Homily: Christmas Weekday - January 5

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

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Today’s readings are so remarkably appropriate given the condition of our world, given the state of the hearts and minds of so many.

We seem to be immersed, almost smothered, in a world lacking any kind of spiritual unity, a world too often typified by division and hatred. We watch the news, we scan the internet, read all the social media posts, and we must dig deep to encounter true faith, or to see the signs of hope that should mark our lives.

And how easy it is to add to the divisions and hatreds that increasingly separate us from each other. Families are torn apart because of political differences, or moral confusion, or a simple lack of trust. And the bonds of friendships dissolve for many of the same reasons. So many are simply unwilling to set it all aside and just love each other.

As John, the Apostle of Love, reminds us in his first letter, “Whoever does not love, remains in death.” He’s speaking here of spiritual death, a rejection of everything good, a rejection of God’s call to “love one another as I have loved you” [Jn 13:34].

John goes on to remind us that words mean little unless they are manifested in “deed and truth”, or to use a more common expression: to walk the talk. Who in your life needs the touch of your love, of God’s love? A family member? A friend, perhaps someone who hurt you, someone from whom you have withheld forgiveness? A maybe just a neighbor who irritates you no end? Reach out to them, not to receive anything, simply to extend God’s love.

Often enough we form little personal biases, pre-judgments that are hard to shatter. Just look at Nathaniel in our Gospel passage. Philip told him wondrous things about Jesus, that He is the one promised by God through Moses, a promise every Jew kept in his heart.

“I will raise up for them a prophet like you from among their kindred, and will put my words into the mouth of the prophet; the prophet shall tell them all that I command” [Dt 18:18].

But none of this impressed Nathaniel, who like Philip was probably from Bethsaida, and thought little of folks from Nazareth. The villages of Galilee, places like Bethsaida, Cana, and Nazareth, were just small country towns, subject to the same petty jealousies and rivalries that affect us today. 

I lived on Cape Cod for 25 or so years. It's a lovely little slice of God's earth, but the old-timers can be a bit...well, provincial. Here's a local story that displays how rivalries between the small towns manifest themselves: 

Two elderly men, both from the town of Chatham and both from old Cape families, were standing at the fence separating their front yards lamenting the number of tourists filling their Chatham streets. One said to the other, "Pretty soon, with all these tourists, there'll be no room for us natives." The other gave a snort and replied, "Natives? I heard that your great-great grandfather was born in Harwich." (Harwich was a neighboring town.)  

Yes, those Galilean villages were no doubt similar to our own versions, even here in The Villages. Not long ago, speaking with a woman who lives in a village that abuts ours, she said: “Our village is wonderful. We all love to get together in block parties and holiday celebrations. But I've noticed your village doesn’t do a lot of that.” This, of course, was just a slightly nicer way of saying, “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” [Jn 1:46] 

I wish I could say that, meeting me, she immediately changed her attitude. But no, she just continued with more of the same. But not Nathaniel. Philip, accepting his new role as evangelist, said to his friend: "Come and see." 

Yes, indeed, come and see Jesus and you will be changed. After only a few minutes with Our Lord, Nathaniel exceeded even Philip:

“Rabbi, you are the Son of God; you are the King of Israel” [Jn 1:49].

Declaring what the Spirit has revealed to him, he joined Philip and followed Jesus in "deed and truth.” And this is what every encounter with Jesus is like, or should be like.

Maybe we should spend more time away from all the modern, technological wonders that clutter our lives and our minds, and, like Nathaniel, just sit down for a while under our own figurative fig trees, and let God come to us. How good it is to just experience God’s creation and enjoy the peace that He extends to us.

I think it especially interesting that in 1^st Kings, we encounter the fig tree as a symbol of peace:

“During Solomon’s lifetime Judah and Israel lived in safety…all of them under the vines and the fig trees.” [1 Kgs 5:5]

And in Zechariah, an angel of the Lord assured the high priest with the words:

“On that day you will invite one another under your vines and fig trees” [Zech 3:10].

Our homes and our communities should also be places of safety, places of peace, places on invitation, where love overcomes all conflict. Then we, too, can join the psalmist and “serve the Lord with gladness…give thanks to Him; bless His name” [Ps 100:2,4]

Homily: Monday, 30 December - Year 2

Readings: Is 7:10-14; Ps 24; Lk 1:26-38

Don’t you just love Isaiah? The prophet talks a lot about fulfillment, and usually does so fearlessly, even when he must challenge worldly powers. King Ahaz for example, was not a good man. Indeed, he was especially bad, following pagan abominable practices like human sacrifice, even sacrificing his own son. He did many more nasty things which I won’t go into here. Judah was being attacked by the Syrians on one side and the Assyrians on the other, and Isaiah encourages Ahaz to ask God for a sign. Ahaz rejects the idea, but this displeases God and through Isaiah God gives Ahaz a sign anyway.

What we get is a messianic prophecy: a king and heir to David will bring salvation to God’s people. And He will come to the world uniquely:

“…the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall name him Emmanuel” [Is 7:14]

Emmanuel: "God is with us."  Our Savior, then, will come to us as a child. God will take human form, becoming one of us. This Child not only blesses the world with God's miraculous and divine liberation, but through Him, God becomes present among humanity and the promises heard so often before come true:

“I will be their God and they will be my people” [Jer 32:38]

This fulfillment is proclaimed to us by Luke as Mary is invited to be the Mother of the Savior of the world. This Jesus will be both God's Son and hers. I doubt that Isaiah ever dreamed of this: that the Word would be made flesh and live among us as one of us.

And so, you and I, the entire world, are thrust into the greatest event in all human history: the God of Creation becomes one of us. And what does God do? He makes it all depend on the agreement of a teenage, Jewish girl, simply to convince us that “nothing will be impossible for God” [Lk 1:47].

That’s just how God works: always calling the weakest to greatness. How did Andrew, the future apostle, put it?

“Can anything good come from Nazareth?” [Jn 1:46]

Nothing much, other than the Savior of the World, our Blessed Mother, and the obedient, God-fearing Joseph who devotes his life to protecting his family, protecting God’s family. Yes, indeed, nothing good comes from Nazareth except the Holy Family, except God Himself. And it’s here in Nazareth, not in Rome, or Athens, or Alexandria, where God chooses to enter our world. He appears in a tiny, forgettable Galilean village, in a backwater of the Roman Empire.

But as the prophecies remind us, it’s all been long prepared, a part of God’s unerring plan, so when Gabriel says, “Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with you” [Lk 1:28], we know Mary has been chosen from the beginning of time itself.

“Do not be afraid” [Lk 1:30], Gabriel says, and Mary sheds her fears. But the angel’s words echo down through the ages to our own times.

So many today are filled with fears, fears that try to overcome their faith.

So many have forgotten their calling as Christians, to give birth to Jesus in their lives and the lives of others.

Like Mary we have been called to give an unconditional “Yes” to God’s presence in our lives.

Like Mary, we too must ponder and reflect to discern what God is asking of us.

Like Mary at the foot of the Cross, we can be plagued with questions that seem unanswerable.

But like Mary, we, too, can hear and accept Gabriel’s words, “Nothing will be impossible for God.”

Wonderful, hopeful words that bring us peace as we welcome the Prince of Peace.

Homily: Monday, 22nd Week in Ordinary Time (Year A)

Readings: 1 Cor 2:1-5; Ps 119; Luke 4:16-30 

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Some people just don’t like to hear the truth. Just look at our Gospel passage from Luke.

Jesus visits his hometown of Nazareth, enters the synagogue, and reads the words of Isaiah. He then makes that amazing claim:

“Today this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing” [Lk 4:21].

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me..."

At first the townspeople looked at each other in amazement, overcome by wonder and pride. Jesus, the young carpenter, the son of Joseph, is one of their own. He grew up and played with their children, went to synagogue with them. But how is it He speaks with such wisdom, such authority?

Nazareth was a small, quiet village, a place where nothing much ever happened, a village on the road to more exciting places. But on this day, the people heard Isaiah – the Word of their Fathers – claimed to be fulfilled right there.

Isn’t this the son of Joseph?

They’d heard of the miracles in Capernaum, the healings, and the crowds and probably hoped He’d do the same in Nazareth – perhaps much more. But they kept thinking: Isn’t this the son of Joseph?

If He’s a prophet, a miracle-maker, shouldn’t His own people be the first to benefit? After all, we’re his people! His family! His friends! God knows there are plenty of sick people here. How about some healings, a miracle or two? Then we’d know God is with him, with Him right here in Nazareth.

But what does Jesus do?

No miracles. Instead, He speaks of Elijah and the famine that spread throughout the country in those ancient days. Although the Chosen People were starving, God sent Elijah to a pagan widow of Zarephath, and it was she and her son whom Elijah miraculously fed.

And no healings. Instead, Jesus speaks of Elisha and the leper God sent him to heal, a pagan from Syria — this when Israel, too, had many lepers.

The people of Nazareth were in that synagogue to see and hear Jesus, this son of Joseph, who had done wondrous things. They hoped to be amazed by His words and to marvel at His mighty deeds. Yes, they wanted the hometown boy to be a prophet who’d bring them signs of God’s favor, one to do their bidding, not God’s.

But instead, Jesus told them stories of God’s grace poured out not on Jews, not on friends and neighbors, but on Gentiles, aliens and unbelievers. 

"...they were filled with fury."

Infuriated, they rose up, drove Him to the brow of a steep hill, hoping to hurl Him off the cliff. No, Jesus wasn’t their kind of Messiah.

Today you and I meet these Nazoreans across a vast gulf of time, traditions, language, and experience… and although these differences are great, perhaps we’re more like them than we know.

We ask for forgiveness when we fail to do God’s bidding, but then demand that he do ours.

We want a just and merciful God, as long as we’re the ones who benefit from his justice and mercy.

A truly omnipotent and omniscient God can be more than a little scary. Much nicer to have our God who conforms to our vision of what God should do.

So many, today, just like the people of Nazareth, want a God they can tame.

For on that day Jesus reminded his friends and neighbors that God’s ways are not our ways. God’s grace cannot be constrained by our boundaries or controlled by our prayers.

When Jesus spoke in the synagogue, he gave notice that his ministry would embrace the stranger and include the outsider. Indeed, He will embrace the sinner, those we’re so sure don’t deserve God’s forgiveness.

It’s a message both confrontational and comforting; a teaching both sharp and hard, and often so difficult to accept, or even hear. This is why so many today find Jesus and His Church unacceptable.

I remember walking with thousands of others on a “walk for life” in Boston many years ago. It was a peaceful event. And as we walked down Commonwealth Avenue in support of the unborn, the silence was broken only by the prayers and hymns of the participants…until we reached one corner. There a small group of protesters confronted us and fouled the air, screaming obscenities and blasphemies aimed at Jesus Christ and His Church.

You see, brothers and sisters, Jesus’ Word can be hard, and those who can’t accept and embrace it may find themselves filled with fury and standing on the brow of a hill ready to hurl Him, His message, and His Church headlong off the cliff.

Jesus didn’t go elsewhere because he was rejected; he was rejected because he intended to go elsewhere. That elsewhere beckons us, too; or at least it should, for we too are called. We have heard God’s Word. It has been fulfilled in our hearing. We are called to travel on hard paths, and to take up our cross, carrying it with us as we go.

How did Paul put it?

“For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified” [2 Cor 2:2]

This is our God – our crucified and risen Lord, the God who lives, still bearing the wounds of His love.

This is our God, not a God to be tamed or controlled, but a God to be loved, a God who demands our complete trust.

This is our Christian calling, to abandon ourselves in trust, to abandon ourselves into His hands, allowing His will and not ours to be done in our lives.

To the world it appears as weakness; but believe me, it can be the hardest thing you will ever do.

The question is: Are you and I willing to do 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: 4th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year C

Readings: Jer 1:4-5,17-19; Ps 71; 1Cor 12:31-13:13; Lk 4:21-30
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I get asked a lot of questions - questions about the Church, about God, about morality...what's right and what's wrong and why. Most are good questions, asked by people who need answers and are honestly searching for the truth, questions that come straight from the heart.

But occasionally the questions come from a different place. Sometimes they come from real hurt or anger, and sometimes from pride or hatred. These are hard questions and those asking are often at a place where they can't hear the answers.

Not long ago a mother asked me, "How can a loving God be so cruel? Why did He allow my daughter to die at 29? Why didn't He answer our prayers?" 

She was so angry with God that anything I said probably wouldn't change this, at least not yet.  And I understand that. In challenging times I've asked God some bitter questions myself -- questions that begin with anger, and lead to our wonder why God doesn't conform to our expectations.

I suppose we all create our own image of God, and we want His Church to support that image. We're really just asking: "Why doesn't God do what I want Him to do?" 

Sometimes I, the creature, try to play the role of creator, and create a lesser god in my own image.

Of course, it's nothing new. It's been around from the beginning. That first sin, the sin in the garden, was a sin of pride, with Adam and Eve wanting to be like God. And we also see it in evidence in today's Gospel passage from Luke.

Jesus visits his hometown of Nazareth, and in the synagogue, He reads the words of Isaiah. He then makes that amazing claim: 

"Today this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing" [Lk 4:21].

At first the townspeople look at each other in amazement, overcome by wonder and pride.  Jesus is one of their own, the carpenter, who grew up and played with their children, and went to synagogue with them.

But then another attitude creeps is. How is it that Jesus speaks with such wisdom?

Isn't this the son of Joseph? [Lk 4:22]

Nazareth was likely a pretty quiet place - a small village on the road to larger, more exciting places. I suspect nothing much ever happened in Nazareth. And yet, on this day, in sleepy Nazareth, the people heard Jesus claim that the Word of Isaiah - the Word of their Fathers - was fulfilled in their hearing. 

Isn't this the son of Joseph?

Oh, they'd heard the rumors of miracles in Capernaum. They'd heard talk of healings and crowds and signs of God's favor. And many probably hoped He'd do the same in Nazareth, maybe even more, much more. 

But they kept thinking: Isn't this the son of Joseph? One of our own? 

And if He is a prophet, if He is a miracle-maker, shouldn't His own people be the first to benefit?  After all, we're his people! His family! His friends! He should do something special for us, perhaps some wonderful miracle, or some healings. God knows we have enough sick people in town. If He'd do that then we'd know God's power is right here in Nazareth, in this forgotten corner of Galilee. Yes, indeed, they wanted a prophet who would do their bidding, not God's.

And so what does Jesus do? Nothing!

No miracles. Instead He speaks of the prophet Elijah and the famine that spread throughout the land in those ancient days. Although many of God's Chosen People were starving, God sent Elijah to a widow of Zarephath, a pagan from the land of Sidon. It was she and her son, two pagans, whom Elijah miraculously fed.

And no healings. Instead of healing the sick of Nazareth, Jesus speaks of the prophet Elisha and the leper God sent him to heal, a man called Naaman, another pagan, this one from Syria.

Jesus told them of God's grace poured out not on Jews, not on friends and neighbors, but on aliens, on unbelievers.  This infuriated them. Jesus is certainly not their kind of prophet, their kind of Messiah. And so they rose up, drove Him out of town, to the brow of a steep hill, hoping to hurl Him off the cliff.

Today we meet these Nazarenes across a vast gulf of time and traditions and language and experience ...and although these differences are great, perhaps we're more like them than we know. 

After all, don't we sometimes yearn for a God we can control, one who will do our bidding?

Don't we sometimes want a God who will reward us, His friends, and punish our enemies? 

Oh, yes, we want a just and merciful God, so long as we're the ones who benefit from his justice and mercy. It's okay if God plays favorites so long as we're the favored ones.

We ask for forgiveness when we fail to do God's bidding, and then demand that he do ours.

Sometimes we're just not all that comfortable with an all-knowing, all-powerful God. 

Sometimes we prefer our God in a box with well-defined limitations, one who conforms to our vision of what God should do. We want a God we can tame. 

And so did the people of Nazareth. For on that day Jesus reminded his friends and neighbors that God's ways are not their ways. God's grace cannot be constrained by our boundaries or controlled by our prayers. When Jesus spoke in the synagogue, he gave notice that his ministry would embrace the stranger and include the outsider. He prefigured that remarkable command he issued right before His Ascension:

"Go, therefore, make disciples of all nations..." [Mt 28:19]

His message can be comforting, but also challenging and confrontational.  His teaching was often sharp and hard and difficult to accept, or even to hear. Like the people of Nazareth, many today find Jesus and His Church just as unacceptable. 

I remember walking with thousands of others on a "walk for life" in Boston some years ago. It was a peaceful event. And as we walked down Commonwealth Avenue in support of the unborn, the silence was broken only by the prayers and hymns of the participants...until we reached one corner. There a group of protesters fouled the air, screaming obscenities and blasphemies aimed directly at Jesus Christ and His Church. 

At the time I was walking alongside Bishop Sean O'Malley, now the Cardinal Archbishop of Boston. But when I grumbled, "I think I'll go over there and straighten them out," Bishop Sean just placed a hand on my shoulder and said, "Now, Dana, remember, God loves them too."

Walk for Life - Boston 2001

Yes, God does love them. As Jeremiah reminds us in our first reading, 

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you..." [Jer 1:5].

...and they need our prayers and our love, not our condemnation. 

Brothers and sisters, we all know that Jesus' Word is sometimes hard for us, and those who can't accept and embrace it may find themselves filled with fury and standing on the brow of a hill ready to hurl Him and His message headlong off the cliff. Jesus didn't leave Nazareth and go elsewhere because He was rejected; He was rejected because He went elsewhere.

That elsewhere beckons us for we, too, have heard God's Word. It has been fulfilled in our hearing. We are called to travel on hard paths, and to take up our cross, carrying it with us as we go.

This is our God - our crucified and risen Lord, the God who lives, God with skin on, still bearing the wounds of His love. 

This is our God, not a God to be tamed or controlled, but a God to be loved, a God who calls us to love one another, who demands our complete trust.

This is our Christian calling, to abandon ourselves in trust, to abandon ourselves into His hands, allowing His will and not ours to be done in our lives.

To the world this is weakness; but believe me, it's not for weaklings. It's so hard you and I can't do it alone. We always need God's help.

The question is: Are we willing to seek His help and answer His call?

Homily: Monday of the 3rd Week of Lent

Readings: 2 Kgs 5:1-15; Ps 42; Lk 4:24-30
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How small a God do you believe in?

It's kind of an odd question, isn't it? But it's really the question with which Jesus challenged the people of Nazareth, His hometown.

"...they were all filled with fury...."

When He showed up in the synagogue, they were already upset. They'd heard all about the wondrous things He'd done elsewhere, and wanted Him to do the same in Nazareth. They thought they were special. Jesus, after all, was from Nazareth, and so they deserved special treatment. If Jesus were this great prophet that people were already calling Him, they why hadn't He done anything here in Nazareth?

Of course, there was no thought of conversion, no desire to change their hearts. And repentance? Well, no need for that. No, their demand was all about entitlement, for they were a people wrapped up in themselves. Jesus looked at them and saw no humility, only pride.

And, remarkably, they really exhibited little curiosity about Jesus Himself. Oh, they thought they knew Him, because He had grown up among them. But they could see Jesus only as He used to be, as the child who played in their streets. And now He's a prophet?

Well, Jesus, if you're so great, how about proving it? Yes, they wanted some miracles too. But for the miraculous to engender faith, the heart must be well disposed.

You see, brothers and sisters, the people in that synagogue in Nazareth believed in a very small god, a god of Nazareth, not the God of Creation. In a very real sense they'd tried to create a god in their own image, and such a god must be very small indeed.

How does Jesus respond?

Naaman, healed by obedience not water [2 Kgs 5:1-19]

He reminds them of how God worked wondrous miracles through His prophets Elijah and Elisha... but they were miracles aimed at those beyond the borders of Israel, at Gentiles, not Jews. For God, the true God, is the God of all of His Creation. He certainly isn't a God to whom we can dictate.

Elijah and the widow [1 Kgs 17:9-24]

And so, with His examples from the books of Kings, the King of Kings reproaches His neighbors. His reproach, of course, is an attack on their pride.

And they respond. They respond with murderous intent.

Now I've occasionally said things in homilies to which people objected, but no one's ever tried to kill me...at least I don't think so.

But not Jesus. They force Him out of both synagogue and town, intending to throw Him off a cliff. But Jesus withdraws. He withdraws miraculously, mysteriously, majestically, leaving them paralyzed in their wounded pride; perhaps even questioning: "Who is this man that we thought we knew?"

How about you? How about me?

Are we sometimes like them? Do we believe in a little god, a subservient god, one at our beck and call, a god who does, or should do, our will?

Or do we believe in the Lord God, the God who created us out of love, who reveals Himself to us out of love, and calls us to do His will? 

And what about Jesus, the One the Father sent to become one of us, the One who gave His life for us, out of love? 

Do we listen to His Word? Do we realize He speaks to us constantly and from the mouths of the most unlikely people?

And that Cross He carries, that pesky Cross. Does He really expect me to carry one too? Why can't He just make my life perfect, just the way I'd like it?

Who is your God? Who is my God? Who is our Jesus? Have you and I created a little god, one our minds can comprehend, one we can control?

Or, like the deer that thirsts for the stream's running water, do we  thirst and long for the God of Creation, the God of Revelation, the God of the Incarnation, the God who loves, the God who saves, the God who calls each one of us to be His disciple?

You and I have to let go of our little gods and let the true God quench our thirst as He wills.

God love you.

Homily: Wednesday, 4th Week in Ordinary Time, Year 1

Readings: Heb 12:4-7, 11-15 • Psalm 103 • Mk 6:1-6

In my previous parish on Cape Cod I used to visit a local nursing home a couple of times a month. After conducting a Liturgy of the Word with Communion I’d take Eucharist to the rooms of those who were unable to attend. Once, right after I’d given Communion to a 96-year-old man, a doctor, who looked to be in his early forties, entered the room, introduced himself, and began to examine the patient.

After a long moment the old man looked closely at the doctor and said, “Wait a minute! Aren’t you Jack Snow’s little boy? What was your name…Charlie wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” the doctor replied, “and it still is.”

“Yeah, well you’re the kid who was always getting in trouble, always doing stupid stuff. And now you’re a doctor? Well, you can’t be a very good one. I don’t want you working on me.”

The doctor simply said, “A prophet is not without honor except in his native place” [Mk 6:4]. Then he added, “Apparently it’s the same for doctors…now, open your mouth and say, ‘Ahhh.’”

Of course, I can no longer read this Gospel passage from Mark without thinking of those two men. It seems many of us are not unlike the Nazarenes. Of course the young doctor wasn’t divine. He was imperfect, a sinner like all of us. But his elderly patient just couldn’t accept him for who he was.

Jesus teaching in Nazareth

The people of Nazareth ask, “Where did He get all this?...Is this not the carpenter?” [Mk 6:2-3] Yes, those who recognize Jesus bind Him to the limitations of His earthly profession, and set the same limits to His ministry, His teaching, and His miracles. What they really want to say is, “Why isn’t He just doing what carpenters are supposed to do?”

They then push their doubts even farther: And isn’t He just “the Son the Mary”? [Mk 6:3] Don’t we know all His relatives? But Mary – the theotokos, the Mother of God whose mission is part of her Son’s mission – means nothing to them. They can’t grasp the truth because they know only the woman, not the Blessed One, only the carpenter, not the Redeemer.

And so they take offense, for how can the local carpenter bring the Kingdom of God into the world? How can the Son of Mary be the fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets? Yes, they take offense because they refuse the truth, the free acknowledgement of the truth that comes with the acceptance of God’s gift of faith. Jesus chastises them for their lack of faith; He exposes them, puts them in their place, the very place He came from.

But the Lord perseveres. He heals some, a few Mark tells us, apparently a select few. Nazareth rejected the Good News of salvation, and Jesus left them…at least for a while. He would gladly have received them all, worked miracles among them, deepened their faith, but they don’t want Him. They have taken offense. Amazed at their lack of faith, He does nothing to break their resistance. He moves on to other more welcoming places.

What about you and me? Do we see the necessity of faith? Have we kept the Lord from working miracles in our own lives? Has weakness of faith blocked the healing God wants for us?

Brothers and sisters, there’s no limit to Jesus’ power. He asks only for faith, God’s door into human hearts, but one that can be opened only from within.

Open your heart to the Lord. Call on the power of His Holy Spirit and let His gifts, His healing, fill you, and bring you the joy He promises.

A few chapters later, Mark introduces us to a man whose faith has been tested. He is one like us who strives to accept God’s gift of faith in the midst of distress. Chastised by the Lord, He responds prayerfully: “Lord, I do believe, help my unbelief!” [Mk 9:24] Let us pray the same.

Homily: 4th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C)

I neglected to post this homily last week...my apologies.

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Readings: Jer 1:4-5,17-29; Psalm 71; 1Corinthians 12:31-13:13; Lk 4:21-30
As a deacon I get asked a lot of questions – questions about the Church, questions about God, questions about morality…what’s right and what’s wrong and why. And, you know, most of them are good questions, questions asked by people who need answers, who are honestly searching for the truth, questions that come straight from the heart.

But occasionally the questions I’m asked come from a different place. Occasionally they come from anger, or from pride, or from hatred. And it’s those questions I have a hard time answering. It’s not so much that they’re hard to answer; it’s that those asking them don’t want to hear the answers.

“How can a loving God be so cruel? Why did He kill all those innocent people in that earthquake?”

“Isn’t the Church against abortion just because it gives women control over their lives?”

“Why didn’t God answer my prayer? I told Him what I needed again and again.”

“How come the Church hates gay people?”

You see, in each instance it’s pretty clear they’ve already made up their minds. They already have their own answers, answers that support what they want to believe. What really bothers them is God’s unwillingness to conform to the divine image they’ve created. And they want His Church to support that image.

Those questions, as different as they might seem on the surface, really boil down to one question: “Why doesn’t God agree with me?” In other words, the creature tries to assume the role of the creator – by creating a god in his image.

Of course, this is nothing new. It’s been around from the very beginning. That first sin, the sin in the garden, was a sin of pride: Adam and Eve wanting to be like God. And we also see it in evidence in today’s Gospel passage from Luke.

Jesus in the synagogue of Nazareth

Jesus visits his home town of Nazareth, enters the synagogue, and reads the words of Isaiah. He then makes that amazing claim: “Today this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing” [Lk 4:21]

At first the townspeople look at each other in amazement, overcome by wonder and pride. Isn’t Jesus one of their own? Isn’t He the same one who grew up with their own children, played with them, went to synagogue with them? Isn’t He the young carpenter? Isn’t this the son of Joseph? How is it He speaks with such wisdom?

Nazareth was likely a pretty quiet place — a small village on the road to larger, more exciting places. I suspect nothing much ever happened in Nazareth. And yet, on this day, in sleepy Nazareth, the people heard the Word of Isaiah – the Word of their Fathers – claimed to be fulfilled in their hearing. Isn’t this the son of Joseph?

Oh, they’d heard the rumors of miracles in Capernaum. They’d heard talk of healings and crowds and signs of God’s favor. And most of them probably hoped He’d do the same in Nazareth – maybe even more…much more. But they kept thinking: Isn’t this the son of Joseph? One of our own. And if He is a prophet, if He is a miracle-maker, then shouldn’t His own people be the first to benefit? After all, we’re his people! His family! His friends! He should do something special for us, perhaps some wonderful miracle, or some healings. God knows we have enough sick people in town. If He’d do that then we’d know God’s power is here, right here in Nazareth, this little town in this forgotten corner of Galilee.

Elijah and the widow

But what does Jesus do? Nothing. No miracle. Instead He speaks of the prophet Elijah and the famine that spread throughout the land in those ancient days. Although many of God’s Chosen People were starving, God sent Elijah to a widow of Zarephath, a pagan from the land of Sidon. It was she and her son, these pagans, whom Elijah miraculously fed [1 Kgs 17:7-16].

And no healings. Instead of healing the sick of Nazareth, Jesus speaks of the prophet Elisha and the leper God sent him to heal, a man called Naaman, a pagan from Syria — and this when there were many lepers in Israel [2 Kgs 5].

The people of Nazareth gathered in the synagogue to see and hear Jesus, this son of Joseph who was apparently doing wondrous things throughout Galilee. They hoped to be amazed by His words and to marvel at His mighty deeds. Yes, they wanted the hometown boy to bring them signs of God’s favor. They wanted a prophet who would do their bidding, not God’s.

But instead, Jesus told them stories of God’s grace poured out not on Jews, not on friends and neighbors, but on aliens, on unbelievers. And this infuriated them. Jesus is certainly not their kind of Messiah. And so they rose up, drove Him out of town, to the brow of a steep hill, hoping to hurl Him off the cliff.

Yes, we meet these Nazarenes across a vast gulf of time and traditions and language and experience… and although these differences are great, perhaps we’re more like them than we know. After all, don’t we also sometimes yearn for a God we can control, one who will do our bidding? Don’t we sometimes want a God who will reward us, His friends, and punish our enemies?

Oh, yes, we want a just and merciful God, as long as we’re the ones who benefit from his justice and mercy. It’s okay if God plays favorites so long as we’re the favored ones. We ask for forgiveness when we fail to do God’s bidding, and then we demand that he do ours.

Most of the time, we’re not particularly comfortable with a truly omnipotent and omniscient God. We prefer our God in a box with well-defined limitations, one who conforms to our vision of what God should do. We want a God we can tame. And so did the people of Nazareth.

For on that day Jesus reminded his friends and neighbors that God’s ways are not our ways. God’s grace cannot be constrained by our boundaries or controlled by our prayers. When Jesus spoke in the synagogue, he gave notice that his ministry would embrace the stranger and include the outsider. His message would be as confrontational as it was comforting. His teaching would be sharp and hard and often difficult to accept, or even hear.

This is why so many today find Jesus and His Church just as unacceptable. I remember walking with thousands of others on a “walk for life” in Boston some years ago. It was a peaceful event. And as we walked down Commonwealth Avenue in support of the unborn, the silence was broken only by the prayers and hymns of the participants…until we reached one corner. There we were confronted by a small group of protesters who fouled the air, screaming obscenities and blasphemies aimed directly at Jesus Christ and His Church.

You see, brothers and sisters, Jesus’ Word can be hard, and those who can’t accept and embrace it may find themselves filled with fury and standing on the brow of a hill ready to hurl him, and his message, headlong off the cliff.

Jesus didn’t go elsewhere because he was rejected; he was rejected because he intended to go elsewhere. That elsewhere beckons us, too; or at least it should, for we too are called. We have heard God’s Word. It has been fulfilled in our hearing. We are called to travel on hard paths, and to take up our cross, carrying it with us as we go.

This is our God – our crucified and risen Lord, the God who lives, still bearing the wounds of His love.  This is our God, not a God to be tamed or controlled, but a God to be loved, a God who demands our complete trust. This is our Christian calling, to abandon ourselves in trust, to abandon ourselves into His hands, allowing His will and not ours to be done in our lives. To the world it appears to be weakness; but believe me, it can be the hardest thing you will ever do.

The question is: Are we willing to do it?