Homily: 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year B

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Homily: Monday, 3rd Week of Easter

Reading: Acts 6:8-15; Ps 119; Jn 6:22-29
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Stephen Preaching to the Sanhedrin

Chapters 6 and 7 of the Acts of the Apostles introduce us to the person, the preaching, and ultimately to the martyrdom of St. Stephen. Because Stephen was among those first seven deacons, I've long had a particular fondness for him. But more than that...for me, tucked away today as I am in this relatively safe corner of our world, I am humbled by Stephen. 

I am simply overcome by this remarkable saint; and not just by his death, his martyrdom - which we'll hear about in tomorrow's reading - but by his life. Listen to how Luke introduces Stephen to us: 

"Stephen, filled with grace and power, was working great wonders and signs among the people" [Acts 6:8].

Now, how many of us are "filled with grace and power"? How many of us work "great wonders and signs among the people"? 

Yes, indeed, coming to know St. Stephen can be a humbling experience. But then I find myself asking, How does one come to be filled with grace and power?

We know God's grace is a gift, a powerful gift, but also a gratuitous gift; for none of us is worthy of God's grace. God certainly blessed Stephen with this gift, a gift that literally shone through his face. As Luke describes him:

"All those who sat in the Sanhedrin looked intently at him and saw that his face was like the face of an angel" [Acts 6:15]

Yes, the Sanhedrin looked intently at this angelic face, but blinded by their hatred of this new and seemingly heretical sect they couldn't accept the truth. These men, like the crowds in our Gospel passage, could not accept or even see the signs Jesus had wrought in their midst. These signs, of course, pointed to the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Ultimately they pointed to the Risen Jesus.

But the Sanhedrin were so driven by their jealousies and hatreds, just more of that same food that perishes, they not only rejected the gift that Jesus offered, but also rejected the living, risen Jesus. They simply couldn't understand why Stephen and these so-called Christians hadn't disappeared after the crucifixion. 

Instead, thousands had come to believe in the Risen Jesus. Thousands now accepted the Word of the Word made flesh as taught by His One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church. Not only had these disciples of Jesus "filled Jerusalem with their teaching" [Acts 5:28], but they had already sent the Word of God to every corner of the Roman Empire.

Indeed, the Church was Catholic - it was universal - from the very beginning, for on that first Pentecost 3,000 Jewish pilgrims were baptized, only to leave Jerusalem for their homes throughout the known world [Acts 2:9-11,41]. From the beginning, then, the Church was blessed with many Stephens.

But again, how does one come to be filled with grace and power? Jesus, of course, provides the answer.

When we do God's work in the world, He will shower us with His grace and His divine power will manifest itself and shine through us. And it all begins with our response to the gift of faith. How did Jesus put it?

"This is the work of God, that you believe in the one He sent" [Jn 6:29].

With faith, then, and only with faith, can we carry out the work of God. And to sustain and nourish us on this remarkable journey, He provides us with another gift. As he responded to those who looked for Him hoping for more bread and fish: 

"...work not for food that perishes but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you" [Jn 6:27].

Did you hear that? As believers in the One God sent, it is our task to work for the food Jesus gives us. And that food is Jesus Himself. Christ's Eucharistic Presence will draw the world to Him. As Jesus told the doubting crowd:

"I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst" [Jn 6:35].

God, then, will fill the faithful with the grace and power needed to do His work in the world.

But we must always remember, those great wonders and signs are God's, not ours, and they will manifest His Presence in ways you and I can never imagine.

Our reward? The answer, again, comes from Jesus:

"For this is the will of my Father, that everyone who sees the Son and believes in him may have eternal life, and I shall raise him on the last day" [Jn 6:40].

Homily: Monday, 9th Week of Ordinary Time (Year 1)

Readings: Tb 1:3; 2:1a-8 • Psalm 112 • Mk 12:1-12

Our readings today are both beginnings of a sort. We begin a week of readings from Chapter 12 of Mark's Gospel, and also begin a weeklong series of readings from the Book of Tobit.

Tobit is a delightful book, one of the inspired books the Church includes in its canon, but one considered apocryphal by our Protestant bothers and sisters. That's too bad, and I always encourage my Protestant friends to read the book because Tobit offers us a wonderful story of suffering, of faithfulness, of charity, and of the presence of God and His love. It reminds us of the nearness of God, who is always merciful to those who turn to Him in need.

Tobit and his family are Jews living in Nineveh, exiled among the Assyrians, and yet in the face of persecution they keep the faith and follow the Law as God intended. When the Assyrian king, Sennacherib, allowed the persecution and killing of the exiled Jews, Tobit secretly buried the dead. For these acts of charity he had to go into hiding until the king was assassinated by his own relatives.

Now back home with Anna, his wife, and Tobias, his son, he prepares to celebrate Pentecost, the Jewish feast of the harvest, 50 days after Passover. We celebrate Pentecost 50 days after Easter, and even for us it is a feast of harvest, the birthday of the Church and the harvest of souls for God.

Back to Tobit...Before the feast, he sends Tobias to find a needy devout Jew among the exiles and ask him to join the family for the meal. But Tobias returns and reports instead that a Jew had been murdered and his lifeless body left in the street. At great personal risk, Tobit goes out and brings the body back to his home for burial. And for this he is mocked by his neighbors, who are more concerned for their personal safety than for helping those in need, especially for this corporal work of mercy: to bury the dead.

Tobit and his son, Tobias bury the dead

Tobit, of course, sets a wonderful example for us. He rejects the challenges and mockery of the world and instead commits to doing acts of true justice in accordance with God's will. When, like Tobit, we accept God's call to be active witnesses of His love and mercy, we can change the world.

St. Boniface, whose memorial we celebrate today, did exactly that: at great personal risk he changed the world by converting the barbarian German tribes, a vocation that ultimately led to his martyrdom.

St. Boniface (Bishop & Martyr), Apostle to German Tribes

When we contrast the courageous Boniface and the just Tobit with the attitudes Jesus encounters in today's Gospel passage, the difference could hardly be greater.

Jesus confronts the priests, scribes and elders with a parable that points to Himself as the Son of God, as the foundation of the new Temple, the cornerstone rejected by those who thrive in the old. This they cannot bear. It threatens their way of life, a way of life centered on themselves and not on the true worship God desires of them.

In the parable, Jesus portrays them as murderers, who will do anything to protect themselves. In that sense it is, of course, a prophecy through which Jesus, once again, describes His own death. Interestingly, in Mark's version, he tells us that the tenants "seized him [the son] and killed him, and threw him out of the vineyard" [Mk 12:8]. But both Matthew [Mt 21:39] and Luke [Lk 20:15] reverse the order, and the son is first thrown out of the vineyard and then killed. This, of course, is more in keeping with the reality, in which Jesus is thrown from the vineyard, from Jerusalem, and killed outside its walls on Golgotha.

As we listen to this parable we run the risk of applying it only to the scribes and Pharisees, and forgetting that the Gospel isn't about all the others in our lives, all the "thems," but about us, about you and me.

How often do we resemble those Pharisees or those neighbors of Tobit?

How often do we turn away from God's way and choose our own path, one that leads to sin and alienation?

Yes, like those who reject Jesus outright, we too need mercy and reconciliation. We, too, need to drop to our knees and come to God in repentance, and then rise up and do His work in the world.

Lord, teach us to serve you in all things, to measure our lives not by our will but by yours. Help us to serve you by serving those who enter our lives, those you place there in need of your love and mercy.