COVID-19 Reflection 11: Giving Alms

How long has this pandemic afflicted us? It seems like forever, doesn’t it? 

But maybe that’s the wrong question. Perhaps we should be asking ourselves: How have we used the time we’ve been given? For if there’s one thing COVID-19 has given us, it’s time. And what a time it’s been! A vastly different time for most of us.

A time of uninvited change.

A time of separation from the familiar, from the predictable.

A time of loneliness; or a time to deepen friendships and family bonds.

A time of reflection; or a time of complaint.

A time of openness; or a time of closure.

A time of embraced opportunity; or a time of withdrawal.

A time of joy; or a time worry.

A time of faith; or a time of fear.

In other words, how many of us see this pandemic as something to be feared, as a life-stealing threat?

And how many see it as a gift?

I know, it’s hard to see a virus as a gift. But remember, as St. Paul reminds us, God takes everything and turns it to good for those who love Him [Rom 8:28].

This time, then, is just another manifestation of the Good News, another reason to be joyful.

Let me sum it up with a one more question: Have you and I grown in holiness? For this is what God asks of us. Did we use this time to deepen our love for God and for each other?

A few weeks ago, an acquaintance complained that his spiritual life had suffered greatly because he couldn’t take part in the usual acts of worship and charity that had filled so much of his day prior to the pandemic. “It’s all so different,” he said.

I simply reminded him that when our world changes, when everything is “so different”, our response, too, must be different.

He’s a pretty active guy, so I got the impression that his B.P. spiritual life (his before pandemic life) involved a lot of doing – doing things he believed were good Christian things to do.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Liturgical and charitable ministries are wonderful things because they’re done in response to Jesus’ command.

But so many Christians do all these good things without really thinking very deeply about them. We can get so wrapped up in our Christian work that we don’t take the time to reflect on the totality of our lives.

So certain that we are fine right where we are, we don’t ask God to show us where He wants us to be. Our prayer – when we have time for it – tends to focus on what we believe to be our needs, instead of opening our hearts to what God desires for us.

Of one thing we can be certain: God does not want any of us to remain the same. He wants everyone to grow in holiness.

When I think of the Christian life, I’m always drawn to those traditional Lenten practices: almsgiving, fasting, and prayer. In truth, though, almsgiving and fasting are just other forms of prayer.

Today I’d like to focus on almsgiving.

Gerard Manley Hopkins, the 19^th Century Jesuit poet, frequently corresponded with the poet laureate of England, his friend Robert Bridges. In one of these letters, Bridges, an agnostic, asked Hopkins how he could learn to believe, expecting, I suppose, some deep theological answer. But Hopkins reply consisted of only two words: “Give alms.”

What a wonderful answer! Even though it might have been lost on Mr. Bridges. You see, in his own search for truth, a search that ultimately led him to the Catholic Church, Hopkins had learned something most people never grasp. 

He hoped to show his friend that the love of God is experienced most fully in our love for others. For it’s through loving others that we recognize and experience the source and being of all love. By loving others, we come to see the divine image in every person. By loving others, we come face to face with Jesus.

Of course, when you and I think of almsgiving, we usually think of money – you know, writing a check to Catholic Charities or Catholic Relief Services, or to a local charity like our Food Pantry or the Wildwood Soup Kitchen, and then thinking really well of ourselves.

These are all good things to do – except the thinking well of ourselves – but almsgiving means so much more than this.

The word "alms" has its roots in the Greek word meaning compassion, and "compassion" -- based on its Latin roots -- literally means "suffering with".

Now, for most of us, I don't think writing a check to Catholic Charities really involves a lot of suffering, especially suffering with someone in need. Perhaps we should expand our understanding of almsgiving to include something a bit more up close and personal. After all, it's hard to suffer with someone if you don't know who's doing the suffering. Maybe our almsgiving should include more than just giving money. Maybe it should also include giving of ourselves, more hands-on than usual.

Many of our parishioners are members of ministries that support those in need – for example, the Knights of Columbus or the Council of Catholic Women. These are wonderful ministries, but it’s also easy for members to hide behind the organization’s collective work and forget that each one of us is called to get down and dirty, so to speak, in our almsgiving, in our giving of ourselves.

Giving of oneself is the sort of giving we see at the food pantry, or the free clinic, or the soup kitchen. It's the sort of giving that takes the Blessed Sacrament to the sick and homebound, the sort that visits (or simply calls) those in the hospital or the nursing home or hospice. It's the sort of giving that takes God's love to those who are imprisoned.

It’s also the love that visits a lonely neighbor. Every neighborhood has its share of suffering souls, those who need your almsgiving, your suffering right along with them. How many of us know our neighbors well enough to be aware of their loneliness, their illnesses, their suffering? 

As I mentioned earlier, perhaps we should use this unfamiliar time to reflect on our motives. Why do I do God’s work? Simply because Jesus told me to? Or do I do it out of love? Do I give those personal alms, that compassion, because I see Jesus Christ in every person I encounter?

What have I done, what can I do now, and what will I do once our world re-opens? After all, God’s People – and they are all God’s people, rich and poor – will still have needs that call for our compassion, our suffering with them.

It all boils down to love, doesn’t it? If we answer the call to almsgiving, to compassion, simply because it makes us feel good, what profit is there in that? How did Paul put it?

If I speak in human and angelic tongues, but do not have love, I am a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal [1 Cor 13:1].

In other words, unless we act out of love, our actions mean little.

Take a few moments to read Jesus’ wonderful description of the last judgment [Mt 25:31-46] and reflect on what Our Lord is telling us about those who suffer. I read that passage at least once a week, just to remind me of how often I fail as a disciple of Jesus Christ.

How did Jesus put it? “…whatever you do for the least of my brothers, you do for me.” 

But Jesus didn’t stop there, did He? He tells us not only to give alms, but also to take it a step farther, to do what doesn’t come naturally: to give alms in secret [Mt 6:1-4]. Imagine that! Being charitable but telling no one. Taking no credit for the good we do. No bows, no bouquets, no recognition, no thanks. Why, it’s almost inhuman.

Well…actually…it is inhuman, because it’s what the Father wants, and He will repay us.

At the Wildwood Soup Kitchen, we have a guiding principle we hope will direct our ministry to those we serve. It’s really quite simple: “We don’t serve food; we serve Jesus Christ.”

This is what God wants from us, to see Jesus Christ in others and to be Jesus Christ for others. This is true discipleship.

The disciple should also be filled with joy, for discipleship is celebration, a time in which you share the joy that comes from knowing we are loved by God.

Like all holy acts, almsgiving is an opportunity for evangelization. What an opportunity to carry the Good News of Jesus Christ to those who suffer!

A simple phone call to one who is ill in body, mind, or spirit is a coming together in worship. And God wants us to celebrate when we worship. His is the Good News, not the okay or the so-so news.

This, indeed, is what the Mass is, a coming together in worship, to share not only in the remarkable gift of the Eucharist, but also in each other's joys and sorrows. It is a time of communion. (To come to a deeper understanding of this, read Pope Benedict XVI’s wonderful, little book, Called to Communion.) 

Have you ever considered that Our God is a communion, a communion of three Persons, united in a love beyond our understanding? The Blessed Trinity becomes, then, a model for us as a we struggle to respond to God’s call to communion.

Just look at the words of the Word of God. When Jesus taught His disciples to pray, He didn't begin with, My Father. He began with Our Father. And He didn't end by saying, "…deliver me from evil," but with, "…deliver us from evil." He didn't choose one apostle, He chose twelve. And He didn’t send them out alone; He sent them out in pairs.

God, in His infinite wisdom, knows we need each other to accomplish His Will. We need His Love, manifested through the love we have for each other, to achieve salvation.

St. Paul recognized this. In his First Letter to the Corinthians he celebrates the many spiritual gifts that we, as Christians, receive from the Holy Spirit: wisdom, knowledge, faith, healing, works of mercy, prophecy, discernment, prayer in the Spirit…all wonderful gifts. But each person, each gift, by and of itself, needs the others to make a whole. [1 Cor 12:1-11].

And in that same letter, Paul states emphatically that the Body of Christ does not consist of one member but of many. We must all share in each other’s joys and sorrows. Sadly, not everyone understands this.

Many years ago, in another parish, I was assisting a retired bishop at Mass. He spent the summer in our town and occasionally helped the parish by celebrating Sunday Mass.

One Sunday, right after the homily, he called a couple forward to receive a blessing on their fiftieth anniversary. Everyone in the parish knew them, and so after the blessing, the bishop led us in a round of applause.

Later a parishioner approached me in the parking lot furious that we had applauded during Mass, something he considered sacrilegious. At first, I thought he was kidding, but his reaction to my little chuckle taught me otherwise. He had forgotten about the bishop and was now angry with me.

I also realized argument would be futile, so I simply said, “Read First Corinthians 12:26” and walked away. In that verse Paul simply writes:

"If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together” [1 Cor 12:26].

You know, in all the years I knew that man, I never saw him smile.

We encounter a similar situation in chapter two of John’s Gospel in which we find Jesus, accompanied by His Mother and His disciples at a wedding feast in Cana. Here Jesus joins His people in a joyful celebration of marriage between a man and a woman. But more than that, He sanctifies this marriage by performing His first public miracle – not at a time of human sorrow, but of human happiness.

John draws the picture of Jesus enjoying Himself at this celebration. Jesus chose to be there, to take part in this very human celebration, this party. It wasn’t beneath Him but was something He sought.

Our Christian faith, then, is a cause for joy, and the Christian who goes through life with a long face, spreading gloom behind him should meditate long and hard on this Gospel reading. Jesus told His disciples,

“If you love me you will keep my commandments” [Jn 14:15].

And so, if we aren’t keeping His commandments, if we aren’t loving our neighbor as ourselves, it’s apparent that we’re not loving God either. We can’t, then, grow in holiness unless we love.

In its broadest sense, almsgiving is one of the means through which we grow in holiness. Because it’s also a form of prayer, it helps us fulfill Paul’s call to “Pray without ceasing” [1 Thes 5:17] by the way we live our lives, the way we love.

Since this is supposed to be a reflection, perhaps each of us should do a little reflecting and consider how we give of ourselves to others, how we take Jesus Christ to others in need.

Who in my life is suffering from loneliness, from illness, from heartache?

Who needs to experienced God's love but has received no alms, no compassion, no suffering-with from me?

Homily: Christmas Mass at Night (12/24/2019)

I've embedded a video of this homily below. The complete text of the homily follows the video.

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Readings: Is 9:1-6; Psalm 96; Ti 2:11-14; Lk 2:1-14
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Well then, Merry Christmas, and welcome to the Midnight Mass. But since midnight is way past our bedtime, we cleverly celebrate it at 8 p.m.

Tonight, we celebrate an encounter with God as He had never been encountered before. And it’s really a most remarkable thing.

Before this night, for thousands of years, humanity had accepted the existence of a God, or of multiple gods, who they believed had brought all of creation into being. This belief in a Creator’s existence was universal. You simply don’t find atheists among either the most primitive or the most civilized or our ancient ancestors. Atheism, and its weaker, little brother, agnosticism, are really modern inventions, simply the result of man unwilling to accept a god other than himself.

But the ancients accepted their limitations. Applying their senses and their minds, they realized the beauty and wonders surrounding them could not have come into being simply by chance. Because our ancient ancestors lacked revelation, their gods took on many different forms, but most were simply the result of men creating gods in their own image. They were certain of God’s existence, but He was a distant God, unapproachable, unknowable. We get brief glimpses of this in those first few chapters of Genesis.

But then God, the only God, makes Himself known. He speaks to a man whom He calls Abraham and begins a 2,000-year-long process of revelation in which He gradually reveals Himself and His plan for humanity. Remarkably, He does all this through Abraham’s descendants, a most unlikely tribe of nobodies that God had chosen simply because of their weakness and anonymity. Indeed, it is through their weakness that they magnify God’s glory. For 2,000 years God revealed Himself and His expectations for us, His creatures. And what a gift this Revelation is!

Do you realize how blessed we are to be Catholic Christians? What we believe and how we worship are not things we’ve concocted. They’re not a collection of man’s feeble attempts to placate some higher power. No, our Christian Faith, our Sacred Liturgy, are God’s Word and God’s Work. It all comes from God Himself.

It’s not a religion, brothers and sisters; it’s a Revelation! It’s a Revelation that runs through many generations, from Abraham to Moses to David, through all the prophets, and eventually to Jesus Himself – Who is the fulfillment of it all.

Yes, it’s a Revelation completed in the Incarnation when Mary, as Luke reveals to us:

“…gave birth to her firstborn son. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn” [Lk 2:7].

Once again, God’s glory is manifested through weakness. Mary knew this, accepted it, and expressed it to the ages when she proclaimed:

“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior…” [Lk 1:46-47]

As I said earlier, this is an encounter with God as He has never been encountered before.

You see, brothers and sisters, God has not only made Himself known to us, but almost beyond imagining, He became one of us. We have a God Who has skin on, a God who took on a human body from the Virgin Mary through the power of the Spirit of God. We rejoice tonight that the God Who created the universe from nothing was born one night of a young Jewish girl in a manger in a little town called Bethlehem. Yes, He is our God, a God of skin and bones and flesh and blood, and tonight we celebrate His birthday.

Birthdays are wonderful celebrations, aren’t they? To wish others a happy birthday is to tell them how much they mean to us, to express our joy that they were born. Tonight, we say the same to Jesus. We gather in this church, at this rather unusual hour for Mass, to express our joy that He came into the world.

When His birth was first announced, not to kings and queens, not to emperors, but to shepherds in the hills of Judea, the angel revealed to the world that it had reason for great joy:

“For today in the city of David a Savior has been born for you Who is Christ and Lord” [Lk 2:11].

Yes, He is their Savior; He is our Savior; He is the Savior of the world. It is through Him, and only through Him, that you and I can safely reach the end of our pilgrimage on earth and see our Savior in all His glory, our Savior, our God with skin on. He is a God Who does the unexpected, a Creator who humbles Himself, coming to us in weakness, and a God who offers gifts on His birthday.

And what a gift it is! This God who shares our lives, offers each of us, individually, a share in the very life of God. The infant, Jesus, born of Mary, was like any other infant, and needed the care that only His mother could give. But He was also different, so very different. Within that tiny body the life of God Himself lay hidden.

Later, as a grown man, He would give to all who would receive Him a share in that life of God, a gift described by John when he wrote:

“But to those who did accept him he gave power to become children of God, to those who believe in his name…” [Jn 1:12]

Brothers and sisters, Jesus Christ is already within us through sanctifying grace.

But He continues to call us, through His Church, to renew that grace by living a life free from sin, free from the undue attachment to the things of this passing world. This is one of the special graces offered to us by God in our celebration of the solemnity of Christmas each year.

Yes, we rejoice tonight, for not only was our Savior born, as each of us was born into the world, but He offers to each of us the gift of a new and deeper share in that life which was his from all eternity. The birthday gift Our Savior gives is the gift of Himself; but we shouldn’t celebrate empty-handed. What gift can we give Him Who is Lord of all? The psalmist sums it up, doesn’t he?

Let the heavens be glad and the earth rejoice;
let the sea and what fills it resound;
let the plains be joyful and all that is in them!
Then shall all the trees of the forest exult.
They shall exult before the LORD, for he comes;
for he comes to rule the earth [Ps 96:11-13].

What can we give to the ruler of the earth? The only gift we can offer our newborn Savior, the only thing He does not yet possess, is our hearts. It is this gift we place on the altar when we celebrate the Eucharistic Sacrifice. And what a gift this is! The same gift Jesus offered to His Father, the gift of Himself.

“…a body you prepared for me…Behold, I come to do your will, O God” [Heb 10:5,7].

For here, on this altar, Jesus Christ, gives Himself to us, Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity, and allows us, the members of His family, to join Him in the most intimate way imaginable. Here, as we come forward to receive the Body and Blood of Christ, we also join each other in a unique Communion. Eucharist – “the source and summit of the Christian life” – means thanksgiving. It is like a great family dinner, Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners all rolled into one, yet far more wonderful and fulfilling. 

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

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

And let us be the people our loving God wants us to be, imitators of our Lord, Jesus Christ. In the words of one of our newest saints, Saint John Henry Newman:

“May each Christmas as it comes find us more and more like Him who at this time became a little child for our sake, more humble, more holy, more happy, and more full of God.”

Come, Lord Jesus! [Rev 22:10]

Happy All Saints Eve and All Saints

[Thursday Afternoon] 

I've been more than busy lately, so the blog has received little attention. Just as well...it's mostly drivel anyway. I'm don't know why I continue. Perhaps I don't want to know. Vanity just might be involved. Maybe I'll give it a rest, now that I've achieved senior deacon status by reaching the 3/4 century mark. Rest is good, both physical and mental, but I think I just need a spiritual boost, some quiet time with our Lord -- no phones or iPads or laptops or blogs... Another retreat perhaps? We'll see.

But today I'm actually well rested. I'm awake and aware of my surroundings, having taken a rare short nap after an enjoyable morning at the Wildwood Soup Kitchen and a meeting of the parish Faith Formation team. In truth, my work at the soup kitchen really isn't all that tiring or taxing. Over the years I've recruited several other men to help out with the heavy lifting on Thursday, thus allowing me to spend my time supervising, leading our brief morning prayer, making preparations for meal deliveries to 200+ shut-ins, answering the phone, receiving donations, and schmoozing with the guests -- all fairly low-energy tasks. Dear Diane and her team of cooking assistants and servers do all the hard work, preparing and serving the meals. I go home and rest. Diane goes home and collapses. There's a difference.

So, here I am, taking it easy in my down-filled easy chair, but unable to shut off the flow of thoughts that remind me of other stuff I should be doing. I can sense Maddie, the wonder dog, stretched out and sleeping contentedly at my feet. Because on Thursdays she must remain here alone for as long as seven hours, when we return she meets us at the door with mixed emotions. Although she greets us joyfully -- wagging and licking, jumping and dancing -- she must still express her displeasure at having been left alone for so long. And so, she barks. She barks her angry bark just to let us know the queen is not amused. But now, having been reunited with her pack, fed, and walked, she is a happy dog and so she sleeps. She sleeps the sleep of an uncluttered mind and a clear conscience. Would that I could do the same.

My rest will be short-lived, however, since I will assist the pastor at the 6:00 p.m. Vigil Mass for the Solemnity of All Saints. It's also Halloween so we'll have to be especially careful driving out there in the real world, beyond the borders of The Villages. Many families with young children live near our church and the costumed youngsters will be out in force trick or treating in the dark. Halloween celebrators tends to avoid The Villages. In fact, in the 15 years we've lived here no one has ever come to our door on Halloween. Of course, we always buy some candy...just in case.

Just a guess, but I expect perhaps nine of ten people who take part in Halloween festivities don't know that it's name is a compression of All Hallows Eve, or the Eve of All Saint's Day, November 1. 
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[Friday Morning]

Well, my afternoon was interrupted yesterday by a series of phone calls that demanded attention and kept me from returning to this post. By the time Diane and I returned home from the Vigil Mass, I had to take Maddie for her evening stroll through the neighborhood. Dodging old folks in their golf carts ain't easy. But having survived our walk, Maddie and I were tired and it was getting late, so I eased my brain into standby mode and just watched what Diane and I call the LOS, or least objectionable show, on TV. For me this was the Thursday Night NFL game between the Forty-Niners and the Cardinals. I lasted until the end of the first half and then went to bed. 

And so, back to All Saints...a wonderful solemnity that has unfortunately been eclipsed in our society by a gross distortion of its Vigil called Halloween. I don't have a problem with children having some Halloween fun by dressing up in scary costumes and filling their bags with begged candy and other goodies. But are they aware that this strange activity evolved from the tradition of praying for and honoring the faithful departed? In some Christian cultures that involved visiting cemeteries and decorating the graves of relatives. I suppose the idea of dressing up as ghosts and witches and goblins was simply a manifestation of related superstitions that emerged over time. I'm no Halloween historian, so this is just a guess.

But all Saints Day, as we tend to call it, is so much more than the day after Halloween. It's a day to reflect on all saints, those few that the Church recognizes and the millions of others who now enjoy God's Presence. It's a day to thank God for the saints we have known, the saints who have touched our lives with their holiness, the saints who have helped us along our own journey to salvation. The Church by canonizing a saint does nothing for the saint, who is already with God. No, the Church canonizes saints for us, for she hopes to inspire us to strive for the holiness that is our true destiny. This is why we chant the beautiful and moving Litany of the Saints during the Church's most solemn liturgical celebrations. The Litany of the Saints is the roster of the Church's hall of fame, its family album, the names of those who form the core of that "great cloud of witnesses" so eloquently described in the Letter to the Hebrews [Heb 12:1]. 

An aging Jesuit, who taught me the New Testament when I was an ignorant 18-year-old, had spent years in a Communist Chinese prison. Once, while speaking of St. Peter, a man plagued by doubts and fears and so often lacking in faith, this saintly priest reminded us that "all saints are sinners, but not all sinners are saints."

The difference, he went on to tell us, is that the saints recognize, understand, and repent of their sinfulness because they accept the Father's gifts of grace, mercy, and forgiveness, and because they recognize the Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ. More than anything else, they desire union with Jesus Christ, and so they struggle mightily in the lifelong process of conversion to which we are all called. The others, he said, not only don't recognize the Son, but too often fail even to recognize their sinfulness for what it is. That, he believed, is an eternal sadness.

We are all called to be saints, to be one with Jesus Christ. But even now, in this life, we are united with the Communion of Saints and with Jesus in God's family, the Mystical Body of Christ, the People of God, the Church in heaven and on earth. In this way, you and I are truly a part of All Saints. By our baptism we were sanctified, made holy, deep down in grace. We're no longer banished, disaffected children, outside the family of God. No indeed, we're in! We're in God's family as adopted children of the Father, We're in God, all of us together, because we're in Jesus Christ.

What's With All These Zombies?

Zombies on the Move

Are you as puzzled as I am about all the movies, TV shows, and books about zombies that in recent years have captured the interest of so many people? Zombies seem to be everywhere and in many of these stories the living dead far outnumber us regular living folks. They're very nasty looking creatures, these zombies, but they lack the more complex personalities of the classic horror monsters. Frankenstein's monster and Count Dracula might have had questionable motives, but at least they had motives. But all those robotic zombies, wobbling and shuffling about, just aren't that interesting.

And then there's the incursion of zombies into areas where they simply don't belong. Because I'm a long-time Jane Austen fan, I consider the novel, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, a desecration. Miss Austen had an active and sometimes quirky sense of humor, but I'm pretty sure zombies among the Bennets would not have pleased her. She was, after all, a believing and practicing Christian.

The Bennet Sisters Take On the Zombies

And who can feel good about the film, Abraham Lincoln vs. Zombies? It's all very strange indeed.

Abraham Lincoln vs, Zombies

And yet, people seem captivated by these boring, stumbling, flesh-eating things. One recent poll revealed that 14% of the US population believe there's a chance of a "zombie apocalypse." You might think 14% a rather small number, but 14% of our current population of about 325 million would mean 45 million Americans are waiting for the living dead to rise up against us. And how many more actually believe these creatures exist? I can't say, but I suspect it's higher than 14%.

I'm pretty sure I first encountered zombies back in the late '50s and early '60s when I used to watch a late-night TV horror show hosted by a rather odd fellow who went by the name of Zacherley. My high school buddies and I would stay up late to watch "Zacherley at Large", a truly bizarre offering that aired weekly on New York's WABC. The guy was a hoot and his show included several interesting extras: his "wife" who spent her time in an open coffin with a stake through her heart; his "son", named Gasport, who moaned from a bag that hung from the ceiling; and Thelma, a strange blob-like creature. As you might imagine, for us 16-year-old boys Zacherly was extremely  entertaining.

Zacherley and Friend

His real name was John Zacherle. He was an Ivy League alumnus (an English major at Penn) and served as an Army officer in both Africa and Europe during World War Two -- all before his rise to ghoulish superstar. Zacherle died last year at the age of 98. I was sorry to hear of his passing but he certainly had a long and full, if somewhat odd, life.

Anyway, Zacherley didn't simply show a weekly horror movie; he added his own weird commentary and crazy skits, some cleverly integrated into scenes in the film, thus turning each film into a comedy we adolescents could enjoy. I can't recall the title of the first zombie movie I saw, but I'm fairly certain it starred Bela Lugosi. Since those early days I can honestly say that zombies have rarely crossed my mind...at least until their recent resurgence.

Why this current fascination with the so-called living dead? Perhaps it's the symptom of a return to a more primitive view of the world. For ancient man, death was a horrendous mystery, something to fear, and a clear sign of human weakness. Many of the ancients bound their dead before burying or entombing them, apparently in an effort to keep them from returning to the world of the living. They placed "magic" objects in the grave to cast spells on the dead, and tossed in some food and other necessities to keep the dead happy. Yes, they believed in and were afraid of ghosts, those who returned from the dead.

It's all rather mystifying because there's really little to fear from a dead human body. But I suppose many fear the dead because they call to mind our own bodily mortality. We know we shall be like them soon enough, but really don't understand why. Perhaps something within us believes the dead should not be dead and should, therefore, return to life. And yet death seems to be one of the few certainties we face and, like life itself, is a definite part of the human experience as we know it.

Death and life seem to engage in a constant struggle within us, but to the faithless death is always the victor. Death just stares us in the face and makes sport of all of our humanistic philosophies. Say what you will, death tells us, but your agnostic and atheistic humanism will leave you with absolutely nothing. Once death sweeps away all their humanistic fluff, these deniers of life are left with only one thing: when you're dead, you're dead. As the munchkin coroner said of the witch, "....she's not only merely dead, she's really, most sincerely dead."

Chesterton on Atheism

These philosophies offer no hope. They give us no reason to face a future with anything but despair. The world of the living dead, of zombie wars and apocalypse, seems to be a blend of the primitive and the agnostic, a contradictory sign, an impossible mix of hope and despair. It's really a sign of the spiritual confusion that has entered the hearts of so many today.

And so how do we explain death, and do so in a way that offers hope? Atheism certainly doesn't succeed, for death laughs at its weak attempts that end only in the grave.  Materialism can do nothing but dance around death, while pretending not to notice its looming presence. And the reincarnationists only pile death upon death. The real answer, the truth about life and death, is right there in the Bible, in the opening chapters of the Book of Genesis.

When God created man and woman there was no sin and no death. In other words, God's intention for humanity was life; death did not exist. As we read Genesis 2:7-15 we realize that God created man as a "living being", not a being that would eventually die. And so life, not death, is the natural state that God desires for man. We were created for life, for immortality, for eternal life.

Sin and Death Enter the World

It's not until chapter three of Genesis that we encounter death for the first time. It arrives on the scene unnaturally, entering into creation as a result of sin. Although God had warned of the consequences of disobedience -- "you shall die" -- something that Eve readily admits to the tempting serpent, our first parents decided to disobey God, taste evil, and learn what it was all about. But the moral order can come only from God, the Creator of all. Man cannot decide for himself what is good and what it evil simply because we cannot know evil as God knows evil. In the same way, only God can truly know goodness. As Jesus said to the man seeking eternal life: "No one is good but God alone" [Mk 10:18].

As it turns out, the effects of this original sin are many, but death is perhaps the most obvious, and the most unnatural. That's right, death was not God's natural intent for us, but through sin nature is altered.

The Church teaches that the human soul is immortal, and with the resurrection so too is the body. But in the beginning both body and soul were immortal, joined together in perfect harmony. Sin introduced the unnatural and, as one theologian suggested, "the horror of an immortal soul bound in a mortal and corruptible body." Sin, then, is the true horror story. 

Yes, indeed, through sin the harmony between man and nature described in Genesis 2 is broken and the consequences are disastrous. As St. Paul reminds us:

"Therefore, just as through one person sin entered the world, and through sin, death, and this death came to all, inasmuch as all sinned" [Rom 5:12].

But it is through the Creative Word of God, through the Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ, that death is overcome and life is returned to humanity:

"For if, by the transgression of one person, death came to reign through that one, how much more will those who receive the abundance of grace and of the gift of justification come to reign in life through the one person Jesus Christ [Rom 5:17]. 

Yes, Jesus Christ, through His act of redemption gives us life once again -- eternal life that restores God's natural plan for humanity. How did Jesus put it to Martha just before He brought her brother, Lazarus, back to life?

“I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die" [Jn 11:25-26]. 

Perhaps, then, the ancients and primitives had the right idea in their view of death as something unnatural. The  materialists claim death is the natural and final consequence of life, because they can accept nothing else. Could today's fascination with zombies be a reaction against the materialists, against the humanists who really think so very little of humanity? Could this zombie-fever stem from the same ancient roots, from a deep internal awareness that death is just not right, that we are destined for something greater? Perhaps so, even though zombies offer a grossly distorted and freakish view of immortality. It is the view of the faithless, a hellish grasping after eternal life by those who do not know Jesus Christ and the Good News He brings to the world.

So, the next time someone talks to you of zombies, tell him about Jesus and the joyful, immortal life God has planned for him. Tell him of the natural, body-and-soul, eternal life with the One Who created him out of a love beyond our understanding.

Homily: 1st Sunday of Advent - Year C

Readings: Jer 33:14-16; 1Th 3:12-4:2; Lk 21:25-28,34-36

Some years ago – actually 14 years ago, in December 2001 – two men I knew well died very suddenly within a few days of each other. Both of these men were in what we would call the "prime of life." One was 40, the other 56. Both were family men, husbands and fathers of three children. Both were seemingly fit and healthy. Both were, by every measure, very successful businessmen. And both probably thought they had 20 or 30 years of productive life ahead of them.

And yet in a flash, or perhaps more accurately, in the single beat of a human heart, both of these men were gone from us. For their families and friends, coping with such sudden loss, dealing with the grief and emptiness, was extremely difficult. Just as difficult were the questions they asked then, and have continued to ask since – questions to which there are no easy answers.

But against this uncertainty as to how and when we will die, is the absolute certainty that all of us will die. We humans are a strange lot. We accept the fact of death in general terms, because the evidence is irrefutable. But when it comes down to specifics, to ourselves or to someone close to us, we act as if God has somehow double-crossed us.

We tend to have a similar attitude about the end of the world. And yet, for my two friends, the end of their world arrived when they experienced their own personal second coming of Jesus. Oh, yes, as Catholic Christians we believe that Jesus will come again at the end of time. We just don't want it to happen on our watch. And maybe, if we don't think or talk about it, it won't. But that's exactly what we're asked to do during this season of Advent: to think and talk about it.

Today too many of us view Advent in one-dimensional terms. We see Advent simply as a prelude to Christmas, a sort of ecclesiastical version of the Christmas shopping season. Advent then becomes a warm and fuzzy time to turn our thoughts back to that first Christmas in Bethlehem, to the manger, to the bright star in the night sky, to Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus, to shepherds and angels and wise men, to the ox, the donkey and the lamb, to the little drummer boy.

Now I suppose that’s all a part of Advent, but quite frankly, it’s really only a small part. Lost amidst all this Christmas nostalgia, is the very fact of what we are called to celebrate. For Christmas isn't just the celebration of Jesus' birth. Rather, it's our commemoration of a defining moment in history: the manifestation of the incarnate Son of God to the world. Christmas is the celebration of an almost inconceivable act of love by the Father. It’s our loving God injecting Himself into human history in the most personal and direct way possible.

I will save you from yourselves by sending you my own Son, who will take on your nature, your flesh. He will live among you, teaching you about Me and how I expect you to live, to love, and to worship. And He will sacrifice Himself for you and for your sins.

Advent, then, is a time to ask ourselves whether we are prepared for the Son of God’s arrival into our lives. This is the Advent preached by John the Baptist: “…one mightier than I is coming. I am not worthy to loosen the thongs of his sandals” [Lk 3:16].

As Jeremiah prophesied in today's first reading:

"In those days, in that time, I will raise up for David a just shoot; he shall do what is right and just in the land" [Jer 33:15].

This is what we celebrate during Advent as we look forward to Christmas: the beginning of the divine drama of the Incarnation, this wondrous manifestation of God's love through the gift of our Lord Jesus Christ.

But that's not all we celebrate. We also look to the end of the drama. For the Church calls us not only to turn to the past, to Jesus' first coming, but also to the future, to the end of human history, to the second coming of Jesus. Unlike His first coming, which came quietly, almost secretly, His second coming will be quite an event.

In today's Gospel reading from Luke, Jesus gives us a pretty good idea of what to expect.

"…signs in the sun, the moon and the stars."
"…nations in disarray."
"…roaring of the seas and waves."
"…the powers in the heavens will be shaken." [Lk 21:25}

Yes, God will manifest His power as creator of the universe, and humanity will come to understand what the word "almighty" really means. So much so that Jesus tells us "people will die of fright in anticipation of what is coming upon the world" [Lk 21:26].

Now on the face of it, this doesn't sound like something to look forward to. But Jesus tells us, wait a minute…as Christians you have nothing to fear.

"…when these signs begin to happen, stand erect and raise your heads because your redemption is at hand" [Lk 21:28].

And it won't be easy, for "that day will assault everyone who lives on the face of the earth" [Lk 21:35].

When will it happen? Today? Tomorrow? Next year? 100 or 1,000 years from now? We don't know; and those who throughout history, and even today, claim they do are false prophets. And because we don't know, Jesus instructs us:

"Be vigilant at all times and pray that you have the strength to escape the tribulations that are imminent and to stand before the Son of Man" [Lk 21:36].

And so, during this season of Advent we are called to prepare ourselves, to act as if the end is near…for it might well be. And for some of us, like my two friends, it is.

"Be vigilant," Jesus says. Be watchful. That's what Advent is all about.

St. Bernard speaks of three comings of Jesus: One in flesh and weakness; one in glory and majesty; but another, a hidden coming, in which Christ comes into our lives through the working of the Holy Spirit and manifests His love through us. How better to prepare for His second coming than to be alert with God's love, to be alive with Christ's light.

What else can we do?

We can recognize Jesus when He comes to us through the others who touch our lives. We can see Jesus Christ in all others, so they will see Jesus in us. Like Mary, we can be “God-bearers” who take Jesus Christ, God’s Eternal Word, into the world. What a wonderful way to celebrate this coming of God's love into our hearts.

Listen again to the words of St. Paul in today's second reading:

"May the Lord make you increase and abound in love for one another and for all…so as to strengthen your hearts, to be blameless in holiness before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ with all His holy ones" [1 Th 3:12-13]

How do we celebrate God's love? By loving. That's the point of Paul's prayer.

And what a prayer!

And what a world Christ would return to if everybody loved with His love. If Christ's light, emanating from the love of the Father, was truly the light of our lives.


 

Reflection for Liturgical Readers

Among my parish responsibilities -- all assigned to me by my pastor to make and keep me humble -- is the oversight of things liturgical. This has proven to be a challenge because I am not a liturgist and have had much to learn. Over the years much of the learning has come to me subtly through a kind of osmosis...and it continues. Thankfully I can always call on our parish's wonderful team of priests and deacons who keep me from making too many mistakes. I am blessed.

Occasionally I am called on to address or assist in the training of one or another of our liturgical ministries. This past Saturday, for example, I was asked to offer a spiritual reflection during a brief morning of reflection for our readers. (For those in my audience who are not Catholic, the readers are those who proclaim the Word of God, the Sacred Scripture, at Mass.) My reflection follows:
___________

We could spend the next hour going over a whole litany of dos and don’ts for readers. But I thought that might put more than a few of you to sleep. I also don’t think you need that right now. Later on this morning, if we have a few minutes, I’ll open up the discussion for questions and comments, so you can air your concerns. I might actually have some answers.

Quite honestly, though, you are the best group of readers I’ve ever had the privilege to work with. And so I thank you for your ministry, for your proclamation of God’s Word. You are a blessing to our parish. Anyway, I thought it better for us to take a little break from the mechanics of our ministry and focus instead on the spirituality of being a reader…or at least one small piece of that spirituality.

We’ve all heard the mistakes, haven’t we? And perhaps made a few ourselves. Like the young high school student who announced “A reading from the Letter of Paul to the Philippines.” Paul got around,but who knew? Or the reader who while describing the Lord’s covenant with Abraham Genesis 15, proclaimed the presence of a “smoking brassiere” instead of brazier. Fortunately, there’s been a change to the translation, and the lectionary no longer reads brazier, but “fire-pot” instead. One can only assume the bishops got tired of hearing it mispronounced. No longer, then, do you need to worry about proclaiming the first reading on the Second Sunday of Lent. We’ve all stumbled over a word or two, or an Old Testament name, but just be thankful you’re not a deacon called to proclaim the genealogies in Luke and Matthew.

These and other mistakes certainly generate a chuckle or two in the pews, and a few red faces at the ambo, but they also show us that God calls the fallible to serve Him. Yes, God calls us, despite our failings. And He calls us to be in His Presence.

That’s what I’d like to talk about today: the Presence of God in the liturgy, and what this means for us as ministers, especially as ministers of the Word.

I think that, too often, we get so wrapped up in the specifics, the details, the mechanics of our ministries that we sometimes lose sight of what it’s all about. And what it’s all about is pretty simple: as ministers we’re called to serve God and His people. That’s it!

This, then, is our first truth: we are servants.

Each one of us, called to ministry, is a servant – bishop, priest, deacon, altar server, reader, extraordinary minister of Holy Communion, cantor and choir member, usher – we’re all servants

Jesus spent a lot of time trying to convince the Apostles of this same truth. He really wasn’t very successful, and it took the Holy Spirit at Pentecost to fully convince them.

You know, it’s interesting. In the Gospels we encounter two paths, two journeys that thread their way from beginning to end. The first is the obvious one: Our Lord’s journey from His Incarnation, through His public ministry, and ultimately to His passion, death and resurrection.  This is the journey of our Redemption, the journey that reveals God’s deep and enduring love for us.

But there’s another journey that makes its way through the Gospels: the journey taken by the disciples, especially the twelve. It’s a journey sparked by revelation and God’s overwhelming love: a journey of gradual understanding and acceptance; a journey that brought the Church into being; a journey that continues today for all of us. It’s the journey that leads the disciples and us to the recognition of that truth we’ve already encountered: we are servants.

But as baptized, confirmed Catholics, filled with the Spirit, I would hope that we are more accepting of this truth than were the first disciples. And so I’ll assume you all accept that we are servants, called to serve God and His people.

Obviously, it’s important that, despite our limitations and our failings, we accomplish this service, our ministry, as well as possible. For only then can we more fully realize that call to serve God and His people.

I’ve always believed that if our call to liturgical ministry is to bear fruit, we must maintain our focus on God’s Presence in the liturgy…and do so constantly.

Now the Church has always taught that, in the Mass, God is present in multiple ways:

• First of all, He’s present in us, in His People who have come together in His Name. He’s present in us quite simply because He promised this, and God always fulfills His promises.

“For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” [Mt 18:20].

• God is also present in His Word, the Word proclaimed and preached at the ambo by reader, cantor, deacon and priest. Jesus Christ, the Incarnate Word of God, is present in the Revealed Word of Sacred Scripture.

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

• He is present in the person of the priest, the celebrant who acts in persona Christi, in the person of Christ, as he performs the sacred mysteries.

The priest doesn’t say: “…this is Jesus’ Body” or “…this is the chalice of Jesus’ Blood.” No, he says, “…this is my Body” and “…this is the chalice of my Blood.”

But it’s not the priest’s body and blood that we receive, is it? No, it’s that of Jesus.

“…do this on remembrance of me” [Lk 22:19].

• …which leads us to Christ’s most special and important presence at Mass – His presence par excellence, as the Church calls it.

He is present in the Eucharist. In the consecrated host and the consecrated wine we have the real presence of the Body and Blood of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

“For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the death of the Lord until he comes…For anyone who eats and drinks without discerning the body, eats and drinks judgment on himself” [1 Cor 11:26,29].

God’s Presence in the liturgy, then, is another truth, a Scripture-based truth, an awe-inspiring truth, one that I hope motivates us as we strive to carry out every element of our ministry. Did you notice the response to the Psalm at this morning’s Mass? 

“Come with joy into the presence of the Lord” [Ps 100:2]. 

This we are called to do: to enter God’s presence joyfully.

Right now I’d like to take a closer look at how God manifests Himself to us in the liturgy, and how this has special meaning for us as proclaimers of the Word.

Perhaps God’s less appreciated presence in the liturgy is how He comes to us in nature, in the things of this world, in the fruit of the earth and vine. He comes to us in bread and wine, in the simple works of human hands, as food for our bodies. And so with this presence He honors our bodies, our material existence, that which separates us from the angels.

It’s an existence in which God Himself was willing to share when He sent His Son to become one of us. How the Incarnation, that act of divine humility, must have awed the angels; for through that act we are truly formed in God’s image and likeness as no other creature is. In coming to us in nature, then, God reminds us that He is our Creator, the Creator of all that exists.

As Creator He reminds us of His holy name, the name He first shared with Moses – “I am Who am” – the name that describes His very being. “I am existence itself,” He tells us. “All of creation depends on me.” And from this He reminds us too that, like Moses, we are in His presence; we are on holy ground.

Remember this as you make your way from your place among the People of God to the ambo in God’s sanctuary; for in doing so you move from holy ground to holy ground.

Do you ever think of that as you rise from your seat?

God is present among His people when they come together in His name. He comes to each of us in each other. And so, as you walk to the ambo you are not moving to holy ground; you are moving within holy ground.

Where God’s people are present, so too is God. You’re called from the Christian community, from your place among God’s people, from saints and sinners, and yet you remain within that community.

You see, God manifests His holiness, His Otherness, in His people – and in particular, in the least of His people. That’s why in Matthew 25, in the only description of the last judgment in Scripture,we find Jesus telling us to serve His people: to feed the hungry, to give drink to the thirsty, to visit the sick and imprisoned, to welcome the stranger. And why? Because what we do to the least of His brothers and sisters, we do to Him.

When you stand before God’s people, you're not standing before a crowd, or even a congregation; you’re standing before Jesus Christ. Again, you are a servant who ministers to God and His people, and God makes us and them one with Himself.

Do you think of that as you make your way to the ambo?

As readers, as ministers of the Word, you are called to feed those who hunger for God’s holy Word, who thirst for a taste of His love, of His mercy and forgiveness.

You are called to be a beacon of welcome to the stranger who may have come to Mass for the first time in years…or simply for the first time.

You are called to bring God’s healing Word to those who are spiritually ill, to those imprisoned by their own sinfulness.

Do you think of that as you make your way to the ambo?

And what about your own spiritual life, the state of your own soul? When we are right with God, when you and I have accepted God’s mercy, His forgiveness, we can better proclaim His Word.

As you all know, a poor reader can be a distraction, especially to other readers who are seated there in the pews. Instead of listening to God’s Word, they end up critiquing the proclamation. When someone else is proclaiming God’s Word at Mass, where is your attention? On the reader, or on the Word?

It’s really interesting, but I seem to fall victim to a wonderful paradox as I listen to you proclaim from the ambo. If you proclaim God’s Word well, I simply don’t notice it. That’s true. I don’t notice it because all my attention is drawn not to you but to the Word of God…and that's as  it should be.

But when a normally good reader falters, when he or she proclaims poorly, I get the sense that some internal conflict is the cause, that some relationship has gone wrong.

You and I exist in a web of relationships – links to nature, to people, to God. Do we trace out these links, examine the strong ones and the weak ones? Do we give thanks for the life and love that flow through them?

Some of these links are weak, aren’t they? Bent and twisted, while others are broken. And because of them we experience deep feelings of regret or disappointment, even anger. But do we, can we, accept our weakness and turn to God and allow Him to straighten and repair  these links? Do we pray for the gift of acceptance and forgiveness? Do we ask for forgiveness ourselves?

Perhaps St. James said it best: 

Is anyone among you suffering? He should pray. Is anyone in good spirits? He should sing praise.Is anyone among you sick? He should summon the presbyters of the church, and they should pray over him and anoint [him] with oil in the name of the Lord, and the prayer of faith will save the sick person, and the Lord will raise him up. If he has committed any sins, he will be forgiven. Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.The fervent prayer of a righteous person is very powerful. [Jas 5:13-16]

You see, everything we do is for the other, not for ourselves. God wants us to see our relationships with others as relationships with Him. How can we be effective ministers if we have allowed our relationships with God and each other to be broken? 

Do you consider that as you witness the Eucharistic miracle take place right in front of you? For it is here that God becomes present to us in a way like no other. It is here that we come together as one, as a community of faith, and go forward to receive Our Lord in a community of faith. And then we return to our place, our place in that community, overcome by the wonder of our God, our Creator, Who has become one with us.

God is with you; He is with me. But more than this, God is within us, truly present within us. Just dwell for a moment on God's life-giving presence…His presence in your body, in your mind, in your heart.

As you kneel before His altar, you are really kneeling to His presence within you. That’s right. You need look no further than your own flesh and blood joined to the Body and Blood of Him Who brought you into being. Look into yourself in wonder and thanksgiving.

We are all in need of God’s presence, of returning to the Lord, as the psalmist says, to “bow down before His holy mountain.” Only when we recognize God’s presence can we truly worship; only in God’s presence are we truly free: free to shed all that distracts us; free to accept our calling as servants of our God; free to join our own brokenness with the wounds of Jesus, the wounds He took on for our sake.

The fathers of the Second Vatican Council called the Eucharist “the source and summit of the Christian life.” They did so because in the Eucharist we are made whole. In God’s Eucharistic presence sins are forgiven, wounds are healed, and lives are transformed.

Brothers and sisters, I’ve only scratched the surface of our spirituality as God’s ministers, but I hope you might find some little piece of it to be helpful as you respond to God’s call to ministry as proclaimers of the Word.

Jesus began His ministry with the words: “Repent and believe in the Gospel” [Mk1:14].

With that in mind, I'll finish with the words of one of my heroes, Blessed Charles de Foucauld: 

"Our entire existence, our whole being must shout the Gospel from the rooftops. Our entire person must breathe Jesus, all our actions. Our whole life must cry out that we belong to Jesus, must reflect a Gospel way of living. Our whole being must be a living proclamation, a reflection of Jesus Christ."