem as the birthplace of a great King from the House of David. Had they also read Isaiah?

“Nations shall walk by your light, and kings by your shining radiance… the wealth of nations shall be brought to you…bearing gold and frankincense, and proclaiming the praises of the Lord” [Is 60:3,5-6].

Perhaps they had, and armed with God's Word, they went to meet the Word of God Himself. Spurred on by a heavenly sign, they encountered the One Who will proclaim the Kingdom of Heaven. Led by the Holy Spirit, they found Him to Whom the Spirit always leads.

These wise men came to Bethlehem in search of the truth, but at the end of their journey, they had a revelation. They discovered that the Truth is not a something, but a Someone.

"I am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life" [Jn 14:6], Jesus tells us. When we follow His Way, we are led to Him, the Truth; and the reward is eternal Life. 

But along that Way we encounter the Cross. The Magi brought gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh – symbols of royalty, priesthood, and suffering. Yes, the Cross is there, even in the stable at Bethlehem.

In their encounter with this Truth, the Magi learn that Jesus is not just another earthly king. He instead wants to become King of their hearts – and enthroning Him in their hearts requires a conversion – a change in the very core of their being. Later in his poem Eliot describes this shock of recognition: 

…were we led all that way for Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,

We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,

But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.

They realized they must die to their earlier lives, lives that don’t include Jesus…for this Jesus is not a king for the Jews alone, but as St. Paul tells us in today's second reading:

"…it has now been revealed…that the Gentiles are coheirs, members of the same body, and copartners in the promise in Christ Jesus through the Gospel" [Ep 3:5-6].

The Magi sensed this promise – a promise that brings life, yet demands we die to ourselves and to the world. The Magi discovered they had to face something called death at the very moment in which they witnessed a birth. But in doing so, they were among the first proclaimers of the Good News. Today, here in this church, on this altar, we do the same.

From this manifestation of Jesus to the Magi, to the world, we’re led to the celebration of the Eucharist, the living memorial of the sacrifice, the Death and Resurrection, of our Savior. We make a leap in time from the simple, precious days of Jesus' birth to that awesome moment when He offers Himself on the Cross for the salvation of the world.

"…and the Word became flesh" [Jn 1:14], John reminds us. Jesus became man, and this meant He would die. Our re-birth through Baptism requires that we must die with Him by our sharing of the Eucharist, in which Christ is truly present once again on the Cross at Calvary. This is why Jesus was born. He came into the world to witness to the truth that God the Father wants each of us to be saved through the willing sacrifice of His Son, a sacrifice in which we are privileged to share at every Mass. 

In his Gospel, St. Matthew doesn't tell us what happened to the Magi afterwards, but as we read the final words of Eliot's poem, we're allowed to speculate on the outcome:

We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

And so, we’re left with a choice. We can be like the pagans and continue to clutch the little gods we create for ourselves. Or we can be like Herod, reject God’s presence, and fight a losing battle that leads to death, not life. Or perhaps, like the Magi, we can accept the universal call of Christ. We can turn to the Truth and carry His message of salvation to the world.

This, brothers and sisters, is what Epiphany is: a manifestation, a showing. And as Catholic Christians, we are called to manifest Christ's presence in the world by our faith and how we live our lives. We’re called to evangelize, to epiphanize…I’m not sure if that’s a real word, but it should be.

Like Matthew’s world of the Gentiles, our world, too, is "in darkness…a land overshadowed by death” [Mt. 4:16]. Only Christ’s Presence can bring God’s saving light into this world, and that’s where you and I come in. We must, then, be the God-bearers, those who, like Jesus, must act always in love, carrying Him and His healing Presence to those who know Him not.

Let that be our prayer today: that God will lead us, as He led the Magi, to those who need His glorious Presence in their darkened lives. 

Listen now to the words of today’s Solemn Blessing which Father will extend to you all at the end of Mass:

"…since in all confidence you follow Christ, who today appeared in the world as a light shining in darkness, may God make you, too, a light for your brothers and sisters.”

Homily: Monday after Epiphany (and St. Raymond)

I've included my homily below, but I thought I'd first say a few words about the saint we honor today. Today is the memorial of St. Raymond of Penyafort. He was a very smart man from Catalonia who died in his 100th year in 1275. He's always been one of my favorite saints. 

As I said, St. Raymond was very bright, a bit of a prodigy who was teaching philosophy by the time he was 20 and then went on to earn a doctorate in law. Raymond was made an archdeacon by the Bishop of Barcelona but a few years later answered God's call to join the Dominicans. A gifted preacher, he ministered to the Muslim Moors and to those Christians who had returned from Moorish slavery. 

As the confessor to Pope Gregory IX he spent years in Rome codifying canon law, work that actually defined much of the Church's law well into the 20th Century. Ultimately he was elected as the third master general of the Dominicans. 

To include his other accomplishments would require many pages, so I'll just say that the mere reading of his life makes me tired. Whenever I think I'm overworking,  I simply think of St. Raymond and he charges my batteries. 

By the way, St. Raymond resigned from his position as the Dominican master general when he turned 65, citing age as a factor. He then went on for another 35 years, working along the way. I consider him the perfect candidate for patron saint of The Villages, our massive retirement community here in Florida. 

A few years ago, Diane and I spent almost a week in Barcelona. During our stay we spent a day or two exploring the city's beautiful old Cathedral. So you can imagine my surprise and delight when we came upon his sepulcher in a small side chapel. I said a brief prayer to this tireless man, asking him to intercede for me, to help me carry out my ministry with the same kind of enthusiasm and energy for which he was known.

Here's a photo I took of his sepulcher:

St. Raymond, pray for us.

And now...today's homily
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Readings: 1 Jn 3:22-4:6; Ps 2; Mt 4:12-17;23-25
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Matthew, writing to a largely Jewish audience, didn't hesitate to present Jesus as the "new Moses," as the promised One Moses himself described in Deuteronomy [Dt 18:18]. Jesus, the lawgiver, through the New Covenant, fulfills the Mosaic law of the Old Covenant, deepening its meaning. As Jeremiah prophesied:

"I will place my law within them, and write it upon their hearts..." [Jer 31:33]

But the Gospel doesn't restrict Jesus' mission, for He came not only to Abraham's descendants, but to the entire world. We heard this in Luke's Gospel when the aging Simeon, at the Presentation of the infant Jesus in the Temple, exclaimed:

"...my eyes have seen your salvation. which you prepared in sight of all the peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and glory for your people Israel" [Lk 2:30-32].

It's a message aimed not just at a handful of Bethlehem shepherds and wise men from the East, but one that reverberates throughout the world and through all time. Matthew first proclaimed this Gospel message of universal Good News in the genealogy that opens his Gospel. There we encounter a family of saints and sinners, of Jews and Gentiles.

Also in that family was John the Baptist who paved the way for Jesus, His forerunner in every respect. John would soon be martyred, but for Jesus the Cross comes later. First He must preach and heal. He must form His disciples so the Church they lead can preach the Good News and "make disciples of all nations" [Mt 28:20].

And so with John's arrest, Jesus began his ministry in earnest. He stepped into the world beyond His Jewish roots, and carried the Good News to "the Galilee of the Gentiles," as Matthew and Isaiah described it. [See Is 9]

He got right to work, didn't He? He taught in the synagogues, preached the Kingdom, and healed all who come to Him. It must have been an exhausting pace, such that word of His work spread beyond Galilee and Judea to the Gentiles of the Decapolis, of Syria, and beyond the Jordan. They came to Him with their sick and He cured them all: the physically ill, the mentally ill, the spiritually ill.

At this point Matthew tells us nothing of the content of Jesus' preaching, only that He echoed John's call to repentance in readiness for the coming Kingdom. But, you see, it wasn't His preaching that first brought those in need to this One they had never heard. How did Matthew put it?

"His fame spread to all of Syria" [Mt 4:24].

Truly remarkable! He was famous in a country He'd never even visited - and all without Facebook, or Twitter, or TV. No, it was simply His Presence in the world. Jesus, the Word of God Incarnate, need only be present and act, doing God's work in the world. It's work that only God can do, showing the world that God's creative power, His truth, and His very nature are bound up in the Presence of His merciful love.

In deep humility, a divine humility beyond our understanding, Jesus tells all that the saving, victorious Presence of God is at hand, that nothing will ever be the same. It's the same Presence He will ultimately entrust to His Church for all time through the gift of the Eucharist. This bread and wine offered by us become God Himself, His Real Presence, which He uses to heal our weakness and lead us to eternal life.

Brothers and sisters, Jesus must fill the world with His healing, saving Presence, for it is this Divine Presence that draws the world to Him. His call is a call to repentance, to conversion:

"Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand" [Mt 4:17].

This repentance, this metanoia, as the Greeks call it, means more than being sorry for our sinfulness...much, much more. It calls us to something new, a radical change of being, really a change of everything, because we now recognize God's Presence in our midst. 

It generates a hunger within us, a hunger for God's Kingdom, a hunger for the living Bread that God gives "for the life of the world" [Jn 6:51]. Living in God's Presence and with God's Presence living in us, we can then say with Paul:

"...yet I live, no longer I, but Christ lives in me" [Gal 2:20].

Like Matthew's world of the Gentiles, our world, too, is "in darkness...a land overshadowed by death" [Mt 4:16]. Only Christ's Presence can bring God's saving light into this world, and that's where you and I come in.

We must be the God-bearers, those who, like Jesus, must act always in love. We must carry Him and His healing Presence to those who know Him not. Let that be our prayer today: that God will lead us to those who need His glorious Presence to enlighten their darkened lives.

Homily: Monday, 4th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: 2 Sm 15:13-14, 30; 16:5-13; Ps 3; Mk 5:1-20
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 “Legion is my name. There are many of us” [Mk 5:9].   

When I was much younger, I thought those words were among the most frightening in the Bible. There was just something very chilling about them. Part of it was the demon’s brazen declaration of who he and his gang were. Was that name, “Legion”, supposed to scare Jesus? Well it might have scared me, but it certainly didn’t scare Jesus. It was also the idea of that poor man possessed by so many demons. After all, a Roman Legion could have as many as 6,000 fighting men.

And yet, if you think about it, Satan is the father of lies and his minions follow suit. How many were there? We don’t know. And I suppose the last thing they resembled were the disciplined soldiers who made up a legion. To be disciplined is to obey and that’s one thing Satan doesn’t do.

Recall how Jesus commissioned the disciples:

“Go, therefore, make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you…” [Mt 28:19-20]

Yes, “…all that I have commanded you.” In other words, through obedience to His commands the Church will remain united. Jesus calls us to unity.

But Satan…his name in Greek – diabolos (διάβολος) – means the scatterer. He doesn’t unite; he scatters. He strives to destroy community, to create dissension. He tears apart all that is good. This is exactly what he did to the Gerasene community that Jesus and the apostles visited.

This was not a Jewish community. The Gerasenes were gentiles, pagans…and Jesus encountered three types of beings during His brief stay.

The first was the man who meets Jesus on His arrival. Living among the tombs, a kind of wild-man, he was being destroyed by the demons who possessed him. But he came to Jesus didn’t he? He saw Him from a distance, ran up to Him, and fell down before Him.

Was this the act of the man himself, and not the demons who possessed him? Did he exert what little free will he still had? Driven by the Spirit, did he run to Jesus, and throw himself to the ground in a silent act of worship? Is that what happened? I’d like to think so.

But that’s when Jesus encountered the second being, the demon who spoke for them all. He, too, recognized Jesus, the “Son of the Most High God” [Mk 5:7].

He also knows that his time is up. He came face to face with the power of God Himself. “…do not torment me” [Mk 5:7], he begged. He also asked to remain among the Gerasenes. Apparently the pickin’s were good there. And he saw an opportunity to divide further, to scatter. “Send us into the swine” [Mk 5:12], he begs. And Jesus does just that. 2,000 swine, valuable livestock, run off a cliff into the water and drown.

With this Jesus encounters the third group of beings, the people of Gerasene. The swineherds, who had witnessed it all, told the locals everything that had happened. They saw the possessed man standing before them as normal as can be; indeed, more normal even than they. It was all too much for them. As Mark tells us, “…they were seized with fear” [Mk 5: 15] and begged Jesus to leave them, to go away. They saw the work of God but refused to recognize His presence among them.

Yes, Satan did his work, didn’t he? He scattered. And Jesus allowed it…for now. Satan probably thought he’d won. After all, Jesus was sent away. But the scatterer failed to notice something important…because Jesus didn’t really leave, did He? At least not entirely. For His Word remained there in the person of a disciple.

Jesus sent the one he freed from Satan’s grasp to proclaim the Good News. Unlike Satan, he obeyed. Yes, this man, once possessed by a legion of demons became the first missionary to the Gentiles.

Jesus chooses the most unlikely among us to demonstrate His power and His mercy. No matter how we’ve failed in the past, no matter how sinful, how unworthy, God continues to call us. He will never stop extending His bountiful mercy. For God is love and can do nothing else.

Oh, yes, I didn’t mention one group of people who were there with Jesus during His visit to Gerasene: the apostles. And yet we hear nothing from them, do we? They say not a word. Perhaps they too were frightened by those chilling words and all that took place that day. Only later would they realize why Jesus had taken them to that dark place: to give them a taste of what they would encounter as they “make disciples of all nations.”

And how about us? Do we extend mercy to the most unlikely, the most unloved, those rejected by the world? Do we carry Jesus’ Word and His merciful love into the dark places of our world?

Or do we instead do the work of the scatterer?