Homily: Monday, 12th Week in Ordinary Time

If you would like to view a video recording of this morning's Mass, click here: Monday, 12th Week in Ordinary Time.

The following is the text of my homily.

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Readings: 2 Kings 17:5-8,13-15; Ps 60; Mt 7:1-5 
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Back in high school, so many years ago, our chemistry teacher, Fr. McGowan (or was it Fr. Kane?…Well it was a long time ago) often begin chemistry class with a brief reading from the Sermon on the Mount.

I suppose, at first, we listened a little, but every day we listened a bit more…until finally we realized that Jesus was telling us to do a lot of things the world didn’t especially like. I’m sure it had a lasting effect on some of us, and others? Well, some reacted as many Christians still react to the Sermon on the Mount.

Oh, Jesus didn’t really mean all that…or…He was speaking allegorically…or Jesus was just exaggerating to make a point…and on and on we go…

Yes, we love to change Jesus’ words, to water them down, to qualify them. It makes us feel much better about our unwillingness to listen and obey. Instead of beginning with God’s Word, we begin with our own beliefs, and bend the Gospel to make it fit and support our particular agendas.

Consider today’s passage on judgment – it’s always made me feel more than a little uncomfortable. How often do I judge people? I can’t count the ways…and on such trivial things.

The driver who doesn’t notice the light’s turned green. 

The person in line at the supermarket who can’t seem to find her credit card.

The clerk in the department store who ignores me and continues his conversation with a coworker.

Yes, I judge them all. And who’s at the center of all these judgments? Why me, of course. I'm at the intersection; I'm in the checkout line; I'm waiting to be served. Of course, other judgments are not so trivial… 

The celebrity who flaunts a pornographic lifestyle, influencing millions of young people.

The Catholic politician who consistently and publicly opposes Church teaching.

The child abuser…the drug dealer…the terrorist…

Oh, I judge them all. Convict them. Condemn them. I watch the evening news, I read the newspaper, and I make judgments about others. Here, too, I place myself at the center. I decide if they merit forgiveness. I decide if there’s a reason for them to take up space in the world…in my world. And yet Jesus tells us:

“Stop judging that you may not be judged” [Mt 7:1]

Now, Jesus isn’t saying that if we stop judging others, they’ll stop judging us. Not at all. No, He’s telling us the only judgment that counts is God’s judgment. 

You see, when I judge others, I assume I’m the all-knowing, infallible judge. I try to make myself God. I suppose that’s the biggest beam in my eye.

We cannot define ourselves as judges and at the same time really believe in our deeper identity as sinners needing forgiveness and redemption. We go to confession, and say the right words, but do we believe what we say? Yes, sometimes we seem to be testing God, to see how far His forgiveness extends. 

Jesus had just told his listeners: 

“Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect” [Mt 5:48].

By refusing to judge others we allow God to teach us one of His perfections, that of mercy.

Refusing to judge doesn’t mean I abdicate my responsibility as a Christian. Far from it! Because where our neighbor is involved, we Christians can never be indifferent: We can judge, or we can forgive; we can exclude, or we can love. What other choices are there? 

In our humanity, we might object! 

I just want to do good. I want to help others overcome their faults. I want to heal others, to fix others, to go out into the world and contribute to its welfare.

Once again, the focus is on me, isn’t it? We judge and then we inject ourselves into others’ lives, assuming we possess God-like knowledge:

“Yes, I’m here to help. Let me remove the splinter from your eye, so you’ll be better, like me.”

We not only judge. We move right in don’t we? And we feel so good having helped – as a superior to an inferior, out of a pleasant sense of condescension – all the time forgetting that any real healing, any fixing, is done not by me, but by God. 

So, what’s the cure?

Quite simply, we must learn to serve one another as fellow patients afflicted with the same malady – the wounded helping the wounded.

We must learn to put on the mind of Christ, to see through the eyes of Christ, eyes that radiate love and forgiveness. Indeed, the greatest act of Christian charity is forgiveness.

But if I lead a life of forgiveness, as Christ did and taught, it’s not because of my own goodness; rather it’s because I am conscious of being continually forgiven by God. Instead of judging another, I can give thanks he or she is there to receive from me the pardon I’ve received from God.

The alternative? How did Jesus put it? 

“...the measure with which you measure will be measured out to you” [Mt 7:2].

Measure for measure…

Homily: 7th Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year A

I have embedded a video of this homily below -- preached on Sunday, 23 February 2020. The complete text (more or less) follows the video.

Readings: Lev 9:1-2, 17-18; Ps 103; 1 Cor 3:16-23; Mt 5:38-48

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Interesting isn’t it? In our first reading from Leviticus, Mosaic Law teaches us: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” [Lv 19:18]. And then in our Gospel passage from Matthew, Jesus, in the midst of His Sermon on the Mount, tells us “love your enemies” [Mt 5:44]. 

Love your neighbor and love your enemy…who’s left? Actually, the great G. K. Chesterton once wrote:

"We are commanded to love our neighbors and our enemies; they are generally the same people."

There’s a lot of truth in that; and loving those we’re with every day can be a bit of a challenge.

As a Christian it’s easy for me to say, “Yes, I love that Jihadist terrorist who’s been led by others or by a hateful ideology to do such horrible things over there in Afghanistan, or Syria, or Iraq...” And it’s pretty easy to express Christian love for the murderer on death row. After all, I really don’t really know any of these people, do I? That makes them a lot easier to love.

But when you know someone well, someone who isn’t all that nice, love doesn’t come quite so easy, does it? It’s a lot easier to despise someone up close and personal, someone who has treated you abominably, one of those neighbors we turn into enemies.

When I was just a boy in suburban New York, we neighborhood kids would often play stickball and other games in our street. 

Now there was one neighbor…I suppose I can use her name now since she long ago went to her eternal reward. It was Mrs. Counts, whose front yard happened to be our right field. It was surrounded by a hedge, and the only break in the hedge was the gate that led to her front walk.

Now Mrs. Counts was very, very old, probably about sixty. And whenever a ball would go over that hedge, we’d open the gate and run into her yard to retrieve it. The gate squeaked, and that would bring her to the front door, from which she would scream at us for daring to hit a ball onto her lawn. We, of course, retaliated as only children can, by taunting her, calling her names. 

It was not a good relationship.

To the children of the neighborhood, Mrs. Counts was more than a neighbor; she was the enemy. We neither liked nor loved her. She was a grumpy old woman, and we were equally grumpy little brats. 

Trivial events you may argue, and yet through them, we all demonstrated a singular lack of charity. Of course, at that age, it’s unlikely we children had made a connection between our judgment of Mrs. Counts and the Sermon on the Mount.

Indeed, it would be decades, in a different neighborhood, this one on Cape Cod, before I made that connection.

One summer afternoon a soccer ball flew over the fence into our yard and rolled onto a patch of Lilies of the Valley. In an instant our neighbor’s two grandsons jumped the fence and ran through the flowers, trampling as they went, to retrieve the ball.  I stood there in the yard, watching them, and was about to let them have it with both barrels of indignation, when suddenly I thought, Heavens! I’ve become Mrs. Counts!

And so, I simply waved to them; and oblivious to their path of minor destruction, they said, “Hi!” jumped the fence, and were gone.

Yes, every so often, I do what is right in God’s eyes. Every so often I am slapped on one cheek and actually turn the other. You see, brothers and sisters, we are all called by Jesus, by the Gospel, and every so often we experience the tension arising from our imperfect lives.

The world, of course, tells us to ignore that tension, to fight violence with violence, to respond to evil with evil. But deep down we know it’s all just a mask to cover our selfishness, to hide our self-righteousness.

We're tempted to stand out in our battles with evil, to win, to shine; whereas Jesus instructs us to offer no resistance to one who is evil. Forget about man's justice, He tells us. Don't worry about just compensation. We are instead called to overwhelm the wrongdoer with incredible generosity. 

Is that even possible? 

Well, yes, it is. For that’s exactly what Jesus did -- this incredible act of redemption in which he spread His arms wide on the Cross. He offered no resistance and seemed to allow evil to triumph. This remarkable act, this self-sacrificial act of redemption gives us a glimpse into God's holiness, the holiness He wants us to imitate and attain.

"Take up your cross," Jesus tells us, "Do as I do." 

"Love your enemies…pray for those who persecute you.”

"I do not seek revenge, and neither should you."

"Forgive...seventy times seven times."

We hear all this and are almost overwhelmed, but then Jesus adds another:

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

And to that, we reply, in all honesty, "How can we be perfect, Lord? Perfection is what You are, imperfection is what we are."

Strictly speaking it’s impossible, for even the most faithful of us, to achieve the perfection of God. We know this and we sense the distance, the infinite distance, between God and us. 

Still the command is there: Be perfect!

But it’s not the perfection of God’s infinite power, love, and wisdom, the unapproachable divine perfection, to which God calls us. 

No, He calls us to the perfection of the Beatitudes: to be poor in spirit; to hunger and thirst for righteousness, for justice; to seek meekness and purity of heart; to be merciful, a peacemaker… These are all attainable, for the Father gives us His Son, who shows the way. He became one of us to remind us what is possible in our own lives. Piling gift upon gift, Father and Son also give us the Holy Spirit, the giver of grace.

Addressing this very thing, St. Cyprian of Carthage, an early Church Father and martyr, wrote:

“We do not have to toil and sweat to achieve our own perfection…to obtain the gift of the Holy Spirit. It is freely given by God, always available for us to use.”

Come to me, Jesus pleads, and you will receive an abundance of grace. I will help you on this remarkable journey of conversion.

On Wednesday, as we begin our Lenten journey, Jesus will tell us how to begin:

“Repent,” he commands, “and believe in the Gospel” [Mk 1:15], for with God repentance always brings forgiveness and is just a moment away through Reconciliation.

Recall the words of today’s Psalm:

“He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor requite us according to our iniquities…as far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us” [Ps 103:10,12]

Yes, God forgives, but we must forgive in turn.

In a few moments, as we prepare to receive the Real Presence of our Lord in Holy Communion, we will join together with Fr. Cromwell and pray the Our Father. And as we pray those words given to us by the Son, we make a kind of bargain with the Father, don’t we?

“Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us” [Mt 6:12].

Let’s use this moment today to tell the Father that we have indeed forgiven all those neighbors, all those enemies, and all those neighborly enemies who have offended us.

I forgave grumpy Mrs. Counts years ago. I pray only that she forgave me.

Homily: 5th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A

I've embedded a video of this homily here. The complete text follows the video.

Readings: Is 58:7-10; Ps 128:1-5; 1 Cor 2:1-5; Mt 5:13-16

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I remember, as a child, hearing my father once describe a friend of our family as "the salt of the earth." At the time I had no idea what my father meant. But I knew, by the way he said it, that it was a compliment. Years later, when our friend died quite suddenly, I recalled my father's words; and thinking about this man's life, I came to understand how fitting a description it was.

He had his own successful accounting business, and although he was both intelligent and capable, he seemed to have few worldly ambitions. He rejected any suggestion of expanding his business, for that would keep him from doing more important things. He was certainly not poor, but he lived simply. 

He and his wife raised their three children to love God and neighbor, and to reject the rampant materialism that has consumed so many in our society. They spent most of their free time, and much of their money, helping others, few of whom shared their faith. A neighbor would lose his job, and the next morning would find a plain envelope containing $200 in his mailbox. That was a lot of money back in the 50s and would often see a family through a month or more of hard times.

When you were with him, no matter your age, he gave you his complete attention, and you knew that he truly cared about you and what you were saying. That was a unique experience for most children. 

And his calmness. I can never recall his getting angry, or even raising his voice. People would say amazingly stupid things in his presence, and he would just smile. Oh, he would stand up for his beliefs and never backed away from the give and take of a good argument. But he always argued lovingly and with a sense of humor. An argument with him never turned into a quarrel. I came to realize that he simply loved people, for to him, every person was a beautiful creation of God; and so, every person was to be honored and loved.

"The salt of the earth…" [Mt 5:13] He took the gift of life that God had given him and seasoned that life and the lives of others with another gift, the gift of faith. His was an active faith, for He spent his life putting into practice the Word of God in today's first reading from Isaiah:

"If you remove from your midst oppression, false accusation and malicious speech, if you bestow your bread on the hungry and satisfy the afflicted; then light shall rise for you in the darkness, and the gloom shall become for you like midday" [Is 58:9-10].

You see, our friend was a Jew who took the Word of God very seriously. "I'm just one of God's workers," he used to say. Even though he wasn't a Christian, as a believing Jew, he knew that God's workers must do God's work. But what is God's work?

Well, Jesus answered that question when He told us:

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

I suppose, then, the question for us Catholics today is, how do we put this faith of ours into practice? How do we respond to the gifts we have received, the gifts of life and faith, both given freely by God. Life doesn’t belong to us, because it doesn't come from us. It comes from God, Who gives life out of love. And so, it carries with it certain obligations: to love the Giver and to respect the lives of others.

In the Creed, which we will pray together just moments from now, we give the Holy Spirit a title: “the Lord and Giver of Life.” Yes, indeed, God is the giver, the only giver of life, His gift of love. This is core reason why abortion, infanticide, and euthanasia are all inherently evil. By rejecting the gift of life, such acts reject the very love of God. And so, they reject God Himself, the Lord and Giver of life.

In the same way, we mustn’t assume that the gift of faith is in any way our doing. As St. Paul tells us in the 2nd reading, our faith doesn't "rest on human wisdom but on the power of God" [1 Cor 2:5]. 

Jesus calls us, as receivers of that gift, to be the "salt of the earth" and the "light of the world."

In today's Gospel passage from Matthew, Jesus spoke, not just to the apostles, for this was the Sermon on the Mount. No, He spoke to the entire crowd that had assembled. Jesus spoke to all of us; and He tells us that...

"your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father" [Mt 5:16].

In other words, simply being a believer isn't enough. We must put our faith into action. Or, as St. James reminds us, "faith of itself, if it does not have works, is dead [Jas 2:17]. And when the light of our faith doesn't shine forth, when we hide it -- as Jesus put it -- "under a bushel basket" [Mt 5:15], then our faith is dead.

As you listen to these words, you might be thinking, Hey, I'm no missionary, and I'm certainly no evangelist. I'm just an average person, who probably does as many bad things as good. And I'm definitely not the salt of the earth or the light of the world.

Well, listen again to what St. Paul tells the Corinthians in today's 2nd reading.

"I came to you in weakness and fear and much trembling, and my message and my proclamation were not with persuasive words of wisdom…" [1 Cor 2:3-4]

You see, Paul was both ill and depressed. He knew he wasn't very impressive to look at, and he knew he didn't preach particularly well. He had arrived in Corinth after a not very successful visit to Athens, and no doubt felt both weak and incompetent. And yet, through this very realization of his weakness, Paul saw the truth: that the Holy Spirit's presence shines forth with blinding brightness within the humiliating context of our weakness. In other words, the power of God is magnified by our weakness.

Paul had once thought much more off himself. Earlier in his life, as Saul, the Pharisee and the persecutor of Christians, he had been so strong, so sure of himself, and so completely wrong. Now, as Paul, the apostle of Jesus Christ, he possesses the truth, but at the same time he sees himself for what he truly is, a weak man with open hands and a vulnerable heart. You see, Paul, through his conversion, had learned humility; he had come to the realization of who he really was with respect to and in the presence of our God.

But it’s always through our weakness that God manifests His power. Just as Mary, a teenaged Jewish girl from a poor family in the forgettable village of Nazareth, could say, “My soul magnifies the Lord…” [Lk 1:46] Yes indeed, just like Mary, through our weakness God’s greatness will shine forth for all the world to see.

You see, brothers and sisters, Jesus has placed His gospel in our weak hands and its proclamation depends on us. This message, the Good News of Jesus Christ, can be seen and heard only when we put it into practice in our lives, in our relationships with others…when we share God’s Presence. It’s a Presence that begins right here with the Eucharist and continues as we leave this church today filled with the Real Presence of Jesus Christ, Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity.

And remember, God's presence in you and me shines forth in the most ordinary things: 

In the selfless love one finds in a truly Christian home.

In the patience and kindness displayed by those who care for the elderly, the sick, the dying, the imprisoned.

In hundreds of simple acts of service to others, acts that enable Christ to be known, so that His light, His glory, will shine through you for all to see…always for His glory, not ours.

God used St. Paul, in his weakness, to begin the conversion of a godless empire. In the same way, God will use you and me, in our weakness, to convert a troubled and sinful world…if only we will let him.

God and Politics

I'm tired. I'm tired of the arguments, tired of defending the truth to people who should know better. Sometimes I just want to crawl into my tent, close the flap, and get away from it all. 

For example, the other day after Mass, a parishioner approached and, I guess, challenged me. I don't know why he came to me, but for some reason I was his target of opportunity.

"Religion and politics don't mix," he told me. "The Church should stay away from politics, and politicians should stay clear of religion." 

He had thrown down the gauntlet and I should have addressed the many errors in his statement, but the thought of another long argument...as I said, I'm tired. My reply? "I'm sure many people agree with you, but I'm not one of them. Maybe we can talk about it later, when I have the time." With that I turned and entered the safety of the sacristy, my tent.

As I removed my vestments I couldn't help but recall the words of St. Paul, who seems to delight in reminding me of my weaknesses:

"Do not grow slack in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, endure in affliction, persevere in prayer" [Rom 12:11-12].

In other words, "Keep going, pal. If you're not tired, you're probably not doing what you're called to do." And so I resolved to talk with that parishioner the next chance I get. 

Politics, of course, is just one of many human activities. It involves the how and why of governance, the practice of directing the affairs of human society, particularly public policy. 

Religion involves man's relationship with God, the Creator of all. And since that relationship must involve every aspect of human life, neither politics nor any other human activity can be divorced from religion. 

Some, of course, will wrongly argue that our Constitution's First Amendment is designed to do just that, to separate religion from politics. But that's not its intent. It merely tells citizens (and politicians) that the state may not favor one religious group over others by establishing a state religion. It also tells the state that it cannot prohibit its citizens from freely exercising their religious beliefs. Those who drafted our Constitution recognized the pervasive and beneficial role religion plays in regulating human activity, and sought to protect religion from those who would place unjust limitations on it.

Anyway, in the strange way my mind works, this got me thinking about World War One, and that brought to mind my Uncle Bill. He was my mother's half-brother -- I guess that makes him my half-uncle -- and was a Navy veteran of World War One. We will "celebrate" the 100th anniversary of that war's conclusion at 11 a.m. on November 11. The irony, of course, is that this "war to end all wars" and its aftermath brought us the even more devastating World War Two and all the other wars that followed. 

[By the way, if you're interested in a fascinating book about the end of World War One and the deadly and pointless fighting that continued right up to the final minute on that first Armistice Day, read Joseph Persico's fascinating book, Eleventh Month, Eleventh Day, Eleventh Hour.]

I was just a teenager when Uncle Bill died, but I remember him talking about WWI and his pride in having served. On one of our visits I recall him saying something to the effect that, "But the politicians sure made a mess of things afterwards. Maybe if they'd been more Christian…" And with those words, Uncle Bill beautifully summed up the mess the politicians made of the 20th century.  

"...if they'd been more Christian…" We suffer today because human powers decided to remove God from the political decisions that formed our modern world. God's Word was ruled out 100 years ago at Versailles. Instead of forgiveness, the ruling word was "revenge." The victors sought retaliation and reparations at any cost, and the world paid a high price indeed. The desperation of the Central Powers also sent Lenin's train to Russia, an act that ultimately cost far more innocent lives than the war itself.

I am not a pacifist. I accept that nations have a right to defend themselves from those who would attack them. I am well aware that sometimes just action can include the waging of war in order to prevent even greater evil. But when men try to repair a broken world by forgetting God and following only man's faulty wisdom, more brokenness inevitably follows.

But how many politicians actually take the Sermon on the Mount seriously? How many of us...?

"You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you" [Mt 5:43-44]. 

I know of no nation that has integrated this mandate of Jesus into its foreign policy. Is that what Jesus wants? Can we 
love our enemies and still defend ourselves from them? Yes, I believe so. But loving them still places demands on us, the kind of demands ignored by the victors at Versailles. And note Jesus' other command: "...pray for those who persecute you." In other words, at some point we must bring God into the picture, for that's what prayer is intended to do.

We cannot expel God from politics, war, economics, or any other human activity. He simply won't let us, and will insert Himself as He wills. He is, after all, the Lord of History. But to include Him in all we do as a nation involves far more than an annual prayer breakfast at the Capitol or the occasional speech-ending "God Bless America."  No, it means struggling to be imitators of God, to live up to our creation in His image and likeness, to strive to do what is impossible for man.

"Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect."

Jesus concludes His teaching on loving our enemies with a  command impossible to obey, at least on our own: 

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

To strive for this perfection that God desires of us means we must turn to Him in all things, and that even includes politics. Wouldn't it be nice to be able to vote for a politician who was striving for the perfection of our heavenly Father?

Homily: Monday, 11th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: 1 Kgs 21:1-16; Ps 5; Mt 5:38-42
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Many years ago, while browsing in a used bookstore in Sydney, Australia, I noticed a most unusual map hanging on the wall. It was a map of an alien world, a world of oceans and continents, nations and seas, mountains and deserts, but very different from our world.

I took me a moment to realize what it depicted and when I laughed aloud, the proprietor said, "Not bad, Yank. You figured it out pretty quick."

You see, it was a map of our world, but it had been printed upside-down, with the South Pole at the top and the North Pole at the bottom. Complicating things was the fact that Australia was centered on the map, with Asia and Europe off to the lower right, North America to the lower left.

Our World Turned Upside-Down

The proprietor said most Americans and Europeans got upset when they figured it out, saying, "It's wrong," or "It's not accurate," or other stupid things. Actually, about the only thing you can say is that it's unconventional, because it's certainly no less accurate than any other world map. It's just upside down...well, from our point of view.

Today's Gospel reading is a lot like that map.

For countless centuries the ancients believed in what we might call the Law of Vengeance. It was really a pretty simple concept: if a person or a tribe committed a crime against me or my tribe, we would take vengeance on them and destroy them. Murder, tribal warfare, and constant strife followed, on both a small and a grand scale - not unlike the ethnic cleansing in our own world. It really didn't work very well.

Then, among God's chosen people, there came a new law: the Law of Retaliation -- a significant advance, ethically, socially and legally. It mandated that no punishment should exceed the crime. It satisfied the honor of tribes, clans and families and avoided endless feuds. And this was pretty much how people thought at the time of the Gospel...until Jesus turned the world upside down, just like that Australian map.

"Offer no resistance to one who is evil. When someone strikes you on your right cheek, turn the other one to him as well" [Mt 5:39].

This went counter to thousands of years of ingrained tribal and national culture.

Jesus came into the world to conquer evil, but taught an astounding strategy: defeat evil by surrendering to it! Triumph over evil by allowing it to triumph over you. Imagine what the people thought as they listened to Jesus.

Isn't this cowardly? Shall we let evil rule the world by giving it carte blanche? Doesn't this make us its accomplices?

No. And Jesus followed his teaching with several examples, showing us that it takes far more courage and selflessness to be a disciple than to fight violence with violence, evil with evil.

Let us never forget that Jesus knows the heart of man. He knows our militant idealism against evil is too often just a mask for self-righteousness. to satisfy our craving to win.

"An eye for an eye" [Ex 21:24] was a necessary step in the world's ongoing education to accountability, but it can't be the last word. If I pluck out your eye because you have plucked out mine, eventually we'll have a blind society.

No, Jesus tells us, surprise your adversary with compassion, with love, with forgiveness - with true justice according to the Heart of Jesus.

Put evildoers at the risk of being converted. Change human society by introducing the principle that motivated Jesus: self-giving at all costs.

After my enemy has slapped both my cheeks, he'll have no more to slap. Perhaps he'll be ashamed.

If I give him both my shirt and my coat, perhaps he'll learn to have pity on my nakedness.

Perhaps my open hands and silent mouth will, like an eloquent teacher, win a brother in the Lord.

Perhaps...perhaps...perhaps.

But wrapped up in that perhaps is our willingness to abandon ourselves to God, to trust in Him completely. It's the same trust manifested by 2,000 years of Christian martyrs.

2,000 Years of Martyrs

In our first reading Jezebel used evil for selfish ends, taking the life of the innocent Naboth. But as she and Ahab ultimately discovered, God's will always overcomes evil -- not our will, but God's will, and in God's time, not in ours.

This is the risk we take as disciples of Christ: that my apparent weakness will be seen as an invitation to even greater violence against me.

Yes, this is the risk -- but far less than the risk Our Lord took when He came into our midst.

The risk He took when He handed Himself over to us, to be stripped naked, whipped and mocked.

The risk He took when He opened His arms on the Cross.

How are we to act? Not according to the Law of Vengeance, or the Law of Retaliation, but according to the Law of Christ. We are called to act as He taught, as He acted.

He allowed His blood to be shed, blood that transformed the heart of the man who held the lance. Jesus turned a Roman soldier's world upside down when that Centurion looked up at the cross, and saw Almighty God mocked, beaten and crucified.

And that's what we, as Christians, are called to do.

Can we let God turn the world upside down, and can we let Him do so through us, with love and forgiveness?

Homily: Memorial of St. Barnabus (Monday, 10th Week of Ordinary Time)

Readings: Acts 11:21b-26; Ps 98; Mt 5:1-12

The Beatitudes, with which Jesus begins the Sermon on the Mount, are not only a gateway to the sermon, but also a gateway to Jesus' teaching.

But we should understand they don't refer to different kinds of Christians but rather to different demands made on everyone who wants to be Jesus' disciple. In other words, we must all be poor in spirit and meek; we must mourn, hunger and thirst after righteousness, be merciful and clean of heart; we must be peacemakers, and be willing to suffer persecution while seeking holiness.

The Sermon on the Mount

Jesus promises salvation to all who strive to follow the spirit and meet the demands of the Beatitudes. Healthy and sick, powerful and weak, rich and poor - Jesus calls all to the blessings experienced by those who live up to His teaching. While the Beatitudes promise salvation not in this world, but in the next, they do promise peace in this life, God's peace even in the midst of suffering.

In a sense, then, the Beatitudes encapsulate the entirety of Christ's teaching. These promises are so new, so radical, so at odds with the way the world has always evaluated things. By placing spiritual good above material or worldly good, they rule out the religiosity of the Pharisees, a religiosity that regards earthly happiness as a blessing and reward from God, and unhappiness and misfortune as punishment. 

And so I think it's good for us to turn to them on occasion, reminding ourselves of what Jesus is telling us...

The poor in spirit? These are the detached, the spiritually needy, the truly humble, who look only to God for salvation and trust in His mercy. They know they are children in the presence of God, that they own nothing. Everything comes from and belongs to God. This spiritual poverty is what Jesus asks of each of us.

Blessed are the poor in spirit...

Those who mourn... Too often we think this applies only to the mourning that follows the death of a loved one. But Jesus takes it much further. We are blessed, He tells us, when we suffer and bear our suffering with love and a spirit of atonement. We are blessed in our repentance, and when we are pained by or suffer from the offenses of others.

Indeed, the Holy Spirit consoles those who mourn, those who weep for their own sins and the sins of the world. These are truly blessed.

...for they will be comforted

The meek suffer patiently and with humility, even in the midst of unjust persecution. The meek aren't the weak - not at all - for once again Jesus turns the world upside down, showing us the strength of the meek, those who remain serene, humble, and steadfast in their faith, who never give in to resentment or discouragement.

You and I, when we are irritable and resentful, simply display our lack of humility and interior peace. The virtue of meekness is the antidote and a necessary part of the Christian life.

Blessed are the meek...

Hungering and thirsting for righteousness, we strive to do God's Will by seeking justice, obeying the commandments, living a life of prayer - in a word, striving for holiness.
Seeking holiness, we are called to turn to the Church, the universal vehicle of salvation; to love the Church's teaching and the Sacraments; to strive for an intimate relationship with God in prayer; and to seek justice, God's justice, in all we do.

Jesus wants us to hunger and thirst for all He offers us, including His Presence in the Eucharist; for it is all good. 

Hunger and thirst for God...

The merciful always forgive. They accept other's defects, helping them cope with them, and loving them despite their sins. To be merciful is to imitate Jesus, the source of all mercy. To be merciful is to rejoice with others and to suffer with others. It's really the practical application of the 2nd of the great commandments: love your neighbor as yourself.

Blessed are the merciful...

The clean of heart have the capacity to love, a gift God offers to us all. They have an upright and pure attitude to everything noble. As St. Paul instructed the Philippians: 

"Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is beautiful, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things" [Phil 4:8].

Helped by God's grace, we should strive to cleanse our hearts and acquire this purity, for its reward is the vision of God.

The peacemakers foster God's peace in themselves and in others. They strive to be reconciled and to reconcile others with God.

Being at peace with God is the cause and effect of every kind of peace.  Any peace on earth not based on this divine peace will be shallow and misleading. "They shall be called sons of God" [Mt 5:9]. As St. John makes clear in his first letter,

"See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are" [1 Jn 3:1].

Blessed are the peacemakers...

The persecuted suffer because they strive for holiness, something the world despises. They are blessed for being true to Jesus, for suffering patiently and joyfully.

In every Christian's life there are situations that call for heroism, where no compromise is possible. One either stays true to Jesus Christ whatever the cost or one denies Him.

St. Bernard calls it "the beatitude of the martyrs." But don't be deceived into thinking it doesn't apply to you; for martyr simply means witness, and we are all called to be witnesses to Jesus, the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

Christian martyrs today

We are reminded of this today, the memorial of St. Barnabus, who not only spent his life as a witness to Jesus Christ, but willingly gave his life.

St. Barnabus, Martyr 61 A.D.

To refuse to be the Christian witnesses we are all called to be is to lack faith, to have no trust that God remains with us to support and strengthen us.

Yes, indeed, following the Beatitudes, living the true Christian life, isn't easy; but God promised to remain with us, to help us as we struggle to put them into practice. Because of this promise, you and I can believe that all sacrifice and all suffering has value.

When we suffer, yes, our faith can be tested. But we know that we can trust God no matter how difficult the circumstances. We can say, "Thy will be done," no matter how much we are defeated. If we can do these things, our faith is real and practical.

For God's will works in bad times and in good times.  It works in ways that are far beyond our ability to understand, but we can always trust in it.

Homily: Monday, 10th Week of Ordinary Time

Readings: 1 Kgs 17:1-6; Ps 121; Mt 5:1-12

When I was a boy in New York, the kids on our street would play stickball every summer evening. Now there was one neighbor, Mrs. Counts, whose yard happened to be right field. It was surrounded by a hedge, and the only break in the hedge was the gate that opened onto her front walk.

Now Mrs. Counts was very, very old, probably about sixty. And whenever a ball would go over the hedge, we’d open the gate and run into her yard to retrieve it. The gate squeaked, a noise that always brought her to the front door, from which she screamed at us for daring to hit a ball onto her lawn. We, of course, retaliated by taunting her and calling her names. It was not a good relationship.

To us Mrs. Counts was more than a neighbor; she was the enemy. We neither liked nor loved her. She was a grumpy old woman, and we were nasty little brats.

Trivial events? Maybe. But through these events we all demonstrated a remarkable lack of charity. Of course, I’m pretty sure we children never made a connection between our judgment of Mrs. Counts and the Sermon on the Mount. Indeed it would be decades before I made that connection, this time in a Cape Cod neighborhood.

One summer afternoon a soccer ball flew over the fence into our yard and rolled onto a patch of Lilies of the Valley. In an instant our neighbor’s two grandsons jumped the fence and ran through the flowers, trampling as they went, to retrieve the ball. I stood there in the yard, watching them, and was about to let them have it, when suddenly I thought, Heavens! I’ve become Mrs. Counts. And so I waved at them. They waved back, jumped the fence, and were gone.

Yes, every so often, I do what is right in God’s eyes. Every so often I am slapped on one cheek and actually turn the other.

You see, brothers and sisters, we’re all called by Jesus, by the Gospel, by the Beatitudes, and every so often we experience the tension arising from our imperfect lives. The world tells us to ignore it, to fight anger with anger, violence with violence, evil with evil. But deep down we know that doing so is just a mask to cover our selfishness, to hide our self-righteousness. We want to win our battles, to shine; whereas Jesus instructs us to be meek, to be humble.

The world screams for revenge, but Jesus tells us to forget about man’s justice. Be merciful. Hunger and thirst for righteousness, for God’s justice, for holiness.

He tells us to love our neighbor, but then goes on to tell us to love our enemies too. Love your neighbor and love your enemy…who’s left? G. K. Chesterton, one of my heroes, wrote: "We are commanded to love our neighbors and our enemies; they are generally the same people." I, of course, thought of Mrs. Counts.

And that dual love of neighbor and enemy can be a bit of a challenge. Isn’t that exactly what Jesus did as He spread His arms wide on the Cross and forgave.

Did evil triumph that day when the Son of God was crucified? No, mercy triumphed, and gave us a glimpse of God’s holiness [Jas 2:13].

Mercy triumphs!

"Take up your cross," Jesus tells us, "and follow me" [Mt 16:24]

My holiness is loving. It admits no hatred, although it might occasionally reprove [Mt 18:15].
 
I don’t seek revenge, and neither should you [Eph 4:31-32].
 
I forgive, and so should you...70 times 7 times [Mt 18:22].

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

But, Father, how can we be perfect? Perfection is what You are; imperfection is what we are. 

God knows that. The distance between us and God is infinite. He simply wants us to follow the Son’s example, for His perfection is our model. It’s not the perfection of God’s infinite power and wisdom, the unapproachable divine perfection that we seek. No, such perfection is always beyond us.

But still the command is there: Be perfect!  It’s the perfection of the Beatitudes to which we are called: to be poor in spirit; to hunger and thirst for righteousness; to seek meekness and purity of heart; to be merciful; to be peacemakers…for these are all attainable.

Jesus pleads with us: Come to me and I will give you an abundance of grace. I will help you on this remarkable journey of conversion [2 Cor 9:8]. Jesus became one of us, and in doing so shows us what is possible in our own lives.

Let’s use this moment today to tell the Father that we have indeed forgiven all those neighborly enemies who have offended us.

I forgave grumpy Mrs. Counts years ago. I pray only that she forgave me.

Homily: 7th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Lev 19:1-2, 17-18; Ps 103; 1 Cor 3:16-23; Mt 5:38-48

Interesting readings, aren’t they? In our first reading from Leviticus, Mosaic Law teaches us: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” [Lev 19:18]. And then in our Gospel passage from Matthew, Jesus, in the midst of His Sermon on the Mount, tells us “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” [Mt 5:44].

Love your neighbor and love your enemy...Gosh, who’s left? Actually, the great G. K. Chesterton once wrote: "We are commanded to love our neighbors and our enemies; they are generally the same people." There’s a lot of truth in that, and loving those we’re with every day can be a bit of a challenge.

As a Christian it’s easy for me to say, “Yes, I love that Jihadist terrorist who’s been led by others, or by a hateful ideology, to do such horrible things over there in Afghanistan, or Syria, or Libya, or even in New York City...” And it’s pretty easy to express Christian love for the murderer on death row. After all, I really don’t really know any of these people, do I? That makes them a lot easier to love.

But when you know someone well, someone who isn’t all that nice, love doesn’t come quite so easy, does it? It’s so much easier to despise someone up close and personal, someone who has treated you abominably, one of those neighbors or family members we so often turn into enemies.

When I was just a boy in suburban New York, we neighborhood kids would often play stick-ball and other games in our street. Now there was one neighbor, Mrs. Counts, whose yard was, well, sort of right field. It was surrounded by a hedge, and the only break in the hedge was the gate that led to her front walk.

Now Mrs. Counts was very old, probably sixty. And whenever a ball would go over that hedge, we’d open the gate and run into her yard to retrieve it. The gate squeaked, a noise that always brought her to the front door, from which she screamed at us for daring to hit a ball onto her lawn. We, of course, retaliated as only children can, by taunting her, calling her names. It was not a good relationship.

To the children of the neighborhood, Mrs. Counts was more than a neighbor; she was the enemy. We neither liked nor loved her. Mrs. Counts was a grumpy old woman, and we were equally grumpy little brats.

Trivial events you may argue, and yet it was through these trivial events that we all demonstrated a remarkable lack of charity. Of course, it’s unlikely that we children ever made a connection between our judgment of Mrs. Counts and the Sermon on the Mount. Indeed it would be decades, in a different neighborhood, this one on Cape Cod, before I made that connection.

One summer afternoon a soccer ball flew over the fence into our yard and rolled onto a patch of Lilies of the Valley. In an instant our neighbor’s two grandsons jumped the fence and ran through the flowers, trampling as they went, to retrieve the ball. I stood there in the yard, watching them, and was about to let them have it with both barrels of indignation, when suddenly I thought, Heavens! I’ve become Mrs. Counts! And so I waved at the two boys. They said, “Hi!”, grabbed their ball, jumped the fence, and were gone.

Yes, every so often, I do what is right in God’s eyes. Every so often I am slapped on one cheek and actually turn the other. You see, brothers and sisters, we’re all called by Jesus, by the Gospel, and every so often we experience the tension arising from our imperfect lives.

The world, of course, tells us to ignore that tension, to fight anger with anger, violence with violence, evil with evil. But deep down we know it’s just a mask to cover our selfishness, to hide our self-righteousness. We want to stand out in our battles with evil, to win, to shine; whereas Jesus instructs us, offer no resistance to one who is evil.

Forget about man's justice, He tells us. Don't worry about just compensation. We’re instead called to overwhelm the wrongdoer with incredible generosity. Love your enemies!

Is that even possible? Well, yes, it is. For that’s exactly what Jesus did as He spread His arms wide on the Cross. He offered no resistance and seemed to allow evil to triumph.

He begged the Father to forgive those who would kill Him, and by doing so set an example that St. Stephen and countless others would follow. This remarkable act, this self-sacrificial act of redemption gives us a glimpse into God's holiness.



Take up your cross, God tells us, Do as I do.

My holiness is loving. It admits no hatred, although it might occasionally reprove.

I don’t seek revenge, and neither should you.

I forgive, and so should you...seventy times seven times.

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

And we reply, in all honesty, "How can we be perfect, Lord? Perfection is what You are, imperfection is what we are."

He knows that. The distance between us and God is infinite. He simply wants us to follow the Son’s example, for His perfection is our model. It’s not the perfection of God’s infinite power and wisdom, the unapproachable divine perfection that we seek. No, such perfection is always beyond us.

But still the command is there: Be perfect!

It’s the perfection of the Beatitudes to which we are called: to be poor in spirit, to hunger and thirst for righteousness, to seek meekness and purity of heart, to be merciful…for these are all attainable. Come to me, he pleads, and I will give you an abundance of grace. I will help you on this remarkable journey of conversion.



That command – "…be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect” – is the command of the Son, and so the Son shows us the way. He became one of us, and in doing so shows us what is possible in our own lives.

Yes, we will falter. We will each fall prey to our own brand of sinfulness. But forgiveness is only a moment away, as near as the sacramental grace we receive in reconciliation, as near as our own repentance. And that’s what He asks of us.

Jesus began His public ministry with the words, “Repent, and believe in the Gospel” [Mk 1:15] – for with God repentance always brings forgiveness. Recall the words of today’s responsorial psalm…

“He does not deal with us according to our sins, nor requite us according to our iniquities…as far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us” [Ps 103:10, 12].

Yes, brothers and sisters, God forgives, but we must forgive in turn.

In a few moments, as we prepare to receive the Real Presence of Our Lord in Holy Communion, we will join together with Fr. King and recite the Our Father. As we pray those words given to us by the Son, we make that bargain with the Father: “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us" [Mt 6:12].

Let’s use this moment today to tell the Father that we have indeed forgiven all those neighbors, all those enemies, and all those neighborly enemies who have offended us.

I forgave grumpy Mrs. Counts years ago. I pray only that she forgave me.