Homily: 3rd Sunday of Advent - Year C

Readings: Zep 3:14-18a; Phil 4:4-7; Lk 3:10-18

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Gaudete Sunday – Today, smack in the middle of Advent, in this season of prayerful repentance and preparation, we are called to be joyful. It’s a time to rejoice, for that’s what Gaudete means: this Latin imperative: “Rejoice!” Hence, the color of our vestments and the candle we light today on our Advent wreaths – the color rose is offered as an outward sign of our joy.

But why? Why this focus on rejoicing? What’s its source? We rejoice today because our salvation is at hand. It’s especially fitting in anticipation of our celebration of the birth of our Savior on Christmas Day. Two Old Testament readings today, prophecies from Zephaniah and Isaiah, then a passage from Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, and finally the words of John the Baptist in Luke’s Gospel, all reminding Israel and us of God’s promise of salvation.

We’re told to shout for joy, to sing joyfully, to cry out with gladness, to exult with all our hearts, not to be discouraged, to leave anxiety behind, to fear nothing. Sisters and brothers, if you missed that message, you just weren’t paying attention.

In our first reading, Zephaniah completes his prophecy by telling us to rejoice:

“Shout for joy, daughter Zion! Sing joyfully, Israel...

But because he’s a prophet, inspired by the Holy Spirit, he speaks not only to the people of his time, but to those in the time of fulfillment, and that includes you and me:

"The Lord, your God, is in your midst, a mighty Savior…"

Zephaniah was also called to prepare God’s people by telling them how they are to receive their Savior:

“…I will leave as a remnant in your midst a people humble and lowly, who shall take refuge in the name of the Lord.”

Is Zephaniah speaking to us? To us, who have received a mighty Savior in our midst and continue to receive Him in His Eucharistic Presence? Yes, indeed, for Zephaniah’s words are God’s Word, inspired by the Holy Spirit and given to the Church for the salvation of all.

A remnant…a people humble and lowly? It that the Church? Is that us? Are we humble and lowly? 

My! That sure goes against the grain, doesn’t it? To be lowly in today’s world is to be a loser, because anyone who’s anyone strives to be a winner. Fame and fortune beckon and the lowly will be left behind. Yes, indeed, humility’s not something we see a lot of these days. As my father used to say, only partially in jest:

“Humility’s a strange commodity. Once you know you have it, you just lost it.”

You never hear saints talking about their humility, because for them humility is simply reality, the reality of our existence. We are all children of God, none better than the other, all loved into existence by our great God, Who created everything. Now, that's humbling.

Does this remnant of humble, lowly ones rejoice in God’s gift of salvation? Do evangelists of the last days prepare the world for the Son’s return? Yes, indeed, for God so often takes the weak and powerless, and through them does wondrous things. Or He allows us to be weakened, so we so come to experience true humility.

Some years ago, driving north, Diane and I stopped by Jacksonville to see dear old friends, a retired admiral and his wife, Scott and Marnie. I’d known Scott for years, and flown with him back in our Navy days. But now he was dying of cancer, and we wanted to see him once more.

That day, as we ate lunch together, Scott’s drawn face suddenly filled with peace. He smiled and said:

“You know, Dana, I’m so looking forward to seeing our Lord, I can hardly stand it. Isn’t that weird?”

Scott died exactly one week later. And that comment, made over a salad at a Longhorn restaurant, was a gift. Speaking with us several weeks later, Marnie said, “Scott saved me from a lot of grief because he was so joyful about the life to come.” We are to welcome the Lord with joy, however and whenever He might come to us.

We hear a similar message in our Responsorial Psalm. It’s really not one of the Psalms, but a prayer of praise, joy, and thanksgiving from Isaiah. We need only pray again our response:

“Cry out with joy and gladness: for among you is the great and Holy One of Israel.”

Accepting this, we believe our Savior is among us now, and that God is calling us to prepare the world for His ultimate return. We must, then, try to understand what God desires of us. And to find out, let’s revisit today’s Gospel passage from Luke.

Many picture John the Baptist as some odd zealot, dressed in animal skins, roaming about the desert, telling everyone to repent while they still have time – in other words, kind of a scary guy. John was certainly a bit fierce, mainly because he understood the holiness of God, the effects of sin, and so preached the need for repentance. And yet, he was among the sweetest of men – a saint of indescribable humility, and perhaps the most joyful saint in Scripture.

For John had met and acknowledged Jesus before both were born. Filled with the Holy Spirit, John leaped in his mother’s womb at the sound of Mary’s greeting – an unborn infant filled with joy at his Lord’s arrival. As Luke reveals to us: Called by the Word of God, John “went throughout the whole region of the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” We too are called to experience this same joy as we prepare for our own meeting with Jesus.

Did you notice that everyone John encountered, everyone he baptized, asked the same question: “What are we to do?” How should we live our lives? And John told them all – the crowds, the tax collectors, the soldiers, everyone who asked him – that they must live their newfound faith. They must prove it through works of charity, honesty, faithfulness, and justice.

Yes, indeed, “What are we to do?”

Well, God gave us a pretty simple command: Love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength; and love your neighbor as yourself.

“What are we to do?”

About 25 years ago, ministering in another parish, I was asked that same question. A couple, in their early 40s, approached me after Sunday Mass and asked if they could meet with me. I didn’t know them. I’d been a deacon for only a few years, but I agreed to meet privately the next day.

We began the meeting with a brief prayer, then the man told me they were seasonal visitors, living in their new summer home. It seems they had just sold their business, a software development company, for over 50 million. My immediate thought? Oh, a big donation’s coming. 

But no, it was the wife who spoke next and said, “We’ve both been unfaithful, but want to save our marriage.” And with that, her husband looked at me and asked, “What are we to do?”

Hearing that question – What are we to do? – threw me right back into Luke’s Gospel, and caused me to ask myself, "What am I to do now?"

I first told them to go to the sacrament reconciliation and receive God’s forgiveness and taste His mercy. And because I’m no marriage counselor, I referred them to a faithful Catholic counselor, one whom I knew would help them. Then I just said: “Love, repentance, forgiveness, and mercy.”

That they were there, together, demonstrated their love for each other. Repentance, though, means far more than being sorry for our sins. The very word – repent – means to re-think, to change our thinking, and from that to change how we act. As St. Paul reminds us, repentance demands change.

“…put on the new self, created in God’s way, in righteousness and holiness of truth.”

Forgiveness and mercy…well, they go together, for they are the most vivid manifestation of God’s love, the same love we are called to imitate. We should, of course, begin in our own families, forgiving those who love us, those whom we love, those to whom we can sometimes be most unkind indeed. 

But don’t stop there. Do what John told the crowds as they prepared to meet their Lord: Give to the poor, not just from your surplus but from your own need. Be honest, loving, caring people.

Called by God as His messenger, John prepared the world to receive Jesus Christ, the Word of God Incarnate. John awakened those he encountered, pulled them out of their complacency, led them to repentance so they would understand Jesus when He came.

And it’s no different today. To shake the world out of its indifference, to heal the hatreds, the divisions, the Church needs us all to be true witnesses to God’s love for the world. Today, because our God calls us all to rejoice in our salvation, we need people of joy – not just on one Sunday of Advent, but every day.

St. Paul, in our reading from Philippians, said it best:

“Rejoice in the Lord always. I shall say it again: rejoice!”

And he wrote those words from a Roman prison, as he awaited execution. Yes, “Rejoice in the Lord always.”

I’m reminded again of the words of my dying friend, Scott:

“I’m so looking forward to seeing our Lord, I can hardly stand it.”

Here, indeed, is the peace of God that surpasses all understanding. And this, sisters and brothers, is the Good News of Jesus Christ. Live it! Share it!

 

Homily: Tuesday, 20th Week in Ordinary Time (Year 2)

 Readings: Ez 24:15-23 • Dt 32:18-21 • Mt 19:16-22

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Today we celebrate St. Bernard, a Cistercian monk and abbot, a doctor of the Church, a brilliant 12^th-century theologian who, for a monk certainly got involved in a lot of stuff outside the monastery.

St. Bernard had a tremendous impact on the Church of his day and defended its teachings against the rationalism of Abelard and others like him, who tended to lift human reason to an almost divine level. Much of what he wrote applies as well to today’s confused world. Indeed, in some ways he mirrored Ezekiel’s message in today’s reading.

Reading Ezekiel’s words, it’s hard to believe they were written several thousand years ago. One would think they were written today and aimed directly at those who seem to think they actually control human life on earth. How did Ezekiel put it?

Because you are haughty of heart, you say, “A god am I”…And yet you are a man, and not a god, however you may think yourself like a god.

Just a few days ago, I read the words of a technology guru and he dropped a few interesting comments, all related to the emergence of artificial intelligence:

“If you have a problem in life, you don’t ask God, you ask Google or Facebook.”

And if that weren’t enough, he went on to say:

“…religions have been organized around fake news. Just think of the Bible. Fake news lasts forever in some cases….eternal fake news.

And he concluded with:

“Human history began when men created gods. It will end when men become gods.”

These are the words of more than just one man. They reflect the beliefs of many who claim to be smarter than the rest of us, smarter even than the God they don’t believe in, the God who created them. Yes, they believe they can create their own form of divinity, even if it all must take place in shadows. They are indeed gods, little gods, not unlike the false gods that the Chosen People had to deal with in Ezekiel’s time. They are men and women who look at creation and see only themselves.

I’ve been reading a lot of the Early Church Fathers lately, and St. Ephraim the Syrian, an interesting fourth-century theologian, left behind some wonderful thoughts in the form of little prayers. 

Yesterday I came across one of these, a St. Ephraim one-liner, a tiny prayer that sums up the spiritual needs of so many of us today:

“Inside I am not what I appear to be. Heal me.”

Of course, it’s a plea, asking the Holy Spirit to heal us of our spiritual hypocrisy, that human tendency to project an image to others that bears little resemblance to the true state of our soul. We want others to see a better version of ourselves, while we keep our true self hidden, even from ourselves. And when we do experience those rare moments of self-awareness, we find ourselves asking the same question asked by the disciples:

"Who then can be saved?"

In a sense they’re really saying, “Well, if I can’t be saved, how can anyone be saved?”

Jesus simply tells them and us that salvation is not something we can earn or achieve on our own, an impossible task for us sinners.

“For men this is impossible, but for God all things are possible.”

…and with this, He gives us hope. 

But, as usual, Peter so often assumes our role, demonstrating how clueless we all are in the presence of God. Ignoring what Jesus has just said, Peter responds with a self-absorbed statement and question:

"We have given up everything and followed you. What will there be for us?"

Peter, no doubt speaking for all of them, is looking for a kind of super-reward. After all, Jesus, this discipleship hasn’t been easy.

Jesus lets him know that there will be wonderful things for “you who have followed me.” But then, with His final words, Our Lord tells them they’re not yet there, that they’re still far from being fully formed disciples. How did Jesus put it?

“But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.”

At this point, those words were probably a bit too subtle for them, but I’m sure, with the help of the Holy Spirit, they understood them later.

Like those first disciples, brothers and sisters, we all have a way to go…to lower ourselves, to be healed of the pride of the world, and accept the reality of humility.

As St. Ephraim prayed: Yes, Lord, “Inside I am not what I appear to be. Heal me.”

 

Homily: Tuesday, 3rd Week of Lent (Cycle II)

Readings: Dan 3:25,34-43; Ps 25; Mt 18:21-35

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Years ago, when I was working at Providence College, an aged Dominican – he must have been at least 70 – gave me a copy of a prayer written by Venerable Charles de Foucauld. At the time, he had not yet been beatified, and I had never heard of him. Today, years later, Charles is a canonized Saint, having been beatified by Pope Benedict XVI in 2005 and canonized by Pope Francis in 2022.

St. Charles de Foucauld

This remarkable man lived an even more remarkable life. Charles had been a playboy, an Army officer, an explorer, and a Trappist monk. But for the last 10 years of his life, he lived as a hermit among the Tauregs, a Muslim tribe in North Africa. He made no converts, and in 1916, in the midst of World War One, he was shot dead, assassinated in his hermitage by a fierce group of marauders who were also fighting the British and French. His life didn't really bear fruit until after his death. As Jesus told Philip and Andrew, "...unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit." [Jn 12:24]

The prayer I was given by that kind Dominican is a prayer of abandonment. It’s rather brief, something I guess you’d expect of such a prayer. Here's the complete text:

Father, I abandon myself into Your hands. Do with me what You will. Whatever You may do, I thank You. I am ready for all, I accept all.

Let only Your will be done in me and in all Your creatures. I wish no more than this, O Lord.

Into Your hands I commend my soul; I offer it to You with all the love of my heart; for, I love you, Lord, and so need to give myself, to surrender myself into Your hands without reserve and with boundless confidence. 

For You are my Father. Amen.

For years now, I’ve tried to pray these words every morning, except when I'm in too great a hurry, or simply a bit lazy. When I first read it, I realized this kind of selfless faith was, and remains, very difficult for me.

Interestingly, that Dominican gave it to me on Tuesday of the 3^rd week of Lent. I know this because at Mass in the college chapel that day I heard the same reading from Daniel that Patrick just proclaimed here today.

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego -- don't you just love those wonderful names? You know, after we were married, I suggested to Diane, "You now, if we had triplets..." Well, that went nowhere.

Anyway, all three were willing to die very painful deaths rather than worship the false gods of King Nebuchadnezzar. But before they were tossed into that blazing furnace, Azariah, as Abednego was called in Hebrew, led them in prayer. This, too, was a prayer of sheer abandonment. He then repeated its essence in a statement to the king himself.

Although speaking to the king, Azariah and his companions reveal their decision to abandon themselves to God’s will. They accept life or death, whatever fulfills God’s plan.

If our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the furnace of blazing fire and out of your hand, O king, let him deliver us. But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods and we will not worship the golden statue that you have set up.

King Nebuchadnezzar, like so many who wield worldly power, disliked being challenged, and had all three tossed into the furnace. But unlike St. Charles, God granted them life.

Perhaps such total abandonment, the offering of our lives in the face of imminent death, isn’t something you or I will ever be called to do. And yet, when we consider the direction our world is headed today, who knows? But real abandonment to God isn't reserved for martyrs. It's something we must all strive for, something that involves much of our everyday lives. 

We see an example in today’s Gospel passage, when Peter questions Our Lord about forgiveness. At this point in his own formation as a disciple, Peter is not concerned about abandonment to God’s will. No, he’s looking for a formula: “How much do I have to forgive? How long must I do things God’s way, before I can do it my way?"

Jesus’ parable provides the perfect answer, doesn’t it? He tells Peter and us that we must forgive as God forgives. Salvation is God’s business, but forgiveness, in imitation of God, is something we are called to do always.

Just consider how we commit ourselves to this In the Lord’s Prayer: 

Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

What a courageous thing to ask of God! Do we really mean it? Every time we pray those words, do we actually think about all that unforgiveness in our lives, just waiting for us?

Forgiveness, of course, is more than words; it also strives to restore that which separates us from each other. Our concerns, our hopes, should not be focused solely on ourselves, but on the good of the other person. Forgiveness is really the most human, the most intimate form of evangelization, a way we can help God lead others to Himself.

Yes, it can be frustrating on that human level when the others remain unrepentant. But you and I don’t save people. We are simply God’s instruments who are sometimes called to open the door so He can step in.

Once again, salvation is God’s business. And the actual healing often takes place long after you and I have done our little bit, have opened the window just a crack, so God’s Holy Spirit can rush in and do His work in the hearts and minds of those He places in our lives.

 

Homily: Third Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year B

Readings: Jon 3:1-5,10; Ps 25; 1Cor 7:29-31; Mk 1:14-20

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One theme present in today’s readings is time, or perhaps more specifically, the passage of time. Of course, at my age – and I suspect this is true for a few of you – the passage of time is very evident.

When we were children, time crept by, carrying us slowly and deliberately through our young lives. What a blessing this was! The movement of time let us anticipate and savor so much of life – to observe, learn, absorb all that we encountered…and if we were fortunate, to distance us from the not so good.

For several years, Diane and I took foster children into our home. We had four children of our own, but we took on emergency cases, children who often came from difficult family situations.

Amazingly, regardless of the tumult and confusion these little ones had endured, they were often able to set it aside. Moved by love for their parents, their fervent hope was to return, to return to a renewed family where all would be set right. One need only look at a child to see the true manifestation of hope as a virtue.

But as we age, time moves along more quickly, doesn’t it? It hurries us through our days, pushing us relentlessly to the very culmination of our lives. It’s as if time, like today’s readings, pleads with us, reminding us we cannot bargain with it; that for each life, time has a limit, one that can come on quickly.

In our second reading St. Paul doesn’t pull any punches, but comes right out and tells the Corinthians and us that, “time is running out…the world in its present form is passing away.”

Paul wants us to be ready, to prepare for all that is to come, to prepare for God’s transformation of the world, and to prepare for judgment. He calls us to prepare – not by our own power, but through God’s gift of grace.

For God comes to us. He comes to us here in His Word, proclaimed in our hearing, entering into our minds and hearts.

He comes to us in the Eucharist, joining our very being with His Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity, joining us to one another in this shared Communion. Do we ever think of that? As we depart here today, we are surrounded by the Real Presence of Jesus in each other. Yes, through the Eucharist each of us becomes a God-bearer, called to take Jesus Christ to others.

He comes to us, too, when we encounter Him daily, especially in His least brothers and sisters. Do we see Christ in them? At the Wildwood Soup Kitchen, we told our volunteers, “We don’t serve meals; we serve Jesus Christ.” But do those we serve, experience Jesus in us? Do they turn to us in expectation, in hope? That marvelous writer, the late Flannery O’Connor, once wrote to a friend: “You will have found Christ when you are concerned with other people’s suffering and not your own.”

How foolish we are when we ignore these daily encounters. And yet so many of us do just that when we make the mistake of thinking the little slice of time we’ve been given belongs to us.

"Follow me and I will make you fishers of men."

The apostles didn’t make that mistake. They had encountered Jesus in the flesh – hearing, seeing, touching Him – and realized that they had been called, called in God’s time, not theirs. They had no time to do anything but drop their nets, turn away from their former lives, and follow Jesus. They didn’t fully understand it, not then, but moved by the Spirit, they knew it was a special time.

Indeed, in that same brief Gospel passage from Mark, Jesus begins His public ministry with the words, “This is the time of fulfillment.” Here is Jesus, the Lord of History, standing at the very center of all time, bringing everything that went before to fulfillment – truly, a most special time. The very thought of the Incarnation, God’s thought, was made in eternity, outside of time itself. And with His coming, everything changed.

The time of the Old Covenant pointed forward, away from itself, to Jesus Christ, its fulfillment. Yes, Jesus tells us, all of time that came before, every moment from the creation of time itself out of eternity, is brought to completion. His coming thrust us into God’s time; and Jesus, our God become man, is now ever-present.

Yes, indeed, it’s His time; it’s God’s time, for Jesus goes on to tell us: “The Kingdom of God is at hand.” To be sure, then, this fulfillment of time also means the time of the Kingdom of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

But other than this, Jesus really tells us very little about this time, or what we can expect as it unfolds. He tells us only that God has acted and fulfilled all. Then, continuing His teaching at that first moment of His ministry, Jesus commands us to act as well – for we must do our part.

“Repent,” Jesus commands, “and believe in the Gospel.”

Instead of telling us what we can expect, Jesus tells us what God expects of us. First, we are to repent. Translated from the Greek, metanoia, it means a change of mind and heart.

Time and change — repentance calls us to look back, if only to acknowledge the sinfulness of our lives; but then, filled with hope, to look forward to conversion, to forgiveness, and to the joy of the Good News. Jesus calls us to faith, to accept the Gospel, and to love our God and to love each other. Then, with minds and hearts turned toward God, we can experience the surprising joy of the Good News.

Sisters and brothers, Jesus spoke those words to the people of Galilee gathered around Him that day. He spoke to each one of them, personally, individually, calling them to accept His gift of faith, calling them to repentance, conversion, and joy. And He speaks this message to each us as well; for we, too, are called…and as Paul reminds us, “time is running out.”

Are we like the people of Nineveh? Like all of us they needed to repent. They had turned from God…until He placed that ultimatum before them. God set a 40-day time limit to their lives, and when they heard Jonah’s message, the message of the most reluctant of all the prophets, they realized their time was running out.

But they didn’t wait, not for a moment. No, they acknowledged their sins, turned to God in repentance, and He lifted the dire sentence He had placed on them.

Nineveh Repents

Repentance, conversion, salvation, and joy.

What about our time? People move here to our little corner of the world to have the time of their lives, don’t they? But all too often they forget that the time of their lives is coming all too quickly to an end.

Christ’s message, then, is one of urgency. It’s a message that demands an answer. To put it off is to run the risk of missing the coming of the Kingdom into our lives.

This Gospel message is for every single one of us, for all of humanity stretched out over the entire span of time. It’s a message aimed directly at the heart, in which God marks each of us for repentance, and for the salvation He desires for us.

Brothers and sisters, that we're here today means you and I believe in the Good News of Jesus Christ, in the salvation He offers us. Our Lord calls us to live that belief in lives that glorify God by loving and serving Him and each other.

Have you and I done much God-glorifying lately? Maybe it’s time to give it a try. Then, through the grace of God, we really can have the time of our lives.

Grief and Thanksgiving

Note: To respect the privacy of those involved, I have not used any names in this post.  

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On occasion we all get a bit down, thanks to little irritants that loom up and take on an importance far exceeding their reality. This is no virtue because, in truth, it’s more than a little selfish. Were Diane not so kind, she could tell you of my susceptibility to these episodes of self-centered grumpiness. But in my defense, I can honestly say they never last long and are soon overwhelmed by the joy of living each day God has given me. I suppose we’re all rather selfish critters until we step away from ourselves and focus on others and on the Other. The catalyst for this change, at least in extreme cases, often involves coming face to face with tragedy. When tragedy strikes close to us, the minor irritants of our lives become almost meaningless in light of another’s deep suffering.

This past Friday, I got a call from a local funeral director asking if I would conduct a brief service at the funeral home for a young man of 33 who had died just days before. The deceased’s wife would fly in that evening from the northeast with two of her husband’s friends. The funeral director hoped I could conduct the service early Saturday afternoon. My schedule was clear, so I agreed. When I asked for more information about the man, I was told he was involved in telecommunications, and that he and his wife had been married only six months. The couple were both immigrants from Belarus, as were the friends accompanying her. The funeral director then informed me the young man had committed suicide. He had hanged himself. Death at a young age is always tragic and death by suicide doubly so. 

I realized I had to speak with the young widow as soon as possible and was given her cell phone number. I managed to catch her on her way to the airport. She spoke excellent English which is good because my Belarusian is non-existent. We talked for only about 10 minutes because I could tell she was devastated and probably needed time with her friends. But she had told me enough about her husband so I could at least prepare the service and my homily. He was Catholic and she is Orthodox. “A kind and generous man,” she said, but a man also afflicted with addictions that plagued and depressed him. “But he truly loved God,” she added, “and I think he just wanted to escape his problems and be with Him.” 

When I arrived at the funeral home, his body was in an open casket in the chapel. His widow, a lovely young woman, was standing over him, stroking his head and sobbing almost uncontrollably. I approached her and quietly introduced myself. She simply thanked me for agreeing to be there, then hugged me long and hard. It reminded me of the hugs I used to receive from Diane when I returned from a long Navy cruise to the Western Pacific. I think she saw in me, this grandfather-like figure with a deacon’s cross around his neck, a faint connection to God, someone who could make some sense of everything. I could see her husband had been a strapping and handsome young man, and like his two friends, who spoke little English, was no stranger to hard work. As you might imagine, the scene was one of almost inescapable sorrow and I realized I had to inject it with a real sense of hope.

Too many Christians believe suicide is somehow irredeemable, always an insurmountable obstacle to salvation. I have never accepted this, and often argued with those who expressed such a merciless belief. I call it merciless, because it denies both the mercy and justice of our loving God. You and I can never know what lies deep within the heart of another, and to believe otherwise is to assume we possess divine knowledge. Suicide is not a normal response to life’s challenges, and too often is driven by any number of mental instabilities, including addictions. Full consent may not be present when one makes such an agonizing decision, especially when it is made precipitously. Is it sinful? Yes, of course. But so too are many other things you and I do on a daily basis. Divine Mercy cannot be limited by you and me. By trying to do so we turn ourselves into little false gods who actually believe we can know the mind and heart of our one, true God, and then demand He follow our lead when it comes to salvation. I’ve always taken hope knowing that God wills all to be saved. How did St. Paul put it?

“First of all, then, I ask that supplications, prayers, petitions, and thanksgivings be offered for everyone, for kings and all in authority, that we may lead a quiet and tranquil life in all devotion and dignity. This is good and pleasing to God our savior, who wills everyone to be saved and to come to knowledge of the truth. For there is one God. There is also one mediator between God and the human race, Christ Jesus, himself human, who gave himself as ransom for all” [1 Tim 2:1-6].

We don't make salvation decisions about others; we let God do that. Far better if you and I simply trust and pray for the souls of those who have gone before us.

Another serious side-effect of suicide is the presence of guilt that can overwhelm the survivors, especially spouses, parents, and even children. As I told this young man’s widow, if you are tempted to dwell on all you could have said or done differently, thinking that you might have prevented this tragedy, don’t go there; it’s not a good place. Such thoughts are never beneficial and only drive you to despair. I really believe Satan is the one who plants these thoughts in grieving hearts. I also told her, "If you should find yourself there, leave." As St. Paul instructed us, offer supplications, prayers, petitions, and thanksgivings. "Pray for the soul of your husband; thank God for the time you had with each other; and pray too for his parents and family in Belarus who are surely grieving with you." We will not know the answers to all of our questions until we are with God in heaven. It is so much better to spend our time here thanking Him. 

I really believe the best antidote for grief, and pain, and hardship is thanksgiving. I know I’ve posted this poem by Joyce Kilmer before, but I think it deserves another reading, especially today. Kilmer wrote it while in the trenches during World War One, not long before he was killed by a German sniper. He was 31 years old.

                Thanksgiving

The roar of the world is 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!

Homily: 21st Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Is 66:18-21; Ps 117; Heb 12:5-7,11-13; Lk 13:22-30

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When Isaiah proclaimed the remarkable prophecy we heard in our first reading, the Jews of his time must have been shocked. From the time of Abraham, they’d seen themselves as God’s Chosen People; and indeed they were. But for what purpose were they chosen? They saw salvation as something only a few would experience, namely them. God’s heavenly banquet would be for a select few.

Then they hear Isaiah, a prophet, speaking in God’s name and telling them something very different. Isaiah describes a holy gathering where people of every nation of the world enter God’s house. God invites all; all are brought into His presence; all worship the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; and to all of them He reveals His glory.

But there’s more. God tells Isaiah: “Some of these I will take as priests and Levites.” And so, here in the depths of this Old Testament prophecy, we find Jesus Christ present; for it is Jesus who will institute a new priesthood, derived not from genealogy or inheritance, but from faith. It will be a priesthood that ministers to both Jew and Gentile, that takes the Word of God to the world, a priesthood founded by Christ Himself and made present through the apostles.

Isaiah is preparing God’s people to accept the truth that God desires salvation for all – a desire later fulfilled by Jesus when He instructs the apostles to announce the Good News:

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

Yes, this is the new heaven and new earth that Isaiah speaks of later in this same prophecy. And how it must have shaken those who heard it, who no doubt asked, if only to themselves, “Is salvation really for all these people?” Hundreds of years later, this same question is posed to Jesus in today’s Gospel passage: “Lord, will only a few people be saved?”

Why did this unnamed person ask it? Is he simply asking, “Hey, Jesus, what are the odds I’ll win the salvation lottery?” Or maybe, as a Jew he thought he had an inside track on salvation: he knew the Law, obeyed the rules, did all he was supposed to do as a sign of his justification.

When you think of it this way, you can almost hear the complacency in the question, can’t you? Or maybe he was complacent because he knew Jesus…that as a disciple he thought he had it made...had walked by Jesus’ side as He taught in the streets...had shared meals with Him. Wouldn’t this be enough? Whatever his reasons, I’m sure he was surprised when he didn’t get a simple Yes or No answer.

But it was really the wrong question. How many will be saved isn’t the important thing. The important question, the one you and I should really be concerned about is: “How can we be saved?” And this is the question Jesus answers.

You see, brothers and sisters, salvation is a gift. It’s nothing you or I can earn; rather it’s the result of Christ’s saving sacrifice on the Cross. Although everyone is invited to share in God’s Kingdom, accepting that invitation means obeying His call to repentance and struggling to do His Will. Thankfully, God’s ways are so very different from ours. His judgment and His mercy are perfect, but they are so different that we always question.

Some years ago, at a vigil service for a parishioner who had just died, his wife spoke to me about him. “He rarely went to Mass,” she said. “He fought in two wars, and encountered unspeakable things. He saw a lot of death, some of it he caused himself. I think he spent a lifetime trying unsuccessfully to come to grips with it all. I know he hadn’t gone to confession in years.” And then she asked me, “How will God judge him?”

It’s really the same question, isn’t it: “Lord, will only a few people be saved?” It seems to be a question we never cease asking.

About twenty years ago, I worked for a high-tech firm in New England. One morning a co-worker, one of our young salespeople, knowing I was deacon, asked if we could speak privately. She began to talk about her older brother. He was her hero, a bright, talented, seemingly happy young man who could do no wrong in her eyes. He had a good job with a major public relations firm, and even talked about starting his own business one day soon. He seemed to be doing so well. And then for reasons she could not understand he turned to hard drugs. He became addicted. Within months he’d lost his job and had even been arrested in some drug buying sting operation. Then tragically, the week before, he died of an overdose, which they suspect was intentional. “He was always so good, so kind, so helpful to everyone,” she said. And then she asked, “Will Mark spend eternity in hell?”

Once again, we hear it: “Lord, will only a few people be saved?”

How I answered isn’t important. How Jesus answered is. Jesus took this simple question and used it to teach us about salvation. Yes, the door is narrow and we can’t pin our hopes on being paid-up church-going people. And those words “depart from me” are a stark and chilling reminder that the stakes are high.

But God in His mercy calls us…again, and again, and again. Only He knows what’s in the human heart. Or as we heard in today’s 2nd reading from Hebrews: 

“…do not disdain the discipline of the Lord…for whom He disciplines, He loves” [Heb 12:5-6]

It’s no coincidence that the words discipline and disciple have the same Latin root: discere, to learn.

And so, when we ask that question – “Lord, will only a few people be saved?” – are we willing to accept His answer? We don’t fully understand this mystery of salvation, a salvation not limited by law, ritual, or our own expectations of who will or won’t be saved. There is no formula for salvation. Salvation is a gift from a God whose love is so expansive it includes the entire human family.

Our God respects our freedom, takes our decisions seriously, and accepts the consequences of our decisions, even when we choose to reject Him. But this same loving God has a heart overflowing with mercy and forgiveness, always offering us His healing grace.  Yes, we should do our part, but we shouldn't be too quick to condemn ourselves, and we certainly shouldn’t condemn others.

Maybe when we’re upset about the things we’re getting wrong, we can count ourselves among the 'last' of Luke's Gospel and I suppose that’s good. Maybe then we’re more likely to accept help, help from others, and God’s help and forgiveness.

You and I are far from perfect but when the time comes, I hope we’ll be pleasantly surprised to find ourselves in God’s presence…and perhaps also surprised by the others we’ll meet there, just as they’ll be surprised to see us.

We might well encounter that parishioner, plagued by his memories of those battlefields, who spent a life wrestling with his conscience and with God. Or the young man who in his last moments turned to His Savior in repentance and thankfulness for the offer of salvation.

Yes, brothers and sisters, the stakes are high, and I know the last thing I want to hear from God is, “Depart from me.” How much better to hear Him say, “'Well done, my good and faithful servant…Come, share your master’s joy.”

So, instead of judging others, those who seem so lost, whose lives are filled with pain, instead of judging them, let’s do as Jesus commanded and simply love them to salvation. And offer prayers for those who have gone before us, prayers that depart our time-plagued world and enter God’s eternity where their effects are beyond our imagining.

Reflection: Divine Mercy Novena - Day 9

Before our wonderful cantors led us in singing the chaplet in day nine of the Divine Mercy Novena, I offered the following brief reflection:

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The other day, after writing a few words about an event in the Old Testament, I was reading a bit from St. Faustina’s Diary and was struck by what Jesus told her.

“You are a witness of My mercy. You shall stand before my throne forever as a living witness to My mercy” [# 417]

and

“You are My delightful resting place; My Spirit rests in you [# 346].

Relating this to the Old Testament, I couldn’t help but apply it to the Patriarchs, Prophets, and others who were recipients of Divine Mercy.

In the Old Testament, we encounter some truly remarkable lives, lives bathed in God’s mercy. Consider the twins, Jacob and Esau: one, along with their mother, conniving and deceitful, and the other, arrogant and foolish. And yet Jacob, with all his blemishes and sins, becomes 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].

We encounter this again and again. Consider David, the great king who also happened to be an adulterer and murderer [2 Sam 11] and 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]. 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. 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 how good it is that 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? - 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? What do I seek? But what about the healing we actually need? 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.

And that’s when our need for His mercy, for His healing touch, is greatest.

 

Springtime Reading

Every so often, someone asks me: "What are you reading lately?" Most often the question comes from a friend or acquaintance who's visited our home and has taken a peek into my so-called den. Often enough this messy room shocks visitors who for some reason expect me to be more organized. I could include a photo but would prefer to avoid the embarrassment. I'd rather just drop a few hints and leave the rest to your imagination. 

Most of the walls of this room are hidden behind six tall overflowing bookcases. More books rise up from the floor in semi-neat stacks. The storage of books is a process of continual evolution and even a cursory look suggests no real system of organization. The result? Searching for a particular book usually turns into an adventure. I'm not proud of this, but organization takes time. Perhaps every couple of years, the chaos reaches a critical level and I devote most of a day to rearranging books by subject matter, separating others I intend to give away, and moving some to the many bookcases in other rooms of our home. This task, driven by necessity, is far from enjoyable. But it must be done because I lack the discipline to return books to their proper place and tend to stash new books wherever they fit. Yes, indeed, my lack of discipline and organization leads only to chaos.

But even chaos can bring its rewards. Yesterday, while looking for a particular book, I found another I had not yet read and had forgotten. Buried at the bottom of one of those stacks on the floor, it called to me, demanding to be read. Since I tend to have three or four books going at the same time -- something that Dear Diane finds strange -- I simply added it to my current reading.

When do I read? Whenever I have the time. Multiple ministries have no respect for personal schedules and make it difficult to set particular times for other activities, including reading. Fortunately, I read rather quickly, thanks to a speed-reading workshop I attended in graduate school back in the early 70s. Unless the book is a particularly dense theological or philosophical text, I can usually finish it rather quickly.

Anyway, if you are interested, here's a sampling of what I'm reading now, or intend to read, in the springtime of 2022.

Dare We Hope That All Men Be Saved? by Hans Urs von Balthasar (1986). 

Hans Urs von Balthasar (1905-1988), one of the great theologians of the 20th century, wrote this book not long before his death. Although I first read this book in the mid-90s, its publication had already generated so much controversy, I wanted to read it myself and see what all the furor was about. And now, as I am much closer to the end of my life, I thought perhaps it was time to read it again.

Although I was (and still am) no theologian, I found the book to be thoughtful, measured, and scripturally sound. I could never understand why von Balthasar and his book became the target of so many attacks. God's plan for the salvation of humanity, particularly for the salvation of each individual, remains a mystery. Can we not hope for the salvation of all?

Von Balthasar examines sacred Scripture and brings to light many of the passages that encourage Christians to hope that God will bring all to salvation. He neither ignores nor denies the more "threatening" passages that obviously argue against this. In his follow-up "Discourse on Hell" (included in the book and written as a response to his critics), he simply says:

"I claim nothing more than this: that these statements give us a right to have hope for all men, which simultaneously implies that I see no need to take the step from the threats to the positing of a hell occupied by our brothers and sisters, through which our hopes would come to naught."

He goes on to write: 

"I do not wish to contradict anyone who, as a Christian, cannot be happy without denying the universality of hope to us so that he can be certain of his full hell: that was, after all, the view of a large number of important theologians, especially among the followers of Augustine. But, in return, I would like to request that one be permitted to hope that God's redemptive work for his creation might succeed. Certainty cannot be attained, but hope can be justified."

Von Balthasar then adds the following, suggesting the Church, in its wisdom, has long understood this:

"That is probably the reason why the Church, which has sanctified so many men, has never said anything about the damnation of any individual. Not even about that of Judas, who became in a way the representative example for something of which all sinners are also guilty."

I've just completed (I think) my third reading of this book and strongly recommend it, especially if you find the idea of God bringing all to salvation highly improbable or even impossible. As for me, I've always been a sucker for hope, the theological virtue that promises me so much more than I deserve.

Eliot and His Age, by Russell Kirk (1971). 

Russell Kirk (1918-1994) was perhaps the most eloquent, influential, and solidly conservative man of letters of the 20th century. I attribute the genesis of my own political beliefs to his book The Conservative Mind which i first read only months after its publication in 1960. At the time I was a high school junior who was searching for some solid foundational ground to support the beliefs I instinctively held. 

Kirk (photo left) was a prolific writer, and many of his books have pride of place in my personal library. I had known of his fondness for T. S. Eliot, with whom he shared a personal friendship, but I had never read this remarkable work. I'm now about halfway into it an already consider it essential reading for anyone truly interested in understanding the great poet's life and works, as well as the ideas that stimulated his timeless writings.

If you're a fan of Eliot (photo left), you'll know that his essays and other prose works are almost as important as his poetry. Indeed, his ideas are perhaps even more meaningful to our society today than when they were first written. Kirk, writing of Eliot's influence in the early 1920s, stated:

"Of missions to the masses, the twentieth century knew too many; Eliot's mission was to the educated classes. The drift toward Marxism, or toward some other totalist ideology, was apparent already among literary people: Eliot would offer them an alternative -- in philosophy and religion, in humane letters, in politics." [P. 81]

And while you're at it, pick up a copy of Eliot's The Idea of a Christian Society, a wonderful essay containing such profound gems as this:

"...in a society which has ceased to be Christian...I would remark that there are two points of view...The first is that a society has ceased to be Christian when religious practices have been abandoned, when behavior ceases to be regulated by reference to Christian principle, and when in effect prosperity in this world for the individual or for the group has become the sole conscious aim. The other point of view, which is less readily apprehended, is that a society has not ceased to be Christian until it has become positively something else...I believe that the choice before us is between the formation of a new Christian culture and the acceptance of a pagan one." [P. 10]

By the way, my copy is a first US edition (1940) for which I paid all of $2.00 in a used bookshop some years ago. 

Of yes, and don't neglect the great poet's poetry...perhaps more on this in some future post.

I'm running out of time (and steam) and still have two homilies to write for Mass and a Baptism on Saturday. Here's one more suggestion, a bit of a change of pace since it's a work of fiction.

There Are Doors, by Gene Wolfe (1988). 

Gene Wolfe (1931-2019) might well have been one of the best modern American writers of fiction. Sadly, his work tends to be overlooked because it is usually classed as science fiction. I suppose it is, but it's really so much more. Just the fact that I rarely read the genre -- except for books written by Wolfe -- might convince you to give him a try.

Every so often I find one of his books in a used bookstore or turn to Amazon and search for one I haven't read. This book is one of those Amazon purchases. A used copy, it arrived on our doorstep a couple of days ago and I just started to read it yesterday evening. It took only about 30 seconds to grab my attention, although after about 50 pages I realized it was too late to continue reading since I had to get up at 5:30 this morning. I'll probably finish it tonight.

Wolfe once wrote that "A great story...is one that can be read with pleasure by a cultivated reader and reread with increasing pleasure." Believe me, this describes Wolfe's stories perfectly.

If you've never read Wolfe, I would suggest turning first to his novel, A Soldier of the Mist (1987). (The link takes you to a double novel that includes this book and its sequel.) The novel tells a remarkable story set in 479 B.C., a time when "the gods walked the earth with men." The hero, a Greek mercenary soldier named Latro, suffered a head would in battle and became separated from his fellow soldiers. As a result of his wound, he experienced severe memory loss that included his ability to remember from one day to the next. He is forced, therefore, to live in a constant present. His only aid is a daily written record which he reads each morning to give his life some continuity. But his wound has also given Latro a gift of sorts: his sense can penetrate into the supernatural world that surrounds him. He can see and communicate with a wide variety of beings, from gods and goddesses to ghosts and demons.

Another of Wolfe's books that received a lot of critical attention is among my favorites: Pirate Freedom (2007). I just love the plot. It's a time-travel story of a Catholic priest, Father Christopher, who finds himself transported back in time to the age of piracy in the Caribbean. There he becomes Captain Chris, a rather successful pirate. An absolutely fascinating story -- I won't reveal the ending -- that examines the relationship among love, faith, and morality.

Wolfe was a Catholic whose deep faith permeated his works, often in the most subtle ways that no doubt had a significant influence on many of his readers.

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In addition to the books mentioned here I'm currently reading a few others. Perhaps I'll take the time to mention them in the near future.

God's peace and happy reading.