Hello Again...Pardon My Confession

"Rejoice in your hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer." (Rom 12:12)

It's been a while since I've posted anything...almost two months. My excuse? Diane and I were in Italy helping to lead a parish Jubilee Year pilgrimage during late January, and since then have been quite ill trying to recover from a nasty virus. We were actually sick before the trip, but had recovered (we thought) and had been given an OK for travel by our respective docs. Anyway, we're healthy once again and trust we will remain so, at least for a while.

If you know me at all, you'll realize how grumpy I can be whenever I'm ill. And this time around was no exception. Most often I turn to God and, forgetting everything I preach to others, grumble about why He has allowed me to get so ill. Then I inevitably get a little sanctimonious and remind the Lord that by confining me at home He's keeping me from doing His work in my tiny corner of the world: "Don't you understand how much I do for You?" (It's amazing how often we think and say such foolish things to God.) As a confessor told me years ago: "Being a sinner is a fulltime job."

This attitude usually rules for only a few days until I realize that by putting myself at the center of everything, I'm separating myself from reality. Yes, indeed, it's hard to be humble when you're always focused on yourself. Humility, of course, is simply reality, the true understanding of who we are in relation to God and others.

So, eventually, as always (I'm a notoriously slow learner), I began to accept God's will, even though I didn't understand it. And that's when His blessings and His gifts became evident. I realized first that I had become somewhat overwhelmed in my ministries. I used to say "burned out" but that always led me to feel sorry for myself. Truthfully, though, at 80 perhaps I need to slow down a bit and focus my remaining energy on how I can best serve God and His people. Once again, this demands a hefty dose of humility, a willingness to let the Lord take the lead and point me in the right direction. So often He calls us to our weaknesses, not to what we believe are our strengths -- another hard call to humility. The antidote? Prayer, prayer, and more prayer -- listening prayer -- and an openness to God's working through others to show us His will.  

Another blessing was a related and treatable eye infection that I might well have picked up on one of the flights to and from Italy. As a doctor friend once remarked: "Airplanes are perhaps the perfect Petrie dish for the cultivation and transmission of all kinds of nasty bugs." The infection made it difficult to read and use the PC. (I'm not a touch-typist, but hunt and peck at high speed.) So I actually had time to think and pray more than usual. This, then was another of God's unexpected gifts since it led me to thankfulness, quite a change from my earlier grumbling.

Diane and I also grew closer to each other as we flip-flopped in our roles as caregiver and care receiver, depending on who happened to be worse off on any given day. As you might have guessed, I tend to be the neediest, but Diane never complained and took wonderful care of me. I tried to do the same. After 56 years of marriage, we still find new ways to love each other. Diane's well-being is something else I must consider as I examine my way forward in the diaconate. Our mutual needs are more important. After all, those matrimonial promises and vows were made 30 years before holy orders.

I could go on, but there's no need. God is the great Teacher, always leading us to a deeper love for Him and each other. Some of us have to be retaught again and again, but His patience knows no limit and He continues to find new ways to help us grow in holiness.

God's peace, sisters and brothers...

Homily: 3rd Sunday of Advent - Year C

Readings: Zep 3:14-18a; Phil 4:4-7; Lk 3:10-18

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Gaudete Sunday – Today, smack in the middle of Advent, in this season of prayerful repentance and preparation, we are called to be joyful. It’s a time to rejoice, for that’s what Gaudete means: this Latin imperative: “Rejoice!” Hence, the color of our vestments and the candle we light today on our Advent wreaths – the color rose is offered as an outward sign of our joy.

But why? Why this focus on rejoicing? What’s its source? We rejoice today because our salvation is at hand. It’s especially fitting in anticipation of our celebration of the birth of our Savior on Christmas Day. Two Old Testament readings today, prophecies from Zephaniah and Isaiah, then a passage from Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, and finally the words of John the Baptist in Luke’s Gospel, all reminding Israel and us of God’s promise of salvation.

We’re told to shout for joy, to sing joyfully, to cry out with gladness, to exult with all our hearts, not to be discouraged, to leave anxiety behind, to fear nothing. Sisters and brothers, if you missed that message, you just weren’t paying attention.

In our first reading, Zephaniah completes his prophecy by telling us to rejoice:

“Shout for joy, daughter Zion! Sing joyfully, Israel...

But because he’s a prophet, inspired by the Holy Spirit, he speaks not only to the people of his time, but to those in the time of fulfillment, and that includes you and me:

"The Lord, your God, is in your midst, a mighty Savior…"

Zephaniah was also called to prepare God’s people by telling them how they are to receive their Savior:

“…I will leave as a remnant in your midst a people humble and lowly, who shall take refuge in the name of the Lord.”

Is Zephaniah speaking to us? To us, who have received a mighty Savior in our midst and continue to receive Him in His Eucharistic Presence? Yes, indeed, for Zephaniah’s words are God’s Word, inspired by the Holy Spirit and given to the Church for the salvation of all.

A remnant…a people humble and lowly? It that the Church? Is that us? Are we humble and lowly? 

My! That sure goes against the grain, doesn’t it? To be lowly in today’s world is to be a loser, because anyone who’s anyone strives to be a winner. Fame and fortune beckon and the lowly will be left behind. Yes, indeed, humility’s not something we see a lot of these days. As my father used to say, only partially in jest:

“Humility’s a strange commodity. Once you know you have it, you just lost it.”

You never hear saints talking about their humility, because for them humility is simply reality, the reality of our existence. We are all children of God, none better than the other, all loved into existence by our great God, Who created everything. Now, that's humbling.

Does this remnant of humble, lowly ones rejoice in God’s gift of salvation? Do evangelists of the last days prepare the world for the Son’s return? Yes, indeed, for God so often takes the weak and powerless, and through them does wondrous things. Or He allows us to be weakened, so we so come to experience true humility.

Some years ago, driving north, Diane and I stopped by Jacksonville to see dear old friends, a retired admiral and his wife, Scott and Marnie. I’d known Scott for years, and flown with him back in our Navy days. But now he was dying of cancer, and we wanted to see him once more.

That day, as we ate lunch together, Scott’s drawn face suddenly filled with peace. He smiled and said:

“You know, Dana, I’m so looking forward to seeing our Lord, I can hardly stand it. Isn’t that weird?”

Scott died exactly one week later. And that comment, made over a salad at a Longhorn restaurant, was a gift. Speaking with us several weeks later, Marnie said, “Scott saved me from a lot of grief because he was so joyful about the life to come.” We are to welcome the Lord with joy, however and whenever He might come to us.

We hear a similar message in our Responsorial Psalm. It’s really not one of the Psalms, but a prayer of praise, joy, and thanksgiving from Isaiah. We need only pray again our response:

“Cry out with joy and gladness: for among you is the great and Holy One of Israel.”

Accepting this, we believe our Savior is among us now, and that God is calling us to prepare the world for His ultimate return. We must, then, try to understand what God desires of us. And to find out, let’s revisit today’s Gospel passage from Luke.

Many picture John the Baptist as some odd zealot, dressed in animal skins, roaming about the desert, telling everyone to repent while they still have time – in other words, kind of a scary guy. John was certainly a bit fierce, mainly because he understood the holiness of God, the effects of sin, and so preached the need for repentance. And yet, he was among the sweetest of men – a saint of indescribable humility, and perhaps the most joyful saint in Scripture.

For John had met and acknowledged Jesus before both were born. Filled with the Holy Spirit, John leaped in his mother’s womb at the sound of Mary’s greeting – an unborn infant filled with joy at his Lord’s arrival. As Luke reveals to us: Called by the Word of God, John “went throughout the whole region of the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” We too are called to experience this same joy as we prepare for our own meeting with Jesus.

Did you notice that everyone John encountered, everyone he baptized, asked the same question: “What are we to do?” How should we live our lives? And John told them all – the crowds, the tax collectors, the soldiers, everyone who asked him – that they must live their newfound faith. They must prove it through works of charity, honesty, faithfulness, and justice.

Yes, indeed, “What are we to do?”

Well, God gave us a pretty simple command: Love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength; and love your neighbor as yourself.

“What are we to do?”

About 25 years ago, ministering in another parish, I was asked that same question. A couple, in their early 40s, approached me after Sunday Mass and asked if they could meet with me. I didn’t know them. I’d been a deacon for only a few years, but I agreed to meet privately the next day.

We began the meeting with a brief prayer, then the man told me they were seasonal visitors, living in their new summer home. It seems they had just sold their business, a software development company, for over 50 million. My immediate thought? Oh, a big donation’s coming. 

But no, it was the wife who spoke next and said, “We’ve both been unfaithful, but want to save our marriage.” And with that, her husband looked at me and asked, “What are we to do?”

Hearing that question – What are we to do? – threw me right back into Luke’s Gospel, and caused me to ask myself, "What am I to do now?"

I first told them to go to the sacrament reconciliation and receive God’s forgiveness and taste His mercy. And because I’m no marriage counselor, I referred them to a faithful Catholic counselor, one whom I knew would help them. Then I just said: “Love, repentance, forgiveness, and mercy.”

That they were there, together, demonstrated their love for each other. Repentance, though, means far more than being sorry for our sins. The very word – repent – means to re-think, to change our thinking, and from that to change how we act. As St. Paul reminds us, repentance demands change.

“…put on the new self, created in God’s way, in righteousness and holiness of truth.”

Forgiveness and mercy…well, they go together, for they are the most vivid manifestation of God’s love, the same love we are called to imitate. We should, of course, begin in our own families, forgiving those who love us, those whom we love, those to whom we can sometimes be most unkind indeed. 

But don’t stop there. Do what John told the crowds as they prepared to meet their Lord: Give to the poor, not just from your surplus but from your own need. Be honest, loving, caring people.

Called by God as His messenger, John prepared the world to receive Jesus Christ, the Word of God Incarnate. John awakened those he encountered, pulled them out of their complacency, led them to repentance so they would understand Jesus when He came.

And it’s no different today. To shake the world out of its indifference, to heal the hatreds, the divisions, the Church needs us all to be true witnesses to God’s love for the world. Today, because our God calls us all to rejoice in our salvation, we need people of joy – not just on one Sunday of Advent, but every day.

St. Paul, in our reading from Philippians, said it best:

“Rejoice in the Lord always. I shall say it again: rejoice!”

And he wrote those words from a Roman prison, as he awaited execution. Yes, “Rejoice in the Lord always.”

I’m reminded again of the words of my dying friend, Scott:

“I’m so looking forward to seeing our Lord, I can hardly stand it.”

Here, indeed, is the peace of God that surpasses all understanding. And this, sisters and brothers, is the Good News of Jesus Christ. Live it! Share it!

 

Homily: 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year B

Readings: Is 53:10-11; Ps 33; Heb 4:14-16; Mk 10:35-45

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One hot summer day in 1941, in the infamous death camp of Auschwitz in southern Poland, the Nazis sentenced 10 prisoners to die by starvation in retaliation for an escape. One of the ten had a wife and children, so a 47-year-old Polish, Franciscan priest offered himself in his place. The man's number was crossed off the list and the priest's inserted: number 16670.

That very day ten men entered the starvation bunker, just an underground pit -- no light, no air, no food, no clothing, nothing…nothing but the love of God radiating from one simple priest. Two weeks later they injected him with a fatal dose of carbolic acid, then incinerated his wasted body on the feast of the Assumption. Forty-two years ago, on October 10, 1982, Pope John Paul II celebrated the canonization of this man, St. Maximilian Kolbe.

Maximilian lived the Gospel to the fullest, conformed his will to God’s, regardless of consequences, and answered God’s call personally, without question. Only a few are called to give witness to God's love as martyrs, although their numbers have increased greatly in recent years. But the word “martyr” simply means witness, and we’re all called to witness, and sometimes to lead radically Christian lives in the circumstances in which God places us.

Sometimes the Gospel message almost knocks us flat with its firm but unmistakably clear demands.

Sometimes it shakes the very foundation of our world, turning our lives upside down.

Just consider the Zebedee boys, James and John, in today’s Gospel passage. Jesus had just told His Apostles, for the third time, about His passion, death, and resurrection. Their response? Silence. This just isn’t something they want to think about. So, instead of focusing on Jesus and what He has just told them, they change the subject, to their favorite subject: themselves. Don’t you just love how the two brothers approach Jesus?

“…we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.”

But they don’t really ask, do they? No, then they give Our Lord an order, as if they’re in charge:

"Grant that in your glory we may sit one at your right and the other at your left." 

They simply tell Jesus exactly what they want. Sadly, it reminds me of the way I sometimes pray. Do you ever do that, just give God orders? I not only tell Him what to do, but how to do it.

"Dear Lord, I’ve got this problem, and here’s how I want you to solve it…"

Like many of us, James and John don’t seem to be overflowing with humility, do they? Convinced they had earned it, they demanded prime seats, essentially telling Jesus:  Lord, seat us in glory right beside you. We’re your special ones, Jesus. These other guys…well, they’re okay, but they really don’t measure up, do they?

Like these two brothers, we too are often driven by pride, aren’t we? Even those seeking holiness can fall prey to a kind of spiritual greed. So, Jesus gives them the first of two lessons. Because they don’t know what they are asking, Jesus first tells them what their demand means.

They must first drink from the Lord’s chalice, and undergo His baptism of suffering, something that they had not yet understood or accepted. 

Ironically it was James, the elder son of Zebedee, who was the first of the apostolic martyrs. Perhaps he and his brother would have understood had they actually listened to Jesus and also pondered the words of Isaiah from our first reading. 

Yes, hundreds of years before the Incarnation, God reveals, through His prophet, what the Son of God made man must suffer to redeem the world of its sins. Just a moments ago we heard these prophetic words…

“…through his suffering, my servant shall justify many, and their guilt he shall bear.”

But I suspect Isaiah’s Suffering Servant was far from the minds of James and John. They couldn’t imagine Jesus, in an act of divine humility, emptying Himself, suffering, and dying on a Cross, like a slave, before entering His Kingdom.

The other Apostles were no different. Upset with the brothers, they were really driven by the same motivations: Lord, we’re just as good as those two.

And with that, Jesus teaches calls them all together and teaches His second, more important, and more challenging lesson:

“…whoever wishes to be first among you will be the slave of all.”

Is there a more politically incorrect word today than slave? And yet, here’s Jesus, telling His Apostles, and telling us, to be like slaves. We are slaves, you know. That's why Christ can ransom us through His suffering. Someone truly free doesn’t need to be ransomed, but slaves do.

You see, like James, John, and the others, we too can become self-absorbed, something that will ultimately enslave us, enslave us to sin. Jesus is telling us to turn away from ourselves and turn to others. From a worldly perspective St. Maximilian was enslaved by the Nazis; and yet, in truth, his faith made him free, free to offer himself, Christ-like, and give his life to ransom the life of another.

The call Jesus extended to the Apostles, and its example manifested by St. Maximilian while surrounded by the evil of Auschwitz, is a call to love, a call of loving humility. It’s a message that the Apostles ultimately learned and lived, and one that we must learn as well.

My dad once told me, humility is the foundational virtue that supports all other virtues. Lacking humility, the value of any virtue is lessened. If, for example, a wealthy person gives generously to charity or the Church but is motivated solely by the public recognition he receives, the poor may certainly reap some benefit. But what about the giver's soul? 

And then Dad followed this thought with another: “Humility’s a very strange commodity, because once you know you have it, you just lost it.”

Yes, it's funny, but he was right. You don’t hear saints talking about their humility, because they know that true humility merely reflects reality, divine reality. God created each of us in a divine act of love; but created each no better than the other. Yes, we are all so very valuable, everyone from conception until natural death must be loved and protected. To grasp this perhaps every morning we should all read the final verses of chapter 25 of Matthew’s Gospel, the only place in Scripture where the last judgment is described in any detail.

“For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.”

Jesus is telling us how valuable we all are, that He became one of us, took on our human nature, so we should see Him, the divine, creative and incarnate Word of God, in everyone we encounter. God calls us to love Him and each other, and in return for our response, for our submission to His Will, He promises a treasure far greater than you and I can ever imagine.

Here I am, after 80 years of a life with very little suffering, it’s easy to consider opting for a finishing leisure and just sit back and enjoy the rest of my days. But then the Spirit calls to mind St. Maximilian, the Apostles, so many others, and especially the world-redeeming suffering of our Lord, Jesus Christ. And so we ask: What does God have in store for each of us? As He revealed in our reading from Hebrews, we can only…

“…confidently approach the throne of grace to receive mercy and to find grace for timely help.”

Yes, we all plead for God’s timely help during these times of our lives, as we struggle to be seen worthy of the gift. 

But only arms that are empty of self can stretch out to receive that gift…just as St. Maximilian did when he held out his arm for that fatal injection. And just as Jesus did when He emptied Himself giving everything on the Cross.

"I am the way, the truth, and the life," Jesus tells us; therefore, nothing should take precedence over Christ in our lives, over His right to rule over our hearts. For that which we place first in our lives – when it is not God – becomes a prison. And that's the paradox: only as servants, as servants of God and each other, can we experience true freedom.

Homily: Tuesday, 20th Week in Ordinary Time (Year 2)

 Readings: Ez 24:15-23 • Dt 32:18-21 • Mt 19:16-22

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Today we celebrate St. Bernard, a Cistercian monk and abbot, a doctor of the Church, a brilliant 12^th-century theologian who, for a monk certainly got involved in a lot of stuff outside the monastery.

St. Bernard had a tremendous impact on the Church of his day and defended its teachings against the rationalism of Abelard and others like him, who tended to lift human reason to an almost divine level. Much of what he wrote applies as well to today’s confused world. Indeed, in some ways he mirrored Ezekiel’s message in today’s reading.

Reading Ezekiel’s words, it’s hard to believe they were written several thousand years ago. One would think they were written today and aimed directly at those who seem to think they actually control human life on earth. How did Ezekiel put it?

Because you are haughty of heart, you say, “A god am I”…And yet you are a man, and not a god, however you may think yourself like a god.

Just a few days ago, I read the words of a technology guru and he dropped a few interesting comments, all related to the emergence of artificial intelligence:

“If you have a problem in life, you don’t ask God, you ask Google or Facebook.”

And if that weren’t enough, he went on to say:

“…religions have been organized around fake news. Just think of the Bible. Fake news lasts forever in some cases….eternal fake news.

And he concluded with:

“Human history began when men created gods. It will end when men become gods.”

These are the words of more than just one man. They reflect the beliefs of many who claim to be smarter than the rest of us, smarter even than the God they don’t believe in, the God who created them. Yes, they believe they can create their own form of divinity, even if it all must take place in shadows. They are indeed gods, little gods, not unlike the false gods that the Chosen People had to deal with in Ezekiel’s time. They are men and women who look at creation and see only themselves.

I’ve been reading a lot of the Early Church Fathers lately, and St. Ephraim the Syrian, an interesting fourth-century theologian, left behind some wonderful thoughts in the form of little prayers. 

Yesterday I came across one of these, a St. Ephraim one-liner, a tiny prayer that sums up the spiritual needs of so many of us today:

“Inside I am not what I appear to be. Heal me.”

Of course, it’s a plea, asking the Holy Spirit to heal us of our spiritual hypocrisy, that human tendency to project an image to others that bears little resemblance to the true state of our soul. We want others to see a better version of ourselves, while we keep our true self hidden, even from ourselves. And when we do experience those rare moments of self-awareness, we find ourselves asking the same question asked by the disciples:

"Who then can be saved?"

In a sense they’re really saying, “Well, if I can’t be saved, how can anyone be saved?”

Jesus simply tells them and us that salvation is not something we can earn or achieve on our own, an impossible task for us sinners.

“For men this is impossible, but for God all things are possible.”

…and with this, He gives us hope. 

But, as usual, Peter so often assumes our role, demonstrating how clueless we all are in the presence of God. Ignoring what Jesus has just said, Peter responds with a self-absorbed statement and question:

"We have given up everything and followed you. What will there be for us?"

Peter, no doubt speaking for all of them, is looking for a kind of super-reward. After all, Jesus, this discipleship hasn’t been easy.

Jesus lets him know that there will be wonderful things for “you who have followed me.” But then, with His final words, Our Lord tells them they’re not yet there, that they’re still far from being fully formed disciples. How did Jesus put it?

“But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.”

At this point, those words were probably a bit too subtle for them, but I’m sure, with the help of the Holy Spirit, they understood them later.

Like those first disciples, brothers and sisters, we all have a way to go…to lower ourselves, to be healed of the pride of the world, and accept the reality of humility.

As St. Ephraim prayed: Yes, Lord, “Inside I am not what I appear to be. Heal me.”

 

Reflection: Divine Mercy Novena - Day 6

Once, when I saw Jesus in the form of a small child, I asked, 'Jesus, why do you now take on the form of a child when You commune with me? In spite of this, I still see in You the infinite God, my Lord and Creator.' Jesus replied that until I learned simplicity and humility, He would commune with me as a little child" (St. Faustine's Diary, 335).

Many years ago, Fr. Adam Domanski, a Polish priest and friend, gave me a copy of St. Faustina’s Diary. I’ll confess, I didn’t read it right away, but when I finally got around to opening the book, I could hardly put it down.

And when I read those words you just heard, I thought immediately of St. Therese, the Little Flower. For she, like St. Faustina, came to understand the necessity of approaching our God with the humility and innocence of a small child. Indeed, as St. Therese wrote:

 “…I am too small to climb the rough stairway of perfection…then… I read these words coming from the mouth of Eternal Wisdom: ‘Whoever is a little one, let him come to me.’ And so I succeeded. I felt I had found what I was looking for… for this I had no need to grow up, but rather I had to remain little and become this more and more.”

Such an attitude, of course, goes against everything the world tells us. Can anything be more countercultural? To try to remain childlike…but not childish. For as our Lord taught St. Faustina, to be childlike is to embrace simplicity and humility.

So often you and I try to complicate our relationship with God when all He wants from us is our love. To love God is to embrace the simple truth of the Gospel. It’s not complicated. You don’t have to be a theologian; in fact, that’s probably an obstacle.

Realize, too, that humility is simply the byproduct of reality. As St. Faustina reminds us, our God is “the infinite God, my Lord and Creator.” Knowing this, accepting it, believing it can do nothing but drive us to humility.

These two holy women, then, have taught us so much about becoming a spiritual child. We must learn and accept our total dependence on our God, so we can lead a life of trust and abandonment. We need to let God carry us to holiness. As Saint Therese confessed:

"What pleases Him is seeing me loving my littleness and poverty, the blind hope that I have in His mercy."

Childlike trust is possible only by God's merciful love towards all sinners. His mercy is bigger than any sins we may have committed. Let us always try to approach God with love, and with confidence in His mercy. To live in simplicity and humility is to rid ourselves of all that draws us away from God. When we've sinned, we must throw ourselves, like a child, into the arms of God's mercy. That's the beauty of the sacrament of reconciliation. God always waits for us with open arms.

Anxiety comes from worry, worry about that over which we have little or no control. Don’t worry about the past or the future. Live in the present moment as a child does. Interestingly, the older I get, the more I come to accept this. Children and saints seem to find lots of joy by living in the here and now. Let's join them, forgetting the sins of the past, and trusting that God will take care of our future.

Homily: Tuesday, 21st Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: 2 Thes 2:1-3, 14-17; • Ps 96 • Mt 23:23-26

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Well…good morning, fellow hypocrites!

That’s right…we really can’t deny it. And Jesus reminds us of this. Continuing His 7 woes, He aimed His words at the Scribes and the Pharisees, but you know He’s speaking to us as well. And what words they were! Straining gnats and swallowing camels…cups full of plunder and self-indulgence…hypocrites! It must have been something to hear!

Years ago, I read something that I’ll share with you. It was from an anonymous 5^th-century commentary on Matthew:

“Tell me, hypocrite, if it is so good to be good, why do you not strive to be truly what you only appear to be? And if it is so bad to be evil, then why do you allow yourself to be in truth what you would never want to appear to be? …Therefore, either be what you appear to be, or appear to be what you are.”

I always liked that. And it makes me think that the sinner, who doesn’t try to hide or cover up his sinfulness, might be treated a lot better at the judgment than the hypocrite whose outward appearance hides the sinful truth. We see it in the Church, in the clergy and in the faithful. None of us seem to be exempt.

In my last parish on Cape Cod, a retired bishop often spent the summer in our town, staying with his sister and her family. He’d also help out our parish by celebrating one of our Sunday Masses.

One Sunday morning, before the final blessing, he called a couple forward who were celebrating their 50^th anniversary. They renewed their vows and then the bishop presented them to the parish, and everyone applauded. He then extended the final blessing, and I gave the dismissal. It was a wonderful Mass.

Afterwards, as I made my way across the parking lot, a parishioner approached me with his family in tow. He didn’t look happy. Now, in matters spiritual, he could be a bit scrupulous…okay, more than a bit. He’d often complain to me about something the pope, or the bishop, or the pastor had said. And I knew I’d hear from him after every homily I preached. I’m probably wrong, but he seemed to believe he was holier than the Church itself, certainly holier than this lowly deacon, which was probably the truth…

But what upset him this day was the congregation’s applause for that couple’s anniversary. I thought he was kidding, so I stupidly laughed a little. That was a mistake. He glared at me and then said, “Applause has no place during the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.”

I tried to explain that the Mass is a time of communion…Yes, a Holy Communion with our Lord, but also a communion with each other, and that we should openly celebrate others’ joys and share in their sorrows. Doing so right before we are dismissed to reenter the world is probably a good time.

The Spirit, of course, is wonderful, and He gives us His Word when we need it most. And I found myself turning to St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans, and paraphrasing the Apostle’s wonderful words:

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Have the same regard for one another; do not be haughty but associate with the lowly; do not be wise in your own estimation [Rom 12:15-16] 

I couldn't express Paul's exact words from memory, but thought I'd paraphrased them rather well. Surprisingly, though, he didn’t say, “Oh, thank you, deacon, for clearing that up.”

No, he just walked away, very displeased with me and our visiting bishop. But perhaps the Spirit’s Word had an impact later.

He was so worried about the minutia -- applause as an offence to liturgy -- and so forgetful of the truly important -- sharing in the joy of a faithful marriage in Christ. Was he a hypocrite? Probably, but then so am I.

Recently I’ve been told by several people that they left the Church because it was filled with hypocrites. I just looked at one of them and said, “Well, yeah! We’re a Church of sinners. Let me know if you find a church that isn't.” I probably didn't change his mind, but sometimes I say things I shouldn't.

It's easy to get all wrapped up in the jots and tittles of our rules and rituals. Yes, we should do things well and right, but we are imperfect creatures, and sometimes we mess up.

Liturgy is really the perfect example. I was responsible for our liturgy here for a number of years, and I was always amazed by the comments, suggestions, and sometimes unkind criticism – often anonymous – that I received. I tried to avoid the attitude highlighted in the old joke that the difference between a liturgist and a terrorist is you can negotiate with a terrorist. I listened and studied and learned and prayed and tried to improve, occasionally with success.

Brothers and sisters, we must remember we’re all susceptible to these attitudes condemned by Jesus. We are re not called to be Pharisees; we are called to love.

Let’s beg God to reveal to us the hypocrisy he already sees in us, so we might know ourselves as God knows us, with that same clarity. Jesus invites us to look inward and not to be afraid at what we may encounter.

How to cleanse the inside of the cup?  Whatever is against justice and mercy and faith must be placed in the light of day. As my mom used to say, “Face the truth, son!” The beginning of our union with God is our ability to face the truth, to offer our weakness with a cry for truth and clarity about how we approach God and our neighbor.

Homily: Saturday, 20th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Ez 43:1- • Ps 85 • Mt 23:1-12

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Today we celebrate St. Bernard of Clairvaux, a 12^th-century monk who had a powerful influence on the Cistercian reform of the Benedictines. He never turned away from conflict and criticized the Benedictines for their wealth and what he considered their lax spiritual life. He also received a lot of after-the-fact, and probably unfair, criticism for his strong support of the Second Crusade, an effort that ended in disaster.

But despite all this, he had a very positive impact on the Church during those challenging times. He was also a true mystic, and his writings, especially his work on the Love of God, are still widely read today. Indeed, we told that Pope John XXIII read from St. Bernard’s work every evening.

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When we hear Jesus castigating the Pharisees and Scribes, we must be wary of the tendency to believe His words were aimed solely at those men whom Jesus encountered so often.

But what Jesus has to say in this passage shouldn’t be thought of only as a diatribe against people in the past, those nasty Scribes and Pharisees. Doing so, we forget that it’s for our benefit and reflection that these words of Jesus have been included in the Gospel. Indeed, the same attitudes were found among the early Christians just as they are all too common today. Yes, the Gospels were written to us and for us.

We must also realize Jesus wasn't attacking every Scribe and every Pharisee. Afer all, they included many good men, just and honest men like Gamaliel (Acts 5) and Nicodemus (Jn 3). Jesus is really attacking wrong attitudes that are behind the hypocrisy and sinfulness so common then and now.

He turns first to those in authority, and challenges them to practice what they preach. He sees through their open hypocrisy, that "all their works are performed to be seen" [Mt 23:5], that they relish the attention and honors they receive.

Hearing these words of Our Lord, I'm forced to look at myself and examine my own attitudes. Of course, we deacons don't pack a lot of authority, and that's as it should be. The very meaning of our title is "servant." But maybe that's the problem. After all, how often do I remind myself that I am called only to serve?

I hear Jesus' words about relishing "greetings in the marketplaces, and the salutation 'Rabbi'" [Mt 23:7]. Now I'm no rabbi, but I can hardly go to Publix without someone greeting me as "Deacon" and too often saying nice things about me. Do I relish these greetings? It's hard not to, so I usually ask the other to pray for me and the ministry to which God has called me, reminding myself that His call and all that comes with it is undeserved. It's still hard, until God, in His own unique way, humbles me. He does that a lot.

How about you? do you really accept, as Jesus reminds us, that we are all brothers and sisters in Christ, adopted children of the Father? Do we accept that any differences among us, any human achievements (all that human "greatness") and any talents -- that these are all gifts, that none of us is greater than another. For as Jesus commands:

"The greatest among you must be your servant. Whoever exalts himself will be humbled; but whoever humbles himself will be exalted” [Mt 23:11-12].

If we pay attention to our reading from the prophet Ezekiel, perhaps we can better understand this command. After all, when placed in God’s presence, as Ezekiel was, it’s hard not to be humbled. Ezekiel was reminded that God, despite the sinfulness of His people, remain with them always. Once again, the covenant is renewed. And it’s renewed again and again, but it’s never God who breaks it, for God is merciful and forgiving. The final covenant, the New Covenant, will be made through Jesus Christ, the Incarnate Son of God, Who pours out His blood for the love of us all.

As we learn from Ezekiel, the glory of the Lord is always ready to enter our lives, if only we humble ourselves before Him. We are called, then, to follow the example of Our Lord. We are called to humble ourselves just as He did – our God Who emptied Himself to become one of us.

Today He humbles Himself further as He comes to us, Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity, but in the simple form of bread and wine so we may take Him to us, that our God may reside within us: the Son, in the Father, through the Spirit.

We are on our way, brothers and sisters. But we must become the Church of the meek, a Church of the humble that approaches God in repentance. It’s what we’re called to do. God allows us, the faithful, to “start afresh…from the beginning,” to forgive sinners and embrace and console the innocents, to share the Good News, and do so in faith, in humility, and in love.

Homily: Saturday, 17th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Jer 26:11-16,24; Ps 69; Mt 14:1-12

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Today, in addition to our Saturday memorial for the Blessed Mother, we celebrate St. Peter Chrysologus, a fifth-century bishop and doctor of the Church also known as a gifted preacher. I’ve read a few of his homilies and suspect they likely lasted an hour or more. Aren’t you glad he’s not preaching here today…or maybe not.

Anyway, as I read Psalm 69 yesterday, today’s responsorial psalm, I was reminded of something that happened to me long ago. It was these words by the psalmist that struck me:

Let not the abyss swallow me up…

Yes, these words brought back an odd and old memory.

Many years ago, when I was a young naval officer, one Sunday afternoon the captain of our ship decided to give the crew a treat. He stopped the ship, right there in the middle of the South Pacific, rigged up a ladder to a small floating dock, lowered a boat with a rifleman to watch out for sharks, and had a swim call. Most of the crew preferred to stay aboard ship and take advantage of the flight deck barbeque, but I thought a dip in the ocean would be just the thing on a steamy hot day.

Now it’s one thing to travel over deep water in a ship or to fly over it, and it’s something quite different to immerse oneself in it physically – to experience it up close and personal, so to speak. I admit, when I dove off the dock into crystal clear blue water, it was refreshingly wonderful. And then, after a few minutes, I made the mistake of dunking my head under water looking straight down. 

The sun was almost directly above, so the sunlight formed a kind of funnel, a vortex of light beneath me going down into the darkness with my legs dangling there in the midst of it. It was a remarkable, almost breathtaking, experience, looking down through that narrowing cone of light into the seemingly infinite darkness of the ocean. As I hovered, almost paralyzed by the experience, I recalled that the ocean there was a good four to five miles deep. For a moment I felt completely alone, totally vulnerable, something that in my usual arrogance and self-confidence I had never before experienced. With no reference other than myself and the vastness of the ocean, for the first time in my life I was aware of how small and fragile I really was.

How long did I hover there staring down into that deep water? I don’t know, but eventually I needed to breathe. I broke the surface and felt this tremendous sense of relief to see others swimming around me with the huge bulk of the aircraft carrier only fifty yards away. I swam back to the little dock and climbed up that 70-foot ladder in record time. And, you know, in all the years since I’ve never again felt the need to go swimming in mid-ocean, to enter that deep water, a stare into the abyss.

I suppose the lives of the prophets – John the Baptist, Jeremiah, and all the rest – were a constant reliving of that experience that I had for just a moment. They stared down into the abyss, into the abyss of hatred, not knowing if they’d even survive another day, all the while struggling to trust that God would care for them. “Let not the abyss swallow me up.”

Herod Antipas was not unlike the priests and false prophets of Jeremiah’s time. The true prophets, men like Jeremiah, those who spoke God’s Word…oh, they were easy to hate because the truth they spoke cut to the very core. The world could ignore them only so long, because what they said was so disturbing to all those well-planned lives.

And that call to repentance? To re-think everything. To change. To set aside my comfortable life and look into the abyss? To trust, to put my faith to the test. Yes, like Herod and the rest, too often you and I fear and resist the change that God calls to us.

Ironically, sometimes it’s the very goodness of our lives that keeps us from responding – family, friends, health, freedom, safety…all just going so well. Being comfortable here, in a bright, well-manicured community that we hope mirrors our own lives…yes, indeed, it can keep us from listening to what God calls us to do.

We look outward at an unjust world, shake our heads, and give thanks that we’re somewhat isolated from it all. It’s the same kind of world that rejected Jesus. A world governed by pride, where that same lack of humility leads so many to believe they don’t need the God who created them out of love. And as we look at that world, you and I sense a certain guilt because we are so blessed. Perhaps what we really need is a deeper sense of humility, as St. Thérèse once wrote, "My task was simplified the moment I realized I could do nothing by myself."

Perhaps we should just step into that unjust world, put God’s light on the lampstand and let it shine into the lives of those around us. Hard to believe, but you and I are called to be prophets, called to be God’s messengers, to be His voice in the tiny slice of the world where He’s placed us. We need fear nothing, not even the abyss; for when you and I respond to God's word with faith and obedience, we are changed, and made "new creations" in Christ.

For some of us, time is running out, so I guess we’d better get busy.

Homily: Saturday, 3rd Week of Lent

Readings: Hos 6:1-6; Ps 51; Lk 18:9-14

When we look over the broad scope of these 40 days of Lenten readings, perhaps the most common theme is repentance. Today's Responsorial Psalm (Psalm 51) is certainly an example of this. 

But the next most common theme is the call to humility. I suppose that makes good sense because I’ve always considered humility as the pre-requisite virtue, without which no other virtue can stand. After all, if we don’t possess a humble heart there’s only one other possibility: pride. And we all know where pride leads us. Just as humility is the foundation stone of the virtuous life, pride is the foundation stone of the sinful life.

Humility, you see, is nothing less than an acceptance of reality. Humility is the awareness that we are the creatures and God is the Creator. But more than that, humility is the joyful realization that God created you and me, each one of us, in individual acts of love. Humility is the shock of recognition, our breathtaking grasp that this love is supremely manifested in God’s humbling of Himself to become one of us, and give up His life for us. Indeed, can anything be more humbling than an awareness of our poverty before God? True humility also helps us avoid the ephemeral piety condemned in our first reading from Hosea:

"...like morning mist, like the dew that disappears early" [Hos 6:4].

Pride, of course, takes God out of the picture. It must. Pride, you see, is the inordinate love of self, the love of self above all else. How can one be filled with pride, then, and accept the greatness of God, a greatness far beyond our comprehension? In a very real sense, the prideful person substitutes himself for God, placing himself and his needs and wants above God and everyone else. If you are prideful, how can you love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself? [Mt 22:36-40] You can't.

Just consider today’s Gospel passage from Luke. It’s one of those clear, straightforward passages, a parable that exposes pride for what it really is, while at the same time allowing us to grasp the path to true humility.

First of all, Luke tells us to whom Jesus addressed this parable:  

“…to those who were convinced of their own righteousness and despised everyone else” [Lk 18:9].

In other words, to an audience of the prideful.

It’s also interesting that Jesus’ cast of characters includes only two men: a Pharisee and a tax collector. Jesus often castigated the one and the people despised the other. The Pharisee, while seemingly at prayer, took up a position of prominence. But note that he prays not to God but, as Jesus tells us, “…spoke this prayer to himself” [Lk 18:11]. And how does he begin this prayer offered to himself? “Oh, God…” Yes, indeed, as only the prideful can, he substitutes himself for God, even in prayer. He goes on to thank himself for being so much better than the rest of humanity, revealing a heart devoid of humility. And he especially scorns that sinful tax collector who stands far behind him praying humbly with head bowed.

Both the Pharisee and the tax collector are spiritually impoverished, but only one of them realizes it. The Pharisee’s pride prevents him from recognizing the truth about himself, while the tax collector’s humility leads him to a recognition of this truth. Listen again to His prayer:

“O God, be merciful to me a sinner” [Lk 18:13].

With these few words he acknowledges his total dependence on God and willingly exposes his true condition to the only one who can heal him.

Jesus also reminds us that only God knows our hearts, that we should resist making judgments based on our personal biases. Because of his humble prayer, the widely despised tax collector “goes home justified” while the esteemed and self-exalted Pharisee must still be humbled.

The Eastern Church has long encouraged praying a version of the tax collector’s prayer, revealed in a wonderful little book, The Way of the Pilgrim.

Called the “Jesus Prayer,” and prayed throughout the day to the very rhythm of the body’s breathing, it too is simple:

“Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

Although prayed by the humble, I can think of fewer prayers more exalting.

Maybe we should all try that throughout the day for the remainder of Lent.

 

Homily: Thursday, 2nd Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: 1 Sm 18:6-9; 19:1-7; Ps 56; Mk 3:7-12

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Today we are blessed to celebrate the lives of two 3^rd-century martyrs. St. Fabian was a layman, who was elected as Bishop of Rome. (To my knowledge, he is unrelated to the 1950s teen idol of the same name.) But, in the event any of you are planning such a career change, realize Canon Law no longer permits this. Interestingly, though, Fabian’s body now rests in the Basilica of St. Sebastian, whom we also celebrate today.

Sebastian is probably best known for having been pierced by multiple arrows. Surprisingly, he managed to survive this, only to be clubbed to death later. There’s a certain irony in the fact that he is the patron saint of archers.

St. Sebastian

It's good for us today to remember the courage of these martyrs, who are such wonderful examples of lives well lived, of lives offered up for God’s glory.

Back in my other life, a life not always so well lived – a life before the diaconate and before The Villages – because of my work, I would often be asked to speak at corporate management meetings, or at industry conventions, usually on subjects related to management or customer focus.

I’ll admit, it was nice to receive a warm response, even the occasional standing ovation, and realize what I had to say struck a chord with the audience. But to keep me humble, someone would often come up to me afterwards, very upset about something I had said.

I was perhaps a bit like Saul in today's passage from 1^st Samuel, a man who sought accolades and resented anything negative…and I'd often argue with those who disagreed with me.

It took me quite a while to realize I could never please everyone. It also took me a while to understand that those who came to me upset simply wanted someone to listen to them.

Instead of just dismissing them, I began to listen. And in that listening, and in the questioning that usually followed, I learned that sometimes these “great thoughts of mine” might not always lead to success when put into practice.

Yes, I learned that some of what I believed about the subjects on which many thought I was an expert needed to be adjusted a bit. It was humbling, but in the listening, I think I became better at what I did.

I thought of this other life of mine as I read today’s Gospel passage. And how the crowds must have moved Jesus. And how very different He is from us, how different from me. Unlike me, Jesus is not concerned about Himself. His focus is entirely on those who have come to Him.

We see Jesus followed and surrounded by huge crowds, so large that the disciples worried the crowds would crush Him. When I spoke to an audience, it was to a gathering of like-minded people, and I usually knew what they wanted to hear. They weren’t hard to please. But Jesus was surrounded by huge crowds of such different minded people.

Oh, the Pharisees and Scribes were always there, despising Him, listening in, hoping to trap Him.

The Twelve were there, too, probably acting a bit officious, and basking a little in His reflected glory.

Many came to Him hoping for cures. They came themselves or they brought those who suffered, those who wanted only to touch Him. And so, He heals them.

But these crowds weren’t just Jews. No, Mark says they came from Tyre and Sidon, and from beyond the Jordan…that’s Gentile country. Yes, the Word had gotten around, hadn’t it? The Word. Even among the Gentiles. They, too, just sought healing, longed to hear a Word that might bring some hope into their confused and often desperate lives.

But someone else was there too. Some who came were possessed by evil spirits.

They fell down before Jesus and cried out, “You are the Son of God!” [Mk 3:11] Jesus ordered them to keep silent. He knew their cry wasn’t a confession of faith; rather it was an attempt to turn aside the threatening power of Jesus by using His exact name.

Jesus also knew the crowds weren’t ready to receive this revelation of the Messianic Secret. Their understanding was still superficial. They came for their own needs, not for discipleship. They came to receive, but not yet to give. But notice, Jesus never turned them away. They had needs only He could satisfy, and His mercy and His compassion brought physical and spiritual healing into their lives.

His warning to the spirits, though, came from the very nature of His mission. God became man so that man might share in divine life, an incredible thing in itself. But scandal and folly result from the means by which He accomplishes His mission: the glory of the Cross. To reveal His mission before its time would drive away many whom He wished to save.

His purpose, then, through His self-revelation, is to save folks like me – folks like you – from our self-delusions of grandeur.

Brothers and sisters, we can’t save ourselves, for salvation comes only from love – from God’s love and from our willingness to love God and each other.

It comes from carrying our own cross in union with the crucified Christ.