Homily: 5th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year B

Readings: Jb 7:1-4, 6-7; Ps 147; 1Cor 9:16-19, 22-23; Mk 1:29-39
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A day in the life of Jesus – this is what we see in today’s brief Gospel passage. Here at the beginning of his Gospel, Mark offers a glimpse into Jesus’ ministry throughout Galilee. Indeed, I suspect Mark had a purpose here: to let us experience the urgency surrounding Jesus’ public ministry; that from the very start Our Lord was driven by the Spirit to teach and to heal as He preached the Good News to all He encountered.

Jesus had just called the first of His Apostles to Him: two sets of brothers, Peter and Andrew, James and John. He had called and they hadn’t hesitated. They dropped everything to follow Jesus. Together they entered Capernaum. It was the Sabbath, so the day began in the synagogue.

“…He entered the synagogue and taught” [Mk 1:21], Mark tells us.

The synagogue was a place for prayer and for teaching. Jews spent serious time on the Sabbath reading and commenting on Scripture, so you can be sure Jesus’ teaching wasn’t presented in little, ten-minute homilies.

Mark goes on to say, “The people were astounded at His teaching” [Mk 1:22].

They were astounded because never before had they encountered someone like Jesus. He was different. Unlike the scribes, “He taught them as one having authority” [Mk 1:22]. To punctuate this authority, to prove its divine source, He cured a man possessed by a demon, a demon who openly proclaimed Jesus’ identity: “the Holy One of God” [Mk 1:24].

And so Jesus’ fame spread…

Leaving the synagogue, he and His four companions go to Simon Peter’s home, probably for the day’s main meal. But as soon as He arrives, He’s told that Peter’s mother-in-law is ill with a fever. This telling is in itself a form of prayer.

We’ve seen this prayer before. At Cana Mary simply said, “They have no wine” [Jn 2:3] – no request, just a statement of fact, just a telling. And Jesus responds and does so miraculously. Here in Capernaum Peter need only tell the Lord that his mother-in-law is ill, and Jesus heals her quietly with just a touch. The effect is instantaneous.

Has a miracle taken place? Certainly. It all happened because Jesus is there. That’s the one precondition for every miracle: God’s presence. But the miracle seems almost incidental to the reality of the new relationship between Jesus and the woman He has healed. We come to understand this when Jesus comes near to us; for when He approaches us, something good must happen. When Jesus draws near, the gift of faith deepens, conversion begins, vocations are defined, miracles happen.

All these things and more will follow when, in the presence of Jesus, we allow Him to take us by the hand and lift us up. Instead of simply telling God of our sorrows, our joys, our problems, how often does our prayer consist of telling God how He should do things? How often do we try to drag God to our way of thinking, to do what we want? In truth, though, we need only come to Our Lord with our problem and let Him deal with it.

What does this grateful woman do? Jesus has reached out to her, so she lets Him take her hand and help her up. She then waits on Him and the others. She thanks the Lord by serving the Lord.  This, too, is a prayer.

Brothers and sisters, God's healing power restores us not only to health but to active service and the care of others. God has given each of us a service ministry and this is what it’s all about. It’s a prayer, a form of thanksgiving to God for enabling us to serve Him by serving others. But first we must be healed.

You know you’re in need of healing, don’t you? We all are. But have you allowed Jesus Christ to heal you? Have you come to Him, thrown your sins down before Him in the sacrament of Reconciliation and asked for healing?

In the midst of our short lives, our limited, less than transformed lives, Jesus approaches each of us. He calls us by name. He grasps our hand, heals us, and frees us with a touch. And then He helps us up, lifting us up to the freedom He wants for each of us, energizing us so we can respond to His call, so we too can serve.

What about the Apostles? Do you think they knew what He was calling them to do? Probably not. They were likely too overcome by the wonder of it all. Imagine having been called by Jesus, by this man who does the miraculous, called to be His companions, His special friends. They don’t yet know that soon enough they will be doing what He is doing; and soon enough they will experience the cost of discipleship, they will experience the Cross.

Paul, of course, knew this when, in our 2nd reading, he told the Christians of Corinth, “I preach the gospel…and woe to me if I do not preach it!" [1 Cor 9:16] Yes, we’re all called to evangelize, and woe to us if we do not. We are called to share the Good News with the world, even if our little corner of the world might be small indeed.

“His fame spread” [Mk 1:28], Mark tells us. Jesus had become an instant celebrity in Galilee. The sick, the possessed, the confused, the curious – all of these and more ether came to Jesus or were brought to Him by others. Many, led by the Spirit, came in faith, begging Jesus to heal.

“The whole town was gathered at the door” [Mk 1:33].

Does Mark exaggerate? I don’t think so. Everyone came to Him. And why not? Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you want to see Him for yourself, this man who did such remarkable things. Mark sums it all up briefly:

“He cured many who were sick with various diseases, and he drove out many demons, not permitting them to speak because they knew him” [Mk 1:34].

Interesting, isn’t it? The evil one recognizes Jesus for who He is, but so many others haven’t a clue. What about us? Do we know Him…well enough to take our troubles to Him in expectant faith?

Jesus wants to heal.

He wants to help us with all our troubles.

He wants to free us from every form of bondage.

Again, we need only ask, ask that God’s will, the will of the Father, be done in our lives. We need only ask just as the people of Capernaum had asked. No doubt they asked far into the night.

It had been a long day for Our Lord; and yet an exhausted Jesus rose early and off by Himself, to a lonely place, to pray. Did you notice how Jesus’ time of prayer – His time with the Father – energized Him? It gave Him the strength to continue His mission of bringing the Good News to God’s People. Through prayer Jesus brought healing and comfort to thousands.

How about you and me? Is our prayer like the prayer of Jesus? What do we pray for? Do we pray for strength in carrying out the mission God has given us, in carrying out the Father’s will in our lives?

Jesus walked this earth. He knows our hardships. He knows the sorrows and joys that fill our lives. He knows our sufferings because He suffered Himself. Yes, He became human to conquer death; but he also came to bring hope – not only to the people He encountered 2,000 years ago, but to all of us…today and every day.

“I came,” Jesus proclaimed, “so that they might have life and have it more abundantly” [Jn 10:10].

Life! Life here and eternal life. Today, as we actually partake in God’s Divine Life, as we receive Jesus in the Eucharist, as we experience this miraculous Communion with God Himself, let us remember that we too are called.

Have you responded to His call?

How is He inviting you to come closer to Him?

Can you, with childlike abandon, grasp His hand and let Him lift you up?

Will you join Him on His mission to bring God’s love, to share the Good News, with the world?

For this is our calling.

Homily: Wednesday 2nd Week of Advent - Year 2

Readings: Is 40:25-31; Psalm 103; Mt 11:28-30

“…my yoke is easy, and my burden light.”

When I first heard these words as a child, I asked my dad what a yoke was. I thought it had something to do with eggs. Well, he was a big believer in showing rather than telling, so he opened the family encyclopedia to a picture of a pair of oxen bound together with a yoke and pulling a very large wagon. Now, that yoke didn’t look very easy and that wagon didn’t look very light, so I asked why Jesus would want us to be pulling heavy wagons.

That when my dad gave me my first lesson on metaphors. Hey...I was only seven. And at that age I had yet to learn that for many, life can be very hard, so I just took my dad’s word for it. He was, after all, the smartest person I knew. Now, decades later, I’ve experienced a few of those hardships myself, and have witnessed many more in the lives of others.

I find it especially interesting that the Church selects this Gospel passage from Matthew during Advent, the season when we seem always to be asking God to come to us; because here in Matthew’s Gospel, it’s Jesus who’s doing the calling.

“Come to me,” Jesus calls to us.

“Come to me,” He says to the single mother working two or three jobs just to make ends meet.

“Come to me,” He says to the cancer patient undergoing an exhausting regimen of chemo.

“Come to me,” He says to the prisoner facing years behind bars.

“Come to me,” He says to the unemployed father of three who doesn’t know how he’ll support his family.

“Come to me,” He says to the wife who’s watching Alzheimer’s take her husband of fifty years from her.

Yes, Jesus calls all those who labor and are oppressed, all those who suffer under such horrific burdens. And did you notice what He tells them, what He tells us? He calls on us to take up His yoke. That’s right, not our own yoke, not the one under which we labor and are burdened, not the one the world tries to crush us under...but His yoke.

Jesus wants to take our yoke, all our burdens, from us. “I’ll handle it,” He says. “Look, you take mine…Oh, and the only way you can do this is by learning from me.”

What are we to learn? The answer's right there in the Gospel passage we just heard: meekness and humility. And once again Jesus is in conflict with the world; for meekness and humility are certainly not prized commodities.

But it’s only when we’re meek, only when we’re humble, that we can allow God to take our burdens from us. Only when we set aside our pride can we, in all humility, accept the gift of His easy yoke, his light burden.

The arrogant and the proud don’t want to accept that gift. They want to hold onto their burdens: “Not so fast, God, those are my burdens You’re trying to take. I can handle them. I don’t need You.” Of course, they can’t handle them, and with grace, they just might come to learn that they do need God.

That’s the key, brothers and sisters; that’s the open secret: No matter how heavy they are, we need only lift all of life's burdens from our shoulders, and in all humility hand them to Jesus.

He’ll replace them with something so light we won’t even feel it.

God doesn’t make things hard for us. He makes things easy. We need only ask.

Homily for Today: Wednesday, 34th Week of Ordinary Time

Usually I spend quite a bit of time preparing my homilies. Before I sit down to write, I pray, asking the Holy Spirit to guide me. And as I write I dig deeply -- too deeply some might think -- into the Scriptures and Church teaching. After I've written the homily, I inevitably revise and rewrite a few times before I'm comfortable with the finished product. Then I give it my final test, I have Dear Diane read it. If she's happy with it, then I am as well. This is what I usually do.

But this morning I didn't realize I was scheduled to preach until after I arrived at the church. And so I had about five minutes to give the readings some thought and decide what I would say about them. The two readings: Dn 5:1-6, 13-14, 16-17, 23-28 and Lk 21:12-19. As well as I can recall my words, here's what I had to say:

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Last night I had a dream, a very strange dream. I woke up at about 2 a.m. with the dream fresh in my mind. I was in a church, not this church, but a very large church, and as I walked up to the ambo to preach I saw that the church was filled with people. But as soon as I began to preach, everybody in the church simply stood up and left the building. I'm not kidding. That's exactly what happened...at least in my dream.

Now as I lay there in the dark at 2 a.m. I had no idea what this might mean. I think perhaps I need a Daniel to interpret it for me. But after reading today's Gospel passage from Luke earlier this morning, I began to think that it might relate to how well I'm doing as an evangelist. And, apparently, if the dream is accurate, not very well.

How about you? Are you an evangelist...yet? You do know that as a Christian you are called to evangelize, don't you? Indeed, the last three popes -- John Paul II, Benedict, and Francis -- have all made evangelization a key priority of the papacy and, therefore, of the entire Church. For evangelization is the Church's one mission, the mission that Jesus gave to the disciples and to us with His last words before He returned to the Father:

"Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age” [Mt 28:19-20].

He addressed these words to all of us, brothers and sisters. Yes, you and I are called to make disciples and to teach. We are all called to evangelize. And Jesus, in those last words of His, gives us the consolation of His presence. He will be with us until the end of the age, just as He is with us now. He is with us in the Eucharist until He returns in glory. We have Him, the Real Presence,  in our presence every day. What a consolation that is!

And we will certainly need Him because evangelization comes with a cost. Did you hear what Jesus said in our Gospel passage?

“They will seize and persecute you, they will hand you over to the synagogues and to prisons, and they will have you led before kings and governors because of my name...and they will put some of you to death...You will be hated by all because of my name" [Lk 21:12,16-17].

Not very comforting is it? But this is the cost; this is the price you and I must pay if we are to evangelize in a world that rejects Jesus, a world that rejects the Word of God. And so we need His presence if we are to answer Jesus's call to evangelization.

Recall, too, that He will inspire us through His Holy Spirit. How did He put it?

"It will lead to your giving testimony. Remember, you are not to prepare your defense beforehand, for I myself shall give you a wisdom in speaking that all your adversaries will be powerless to resist or refute." [Lk 21:13-15]

Lord knows I didn't prepare these words today, so if they're of any value, they are the Spirit's words. not mine.

And so, today, perhaps you and I should take some time to think about this call issued by Jesus, this call to evangelization.

Are you an evangelist...yet? If not, why not? And don't worry, because God will be with you always, leading the way.

God love you.

Homily: 13th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings:1 Kgs 19:16-21; Ps 19; Gal 5:1,13-18; Lke 9:51-62

Growing up in suburban New York back in the fifties, I loved the long days of summer vacation. And I especially liked those hours of daylight between supper and sunset. Right after dinner, all the kids in the neighborhood would run out into the street to play stick-ball or curb-ball, two perfect games created by God for the exclusive enjoyment of the children of New York. We’d play until right before sunset, for that’s when we’d begin to hear voices, the voices of mothers calling for their children.

The youngest would always be called first. Then came the twins, Robert and Dick Moll, whose strict Jewish mother was sure they’d be hit by a car if they stayed out a minute past dusk. Next came Larry Henriques, Kenny Flowers, Teddy Nichols, and me. And then the older kids, who’d get maybe another 15 minutes.

It was quite a ritual. I was particularly good at pleading and begging for more time. “It’s a tie game, Mom. We can’t end on a tie game.” Sometimes it actually worked and I’d win a few precious minutes. But more often the next thing I’d hear would be the booming voice of my father. This was no request. It was a command. The alternative? Well, that was something no ten-year-old mind wanted to dwell on. So when my father called, I obeyed...well, usually.

Remembering those days, I realized how little we change as we age. Oh, we change on the surface. We mature physically, emotionally, and intellectually. We may no longer look like children, but we are still childish in so many ways. We’ve learned to place a few controls on our emotions, so we won’t embarrass ourselves in polite company. And unlike children with their transparent excuses, we’ve learned to create and express nice-sounding, politically correct rationales for our less-than-perfect behavior. Quite simply, we’ve become devious. Hiding behind our age and the trappings of adulthood, we manage to fool ourselves into believing we’re no longer the naïve, dependent children we once were.

Indeed, most of us actually believe we’re self-sufficient, independent beings, in complete control of our lives. We have our homes, our jobs, our investments, our nice cars, our retirement home in The Villages… Everything is right with our little world.

But then reality intrudes in the form of the Gospel. In the Gospel we’re confronted by uncomfortable truths that conflict with our seemingly comfortable lives.

The first truth? We are all called. And Jesus’ call is at the very heart of Christian discipleship.

In today’s Gospel passage, Jesus, knowing what lies ahead of Him in Jerusalem, nevertheless begins His journey full of resolve because His mission is nothing less than the salvation of humanity. And as He and His disciples make their way across Samaria, Jesus continues to call us to Him. “Follow me,” He says, first to one, then another. Jesus calls them – the same invitation He offers to you and to me. And what’s their response? What’s our response?

Like the children playing in that New York street 50 years ago, all those called by Jesus expressed a willingness to comply…just not quite yet. Each made an excuse for putting it off. Each was bound to his current life by something he considered more important than God and His call. How utterly foolish of them…and of us! They fell prey to the misguided and soul-destroying belief that the things of this world take precedence over God.

Oh, their excuses sound legitimate enough. “Let me bury my father first,” one replied. Sounds reasonable, until we understand what he really meant. His father, you see, was still alive or the man wouldn’t have been there. It was Jewish custom to bury their dead on the same day they died.

What this young man was really saying is that he was not yet willing to leave the comforts of home and family. Maybe after his father died…But Jesus would have none of it. “Come away and proclaim the kingdom of God,” He responds. Jesus knows that, in everything, there’s a crucial moment when one is expected to act. This was this young man’s crucial moment, and he missed it.

When another expressed a desire to respond, Jesus looked into his heart and saw unwillingness to accept the poverty and insecurity he’ll be called to face. “The Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.” Are you ready for that?

Still another wanted to say goodbye to the folks at home, but Jesus told him a disciple must be prepared to sacrifice everything, even the affection of a family. “Whoever puts his hand to the plow but keeps looking back is unfit for the reign of God.” Everyone in that rural audience knew that if one wants to plow a straight furrow, he must pay attention to where he’s going, not where he’s been.

They also knew the story told in our first reading. When called by Elijah, Elisha, a wealthy man with 12 yoke of oxen, gave up everything. Using his wooden plows as fuel, he barbecued his oxen, distributed the food among his people. He gave up every asset, left his parents, and broke all ties with his comfortable life. There was no going back for Elisha.

The world sees Elisha’s actions as the height of irresponsibility, but God doesn’t call us to conform to the world. He calls us to conform to His Will.

Some of you may object that God’s call is reserved for prophets and saints, for specially chosen men and women. And you’d be wrong. God issues His call to each of us. As St. Paul told the people of Galatia, “Remember that you have been called to live in freedom – but not a freedom that gives reign to the flesh.”

For here lies one of the great truths and great paradoxes of Christianity: We are truly free only when we accept our complete dependence on the will of God. Anything else leads to slavery, the slavery of sin, the slavery of materialism, the slavery of setting ourselves up like gods in control of our own destiny.

Listen to the call of Christ. It is Christ who sets us free – who calls us to freedom. Stand firm, St. Paul instructs us, don’t slip back into slavery.

But sometimes it’s easier to remain enslaved. Like the faithless Israelites who cursed Moses for leading them into the suffering of the desert. Better to live in slavery than to die in the desert. It’s no different today. The entire world – the world of media, advertising, entertainment, politics – all the machinery of our secular society entices us into slavery. It’s a message designed to drown out the message of Jesus Christ: “Listen to us” the world shouts at us, “We will tell you what you want!”

But Jesus doesn’t shout. He doesn’t force us. No, He asks us; for He respects our freedom.

“What do you want?” he asks. Do you really want the life in the Spirit I have promised you?

Do you really want to follow me? Do you want the exhilarating joy of God’s freedom?

If you walk in my light, if you walk in the light of Christ, I will free you from the darkness that surrounds you.

What do you want?

And then, brothers and sisters, you and I are left to give our answer.

Homily: 5th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C)

Readings: Is 6:1-8; Ps 138:1-8; 1 Cor 15:1-11; Lk 5:1-11

In one of my other lives, one of my pre-retirement working lives, I had responsibility for interviewing and hiring those who would work for me. I always considered these hiring decisions the most important and yet the most difficult I had to make. I suppose I had a pretty good track record, but every once in a while I’d get fooled.

Sometimes I’d hire someone who just seemed perfect for the job. He had the education and qualifications, projected just the sort of personality and attitude I was looking for…and so I hired him. And then I soon discovered that he was lazy, barely competent, disloyal, and unable to function as a member of a team.

But the surprises weren’t always bad. Once, to satisfy pressing customer needs, I had to hire a couple of trainers quickly. The first who walked in the door was a young woman with a so-so educational background, a thin resume, and very little experience. She was also extremely nervous throughout the interview.  But something, some gut feeling, told me to hire her. She turned out to be an outstanding employee because she had drive, a positive attitude, a willingness to learn, and loved her work.

Now with that in mind, just think about Jesus’ hiring decisions. He was putting a team together, this apostolic team of His, a team that would have to begin and grow a worldwide enterprise of the sort never before seen. What’s His vision for this organization, this Church? Geographically, he told his disciples, it will span the entire world, encompass all nations. But that’s not all. He also promises it will exist until the end of time.

And so, whom does he hire to lead it? Does he bring in the top religious leaders of the time? Or the greatest thinkers? Does he tap into the elite, the movers and shakers of the Empire, the power brokers, the intelligentsia? No. Instead He chooses a bunch of fishermen from the backwater of Galilee, a collection of simple, unknown men who, for the next three years, seem totally incapable of understanding anything Jesus tells them.

What kind of men are they? Well, most were indeed fishermen, but one, called Matthew, was a tax-collector, probably the profession most despised by the people. Not a very customer-focused hire.

Another, named Judas, proves to be disloyal in the extreme, so disloyal he betrays Jesus by handing Him over to those who will kill Him. Simon Peter, the de facto leader of the group isn’t much better. Full of bluster and false pride, he talks a good game, but when the going gets tough he denies Jesus again and again. Then there’s Thomas, the doubter, and James and John, the “Sons of Thunder” Jesus calls them with sharp irony, the brothers so concerned with their ranking among the disciples. And the others…well, they just fade away at the time of Jesus’ greatest need.

Oh, yes, Jesus hires one more apostle. He reaches down and touches a man named Saul, a leading persecutor of the early Church. That’s a bit like the CIA saying, “You know, we should be more multi-cultural here. Let’s hire some al-Qaida and Taliban folks to work in our embassies.”

But, you see, Jesus wasn’t influenced by all the worldly qualifications – and disqualifications – that we consider so important. He wasn’t hiring for a business start-up. No, He was choosing men who could become faithful, trusting disciples, men who could do His work of leading the world to salvation.

Jesus sees each person’s true worth and judges the heart and the will. He judged the apostles and He judges us not so much for what we are, but for what we can become on our lifelong journey of conversion.

Like the apostles, and many who came before and after, we too can resist that call to conversion, that call to discipleship. Isaiah, Paul and Peter – the three men we heard from in today’s readings – each resisted God’s call when confronted by his own insignificance, his own sinfulness, in the presence of God’s transcendent greatness.

Of the three I suppose I feel more kinship with Peter. He just seems so totally human – a practical, down-to-earth sort of man who says what he thinks, and isn’t easily impressed by others. He was a commercial fisherman, an entrepreneur who, with his brother Andrew, owned his own boat and nets, and worked hard to earn a living. He probably came from generations of fishermen, since in those days occupations were usually passed on from father to son. Fishing was in his blood. He knew his trade and he knew the Sea of Galilee as well as anyone.

So when Jesus told him to “put out into deep water” and cast his nets, Peter was justifiably skeptical: “Master, we have worked hard all night and have caught nothing…” [Lk 5:4-5]

Yes, a nice way of saying, “Look, Jesus, you’re a carpenter and obviously a very holy man, but if I know one thing it’s fishing, and there’s no way we’ll catch anything now, not in the middle of the day.”

Yet, despite this, Peter did as Jesus asked: “…but at your command I will lower the nets.”

"Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man."

And what happened? They caught so many fish that their nets were tearing and they needed the help of other fishermen on another boat.

Now Peter had witnessed the miracles of Jesus before. He had seen healings, even the cure of his own mother-in-law, but Peter was no doctor.  He had seen Jesus turn water into wine at Cana, but he was no chemist. But this was different. Because Peter knew fishing, and he knew that what he’d just witnessed had never happened before, that he’d witnessed a miracle.

Overcome by this revelation, he fell to his knees, “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man” [Lk 5:8]. Just moments before, he had called Jesus, “Master.” Now he calls him, “Lord.”

But just as He did with Isaiah, and would later do with Paul, God takes the initiative. Jesus knew that Peter’s sense of unworthiness was accompanied by something else: a very deep fear. I look back at my own life and see it littered with these fearful, Peter-like moments, but Peter’s experience was far more profound. For Peter, at his very core, was frightened, frightened by the sudden realization that he was weak and powerless in the presence of something, of some ONE, much greater than himself. And he was frightened too by the knowledge that Jesus could see into his inmost being. Frightened by the darkness, the sinfulness he knew was there. I suspect he was also frightened by what Jesus might ask him to do.

Yes, Peter was frightened, and Jesus knew it. Jesus also knew that Peter’s sense of unworthiness and fear wasn’t the same as unwillingness. Peter, this tough guy, normally full of bravado, was now overcome by a kind of fear he had never before experienced. But Jesus also knew that Peter would ultimately do whatever His Lord asked of him. “Do not be afraid,” Jesus tells him, “from now on you will be catching men” [Lk 5:10].

You see, brothers and sisters, Jesus accepts us as we are. He loves us as we are. But He loves us too much to let us stay as we are. He calls us as we are, but He always calls us to something greater. He calls us to holiness.

How did St. Paul put it in today’s first reading? “…I am the least of the apostles, not fit to be called an apostle…But by the grace of God I am what I am” [1 Cor 15:9-10]. God doesn’t call saints. He calls sinful men and women and makes them saints. He calls the weak and makes them strong. And He calls us all, every single one of us.

As He calls disciples to Himself, He makes the most unworldly of hiring decisions. He hires everyone who comes to Him in humility and powerlessness. Paul and Peter both came to understand that the Incarnation – this God becoming man – and especially our Lord’s passion and death was an act of voluntary powerlessness on God’s part. They also understood that Word and Sacrament aren’t gifts to make us feel good, but rather a way for us to participate in the humbling work of Christ.

God’s call is a call to powerlessness, something that many of us, clergy and laity, have yet to accept. It’s a call to “put out into the deep water” – and that can be a very scary place when you’re alone. The first true steps in faith are always a bit frightening, brothers and sisters, but you’re not alone, for Jesus promises to be with each one of us every step of the way.

What is He calling you to do? Don’t know? Then look to your weaknesses, because the call will come from there. And then, like Isaiah, you too can respond, “Here I am...Send me” [Is 6:8].

Homily: January 4 - St. Elizabeth Ann Seton

Readings: 1 Jn 3:11-21; Ps 100; Jn 1:43-51

“Come, follow me.” Now that’s a command Jesus directs not just to the apostles, but to each of us.

One can’t but help think of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, whose feast we celebrate today, and how she went from a life of comfort and privilege to one of sheer poverty in conformance to God’s Will.

Born on the eve of the American Revolution she followed Christ’s call into the Church and founded the Sisters of Charity. She also became the first American-born canonized saint.

Of course, unlike St. Elizabeth Seton, most of us aren’t mature enough spiritually simply to respond in faith. We need our questions answered: Where are you leading me? What exactly do you want of me?

Well, first of all, He wants us – that’s you and me – simply to listen and to respond. Just as the apostles listened to John the Baptist as he pointed the way: “Behold, the Lamb of God.” The disciples listened and followed.

This is Jesus’ call, the same call God issued at the very dawn of salvation history when He told Abraham to  walk in my presence and be blameless. And fortunately for us, God takes the initiative. It’s He who calls Samuel in the night. It’s He who seeks out Abraham, our father in faith, and Moses, the lawgiver, and Paul, the persecutor of Christians. It’s He who turns to the disciples and speaks to them.

"Behold, the Lamb of God!"

Later on in John’s Gospel Jesus states this clearly: “It is not you who chose me. I chose you” [Jn 15:16]. But does Jesus tell them what’s in store for them? No, not yet. And like the apostles, responding as we do in our spiritual infancy, the true cost of our discipleship would probably be too much for us to bear.

Only Jesus knows the cost, the demands. But He keeps it all from the apostles...at least for now. That’ll come later, much later. For now He just asks them what they’re looking for. Why have they turned to the Lamb of God?

It’s here the disciples say something remarkable. Instead of answering Jesus’ question, they ask one of their own: “Rabbi, where are you staying?” His answer is brief, “Come and you will see.”

Jesus isn’t speaking of a house. He’s speaking of discipleship, for Jesus stays wherever His disciples are. He abides with them and within them. And so, to be a disciple of Jesus, to be a Christian, we must first respond to God’s call, as the apostles did, and we must do so in faith.

But that’s not all. We must live in Jesus Christ and He in us. In other words, we must follow Him wherever He leads us. And of one thing we can be sure. Following Christ always leads to the Cross. Now I don’t mean that, like Peter and Andrew, every Christian must suffer martyrdom, but there’s no discipleship, no following of Jesus, that doesn’t include His cross. To be a Christian, to be His disciple…How did He put it? You must lose your life to find it. Christianity preaches not only a crucified God, but crucified men and women, crucified followers.

“What are you looking for?” Jesus asks the disciples. And He asks each of us the same question. The answer, your answer, lies within the personal call He has issued to you.

See how He called Peter – weak-willed Peter, Peter, full of bluster and empty promises – He called Peter to be the head of His Church. What has He called you to do? "What are you looking for?" You’ll never know until you respond in faith.

“Come and you will see,” Jesus says. You will see only if you say yes to Him: yes to joy; yes to sorrow; yes to all His brothers and sisters – the weak, the hungry, the poor, the homeless, the imprisoned.

"Come and you will see"…only if you say yes to God’s call to live the life of Christ.

“What are you looking for?” Jesus asks. What kind of disciple are you? Why don‘t we all take some time today answering that question.