Homily: 2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A

Readings: Is 49:3,5-6; Ps 40; 1 Cor 1-3; Jn 1:29-34

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Did you notice one of the common themes running through all our readings today: the idea that God always seems to be calling people to do all kinds of stuff for Him.

We heard it in our first reading when God calls the prophet Isaiah – heck, He does more than that; He calls the entire nation of Israel – and He calls them to do what? Well, in His words, to “be a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.”

Wow! That’s kind of a heavy call, isn’t it? Especially since it was given to a bunch of people who tended to resist whatever He commanded them to do. Does He want that from us, too, from you and me? To be a “light to the nations?” Maybe. But how do we do it?

So, perhaps our second reading will tell us more. It’s from the opening verses of Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians. And what do we find there? Another call – actually, more than one.

Paul, referring to himself, and perhaps indirectly to all of us, says he’s called to be an “apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God.” Okay, what’s an apostle? Basically, it’s someone who’s been sent, sent by God.

Of course, we have the 12 Apostles, plus Paul, and I’ve always thought of them as Apostles with a capital "A". Maybe we’re called to be sent too, as apostles, but maybe with a little “a”. After all, those first Apostles were pretty important; but don't downplay your own importance. We're all called to do important things for God. 

But that’s not all; there’s more. Paul then tells us we’re called to be “holy.” Why? Because we “have been sanctified in Christ Jesus.” So, Jesus sanctified us, made us holy. And you know when He did that? At our baptism.

Our baptism made us holy because our sins were forgiven. Now if, like me, you were baptized as an infant, your only sin was original sin. But if you were baptized as an adult, all sin, original sin, actual sin – it was all forgiven.

What else? We became adopted children of the Father, sisters and brothers of our Lord Jesus. We were brought into God’s family. As Paul tells us, we can now approach Him as, “Abba, Father!”

We also received the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit lives within us, and through His power we can resist sin, or as Paul would say, we can resist living “according to the flesh.”

Finally, Baptism makes us members of God’s Church, so we can take full advantage of the graces that flow from the Holy Spirit, through the sacraments, directly to us.

So far, then, we’ve been called to do quite a few things: Called to be a “light to the nations;” to be apostles of Christ Jesus, sent by God, but sent to do what? And we’re also called to be holy…But what does holiness involve? So, we still have some questions.

Maybe we can get answers from our other readings: the Responsorial Psalm and our Gospel passage. Let’s look at the Gospel first, from John, chapter 1. There we encounter John the Baptist – not the most attractive person in the world. Dressed like a caveman, he ate locusts and wild honey – not the kind of guy most of us would hang out with. And he wasn’t particularly open to discussion or a lot of dialog. Still, we’re drawn to him, aren’t we?

John was certainly called; he even tells us why:

“…the reason why I came baptizing with water was that He might be made known to Israel.”

He, of course, is Jesus Christ. Like Isaiah, John is a witness with a single focus. He just points to Jesus:

“Now I have seen and testified that He is the Son of God.”

Yes, John came to introduce Jesus to the world; and, boy, does John make Jesus known. Pointing to Jesus, he says, “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.”

John calls Jesus “God’s lamb” – God’s sacrificial Lamb. That's what lambs were in the Temple, used for sacrifice.  So John is telling the world that Jesus, God’s Son, will be sacrificed in obedience to God’s will. Why? For one reason. To take away the sin of the world. With those few words, John prophesies Jesus’ redemptive act. And how shocked the Jews who heard those words must have been.

At that Baptism of Jesus, we encounter the Holy Spirit and hear the words of the Father; so, John introduces the world to the very centerpiece of Christian belief, the Holy Trinity. With that, we get a glimpse of what our redemption means: eternal life with Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Note, too, that John tells the crowd: Jesus will baptize with the Holy Spirit. As we’ve already seen, it’s through the gift of the Holy Spirit, through His power, that we can strive for the holiness God desires for us. Scripture, then, has taught us something else: God’s call to be holy is to live with the Holy Spirit dwelling within us, guiding us as we strive to live the Christian life.

A little, actually a not so little, aside...Did you notice that both Isaiah and John were called from the womb? Yes, God and the world see the unborn so differently, don’t they? God loves them and the world slaughters them. Yes, indeed, God calls us in many ways, doesn’t He?

But to understand better God’s call for us, let’s turn to our Psalm from the Old Testament, to the first words we heard and sang together:

Hear I am, Lord; I come to do Your will.

These words – “I come to do your will” – can also be found in the New Testament, in the Letter to the Hebrews when it quotes Jesus as saying:

“Behold, I have come to do your will, O God.”

So, another call, to imitate Jesus, by doing what? By doing the will of God. We’ve heard that before, too, haven’t we? Paul “called to be an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God.”

So, what’s God’s will? What does He will for us and from us? Paul actually tells us. Later, to the Thessalonians he writes: “This is the will of God, your sanctification…” Our sanctification, our holiness. You and I are called to be holy, something else we’ve heard before. But who are the holy ones? They're the saints. You see, you and I are called to be saints: holy children of God who do His will.

Speaking of saints, Augustine once said something pretty interesting that applies here: "Love God and then do what you will." Sounds a bit strange, almost contradictory. What he’s really saying is that if we truly love God and His will, then God’s will and ours will be the same.

It all has its roots in love, doesn’t it? It’s all based on God’s great commandment: to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength...Oh, and while we're at it, to trying loving each other – love our neighbor as ourselves – the foundation of the Christian life.

Yes, that’s our calling, every single one of us: to love and do God’s will. This, brothers and sisters, is the Christian life, the life God calls us to live.

Of course, Jesus never said it would be easy. But He did promise we’d never be alone, because His gift of His Spirit will always be there, always with us. Writing to the Romans, Paul reveals that we’re called to follow our Lord, Jesus, the crucified Messiah, as we journey through this hostile world.

Indeed, Paul continues by letting us know that the Christian life involves suffering. 

Now, I can’t speak for you, but I really don’t enjoy suffering. I mean, do you? I just got over a nasty virus that put me down for several weeks. So, I slept, drank liquids, took meds, read the Bible, watched some TV, surfed the Internet…And I kept encountering stories of the worldwide persecution of Christians; happening everywhere.

For example, in Nigeria tens of thousands of Christians have been murdered in recent years…simply because of their Christian faith. And there I was in my comfortable home in The Villages grumbling about a cold virus that let me goof off for a couple of weeks. All that, while many in the world are following in the footsteps of the crucified Messiah. Are we called to do the same? Maybe. Time will tell.

Scripture, the revealed Word of God, just shouts at us, doesn’t it? Created in God’s image and likeness, we’re called to be like Jesus, His Son. What does it mean, this likeness, this image we possess?

Is it our intelligence? Our free will? Our willingness to love? Or is it also our humanity, the power to imagine, to build, to shape the things of our world? I guess it’s all these things…plus the grace to suffer as Jesus suffered, to cry out to the Father from the depths of our own little Gethsemanes:

“Remove this cup…yet not my will but yours be done.”

You see, brothers and sisters, God works in our world, He plays in our world, He loves in our world, and He does so through His images, that us, His image and likeness, through you and me. You and I point to Christ by who we are, by being Christlike, by living as He lived, by doing what He did, and, yes, by suffering as He suffered.

How did Jesus put it?

“I do not seek my own will but the will of the one who sent me.”

I guess the question for each of us is: How are you and I pointing to Christ? How are we witnessing to Christ? Do we begin each day by praying:

“Father, help me to do your will in all things today. Help me to point to Jesus.”?

You’ll never get a better compliment than when someone says to you, “You remind me of someone…Oh, I know, you remind me of Jesus.”

Because that, dear friends, is our calling, our Christian vocation, the fruit of our baptism: to be Christlike.

And we have no excuse because through His gift of grace, he’s given us the power to do all that He asks, to abandon ourselves, to do His will, not ours.

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, 15th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Ex 2:1-15a • Psalm 69 • Mt 11:20-24

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One of the remarkable things about the Old Testament is the willingness of its authors and the Holy Spirit to hide nothing and reveal almost everything about the key characters. This is so very different from all other ancient religious texts, as well as the official records of other ancient societies. In these, the kings and pharaohs and conquerors were all depicted as near perfect, as godlike men who always won, and never failed.

But not so in the Bible. Beginning with Adam and Eve, and progressing through the Patriarchs to Moses, then on through the long list of prophets and Kings, we encounter so many men, and actually quite a few women; and for all of them, nothing is hidden – strengths and weaknesses, sins and virtues, it’s all revealed.  The focus, you see, is not really on these men and women; rather it’s on God, who chooses whomever He desires to fulfill His plan, to carry out His work in the world. 

And often enough He chooses amazingly unlikely people. Today, for example, in our reading from Exodus, we encounter two versions of Moses.

First, a basket-case floating among the bullrushes, a Hebrew infant, “a goodly child”, his mother called him, surrendered by that mother in hope and trust, and retrieved and adopted by Pharaoh’s daughter.

We next encounter a grown Moses, fortyish and entitled, but a man who presumably knew his roots. Driven by a slightly skewed sense of justice, he willfully kills an Egyptian who was persecuting a Hebrew slave laborer. When the word gets out, Moses realizes he too must get out, and heads east to the land of Midian. Moses is introduced to us in all his imperfections. And yet on Mt Horeb God will choose him to free His people and lead them to the Promised Land. How blessed we are that our loving, merciful God chooses us as well, despite all our imperfections. 

Then we encounter Jesus in our Gospel passage from Matthew. You know, a lot of folks seem to see Jesus solely as the warm and fuzzy, group hug, kumbaya Jesus. And yet, in the Gospel He often comes across quite differently.

Today, for example, He’s taking on the role of Prophet. Indeed, He sounds a lot like Isaiah when that prophet proclaimed God’s judgment on the King of Babylon.

“Down to Sheol you will be brought to the depths of the pit!” [Is 14:15]

Jesus says much the same, doesn’t He? Hard words to those neighboring towns, Chorazin, Bethsaida, and Capernaum, whose people had witnessed all those miracles, but failed to listen. Because Jesus had been with them, and they had seen and heard it all, their judgment will be harsher.

When I was growing up we had a brief family Bible Study every week. Now, to my knowledge, my mom, who was an RN, had no formal training in Sacred Scripture, but always seemed to share wonderful insights. We’d read a few verses then Mom or Dad would ask what we thought of it.

After reading these comments of Jesus, my brother and I tried to say something like: “The people in those towns are really going to catch it.” But Mom simply said, “You know, Jesus isn’t talking to us about those little towns. He’s talking to us about us.” That took all the wind out of our sails. She went on, explaining it all to us in words similar to these...

“Jesus healed all those people because He loved them, and He wanted others to see and understand that they must listen to Him…But so many didn’t. If we instead turn away from Him, we’re no better than the people of those towns. You see,” Mom told us, “Our Lord has been living with us in our home, speaking to us through our church…and when we receive Holy Communion He actually lives within us. Because of that, we must listen to Him, do as He asks us, and let God’s will rule our lives.”

With that, she ended the lesson. Brothers and sisters, Jesus said the same thing, didn’t He? His Gethsemane prayer, words recorded in all three of the Synoptic Gospels:

“Not what I will, but what you will.”

…words that actually encapsulate His entire teaching. Moses struggled to accept God’s will in his life, and so too did the Apostles.

I guess that’s the question for you and me: What’s the focus of our lives, our will our His will? After all, every day we pray, “Thy will be done,” but do we really seek it?

Homily: Monday, 4th Week of Lent

Readings: Is 65:17-21; Ps 30; Jn 4:43-54

A few weeks ago, right after a Saturday morning Mass, we experienced a time of prayer and healing right here in our church. My wife, Diane, and I made up one of the many prayer teams that were available to pray with those who entered this church that morning in need of God's healing presence in their lives and in the lives of those they love.

Now I can't speak for the other teams, but I expect their experiences mirrored ours as we listened and prayed and shared God's overwhelming love, His forgiveness, His mercy. 

Of course many of those who were here that morning were experiencing deep suffering in their lives - physically, emotionally, spiritually - and they came humbly seeking God's help.

I'm always impressed by the extraordinary humility and faith of all who come to this healing service, driven by hope and willing to accept God's will. I'm impressed because their faith and humility are so much greater than my own, and it would be more fitting if the roles were reversed.

But there's something else. So many, despite their own suffering, come to us not just for themselves but for others. They come in prayer, in hope, in faith asking God to extend His healing presence to family, friends, neighbors, to those in need.

In today's Gospel passage we encounter another who comes to Jesus hoping for healing, not for himself but for his son. Probably an official of the court of Herod Antipas, he had traveled 20 miles from his home in Capernaum to find Jesus in Cana.

"Sir, come down before my child dies."

As John tells us, the official approached Jesus and  "asked him to come down and heal his son, who was near death" [Jn 4:47]. Did he assume that because he was an important official Jesus would simply drop everything and do as he asked? And did he think that Jesus had to make that trip in order to heal his son? If so he was in for a surprise, wasn't he?

Jesus actually seems a bit exasperated by it all, doesn't He? And He gives a rather sharp reply:

"Unless you people see signs and wonders, you will not believe" [Jn 4:48].

Was this rebuke directed solely at the official, or was it also aimed at the people of Galilee in general? Probably a little of both.

But the official accepts the rebuke. And humbled by Jesus' words, he doesn't allow himself to become discouraged. Moved by love for his son, he now pleads for help:

"Sir, come down before my child dies" [Jn 4:49].

Humility succeeds where arrogance had failed, and Jesus replies simply: 

"You may go; your son will live" [Jn 4:50].

Hearing these words, John tells us, the man now understands. He believed the Word of Jesus and departed on his journey home. But he had to be moved to faith, didn't he? His hope for his son's healing led him to Jesus, but it was the Word that brought him the gift of faith.

It's interesting, though, that on the way home, he meets his servants who tell him his son lives. He has been healed. That should have been enough for him, but perfect faith is never easy, is it? And so he asks exactly when his son recovered. The answer, of course, confirms the truth and as John tells us, with that "he himself believed, and all his household" [Jn 4:53].

Yes, sometimes God has to lead us to faith, one small step at a time, so we can request good things from God.

Jesus is present here today just as He was 2,000 years ago in Galilee. And it is through His healing Presence in the Eucharist that we too share in the divine life.

Christ's Healing Eucharistic Presence

Perhaps, like the court official in the Gospel, we should measure ourselves against Jesus' rebuke. 

Do you and I need signs and wonders before we're willing to believe the Word of God?

Is our prayer filled with our own demands or do we turn to God in humility..."Thy Will be done..."?

Any child will be happy to tell you that we are surrounded by signs and wonders, all pointing to God's presence...just as he will tell you that God, like a loving parent, will take care of you.

We are so blessed, but so often we don't know it.

Homily: Monday, 6th Week in Ordianry Time

Readings: Gn 4:1-15, 25 • Ps 50 • Mk 8:11-13
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Some years ago, in another parish, I was teaching a course on Church History when a man began to attack the Church for its teaching on the Eucharist. It seems he left the Church years before and became affiliated with a fundamentalist sect that considered the Eucharist a form of idol worship.

I took a deep breath, said a silent prayer, and surprisingly, I actually kept my cool. I then turned to Sacred Scripture and read what it revealed about the Eucharist. But this simply infuriated him. He didn't even try to counter my Scriptural arguments, but instead began to attack me personally.

Finally, I suggested that since we were in total disagreement, it might be best if we moved on. But his attacks continued, so I just told the class to take a break. When we reconvened he was gone. Reading today's Gospel passage from Mark, I found myself recalling that encounter from almost 30 years ago.

I often call Mark the Sergeant Joe Friday of the Gospels: "Just the facts, Ma'am." (You must be over 60 to recognize that allusion.) Yes, Mark lays it out there in simple, straightforward language, just as he does here: 

"The Pharisees came, and began to argue with Him..." [Mk 8:11]

You see, the Pharisees can't stand the fact that Jesus attracts so many - actually that the people follow Jesus and not them. They are so obsessed with Jesus, that they can't help themselves. They argue with Him, attack Him, and even try to test Him.

They ask Him for a sign from heaven, but of course, that's the last thing they either want or expect. If they actually thought He might be the Messiah, or even a prophet, they'd never dare to test Him, for to do so would be to test God Himself. In truth, the greatest sign from heaven is standing right before them, but they are too blind, too proud, to recognize it.

The Pharisees Argue with Jesus, and Demand a Sign

They consider Jesus a nobody, perhaps a clever nobody, but a nobody nevertheless. What they really want is to make Jesus do their bidding, and so they demand He do what they ask.

How often do we do the same? How often do we try to force our will on the Lord, and by doing so show we grasp nothing of God's will? Yes, indeed, instead of "Thy will be done," our prayer becomes my will be done. Because I'm so self-absorbed, I know only my will, and I know exactly what I want from God.

Ironic, isn't it? In my need, I finally come to the point where I accept my weakness, that I can do nothing. But instead of humbly opening myself to the Lord's will, I test Him, demanding He do what I can't do, and to do it in obedience to my will.

Brothers and sisters, in faith we cannot test the Lord, and certainly not in humility. To test the Lord is to imitate the Pharisees, to raise ourselves above Him. Instead we must be ever willing to receive the Lord's will in our lives, and to receive it gratefully even when it seems so contrary to our own will.

Mark often reveals the most human side of Jesus, and today's passage offers a perfect example.

"He sighed deeply in His Spirit" [Mk 8:12].

...a most human sigh from deep within Jesus. 

How the Pharisees must have tired Him, exasperated Him in their foolish pride, their hypocrisy, their spiritual blindness. Standing in their midst, He must be thinking, "These men are the teachers of Israel? I'm surprised any faith remains in the land."

He knew there would be no conversion that day, no belief, and that argument was futile. As Cardinal Newman once wrote: 

"It is as absurd to argue men, as to torture them, into believing."

And so Jesus refuses the Pharisees' demands:

"...no sign will be given to this generation" [Mk 8:12].

Now, Jesus gave many signs. Indeed, John in his Gospel, describes Jesus' miracles as signs, as works of God that point to even greater revelations. But Jesus' signs are always in response to faith or for a deepening of faith, but never for a purpose that wants to show itself stronger than the Lord's will.

When Jesus expresses and reveals the will of the Father, there is only a Yes or a No. And in this instance the Pharisees are refused.

"And He left them..." [Mk 8:13].

There will be no sign, no miracle. The Pharisees are left to stand alone and silent, unable to refute Jesus, the Word of God, or to disprove the miraculous.

Jesus leaves them not to make Himself seem important as the Pharisees want to be important. 

He left them and Joined the Disciples

No, He just leaves and joins His disciples in the boat. He does this to increase the disciples' faith and to glorify the Father; to teach them that there are things that demand an absolute No. They also learn that sometimes it is best to walk away and let the Spirit do His work. 

Let us remember that as well. Our prayer should never be a test of the Lord. Instead, today let's ask our loving Father to show us His will and keep us always in His love. We need no more.

Homily: Mass and Healing Service - July 8, 2017

Readings: Gn 27:1-5,15-29 • Ps 135 • Mt 9:14-17

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Jacob tricks his father, Isaac

What wonderful readings the Church has given us today. Hearing the story of Jacob and Esau only cements my belief in the historical truth of much of the Old Testament. The story of this ancient family is so very human it must be true.

Indeed, passages like today's from Genesis are what separate the Old Testament from the historical and spiritual writings of other ancient peoples. In the writings of those other cultures the failures and sinfulness of their human leaders rarely arise. Yes, according to their chronicles, the ancient kings and pharaohs, the priests and sages were all near-perfect beings. They won every battle, they were always wise and just, and their children were perfect mirror images of themselves.

Among the ancients the only place we'll ever encounter two sons like Jacob and Esau is exactly where we find them, in the Bible - one, along with their mother, conniving and deceitful, the other arrogant and foolish. And yet Jacob, with all his blemishes and sins, is one of the great patriarchs of our Judeo-Christian tradition.

Of course we see it again and again...if only among the kings of God's people. David, the great king who also happened to be an adulterer and murderer. His son, Solomon, who neglects God's gift of wisdom, becomes enamored of foreign women (quite a few of them, actually), and turns to idolatry. And these two kings, perhaps along with Hezekiah, Josiah, and a few others, were probably the best of the bunch.

So...what are we to think?

Well, in truth, we should thank God for the gift of the flawed men and women who fill the pages of God's Word...for what a gift they are to us! In these broken, oh-so-human lives we come face to face with God's enduring forgiveness. We come face to face with God's mercy.

If you worry about your family being mildly dysfunctional, just take a closer look at Abraham's, or Isaac's, or Jacob's. Despite all their problems, all their sinfulness, God's mercy just overflows into their lives. And God wants to shower you and those you love with that same outpouring of mercy.

Brothers and sisters, without God's mercy, we would be - what's the best word? - doomed!

Without God's mercy our sins would overwhelm us.

Without God's mercy, there would be no Incarnation, no redemptive sacrifice on the Cross, no Resurrection to offer us the hope of eternal life.

Without God's mercy there is no salvation; for the Incarnation is the supreme act of mercy, the supreme act of our merciful, loving God.

He becomes one of us, He lives with us, He teaches us, He forgives us, He heals us, He loves us, and He suffers and dies for us. He does all of this for our salvation. He does all of this so we can be healed.

That's right. Without God's mercy there can be no healing. And we are all, every single one of us, in need of healing, aren't we?

Why are you here today? What kind of healing do you seek?

Are you in pain...physical pain, the kind that can scream at you, causing you to question God's love?

Or maybe an illness, one of those devastating, fear-laden illnesses that make prayer so very hard?

Or is it depression, or another spirit-draining affliction that seems to attack our very humanity?

Is this the healing you seek?

What about the healing you need?

When we place ourselves at the foot of the Cross, when we look up at our crucified Lord, do we tear open our very being, do we rend our hearts exposing all to His merciful gaze? Do we come to Him, ready to die to self and sin? Looking at Him, do we find ourselves completely overwhelmed by this incomprehensible act of divine merciful love?

You see, brothers and sisters, I don't know God's plan for you...and neither do you. But I do know what He wants of you.

He wants you, He wants me, He wants every single one of us to come to Him, to abandon ourselves to Him, to allow His will to move within our lives. But it's never easy to set aside our own willfulness and abandon ourselves to God's will.

When our wills dominate, we end up broken, and yet it's through that brokenness that God call to us.  He knows when our need for His mercy, for His healing touch, is greatest.

At some point, though, we will all be broken physically, broken beyond repair. As Paul reminds us this mortal body is just a tent, a temporary dwelling, until you and I move into that eternal dwelling which God has prepared for us [2 Cor 5:1].

But in the meantime, it's so easy to slide into despair, to think that we're not deserving of God's mercy. We become like Peter who, when he suddenly comprehended the gulf between his sinfulness and God's greatness, could only say: "Depart from me, O Lord, for I am a sinful man" [Lk 5:8].

But Jesus didn't depart did He? In fact, it was then, at that very moment, that Jesus called Peter and the others to be Apostles, to be sent into the world, to be fishers of men.

Did you listen closely to today's Gospel passage from Matthew? It isn't really so much about fasting as it is about the new covenant that Jesus makes with us. And it is new indeed. It's not the patchwork of the old covenant; it's not old wine poured into old wineskins.

No Jesus is offering us something wonderfully new, and He demands something new from us. This newness is nothing less than the Gospel, the command to love God and to love each other as we love ourselves.

That's right, brothers and sisters, we're to look beyond ourselves, to die to self and sin and live for the other. And we're to do all this even in the midst of hurt and grief and illness and pain.

Just as He called Peter and the Apostles, Jesus calls us in the midst of our brokenness. He calls us when illness and fear try to overwhelm us. And He calls us in our sinfulness, when our flaws are most apparent. It's then when our need for His mercy is the greatest.

Flannery O'Connor

One of my favorite writers is Flannery O'Connor, who wrote so many wonderful stories of repentance, mercy, and redemption. A Georgia girl, she died in her late thirties after a long battle with lupus. It was a battle that lasted her entire adult life. While in the midst of all her suffering, she wrote some remarkable words in a letter to a friend. Listen to them:

"I have never been anywhere but sick. In a sense sickness is a place, a very instructive place, and it's always a place where there's no company, where nobody can follow. Sickness before death is a very appropriate thing and I think those who don't have it miss one of God's mercies." [The Habit of Being]

Have you ever thought of your affliction, your need for healing, as a mercy? I know I never had. My only serious illness was in my infancy, so I suppose I cannot fully comprehend what Flannery O'Connor meant by these words.

But our Lord certainly understood, always reminding us that fear has no place in the Christian's heart. And so, again, when we suffer, when we turn to God in prayer, what are we to do?

I really believe the first thing to do is to thank Him.

Joyce Kilmer, the Catholic poet, is another of my favorites. He was struck down by a sniper's bullet during World War One. But in the midst of his wartime experience, in the midst of destruction and devastation and death he wrote a little poem called "Thanksgiving." 

     The roar of the world in my ears.
     Thank God for the roar of the world!
     Thank God for the mighty tide of fears
     Against me always hurled!

     Thank God for the bitter and ceaseless strife,
     And the sting of His chastening rod!
     Thank God for the stress and the pain of life,
     And Oh, thank God for God!

Brothers and sisters, that's exactly what we must do: just thank God for everything.

Thank God for the joys and the pains of our lives. They are all gifts, even when they are beyond our understanding. Yes, thank God for life itself.

And then, today and every day, we can let Him worry about the healing.

After all, He's pretty good at it.