Homily: Christmas Vigil

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, Mark wastes no time identifying Jesus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Come, Lord Jesus!

 

Homily: 6th day within the Octave of the Nativity (December 30)

Readings: 1 Jn 2:3-11; Ps 96; Lk 2:22-35

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Christmas, of course, reminds us that Jesus chose to enter into the world just as helpless as you and I once were. He didn’t place Himself above us. He entered directly into the human story, sharing our humanity, our flesh and blood, and our physical mortality. Although a divine person, He accepted everything that came with His humanity, all the messiness, all the ordinariness, all its limitations. It was by accepting these limitations that He could “advance in wisdom and age and favor before God and man.” [Lk 1:52]

In today’s Gospel passage Luke reminds us of both the humanity and divinity of our Lord.

According to Jewish law, a firstborn son belonged to God. And so, 40 days after his birth, parents would present their son in the Temple, in effect, buying him back with a sacrifice of turtledoves or pigeons. On that day, the new mother would also be ritually purified. Indeed, the feast was originally known as the feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin.

Here we see the Holy Family, a Jewish family, living under God’s Law, doing as the Law prescribed. You see, Jesus’ mission is rooted in God’s revelation, expressed in the Law and the Prophets. It’s there, in the Old Testament, that God’s plan of salvation is first revealed; a plan fulfilled and brought to completion by the Incarnation.

As Mary and Joseph enter the Temple to fulfil the law, they’re greeted by two people, Simeon and Anna, who amaze them with what they reveal. Like many of us here today, these two were very senior citizens. Yesterday, we heard what Simeon had to say, but in today’s passage Luke turns to Anna, whom he calls a prophetess, one who speaks for God.

At 84 Anna had lived in the Temple since becoming a widow at a young age. And so, for decades she “worshipped day and night with fasting and prayer.” [Lk 2:37]. She is, in fact, the patron saint of widows.

Like Simeon, Anna is filled with the Holy Spirit, and coming forward she gives thanks to God for the child, Jesus. Luke goes on to tell us she “spoke about the child to all who were awaiting the redemption of Jerusalem.” [Lk 2:38].

We see the birth of Christ revealed by very different kinds of witnesses, each in a different way: the shepherds, led by an angel; the Magi, guided by a star; and Elizabeth, Simeon, Anna inspired by the Holy Spirit. God chooses whomever He wishes to do great things; for the Spirit, though them, reveals Jesus Christ to the world.

The Spirit works in us as well, providing opportunities to take God’s love to others, an evangelization that begins right in our own families where holiness is first nurtured. In the midst of the chaos and messiness in our families there are glimpses of God’s presence, moments of grace when God reaches deep into the clutter of our lives and hands us a present we never expected.

When my mother died, our elder daughter, 6-years-old at the time, told Diane, “Don’t cry, Mommy. Grandma is with Jesus now, happy in heaven.” 

In moments like this God ignores the barriers and debris we place between ourselves and our redemption, reminding us we are called to holiness. In those moments, sticky hands are transformed into instruments of grace. Stories of the playground and classroom, or the words of a child to her mother become words of wisdom. In those moments, ordinary events take on new meaning and the dinner table becomes an altar.

These elusive, often sudden, and unexpected, moments are rarely captured on film or video. Sometimes, as with Mary and Joseph, they came in the form of words that amaze. Yes, Mary knew her Son was special. What had the angel revealed to her?

“He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High…the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God.” [Lk 1:32,35]

But to hear this and more in the Temple from Simeon and Anna…this too was something Mary would long ponder and cherish. Here we encounter an event that strikes a chord in all new parents who wonder and worry about the future of their child.

A story for every mother who looked into the face of her newborn, the face of innocence, and prayed that God would help her raise that child to holiness.

A story to remind us that as parents, along with the joys, we will experience disappointment, sorrow, sometimes great tragedy…but in the midst of it all we encounter Emmanuel, God with us.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph – pray for us.

COVID-19 Bible Study Reflection #4: Divine Mercy

Originally written on April 21, the following is the fourth of my weekly COVID-19 updates sent out to the participants in our parish's Bible Study program. 

The other day I was asked to transform these updates into talks and make video recordings of each. Yesterday, with the help of our wonderful A/V folks, we recorded all four. I expect they will soon be posted on the parish website. I'm not certain, but I believe they will be posted individually, perhaps one per week over a series of weeks. I'll post the details here on this blog once I have them.

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As we make our way through this challenging time, it’s easy to become focused solely on the pandemic. All those news conferences, the steady stream of statistics, the hourly statements of physicians, researchers, politicians, and media “experts” have left us numb. Shut up in our homes, inundated by all this virus information, we can forget that life and death, beyond the virus, continue. Let me explain. 

So far, and this will likely change, I have lost no relatives or close friends as a result of this virus. This is not to belittle the many lives that have been lost, or the many others who have become seriously ill. It is simply a fact. 

But in the past few weeks, I have lost several friends whose deaths were completely unrelated to the coronavirus. One succumbed after a long battle with cancer, another died as a result of a massive stroke, and a third from the effects of MS.

David Lyons, Jr.

But then, just yesterday, I read of the murder of a young man, David Lyons, a senior at South Sumter High School. He was gunned down in broad daylight in the streets of Wildwood, just a few blocks from the Wildwood Soup Kitchen where Diane and I have volunteered for 16 years.

It was there, in the soup kitchen, where we met first David a few years ago. He came to volunteer for a while and joined our Thursday team doing whatever was asked of him. A bright and likeable young man, we all thought the world of him. His loss has affected us deeply. We pray for his soul, for his family, and trust that those responsible for his death will be brought to justice.

Yes, indeed, life and death continue, as does God’s love for His people. This, too, sometimes escapes us when we are surrounded by so much tragedy. But now, in the midst of the Easter season, we are also reminded of God’s great gift to the world: His Divine Mercy. 

On April 19, the Second Sunday of Easter, we celebrated Divine Mercy Sunday, and I know many of you have been praying the Divine Mercy chaplet daily. This is a good thing to do, and I encourage you to continue. The other day, reading a few pages of St. Faustina’s Diary, I came across these words of Jesus:

“You are to show mercy to your neighbors always and everywhere. You must not shrink from this or try to absolve yourself from it" [Diary, 742].

Meditating on this command from Jesus, I couldn't help but recollect all those times when I have been less than merciful, those times when I looked the other way rather than confronting another's need head-on. Sadly, there were far too many instances, too many to count.

There's nothing new about this command; indeed, if it were new, we would have every right to suspect the validity of the visions and private revelations experienced by St. Faustina. True private revelation can do nothing but confirm and reinforce divine revelation as found in sacred scripture and apostolic tradition. And, of course, this same plea to mercy is stated explicitly in the Gospel: 

"Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy" [Mt 5:7].

We encounter this in greater detail when Jesus depicts the final judgment we will all experience [See Mt 25:31-46], a judgment focused on the mercy we have extended to each other.

As I reflected on Jesus' command, and on my own failure to obey it fully, I came to realize how grateful I am that we have a merciful, forgiving God, one who willingly forgives and forgets the sins of the repentant. In other words, our personal failure to extend mercy to others can be overcome by God's infinite mercy when we come to Him in true repentance. Without this gift of mercy and forgiveness none of us would be saved.

Whenever I become discouraged by my own failures, I turn to the Bible where we encounter not only the sins of those especially chosen by God, but also God’s mercy and forgiveness. Indeed, it’s the very humanity of those described in the Bible that convinces us of the truth of what we read. 

The lives of the patriarchs revealed in Genesis, for example, are what separate the Old Testament from the historical and spiritual writings of other ancient peoples. In the writings of other cultures, the failures and sinfulness of their human leaders rarely arise. According to most chronicles, the ancient kings and pharaohs, the priests and sages, were all near-perfect beings. They won every battle, they were always wise and just, and their children were perfect mirror images of themselves.

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

Perhaps Jacob’s sons offer us one of the best examples of sinfulness in need of mercy and forgiveness, when out of envy they plan the murder of their brother, Joseph, and eventually sell him into slavery [Gen 37]. 

Joseph Sold into Slavery by His Brothers

We encounter this again and again. Consider David, the great king who also happened to be an adulterer and murderer [2 Sam 11]. David’s son, King Solomon, who neglected God's gift of wisdom, became enamored of foreign women (quite a few of them, actually), and turned to idolatry [1 Kgs 11]. And remarkably, these two kings, perhaps along with Hezekiah, Josiah, and a few others, were probably the best of the bunch.

So…What are we to think?

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

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

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

Without God's mercy our sins would overwhelm us. 

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

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

He becomes one of us, He lives with us, He teaches us, He forgives us, He heals us, He loves us, and He suffers and dies for us. He does all of this for our salvation. He does all of this so we can be healed. That's right. Without God's mercy there can be no healing. And we are all, every single one of us, in need of healing, aren't we?

What about you? 

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

Do you suffer from illness, one of those devastating, fear-laden illnesses that makes prayer so very hard?

Have you been attacked by depression, or another spirit-draining affliction that seems to attack your very humanity?

Perhaps you are faced with a combination of many things, some little, some not so little, that overwhelm you and your ability to deal with them?

Or maybe you are simply afraid, afraid of the future, afraid of the unknown, afraid of death, and need the consolation of the gift of faith.

What kind of healing do you seek?

But what about the healing you actually need?

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

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

He wants you, He wants me, He wants every single one of us to come to Him, to abandon ourselves to Him, to allow His will to move within our lives. 

But it's never easy to set aside our own willfulness and abandon ourselves to God's will. When our wills dominate, we end up broken; and yet it's through that brokenness that God call to us. This is another of the paradoxes surrounding God’s love. God knows when our need for His mercy, for His healing touch, is greatest.

At some point, though, we will all be broken physically, broken beyond repair. As St. Paul reminds us, our mortal bodies are just temporary dwellings:

“For we know that if our earthly dwelling, a tent, should be destroyed, we have a building from God, a dwelling not made with hands, eternal in heaven. For in this tent we groan, longing to be further clothed with our heavenly habitation” [2 Cor 5 :1-2].

But, in the meantime, struggling through the trials of this life, we can easily slide into a kind of despair, thinking we're not deserving of God's mercy. We become like Peter who, when he suddenly comprehended the gulf between his sinfulness and God's greatness, could only say:

"Depart from me, O Lord, for I am a sinful man" [Lk 5:8].

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

So many, fully aware of their sinfulness, came to Jesus seeking healing; and there were others, sinful and repentant, whom Jesus actually seemed to seek out. 

Consider, for example, the woman caught in adultery whom Jesus saved from the mob of scribes and Pharisees that had planned to stone her to death. Once Jesus had turned the mob away, He said little to the woman. Their conversation was brief:

Then Jesus straightened up and said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” She replied, “No one, sir.” Then Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you. Go, and do not sin again.” [Jn 8:10-11]

Knowing her heart, Jesus sees both her repentance and her thankfulness, and so extends His forgiveness, His mercy. On her part, she is called to change her life by following His command: “…do not sin again.”

Neither do I condemn you...

Here we see Jesus fulfilling the Law through the application of Divine Mercy. The disciples come to understand what Jesus meant when he began His ministry with the words:

“This is the time of fulfillment. The kingdom of God is at hand. Repent, and believe in the gospel” [Mk 1:15].

I’ve always liked that seemingly odd Gospel passage from Matthew when the disciples of John the Baptist question Jesus about fasting. It’s a brief passage:

Then the disciples of John approached him and said, “Why do we and the Pharisees fast, but your disciples do not fast?” Jesus answered them, “Can the wedding guests mourn as long as the bridegroom is with them? The days will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast. No one patches an old cloak with a piece of unshrunken cloth, for its fullness pulls away from the cloak and the tear gets worse. People do not put new wine into old wineskins. Otherwise the skins burst, the wine spills out, and the skins are ruined. Rather, they pour new wine into fresh wineskins, and both are preserved” [Mt 9:14-17].

It’s an interesting passage, isn’t it? It’s really not so much about fasting as it is about the New Covenant that Jesus makes with us, “the time of fulfillment.” This New Covenant is not simply a patchwork on the old covenant; it's not old wine poured into old wineskins.

No, Jesus offers us to something wonderfully new, and He demands something new from us. He calls us to “repent” of our sinfulness, to “Go, and do not sin again.”

But there is more, much more. This newness is also the Gospel, the command to love God and to love each other as we love ourselves. That's right, brothers and sisters, we're to look beyond ourselves, to die to self and sin and live for the other. And we're to do all this even in the midst of hurt and grief and illness and pain, even in the midst of a pandemic that has turned our world upside-down.

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

Flannery O'Connor

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

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

Have you ever thought of the afflictions of your life, of your need for healing, as a mercy? I know I never had. With the exception of appendicitis at the age of ten, my only serious illness was in my infancy, so I it’s hard for me to comprehend fully what Flannery O'Connor meant by those words. 


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

Joyce Kilmer

I really believe the first thing we should do is thank Him. 

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

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

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

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

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

Thank God for His Divine Mercy, for without it we would have no hope.

Yes, thank God for life itself. 

Then, today and every day, we can let Him focus on the healing. After all, He's pretty good at it.

Homily: Feast of the Holy Family (12/29/2019)

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

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Readings: Sir 3:2-6,12-14; Ps 128; Col 3:12-21; Mt 2:13-15,19-23
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Holy Family Icon

How wonderful it is to be surrounded by family. But for many of us, retired here in sunny Florida, our children and grandchildren live elsewhere. Family gatherings become increasingly rare events, special moments to anticipate and cherish.

Just as individuals grow and change, so too do families. Indeed, for some of us it’s hard to remember that our children are no longer children. And yet families, even in the midst of change, still come together when crises arise. Problems are solved, and crises overcome. So often the slammed doors, quarrels and tears, end in apologies and forgiveness and hugs, with the tears wiped away. Despite 52 years of crises, large and small, Diane and I realize we’ve been blessed when it comes to our children and grandchildren. Even though the struggles continue, we realize it’s God who works His Will through us and through our weaknesses.

Now I realize that within many families the problems can be very serious. Indeed, by most statistical measures, the family’s an institution in sharp decline. Not only are divorce rates high, but many couples are choosing not to marry at all. Far too many fathers abdicate their parental responsibility and abandon both mother and child. Almost half of today’s children are born outside of marriage. And the plague of abortion has devalued not only the child, but human life itself.

Some years ago, our elder daughter was teaching 2nd grade in an inner-city school in California. The fathers of half of the children in her class were in prison. But even among the affluent, too many parents devote themselves solely to their children’s material well-being and success at the expense of their spiritual well-being and moral character.

Single parenthood is a fact of life today, and it carries with it a whole set of financial, emotional, and psychological burdens. If raising a child today is a challenge for a two-parent family, just imagine what’s it’s like to do it alone. Most single parents love and care for their children admirably, but it’s hard to be both mother and father.

Now I’m no sociologist, so I won’t even attempt to explain these problems and their causes. But one thing I know: We need the example of the Holy Family in today's world, a world openly hostile to marriage and the family. Today, celebrating the Holy Family, we’d do well to consider an often-overlooked figure in the Gospels.

In Matthew’s Gospel there emerges a quiet, modest figure, a perfect model for all fathers, St. Joseph. Just consider the sort of man he must have been. He was chosen by God the Father as the guardian, teacher, and guide of His only Son. God chose Joseph to love and protect Mary, the virgin Mother of the Son of God. Yes, Joseph was a very special man indeed.

…a courageous man of honor determined to protect Mary’s reputation. Why? Because he’s a righteous man and this is what God would want.

…a man who then takes Mary as his wife even though the child she carries is not his. Why? Because God told him to take the Child and His Mother to himself. And so, Joseph obeys.

…a man who, to protect his family, leads them on a dangerous journey into exile, into an unknown future. Why? Because God commanded it.

Flight to Egypt

Joseph doesn’t stop to think it over; he doesn’t even spend a day planning the trip. No, he leaves immediately in obedience to God’s command. He “rose and took the child and his mother by night and departed for Egypt.” Matthew glosses over the flight to Egypt in a few words, but the reality was surely nightmare. Leaving in the middle of the night, the Holy Family would have traveled many days across the 300 miles of harsh terrain that led to Egypt. Then, as homeless refugees, they relied solely on Joseph to earn a living during their exile. And just when Joseph had probably established himself in this foreign land, God tells him to return to Israel. Once again, he obeys.

The murderous Herod is dead, but in Judea and Samaria, Herod's son, Archelaus now rules, and Joseph fears him. And rightly so, since Archelaus began his rule by slaughtering 3,000 of Judea’s most influential citizens.

Once again in obedience to God’s command, Joseph takes Mary and Jesus to the safety of a small town nestled in the hills of Galilee, to Nazareth. It’s through the obedience of Joseph that the prophecies are fulfilled. “Out of Egypt I called my Son.” And “He shall be called a Nazorean.”

What a mystery! That God, to protect His Son, the uncreated Word of God, should choose to do so through the mediation of a humble carpenter. It’s a piece of the greater mystery of the Incarnation, in which Father and Spirit now relate to the Son not only as Divine Word but also as incarnate Man.

Notice how, throughout Matthew’s brief narrative, God doesn’t reveal everything to Joseph at once. Instead, Joseph remains continually dependent on God’s next word. For Joseph, the just man, is nevertheless fully human, and like all of us must learn to grow in God’s love and grace. He must experience, as we all must, the trial of faithfulness, the trial of perseverance in seeking out the will of God in our lives. Joseph waits patiently for God to speak, just as God waits patiently for Joseph to grow in fidelity.

It’s in Nazareth, in the home of this family, that Jesus grows to maturity.

It’s here that Joseph teaches Jesus to recite his prayers, to sing the age-old Psalms of David, and to read from the Law and the Prophets.

It’s here that Joseph teaches Jesus to appreciate, firsthand, the importance of following the laws and customs of His people.

In Nazareth, working alongside Joseph in his carpenter's shop, Jesus comes to recognize the value and dignity of work.

Learning His Trade

Here, in Joseph’s home, Jesus encounters a man happy to be poor in spirit, to be meek, just, and merciful, happy to be pure of heart.

Later, during His public ministry, Jesus often spoke of God the Father as “Abba” or Daddy. It was from the loving and caring Joseph that in his humanity Jesus first learned what a daddy was.

At the very heart of Joseph’s sanctity is an unquestioning obedience to accept the will of God in his life…and to act on it. And because he obeys, God comes to him again and again. God walks in Joseph’s soul just as He walked with Adam in the Garden. Is it any wonder He entrusts to Joseph what is most precious to Him?

Joseph Hears and Obeys

Mary and the child Jesus remain almost hidden in this Gospel narrative, wrapped in the decisions and actions of Joseph. Joseph leads but doesn’t dominate. He leads by serving – by serving His God and His family. And then his work is finished. Jesus, whom he has loved, taught, and protected, must now step forward into the light of history. Joseph, like John the Baptist, like you and me, can also proclaim: "He must increase. I must decrease."

We Catholics have always had a deep devotion to Mary, the Mother of God. How it would please her if we would deepen our devotion to her husband. With Jesus we owe honor to Joseph; and honored indeed would Joseph be if fathers today would accept him as their model. And pray, too, that single mothers turn to him, asking for his fatherly intercession in the lives of their children.

Today, on this beautiful feast of the Holy Family, let us pray for our families, for fathers, for mothers, for children, for grandchildren and grandparents.

Back in the 8th grade, Sister Francis Jane began each day by saying: “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, pray for us.”

Should we not do the same?

Homily: Mass and Healing Service

This morning, Saturday, July 13, we celebrated a Mass followed by a healing service at our parish, St. Vincent de Paul in Wildwood, Florida. A nice crowd of folks attended and most took part in the healing service that included prayers over each individual and the laying on of hands. The sacrament of Reconciliation was also available. 

The Mass was for Saturday of the 14th Week in Ordinary Time, and was celebrated by Father Cromwell. I assisted and was privileged to preach the homily.  

A video is embedded here, and the complete text follows:

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Readings: Gn 49:29-32, 50:15-26a; Ps 105; Mt 10:24-33

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Good morning. Praise God in His goodness, Praise Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

It's so good to see so many here early on a Saturday morning. And how good it is just to be here today. How good it is to come together this morning to thank our loving, merciful God for His gifts, especially His gift of life. And not just for the gift of this earthly, bodily life, and all that comes with it: 

The loves of our lives, and our family and friends;

The lifetime of experiences that form and transform us;

The beauty and wonder of God's Creation that surround us.

Not just for these gifts, but for the gift of our true vocation, the gift of eternal life.

Yes, indeed, we are receivers of God's gifts. I first learned this just as the Lord intended us to learn, from Him, but through another. I learned it from a disciple of Jesus, from my mom. 

Mom in the 1950s

She died on March 12, 1977. I had just flown in from the Philippines on emergency leave to be with her at Cape Cod Hospital. I had only a few hours with her before she died, but in that time, she said something remarkable to me:

"Everything is a gift," she said, "even this horrible disease. God takes it all and turns it to good. It has taught me so much."

At the time I was in my early 30s, too young, probably too dense, too broken, and too grief-stricken to understand what she was telling me. But if we listen, over time life itself has a way of teaching us the truth.

Yes, God takes it all and turns it into good, something we see demonstrated beautifully in today's first reading from Genesis.

Joseph, Jacob's fair-haired boy, had been treated rather shabbily by his jealous brothers. I suppose that's a bit of an understatement; in their hatred they'd actually planned to kill him but thanks to Reuben ended up just selling him into slavery.

And here they are, years later, cowering before a now powerful Joseph, afraid that he will take his revenge on them. But not Joseph, and to them he says these remarkable words:

"Have no fear. Can I take the place of God? Even though you meant harm to me, God meant it for good, to achieve his present end, the survival of many people. Therefore have no fear. I will provide for you and for your children" [Gn 50:19-21].

Did you catch all that?

Joseph and His Brothers in Egypt

That evil done by his brothers, like the evil that took my mother's life - "God meant it for good." Is Joseph saying that God desired the evil deeds of his brothers? No, not at all.  Joseph is simply telling his brothers and us exactly what Paul told the Roman's when he wrote:

"We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose" [Rom 8:28].

Brothers and sisters, God calls us, just as He called Joseph. We "are called according to His purpose." Just think of what this means. As baptized Christians, you and I, each one of us, has an active role in God's plan for His Creation, His purpose.

We are called. We ain't just spectators, folks. 

But Jesus always challenges us. And it's through these challenges and our response that God reveals His plan for us. These challenges take many forms: physical illness, emotional distress, damaged relationships, spiritual dryness...and all involve suffering. And when we're in the midst of suffering, it can be hard to accept that we still have a role in God's plan. 

Diane and I are hospital chaplains, and on our assigned days we receive a list of newly admitted patients. We try to visit as many as we can. A few months ago, I stopped by the room of a man on our list. Unfortunately Diane wasn't with me that day, or I'm sure it would've gone a lot better.

Anyway, after I introduced myself, he just said, "Well, I'm kind of a Christian..."  I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but I figured it was a good start. He went on to tell me he'd just turned 60, had been retired for two months, but had suffered a heart attack. He was now recovering from emergency heart surgery.  But then he said something unexpected:

"I can't believe this has happened to me. I probably won't be able to do all the things I'd hope to do in retirement. What kind of life will that be? God sure does mess with you sometimes, doesn't He?"

I just looked at him and said, "Brother, you're alive! God has given you another chance to live, to do His will in the world. You should be overjoyed."

Listening to him, his real problem became evident,. It wasn't his disappointment over what just happened; no, it was his fear of what might happen.

Diane and I have never viewed this hospital ministry as a time to proselytize, to "convert" people. No, it's just a time to call them back into the loving arms of God, because that's what life is really all about. And quite simply fear was keeping this man from God's embrace.

In our suffering we so often ask God the wrong questions. Instead of "Why me, Lord?" perhaps we should be asking Him to ease our fears and help us accept our new role as a wounded disciple.

It's there in our readings, in both Genesis and Matthew. Twice Joseph tells his brothers not to fear. And Jesus? Three times in that brief Gospel passage he tells the apostles, "Do not be afraid..." 

Yes, God knows fear can paralyze. It can blind us to the reality of His love for us and undermine our faith. Most people think that the opposite of faith is disbelief or doubt or skepticism. But they're wrong. The opposite of faith is fear.

This is why Jesus, so often, tells us not to fear. It's why, throughout the Gospels, those who came to Jesus for healing, came to Him unafraid. They came to Him in faith. Had they been fearful they never could have approached the Lord.

They knew the truth about themselves but they weren't stopped by it. They didn't think, "I'm not holy enough. I'm such a sinner. Why would God heal me? Why would He even consider carrying out His will through me?"

Oh, they knew they were wounded. And they knew they were sinners, but they came to Him anyway. They came to Him in faith. They heard God's call and responded.

God calls, and in that call He reveals his plan for us. You and I are still growing up in Christ, still struggling to be like Him. How did Jesus put it?

"So be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect" [Mt 5:48].

What does this mean? 

Well, since Jesus very clearly said: "The Father and I are one" [Jn 10:30], maybe if we just look at Jesus we can come up with an answer.

He certainly did a lot of preaching and teaching, didn't He? But the one thing He did everywhere He went was heal; and He called His disciples to do the same. St. Paul explained that call when he told the Galatians: 

"Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ" [Gal 6:2].

That's right, we are to bear more than our own burdens; we must bear each other's burdens. In other words, we are healers - that's what we all are. We are all healers. OK, let me qualify that a bit: we're all wounded healers.

And we're wounded in so many ways: spiritually, emotionally, mentally, and, yes, physically. We're wounded because of our humanity, because of our fallen human nature and we can't escape it, not on our own. We need God's healing help.

What a marvelous paradox: we are healers in need of healing. Yes, indeed, we are wounded and we are healers - wounded healers - but God isn't finished with us.

In His patience, He waits for our response because He wants so much more for us. And through His grace He offers us mercy, forgiveness, and healing as we stumble along on our pilgrim way to the Kingdom.

How to be a wounded healer? 

Well, this morning you might try looking at the folks seated around you. They're wounded too, in need of God's healing grace.

Right now, just take a moment to turn to those seated near you -- you know, your neighbors, the ones you're called to love -- and tell each of them you will be their intercessor, you will pray for their healing. And tell them the same thing later when we extend the sign of God's peace to each other.

If you're going to be a wounded healer, the kind you are called to be, the kind filled with faith and not fear, you must extend God's love to others. How did John put it? 

"Perfect love casts out fear" [1 Jn 4:18].

And so today, lift up your own healing need to the Holy Spirit, who does God's work in the world. After all, He is the Lord and Giver of Life, so let Him fill you with His divine life, His grace, His peace. Give Him your permission to heal you. Place your need in His hands and let His will be done in your life.

And then, brothers and sisters, having abandoned yourself to God's will, you can turn your heart to another, and another, and another, to those who need a wounded healer in their lives.

Praised be Jesus Christ...now and forever.