Homily: Tuesday, 2nd Week of Lent

Sometimes, after I've prepared a homily, the priest will let me know that he'd like to preach. And that's OK, never a problem. It's good for me to prepare so I can appreciate God's Word even more. The below homily is the one I didn't preach today, but thought my tiny band of readers might find it of some benefit.

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Readings: Is 1:10, 16-20; Ps 50; Mt 23:1-12

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I have to admit, listening to today’s Gospel passage from Matthew always causes me to cringe a little.

Jesus, of course, was talking about the Pharisees and Scribes and their hypocrisy, and warning the people, especially His disciples, about following their example. As we see throughout the Gospels, these spiritual leaders of the Jewish people didn’t really hide their hypocrisy too well. It wasn’t just obvious to Jesus, but we suspect everyone saw it.

Indeed, Jesus offers us a sad litany of their offenses, everything from grasping honor and privileges for themselves to making life unbelievably difficult for others. But Jesus is also letting His disciples know that they, too, can fall prey to these same failings, and so the warning extends across the centuries to us as well. And there’s one sin -- and I think we can safely call all these failings sins -- that strikes me with the greatest force. It’s when Jesus says, “For they preach but they do not practice.”

You see, as a deacon, a man once declared by my bishop to be a true “servant of God” – he actually said that to all of us at our ordination. Anyway, when I hear Jesus say this about those Pharisees, I find myself wanting to hide behind that “seat of honor” over there.

It’s a very obvious seat isn’t it? Comfortable too. Yes, indeed, no matter how crowded the Mass, I’ve always got a great seat don’t I? Heck, the parish even gives me a parking place, so the old deacon doesn’t have to tire himself out.

But it’s really that preach and practice thing that troubles me. I’m preaching right now, and soon enough I’ll probably be telling you how to live your lives during this season of Lent. I did just that at a couple of Masses this past weekend.

And yet, like you, I too am a sinner. Most of the faults I address in homilies and the remedies I preach have their source in my own behavior, or in that of those I love and know best. Yep, it’s always easier to identify the sins of family and friends, isn’t it? We know them so very well, just as they know us.

Anyway, as I dig deeper into my own conscience to uncover my faults, I realize how different I am from the man I was 30, 40, or 50 years ago. I guess my spiritual life, my struggle toward some degree of holiness, has actually progressed, not as far as I’d like, and certainly far below the Lord’s hopes…

On a wall in our home, hangs a rather large portrait of Jesus – it’s the Divine Mercy image – and I’m serious, but sometimes when I glance at it, Jesus seems to be shaking His head at me…Maybe it’s just my aging vision, but I think it’s more than that. He’s just showing me I have a long way to go.

Lent, though, is a good time for introspection, a time to take a good, hard look at ourselves – a time to let God reform us, to transform us, into His ways

It’s also a time for simplicity, a time to turn away from the busyness of the world and its false attractions and promises.

But perhaps most importantly, it’s a time for sacrifice. So often we try to avoid any kind of sacrifice because sacrifice often means suffering, and yet it’s there, in our sacrifices, where Jesus Christ comes to meet us.

It’s there, when we bear our everyday crosses, that He comes to us and carries them with us.

Jesus never said that living the Christian life would be easy; but He did promise we wouldn’t be alone. He would join us.

Yes, I suppose I’m guilty of a touch of hypocrisy, but thanks to Jesus’ words, at least I know it, and can repent. Maybe some of those Scribes and Pharisees also came to recognize their hypocrisy when they listened to Jesus, and then they too repented.

Perhaps they, too, heard Isaiah’s message, one they would have known well:

“Wash yourselves clean!...[and] set things right”

And how do we do that? We change, for that’s what repentance means.

“Put away your misdeeds from before my eyes; cease doing evil; learn to do good. Make justice your aim: redress the wronged, hear the orphan's plea, defend the widow.”

Oh, yes, so let me leave you with another thought:

Don’t be too critical of deacons and priests, of bishops and popes, for we too are human and subject to the whole range of human failings.

How much better simply to pray for us, as we pray for you.

  

Homily: Christmas Vigil

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, Mark wastes no time identifying Jesus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Come, Lord Jesus!

 

Homily: Solemnity of All Saints

Readings: Rv 7:2-4, 9-1; Ps 24; 1 Jn 3:1-3; Mt 5:1-12

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Good evening, all you saints in training!

"Who are these wearing white robes, and where did they come from?" [Rv 7:13]

I’ve always loved this verse from the Book of Revelation. This might sound odd, but whenever I read it, I can’t help but think of a line from the movie, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid”, when Cassidy, the outlaw, speaking of the posse tracking them so successfully, asks, “Who are those guys?” It’s really what was asked of John when he encountered that crowd in his heavenly vision: Who are these people?

Who are these saints? Where did they come from? How did they manage to live in this weird world of ours and yet live such holy lives? Yes, it’s these people and their lives of heroic virtue, these saints, that we celebrate at this vigil Mass of the Solemnity of All Saints.

Some years ago, during the canonization ceremony of Popes John XXIII and John Paul II, I heard a news anchor say, “Today the Catholic Church made two saints and let them enter heaven.” What an odd thing to say. Of course, he was wrong, terribly wrong, and provided another good reason to ignore what the secular media say about the Church. In truth, the Church doesn’t make saints. God makes them. All the Church does is recognize a few of the saints God has made.

Perhaps more importantly, the canonization of a saint doesn’t get them through heaven’s gates. Indeed, canonization does absolutely nothing for the saint, who is already with God. No, the Church canonizes saints for us, for by doing so she hopes to inspire you and me to strive for the holiness that is our true destiny. This is why the Church chants the Litany of the Saints at its most solemn liturgical celebrations. That Litany is the roster of the Church’s Hall of Fame, its family album, the names of those who form that “great cloud of witnesses” so eloquently described in the Letter to the Hebrews [Heb 12:1].

One of my theology professors at Georgetown, who taught me the New Testament 60 years ago, was a priest who had spent years in a Communist Chinese prison. Once, while speaking of St. Peter, a man filled with doubts and fears and so often lacking in faith, this saintly Jesuit said, “All saints are sinners, but not all sinners are saints.”

The difference, he went on to tell us, is that the saints recognize, understand, and repent of their sinfulness because they accepted God’s grace and recognize the Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ. More than anything else they desire union with Jesus Christ and so they struggle mightily in the lifelong process of conversion that God offers us all. The others, he said, not only don’t recognize the Son, but too often don’t even recognize their sinfulness for what it is. And that, he believed, was an eternal sadness.

Yes, brothers and sisters, we are all called to be saints, to be one with Jesus Christ. Even now, in this life, we’re united with the Communion of Saints, a part of All Saints, Christ’s Mystical Body, the People of God.

By our baptism we were sanctified, made holy, deep down, in grace – no longer banished, disaffected children, outside God’s family. In Baptism we become part of the in-crowd. Even though we’re sinners, as John reminds us, we’re still God’s children, adopted children of the Father. John continued, “What we shall be has not yet been revealed…But we shall be like Him” [1 Jn 3:2].

Yes, there’s so much we don’t know. Our vison is blurred by the mystic’s “cloud of unknowing,” until clarity comes when we rise with Jesus Christ. In the meantime, we move in the world – not just the world of good, of God’s creative act, but the world of a fallen race, the world that won’t recognize us because it won’t recognize Jesus Christ [1 Jn 3:1]. It’s a world that tries to extinguish the light of Christ, to drown out the Gospel with a cacophony of meaningless noise. It’s a world that ignores All Saints Day, preferring instead Halloween, All Hallows Eve, by celebrating the craziness of our world.

But God continues to raise up saints, and He wants each one of us to be among them; so, He gives us a guidebook, a map, to help us find our way to His Way. Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount in Matthew’s Gospel distills the essence of His teachings. And it opens with the Beatitudes, the essence of the essence.

When we first hear them, our tendency is to select one or two qualities as applicable to us. “Oh, yeah, that’s me, the merciful peacemaker. I guess that means I’m okay, living the life Jesus wants for me.”

But that’s not what the Beatitudes are. They’re not items in a cafeteria from which we can pick and choose what we like, while ignoring the rest. They’re really a manifesto for the complete, normal Christian life.  Christ opens to us eight avenues through which we will find the fullness of blessing. To be blessed means to find wholeness, joy, well-being – to experience the true peace of Christ. To be fully blessed is to depend solely on God.

With that we come to recognize our own spiritual poverty, the insignificance of all we thought was so important. And when we cry out to God, fearful, hopeful, thankful, He sends His Spirit to show us the way. In sorrow, not only for our own sin but the sins and injustices of the world, we encounter the deep, abiding presence of the Holy Spirit.

Mourning our dead, praying for their salvation, we cast our prayers into eternity knowing that “with God all things are possible.” God blesses us with wisdom and compassion as we carry God’s love to others. 

Called to be meek, not weak, we walk with a humility that recognizes Jesus Christ in everyone we meet, reminding us that we are called to love. We move, not filled with vengeful anger, but as living signs of God’s mercy. 

Through prayer we experience the shock of humility, a rightness in our relationship with God, with each other, and with creation. True humility is merely the acceptance of reality, that we are all completely dependent on God. Humility is to recognize God’s divine life in others, and the need to love God and one’s neighbor as oneself.

I remember a story about a young mother who was trying to help her little boy understand God’s great commandment. “God put us here to help others,” she told him. He thought for a moment and then asked, “What are the others here for?” The little lad would have made a good Pharisee.

Yes, we’re called by Jesus to extend to each other the same mercy we expect from Him. At the soup kitchen we had a saying, “We don’t serve food, we serve Jesus Christ.” But do we open ourselves wide so that all who walk in that door, see Jesus in us?

As we long and work for peace in our lives, our merciful God rests His hand gently upon our heads and speaks to us as His favored children. Having received a sevenfold blessing, seized by the Holy Spirit, taken captive, we allow ourselves to receive an eighth blessing, to be emptied and enter into the perfection of Christ.

Then, being like Christ, we’re not surprised when called to share in the likeness of his suffering and death. For we, too, will carry our cross knowing always that Jesus walks by our side. Perhaps, then, someone will look at us and ask, “Who are they who seem to love so much?”

And for this, like the Saints we honor today, we will be greatly blessed.

 

Homily: Saturday, 1st Week in Ordinary Time - Year 2

Readings: 1 Sam 9:1-4,17-19; 10:1 Ps 21; Mk 2:13-17

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In Rome, not far from the touristy Piazza Navona, is the church of San Luigi dei Francesi (St. Louis of the French). In one of its side chapels are several paintings by Caravaggio depicting events in the life of St. Matthew. They’re all masterpieces but one is especially wonderful: “The Call of Matthew.”

Caravaggio: The Call of Mattthew

The painting depicts the same scene Mark describes in today’s Gospel passage: the call of Levi, the tax collector, a man you and I know better as Matthew. Caravaggio depicts an indoor scene, with Matthew seated at his money table, surrounded by a group of his well-dressed associates. Unlike these others, Jesus is barefoot, as if His simplicity and holiness separate Him from everyone else in the scene. Peter stands beside Jesus.

Although the room is rather dark, a beam of light appears to extend from Jesus, who is pointing directly at Matthew. And Matthew? Seated there with a questioning look on his face, he points his finger as well, but at himself, as if to say, “Who me? You’re calling me?” We seem to sense that Matthew was surprised by this call from our Lord.

Jesus had just called four fisherman -- Simon, Andrew, James and John – and I suspect they, too, were skeptical of this latest choice, the tax collector. After all, the people had nothing but contempt for tax collectors, who not only worked for the despised Roman rulers, but were also known for enriching themselves through a form of legal extortion.

But isn’t it remarkable? Matthew didn’t hesitate. Indeed, he responded immediately. As Mark tells us, “He got up and followed Jesus.” How different from the call of the future King Saul we heard in today’s reading from 1^st Samuel. Matthew and Saul both respond to God’s call, and both will stray. But one repents in faith and becomes apostle and evangelist, while the other continues in his obstinate rejection of God’s will.

Mark then takes us to Matthew’s house, where Jesus and the disciples join the tax collectors and others for a meal. The Pharisees, of course are scandalized that Jesus, this reputed holy man, would associate with these public sinners. But those who consider themselves holier than others are always scandalized, aren’t they?

How does Jesus respond?

“Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do. I did not come to call the righteous but sinners” [Mk 2:39].

Indeed, you and I should love and cherish these words because we’re the sinners he’s talking about. How did Paul put it to the Romans: 

“…for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” [Rom 3:23]. 

Six months ago, I had my semi-annual meeting with my physician, a man I think the world of. He informed me that, despite my age and all my aches and pains, I was doing OK, and was probably good for another six months as long as I do as he tells me. Hopeful reassurance indeed. I guess I’ll find out next week when I meet with him once more.

But in Jesus we have a divine physician who promises us, not six months of health, but eternal life.

Brothers and sisters, that He came to call sinners should fill us with hope. As Jesus reminds us, to be a sinner is to be sick, sick spiritually. It’s an illness for which only He has the cure. But we’re called to celebrate that cure and to carry it to others.

Sometimes, though, as a Church, I think we spend an awful lot of our time and resources preaching and teaching and evangelizing the already converted – to the righteous, as Jesus called them.

Now, I know we can’t ignore those who are faithfully following the Way. But how present are we to others, to those who really need to hear the Gospel message? How present are we to those locked in their sinfulness?

It’s easy to fall into the trap of the Pharisees and avoid those who have drifted far away from God, those who believe they have no hope because they’ve never heard God’s saving Word or experienced His healing touch.

Maybe that’s what you and I should do today, shine a little beam of light, the promise of salvation, on another trapped in darkness.

Homily: Christmas Vigil - Year C

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

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

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

Actually, yes! It is.

You see, Matthew is simply saying, “Welcome to God’s family! -- because Jesus’s family is also our family.” Tonight, we not only celebrate Jesus’ birth, but we also celebrate our own spiritual roots, deep roots that stretch back nearly 4,000 years to Abraham, our father in faith.

You can trace that spiritual lineage from the priest (or deacon) who baptized you, through the bishop who ordained him, all the way back to the apostles and to Jesus Himself. And then you need only turn to these opening verses of Matthew’s Gospel and follow the path all the way back to Abraham.

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

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

Mark, in his usual Sergeant Friday, just-the-facts-Ma’am approach, wastes neither time nor words and identifies Jesus from the beginning: 

“The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God…” [Mk 1:1]

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

“Therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God' [Lk 1:35].

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

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” [Jn 1:1].

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

“The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham” [Mt 1:1].

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

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

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

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

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

"Nations shall behold your vindication, and all the kings your glory; you shall be called by a new name, pronounced by the mouth of the Lord" [Is 62:2.

Yes, it’s a global family, but it’s also a family of sinners.

Tamar disguised herself as a prostitute to fool her father-in-law, Judah, and ending up giving birth to his twin sons.

Rahab was a prostitute, and yet become a faithful woman who served the God of Israel.

And Bathsheba? King David watched her bathing from his rooftop, invited her in, seduced her, and had her husband killed, so he could marry her. Solomon, their son, started right with God, but then joined his many wives in worshipping idols.

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

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

Notice, too, the genealogy relates father to son, father to son, father to son…except at the very end. Matthew completes the genealogy with the words:

“Jacob the father of Joseph, the husband of Mary. Of her was born Jesus who is called the Christ.” [Mt 1:16]

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

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

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

You see, brothers and sisters, it’s all a gift. As St. Paul asked the Corinthians:

"What do you possess that you have not received?" [1 Cor 4:7]

The answer, of course, is “Nothing!”

And right there at the top of the list of God’s gifts, is that which we receive through our Baptism: the gift of adoption. We became sons and daughters of the Father, part of the Family of God.

And so, we join Jesus on that family tree described by Matthew. We are heirs and inherit the fruit of God’s promises made to Abraham and to those who followed him. But as members of God’s family, we must behave as any good son or daughter would behave. We must live in a way that honors the father, in a way that doesn’t dishonor the family.

Another great gift that comes out of this adoption is the privilege of eating at the table of the Family of God.  We can take part in the Eucharistic Feast, the Mass. And what a gift this is! For here, at this altar, Jesus Christ, gives Himself to us, body and blood, soul and divinity, and allows us, the members of His family, to join Him in the most intimate way imaginable.

Here, as we come forward to receive the Body and Blood of Christ, we also join each other in a unique Communion in which the Church is most completely herself. Eucharist – the word itself means thanksgiving – is like a great family dinner, Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners all rolled into one… and yet far more wonderful and fulfilling.

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

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

"Come, Lord Jesus!" [Rev 22:20]

 

Homily: Saturday, 23rd Week in Ordinary Time (20th Anniversary of 9/11)

A few years ago, on one of my days as on-call hospital chaplain, I visited a patient who began the conversation by saying he belonged to no church, that he believed in God, but was pretty sure God didn’t care much about him.

That’s not the sort of thing you usually hear when visiting patients, so I asked him why he thought that. His answer was just as surprising…

“I’m 83 years old and I’ve done just about every bad thing you can imagine. And now they tell me I’m dying. I don’t know if there’s a heaven or a hell, but I’m pretty sure I’m not going to heaven.”

I smiled at him and asked, “Oh, so you’re a sinner?”

His response? “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Well, welcome to the club,” I told him. “a very exclusive club, one that includes us all.”

It was then I thought of what St. Paul wrote to Timothy, words from today's first reading:

“Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. Of these, I am the foremost” [1 Tim 1:15].

Sharing this with him, I told him he reminded me of St. Paul, a man who realized his sinfulness, but then came to understand that Jesus Christ entered the world, that He suffered and died to save him and every other sinner.

The two of us shared a lot that morning, including the fact that we each had a friend who died on 9/11.

Yes, we shared a lot, about sin, and repentance, and forgiveness, and redemption. And I think it changed us both. As we heard in our psalm:

“He raises up the lowly from the dust…” [Ps 113:7]

That’s how we all feel sometimes, isn't it? As if we’re enveloped in a cloud of dust, struggling to break through, hoping to see the light and find the truth.

But we can’t do it on our own. Only God can raise us up, out of the world’s dust. Like my hospital patient, sometimes it can take a lifetime to understand and accept that.

As I hope he discovered, it’s never too late to rebuild our house on the solid foundation of God’s mercy, God's love, and God's Word.

I thought of him, too, today as we call to mind tragic events of 20 years ago. And there’s so much to remember, isn’t there?

We pray for those who lost their lives, and for those they left behind.

We also pray for and thank those who gave their lives, who didn’t hesitate to enter selflessly into that cauldron, those scenes of destruction, to help -- those first responders who gave everything, and the 40 men and women on flight 93 who sacrificed their lives to save others.

Yes, indeed, although so many died in those clouds of dust in Manhattan, the Pentagon, and in a field in rural Pennsylvania, we believe they were raised up by the Lord.

In the first of His brief parables in today’s Gospel passage from Luke, Jesus tells the disciples:

“Every tree is known by its fruit…” [Lk 6:44]

There was certainly enough “rotten fruit” on that September 11, acts carried out by those whose hearts were filled with hatred.

But there was so much more “good fruit,” thanks to the goodness the world witnessed that day. How did Jesus put it?

“A good person out of the store of goodness in his heart produces good…” [Lk 6:45]

There were so many hearts filled with goodness that day, so many who have given their lives in our defense since then, and so many today as well.

The other day, in an interview, a woman who lost her husband on 9/11 said, “And I pray, too, for the terrorists, because only God can change their hearts. We certainly haven't been able to do it with politics, diplomacy, or military might.”

Today, she, and I, and all of us look at our world and wonder if much has really changed in 20 years. Perhaps the answer lies in our hearts.

Do we honestly think we can bring about goodness in the world without God’s help?

No, only God can raise us up out of the dust. We can’t do it on our own.

Perhaps 3,000 years ago, the Psalmist said it well:

"Do not put your trust in princes, in mortals in whom there is no help. When their breath departs, they return to the earth, so that very day their plans perish. Happy are those whose help is in the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God [Ps 146:3-5].

Do we place our hope in the Lord, our God? Are we like those whom the Lord praised?

"I will show you what someone is like who comes to me, listens to my words, and acts on them” [Lk 6:47].

 God love you and God bless our nation.

Bible Study Reflection #30: Wheat and Weeds

Once again, it’s back to the Gospel. This time we’ll take a look at one of Jesus’ Kingdom of Heaven parables in the Gospel According to Matthew. Our reading actually includes several of these parables, but today we’ll focus only on the first, the parable of the wheat and the weeds. I realize Jesus doesn’t specify that the farmer in the parable is growing wheat, but I’ve always like the alliteration of the words, “wheat and weeds,” so I’ll continue to make that assumption.

Before we begin our reflection, then, please open your Bible, turn to Chapter 13 of Matthew and read Matthew 13:24-43. I’ve included the passage on Page 5.

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How many sinners do we have out there? Okay, you all know the answer to that one: we’re all sinners, even those who think they’re saints. In fact, this parable of the wheat and the weeds was aimed particularly at sinners who sometimes forget they’re sinners.

Notice that our Gospel passage ends with Jesus saying, “Whoever has ears ought to hear” [Mt 13:43]. I suppose He’s telling us: “Listen up! What I have to say about all this sinfulness and saintliness is pretty important stuff.” So, let’s take a closer look at this parable and at Jesus’ explanation of it. Perhaps, then, we can correct our own inflated opinions of ourselves.

First of all, let’s you and I take on the role of one of the slaves. Now it’s not easy being a slave, always having to do what you’re told, even when you don’t understand or don’t agree with the master and his orders. But, in this instance, even though we’re slaves, we’re fortunate to have a good and caring master, one who even allows us to question what we don’t understand.

Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where have the weeds come from? [Mt 13:27]

The master explains that his enemy has tried to sabotage His work by planting weeds, by seeding the field with that which will damage the wheat and lessen the harvest.

Jesus, opening up the parable for the disciples, tells them:

He who sows good seed is the Son of Man, the field is the world, the good seed the children of the kingdom. The weeds are the children of the evil one, and the enemy who sows them is the devil [Mt 13:37-38].

…a pretty straightforward explanation, isn’t it? And the slaves, presumably, are the disciples (that’s us), those who must do the work of the master. Being good disciples, they want to do what they believe is best. Unlike those evil sinners, the saintly sinners want to make things right. They want to go out into the field right away and just rip out all those weeds, along with anything else that might get in the way.

So, there we are, you and I, God’s saintly, sinful slaves, telling Him to turn us loose and we’ll solve all His problems. Let us do it now! We’re the good guys, the good and decent people; we’re the righteous ones; we’re the ones with ears to hear.

Just look at all those weeds! What did Jesus call them? “Children of the evil one” [Mt 13:38]. You see them in the newspapers, on the web, and on TV. Why, it’s downright embarrassing. Their conduct, their ethics, their morality could hardly be any lower. And they’re out there committing all these shameful sins right there in front of God and everyone, setting a horrible example to the rest of us. There’s certainly no room for people like that in His Church. And look at the world. The weeds are taking over. Evil’s on a rampage. This can’t be the kind of world God wants. We have to do something!

It's tempting, isn't it, sometimes dangerously and tragically so, to desire a perfect world, to think that, if humanity got its act together, we could eradicate evil and create a world without imperfections. At least that’s what the politicians and the ideologues tell us. How ironic that our very imperfections cause us to think this way. And so, we end up turning the imperfect into the evil, while we hide all the real evils behind curtains of political and ideological correctness.

Abort the unwanted, purge the inconvenient, eliminate the undesirables, execute the criminals, cleanse the world of everything and everyone that’s imperfect. These, along with so many others, are the world’s solutions; they’re certainly not God’s.

God’s will is so very different, His ways so far from ours. How did He put it to Isaiah:

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways – oracle of the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, my thoughts higher than your thoughts [Is 55:8-9].

In His divine wisdom He orders us to refrain from judging and purging, for He has a different plan for the salvation of humanity. He tells us to do something that from a human perspective seems downright foolish, but He insists.

“No weeding,” He orders, “not now. I’ll wait instead for the harvest, and then I’ll do the separating, not you. I will decide between wheat and weeds.”

“But there are so many weeds in the world today,” we complain, “so much evil, right here, right now — can’t we do something; can’t we do anything?”

And God says, “Yes, first of all, you can trust in Me. And you can do something else, but not the something you’d like to do, not the human something. I will judge,” He tells us, “because only I can see into the heart of each man and woman, only I can ensure a perfect yield from the harvest.”

We’ve been given a different job. “Go make disciples of all nations” [Mt 28:19], He commanded his disciples, which includes you and me. Until the harvest time we are to preach the gospel of repentance to the world…and to ourselves. And that, brothers and sisters, is hard for us to take. Why can’t we do some of that judging, that purging? Aren’t we the good ones, the holy ones?

Okay, maybe we’re not always that good or that holy. Maybe we don’t spend very much time immersed in God’s Word or deepening our prayer life – assuming we even have a prayer life. But we’re busy people and t’s hard work trying to get ahead in this world.

Maybe our faith isn’t always as alive and vibrant as it should be. Maybe our children and grandchildren, our neighbors and friends, haven’t always seen our faith witnessed in the way we live. Maybe we don’t spend much time and effort feeding the hungry, housing the homeless, welcoming the stranger, caring for and visiting the ill and the imprisoned. After all, I’ve got problems too. And I take responsibility for them; why can’t they?

Maybe we occasionally ignore those Church teachings we don’t agree with, those teachings on faith and morals and justice that are downright inconvenient. Oh, but we do attend Mass every week…well, most weeks anyway. That must count for something.

Yes, Jesus’ teaching can be a real stumbling block for us, can’t it? Much better and far more comforting to think there are just two kinds of people in the world: the real sinners – you know, the ones you see on the covers of the supermarket tabloids – and the rest of us, those of us who hardly sin at all, or whose sins are small. The bad and the pretty good. The outsiders – that’s them – and the insiders – that’s us. Those who have ears to hear and those who just refuse to listen. Those who will make it to heaven and those who won’t.

Yes, it’s easy to begin to think that way. And it’s a mistake that’s been around a long time. Back in the 4th Century there was a widespread heresy called Donatism that claimed the good seed in this parable referred to the members of the Church, and so by definition there could be no weeds, no sinners, in the Church. They believed the Church could be composed only of good people; the rest of the world was simply evil. They were a bit like the Pharisees of Jesus’ time.

It took a St. Augustine to correct them, explaining that neither humanity nor the Church can be divided into children of light and children of darkness. We still hear echoes of this ancient heresy among some Christian groups who preach a kind of exclusivity: “Are you saved? If you’re one of us, you’re OK...otherwise…well, sorry but you’re condemned.”

St. Augustine, of course, was right. We all have both light and darkness within us – the wheat and the weeds growing together. The Church, you see, is really a kind of hospital, where we can be spiritually healed and made ready for our eternal journey. It’s a place where sinners grow and change by God's grace. That growth in grace may be agonizingly slow, like grain hidden in the soil, waiting to be watered, waiting to be nourished. But in its slowness, it also imitates the patience of God. For Jesus teaches that there’s still time, there’s always time, up until the very last moment of our lives.

Of course, for those of us in the winter of our lives, it makes sense to heed the words of St. Paul:

I tell you, brothers, the time is running out…for the world in its present form is passing away” [1 Cor 7:29,31].

Just as our lives, too, are passing away.

I recall reading an article about a young gang member from a broken family — no role models, no education, no opportunities, no hope, no future. One fateful day, in a fit of uncontrolled rage, he fatally stabbed his social worker, the one person who was trying to help him. Convicted of murder, he was sent to prison for life. Now middle-aged, he’s repented, sought forgiveness from his victim’s family, finished college, and was baptized and confirmed. He’ll remain in prison because that’s where man’s justice will keep him. But today he’s nothing like the violent young man he once was and can no longer be counted among the weeds. Who would have predicted this outcome? Nobody but Jesus Himself.

As Paul reminds us, the Lord turns all things to good for those who love Him [Rom 8:28]. And so, brothers and sisters, there’s good news for us in this Gospel — really good news. We won’t be struck by lightning the moment we sin, for God responds patiently and lovingly.

How blessed we are that we can look back, recognize our past sinfulness, and be forgiven in the sacrament of Reconciliation.

How blessed we are that God is patient, that He gives us time to change, time to make amends.

If we’re truly honest with ourselves and with God, most of us will admit that we were once weeds, and some of us that we’re still weeds. We try to hide our secrets, our sinfulness, because we’re ashamed of what we’ve done. We struggle to trust others because we can hardly trust ourselves. We play games with the truth, and too easily separate our words from our actions. And there are days when we slip back into our weed-like behavior. The result, quite simply, is that it’s hard to tell the wheat from the weeds.

If you look carefully, you can find the weeds in yourself and in others. And so, we remain sinners living among sinners. But the time will come when the sorting of the weeds from the wheat will be absolute, decisive, and final. Make no mistake about it: We will all be judged. But that judgment belongs to the master alone, not to the servants. God is in charge, not us, and His judgment is nothing at all like ours -- something for which we should be especially grateful. God is both just and merciful. He’s eager to forgive and to provide us with the grace we need to overcome our sinfulness and do His will in the world. We need only ask. Yes, He’s willing to wait for our repentance, to wait until the very last moment, for His patience is almost inexhaustible. And we can thank God for that.

Praised be Jesus Christ, now and forever.

Homily: Feast of St. Matthew

Readings:  Ephesians 4:1-7, 11-13; Psalm 19; Matthew 9:9-13

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Calling Matthew to be an apostle, Jesus picked one of the unlikeliest of men. Matthew -- called Levi by Mark and Luke -- was a tax collector who probably worked for Herod Antipas, collecting taxes and customs duties. It was lucrative work, and rife with corruption.

Tax collectors set rates at whatever they thought the market would bear, paid the government a prearranged amount, and kept the rest for themselves. There were no poor tax collectors in the Roman Empire…and they were universally despised. Not only were they usually corrupt, but they also worked, either directly or indirectly, for the hated Romans, pagans who had subjugated the Jews.

By selecting a tax collector as an apostle, as one of His key disciples, Jesus must have caused quite an uproar, particularly among the Pharisees. The Pharisees scrupulously avoided the company of those they considered sinners and certainly wouldn’t sit down for a meal in one of their homes. That Jesus would actually accept Matthew’s dinner invitation and share a meal with tax collectors and sinners shocked their sensibilities.

But even more unlikely than the call of Jesus was Matthew’s readiness to accept that call. Why would Matthew leave everything, including his friends and occupation and fortune, to follow Jesus? Quite simply, he was touched by the grace of God. For that’s what Jesus’ call to discipleship is. God calls all Christians through Baptism, but He also extends, to whomever He chooses, a further calling. The special grace of this call allowed Matthew to give up the good life and follow Jesus.

Matthew saw in Jesus the hope of true friendship and peace with God. He saw in Jesus a wealth far beyond the material wealth he had accumulated and would have continued to accumulate.

Notice, though, Matthew doesn’t take the initiative, and neither do you or I. It’s Jesus who calls, and, like Matthew, we each respond to that call with an individual, personal decision. God calls, but He never insists.

Matthew could easily have said, “Not today, Lord, tomorrow. First, I have to put my accounts in order. I’m really not ready right now.” But this excuse and any other excuse are merely signs of selfishness and fear. And “tomorrow” – there are many tomorrows – and all run the risk of being too late.

Like the other apostles, Matthew was called in the midst of the ordinary circumstances of his life -- like Peter, Andrew, James, and John, he was called while at work. If you think about it, even St. Paul was called while at work. It might have been the work of persecution, but it was nevertheless the work he, as a Pharisee, honestly believed he was supposed to do. An interesting detail, isn’t it? We don’t normally think of God’s call coming to us while we are at work in our secular jobs, or even in our retirement. And yet that’s exactly what Jesus did, and continues to do. 

"Follow me," he calls to each of us.

Too often we compartmentalize our lives, separating our religious from our secular lives. But being a Christian, a disciple of Christ, isn’t part-time. It must permeate and overflow into every aspect of our lives -- because only then can we effectively share His message with others.

That’s why we must guard against the attitudes of the Pharisees, who were so critical of Jesus’ associating with sinners. For we’re all sinners, but Our Lord still calls us. He came to redeem us all, not just a select few. It’s dangerous to ignore this truth. If we don’t recognize our own sinfulness, our own need for redemption and forgiveness, we’re close the door to God’s saving grace.

And don’t be scandalized by the sins of others, since without God’s grace, we’re each capable of committing the worst of sins. Neither should you become depressed over your failings. Just look at the apostles: a collection of weak, sinful men that Jesus turned into saints. Their grace was their willingness to recognize their sinfulness and repent. Indeed, recognition that we are sinners is the only correct attitude for us to have in the presence of God.

Yes, we can learn much from Matthew. He’s really an apostle for all of us.

The sinner who became a saint.

The man who heard God’s call and responded immediately.

The one who was lost, until Jesus found him.

Jesus reached out to Matthew, and Matthew went on to reach out to the world as an Evangelist, and, through his Gospel, to all of us until the end of time.