Homily: 2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A

Readings: Is 49:3,5-6; Ps 40; 1 Cor 1-3; Jn 1:29-34

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Did you notice one of the common themes running through all our readings today: the idea that God always seems to be calling people to do all kinds of stuff for Him.

We heard it in our first reading when God calls the prophet Isaiah – heck, He does more than that; He calls the entire nation of Israel – and He calls them to do what? Well, in His words, to “be a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.”

Wow! That’s kind of a heavy call, isn’t it? Especially since it was given to a bunch of people who tended to resist whatever He commanded them to do. Does He want that from us, too, from you and me? To be a “light to the nations?” Maybe. But how do we do it?

So, perhaps our second reading will tell us more. It’s from the opening verses of Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians. And what do we find there? Another call – actually, more than one.

Paul, referring to himself, and perhaps indirectly to all of us, says he’s called to be an “apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God.” Okay, what’s an apostle? Basically, it’s someone who’s been sent, sent by God.

Of course, we have the 12 Apostles, plus Paul, and I’ve always thought of them as Apostles with a capital "A". Maybe we’re called to be sent too, as apostles, but maybe with a little “a”. After all, those first Apostles were pretty important; but don't downplay your own importance. We're all called to do important things for God. 

But that’s not all; there’s more. Paul then tells us we’re called to be “holy.” Why? Because we “have been sanctified in Christ Jesus.” So, Jesus sanctified us, made us holy. And you know when He did that? At our baptism.

Our baptism made us holy because our sins were forgiven. Now if, like me, you were baptized as an infant, your only sin was original sin. But if you were baptized as an adult, all sin, original sin, actual sin – it was all forgiven.

What else? We became adopted children of the Father, sisters and brothers of our Lord Jesus. We were brought into God’s family. As Paul tells us, we can now approach Him as, “Abba, Father!”

We also received the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit lives within us, and through His power we can resist sin, or as Paul would say, we can resist living “according to the flesh.”

Finally, Baptism makes us members of God’s Church, so we can take full advantage of the graces that flow from the Holy Spirit, through the sacraments, directly to us.

So far, then, we’ve been called to do quite a few things: Called to be a “light to the nations;” to be apostles of Christ Jesus, sent by God, but sent to do what? And we’re also called to be holy…But what does holiness involve? So, we still have some questions.

Maybe we can get answers from our other readings: the Responsorial Psalm and our Gospel passage. Let’s look at the Gospel first, from John, chapter 1. There we encounter John the Baptist – not the most attractive person in the world. Dressed like a caveman, he ate locusts and wild honey – not the kind of guy most of us would hang out with. And he wasn’t particularly open to discussion or a lot of dialog. Still, we’re drawn to him, aren’t we?

John was certainly called; he even tells us why:

“…the reason why I came baptizing with water was that He might be made known to Israel.”

He, of course, is Jesus Christ. Like Isaiah, John is a witness with a single focus. He just points to Jesus:

“Now I have seen and testified that He is the Son of God.”

Yes, John came to introduce Jesus to the world; and, boy, does John make Jesus known. Pointing to Jesus, he says, “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.”

John calls Jesus “God’s lamb” – God’s sacrificial Lamb. That's what lambs were in the Temple, used for sacrifice.  So John is telling the world that Jesus, God’s Son, will be sacrificed in obedience to God’s will. Why? For one reason. To take away the sin of the world. With those few words, John prophesies Jesus’ redemptive act. And how shocked the Jews who heard those words must have been.

At that Baptism of Jesus, we encounter the Holy Spirit and hear the words of the Father; so, John introduces the world to the very centerpiece of Christian belief, the Holy Trinity. With that, we get a glimpse of what our redemption means: eternal life with Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Note, too, that John tells the crowd: Jesus will baptize with the Holy Spirit. As we’ve already seen, it’s through the gift of the Holy Spirit, through His power, that we can strive for the holiness God desires for us. Scripture, then, has taught us something else: God’s call to be holy is to live with the Holy Spirit dwelling within us, guiding us as we strive to live the Christian life.

A little, actually a not so little, aside...Did you notice that both Isaiah and John were called from the womb? Yes, God and the world see the unborn so differently, don’t they? God loves them and the world slaughters them. Yes, indeed, God calls us in many ways, doesn’t He?

But to understand better God’s call for us, let’s turn to our Psalm from the Old Testament, to the first words we heard and sang together:

Hear I am, Lord; I come to do Your will.

These words – “I come to do your will” – can also be found in the New Testament, in the Letter to the Hebrews when it quotes Jesus as saying:

“Behold, I have come to do your will, O God.”

So, another call, to imitate Jesus, by doing what? By doing the will of God. We’ve heard that before, too, haven’t we? Paul “called to be an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God.”

So, what’s God’s will? What does He will for us and from us? Paul actually tells us. Later, to the Thessalonians he writes: “This is the will of God, your sanctification…” Our sanctification, our holiness. You and I are called to be holy, something else we’ve heard before. But who are the holy ones? They're the saints. You see, you and I are called to be saints: holy children of God who do His will.

Speaking of saints, Augustine once said something pretty interesting that applies here: "Love God and then do what you will." Sounds a bit strange, almost contradictory. What he’s really saying is that if we truly love God and His will, then God’s will and ours will be the same.

It all has its roots in love, doesn’t it? It’s all based on God’s great commandment: to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength...Oh, and while we're at it, to trying loving each other – love our neighbor as ourselves – the foundation of the Christian life.

Yes, that’s our calling, every single one of us: to love and do God’s will. This, brothers and sisters, is the Christian life, the life God calls us to live.

Of course, Jesus never said it would be easy. But He did promise we’d never be alone, because His gift of His Spirit will always be there, always with us. Writing to the Romans, Paul reveals that we’re called to follow our Lord, Jesus, the crucified Messiah, as we journey through this hostile world.

Indeed, Paul continues by letting us know that the Christian life involves suffering. 

Now, I can’t speak for you, but I really don’t enjoy suffering. I mean, do you? I just got over a nasty virus that put me down for several weeks. So, I slept, drank liquids, took meds, read the Bible, watched some TV, surfed the Internet…And I kept encountering stories of the worldwide persecution of Christians; happening everywhere.

For example, in Nigeria tens of thousands of Christians have been murdered in recent years…simply because of their Christian faith. And there I was in my comfortable home in The Villages grumbling about a cold virus that let me goof off for a couple of weeks. All that, while many in the world are following in the footsteps of the crucified Messiah. Are we called to do the same? Maybe. Time will tell.

Scripture, the revealed Word of God, just shouts at us, doesn’t it? Created in God’s image and likeness, we’re called to be like Jesus, His Son. What does it mean, this likeness, this image we possess?

Is it our intelligence? Our free will? Our willingness to love? Or is it also our humanity, the power to imagine, to build, to shape the things of our world? I guess it’s all these things…plus the grace to suffer as Jesus suffered, to cry out to the Father from the depths of our own little Gethsemanes:

“Remove this cup…yet not my will but yours be done.”

You see, brothers and sisters, God works in our world, He plays in our world, He loves in our world, and He does so through His images, that us, His image and likeness, through you and me. You and I point to Christ by who we are, by being Christlike, by living as He lived, by doing what He did, and, yes, by suffering as He suffered.

How did Jesus put it?

“I do not seek my own will but the will of the one who sent me.”

I guess the question for each of us is: How are you and I pointing to Christ? How are we witnessing to Christ? Do we begin each day by praying:

“Father, help me to do your will in all things today. Help me to point to Jesus.”?

You’ll never get a better compliment than when someone says to you, “You remind me of someone…Oh, I know, you remind me of Jesus.”

Because that, dear friends, is our calling, our Christian vocation, the fruit of our baptism: to be Christlike.

And we have no excuse because through His gift of grace, he’s given us the power to do all that He asks, to abandon ourselves, to do His will, not ours.

Homily: Mass and Healing Service - Tuesday 32nd Week in Ordinary Time

Good evening, everyone…and praise God – praise Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

It’s wonderful to see so many here tonight; all open to God’s healing presence. Praise God too for this. We’re gathered here in Jesus’ name, so we know He’s with us. And where Jesus is, so too is the Father, for they are One, One with the Holy Spirit.

When we turn to Scripture, we find the Holy Spirit inspiring, revealing, anointing, and counseling. He does it all. He’s the “Lord and giver of life,” the fount of Truth and Wisdom, the sanctifier, the source of sacramental grace, the manifestation of God’s power in the world. When Jesus rejoiced, He rejoiced in the Spirit. When He prayed, He prayed filled with the Spirit. And when he healed, the Spirit acted through Him.

And so, tonight, confident that the Holy Spirit is here among us, present in His power and glory, we turn to Him, the Divine Healer, for healing is among the Spirit’s greatest works. God knows how much we all need healing – healing of body, mind, and spirit; so He sends His Spirit into the world to heal all who come to Him.

The Gospels and Acts are filled with healings, but those healings all so very different. All kinds of people come to Jesus – men and women; young and old; Jews and Gentiles – all seeking His healing touch. Some come on their own, some are brought to Him by others, by family or friends, and some are healed at a distance.

But for all of them it was through the power of the Holy Spirit that Jesus healed. St. Peter confirmed this when preaching to the centurion Cornelius and his household, he said:

“God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and power. He went about doing good and healing all…” (Acts 10:38)

Where Jesus is, so too is the Holy Spirit. And together they heal us all.

This came to mind when reading Paul’s Letter to Titus. Titus, a Gentile Christian who had journeyed with Paul, had been placed in charge of building the Christian community on the island of Crete. It’s a brief letter, but it’s packed with advice and suggestions designed to help Titus as he struggles to instill Christian virtue in a people who’d long been ensnared by the “godless ways” and “lawlessness” of a pagan society.

Paul begins by stating that their faith must be grounded in sound doctrine. In other words, they must listen to the apostolic Church and accept its teaching authority. Then Paul looks at the community in Crete, dividing it into age-related groups: older men, older women, younger women, and younger men. In effect Paul tells Titus, the Christian community must be self-supporting, with each person using inherent gifts and strengths to support the others.

Older men, a group I’m all too familiar with, must exercise temperance and self-control, so their love for God, family, spouse, are a living product of their faith. Yes, faith and love are inseparable.

Paul tells younger men to emulate the control and integrity of the older men they admire. Elsewhere, to the Ephesians, Paul instructs all husbands, old and young:

“...love your wives, even as Christ loved the church and handed himself over for her…” (Eph 5:25)

Did you hear that, husbands? Your love must be sacrificial. Just think about that...

For Paul, older women are called to be reverent teachers, models of goodness – no slander, ladies, and as for drink, easy on the pinot grigio. Their behavior should be an example to others, especially younger women, who look to them for guidance.

As for the younger women, they should love their husbands and children, for they are called to be chaste, self-controlled, and good homemakers. We don’t realize how different it was for a woman at that time. She was her children’s teacher, preparing them in every way for adult life, teaching them the faith. She tended her gardens, and much of what she needed and used in the home, she made herself. Being a homemaker with no electricity, no plumbing, no grocery store, was more than a full-time job.

Then Paul writes the phrase that bothers so many: “to be…under the control of their husbands.” Yes, for us today, when equality reigns, and many women work outside the home in every profession, it seems more than a little dated.

But we should understand exactly what Paul was really telling the people of his time, and our time. In a good Christian marriage husband and wife must be of one mind on all the important things that affect the life of their family. How they raise their children, the family’s spiritual life, their shared sense of morality, how they interact with others, both within and outside the Christian community. If a husband and wife disagree on these, the marriage and the family’s faith will suffer.

Paul’s really telling Titus that, regardless of age, our love for God and each other is manifested by our willingness to serve each other and all those He places in our lives.

Now, you might be asking yourself, “How does all this relate to healing? After all, I’m here tonight because I need God’s healing grace.” Well, let’s turn to our Gospel passage from Luke. How did Jesus put it?

“We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty” (Lk 17:10).

And that highlights the problem, for the servant is focused not on himself, but on another.

Sisters and brothers, when we’re hurting, when we’re in desperate need of healing, we tend to turn inward. It doesn’t matter if we’re suffering from physical illness and pain, or emotional and mental stress. Or perhaps we find ourselves wandering aimlessly in a spiritual desert, that our soul, darkened by sin, needs the merciful touch of God’s forgiveness. In the grip of suffering, and in our humanity, we turn inward, toward our suffering, hoping, somehow, for healing and relief.

But Jesus, in that paradoxical, counter-intuitive way of His calls us to do otherwise. He calls us to turn outward, to turn to Him in faith and to others in love.

We often receive healing when

we pray for the healing of others

God knows exactly what we need, but do we know? What kind of healing do you need? What do I need? We’re so sure we know, aren’t we? Often enough, especially in this community, it’s our bodies. They just don’t hold up do they? Illness, injury, and age all take their toll. We turn to God in our suffering and our fears, in our aches and pains, our illnesses, in the trials of our children, in the sometimes-shattered lives of those we love…and we pray for healing.

We don’t understand the why of this suffering, or why God doesn’t just take it away. And so we pray, but not very well. As St. Paul reminded us:

“We do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit itself intercedes with inexpressible groanings” (Rom 8:26).

Now that’s amazing, isn’t it? Because we don’t know how to pray, the Holy Spirit prays for us, intercedes for us, within the Trinity itself. Can there be anything greater?

The son of some close friends was a young man named John. He died at 41 after a lifetime of suffering from a genetic disease. Believe me when I say that John, the father of four, is a saint, because it’s true. He was one of the saintliest people I’ve ever known.

Despite a lifetime of pain and suffering he refused to let his illness define him. Once, asked if he were angry with God because of his illness, John replied, "Of course not. Why would I be angry at God for the greatest gift He's ever given me?" Unlike most of us, John realized early in life that everything is a gift, especially life itself.

Almost 50 years ago, I flew home to Cape Cod from the Philippines because my mom was dying. As I entered her hospital room, she looked up and said, “Now I can die.” We talked for a while, and she told me, “Son, everything is a gift, even this horrible disease, because it’s taught me so much.” She died that night.

My mom and young John personified those famous words of St. Paul:

"We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose (Rom 8:28).

Both spent their lives fulfilling that purpose by serving and praying for others, suffering for others. And here I am, 80 years old, still praying that someday I may have such faith. As my wife, Diane, will be happy to tell you, I’m not a very good sufferer.

So, look to those seated around you, and realize you’re not alone. For they, too, are suffering. How can you serve each other? Will you pray for them, demonstrate your love for them?

There will be healings here today. Some of you have come for physical and emotional healing. And there will be some of those. But every one of us here today needs spiritual healing, healing of the soul, the healing that comes from total surrender to God. With that surrender, that abandonment, "God will fully supply whatever you need…”

Are you willing to make an act of surrender, an act of abandonment, and take all that you have, all that you are, and lay it at Jesus’ feet? He wants it all, you know, out of a love so great it’s beyond our understanding. He wants us to mirror His redemptive act of love by sharing in the crosses that we each must bear.

Do we recognize the power of the collective faith and prayers of our community? Do we trust that God can do the same for us as faithful, prayerful people who lift others up in their need?

After Mass we’ll have a laying on of hands. Come forward. Turn your heart and mind to Jesus Christ. Give Him permission to come into your life, to work His will within you.

“Heal me, Lord, and heal these others who come to you.” 

Let that be your prayer. 

“Heal us all, Lord, of all that’s keeping us from being one with you.”

Trust God, brothers and sisters, for He knows your heart.

Praised be Jesus Christ…now and forever.

Suffering, Some Thoughts

I trust the title of this post won't be taken the wrong way, leading some to believe that my offering of a few thoughts will result in suffering for both you and me. At least, I hope not. No, at Mass this morning, as I proclaimed the Gospel, my aging brain entertained a few thoughts about suffering that I'd like to share. They're really nothing new or radical; they're just things I've come to understand and eventually accept as I approach ever closer to the end of this most wonderful of God's gifts, the gift of life.

The Gospel reading, from Mark 10, has always been a favorite because it focuses on that remarkable encounter between Jesus and Bartimaeus, the blind man of Jericho. Bartimaeus had suffered. After all, he was blind in a society totally lacking in resources to help him cope with his disability. Things are thankfully different today, but the visually impaired still suffer in a world centered on those with sight. But in the first-century Roman Empire, the blind, unless they came from a wealthy family, usually became beggars. The blind, the deaf, the crippled -- indeed, most people with serious disabilities -- were almost entirely dependent on others. Unable to support themselves through work, they were totally dependent on their families or the charity of those who passed by. Since Mark reveals that Bartimaeus is the son of Timaeus, we can assume his parents cared for him. And yet, given the times in which he lived, I think we can say that Bartimaeus suffered.

Now, what do I know of suffering? Of physical suffering, very little. Here I am, just a few months from my 80th birthday and I've been hospitalized only once, thanks to appendicitis at the age of ten. Other than that memorable experience, I've remained in disgustingly good health ever since. Have I suffered in other ways? Yes, but no more than most people my age and far less than many. But this isn't about me. It's about so many good people I know who have suffered deeply, but so often quietly.

When we consider Bartimaeus, we find a man who had likely been blind since birth, was forced to beg at the city gates of Jericho, and yet never gave up hope. He knew that the God of Israel heals, and such healings often come through the word and touch of holy men sent by God Himself. He had obviously heard of Jesus for the news of His acts of healing couldn't be suppressed. Sitting at the gates, Bartimaeus would have heard this and so much more about this man from Nazareth. Hope, then, filled his heart and when he was told of Jesus' presence, hope was joined by faith. My mom used to say, "Hope, once it fills the heart, drives us to faith." And so, hopeful Bartimaeus, once he experiences the Presence of Jesus, cries out in faith, “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me.”

He continues to shout his plea to Jesus and, despite the condescension of the less-than-merciful disciples, gets Our Lord's attention. Jesus calls him. Bartimaeus, now filled with faith, leaps to his feet, discards his cloak, the sign of his beggary, and no doubt filled with the Holy Spirit, ran directly to Jesus. 

Note that his response to Jesus' question is “Master I want to see." Yes, it's a plea focused only on himself, but it's a faith-driven, fervent plea, and Jesus heals because, "Your faith has saved you." Now isn't that interesting? Bartimaeus begs for sight, and he receives it, but Jesus' real gift, the gift He proclaims, is the gift of salvation that stems from this man's faith.

But even more interesting is Bartimaeus' response to Jesus' command, "Go your way..."  What was Bartimaeus' "way"? To go home to his parents, to share the good news of his healing with his father, Timaeus? To celebrate with the people of Jericho who had long known the blind beggar at the gates? Apparently not, for Bartimaeus chose a different path. This healing had done far more than heal him physically. It had changed him in his very being. For now, this new man of God, would follow the Lord on the road to Calvary. He would follow "The WAY" to the salvation promised by Jesus. 

I've mentioned this many times in the past, but I'll say it again: Flannery O'Connor is among my favorite writers. She was a very Catholic, but very downhome girl from Georgia, and if you've never read her, do so. She writes remarkable, and truly unforgettable, stories of sinfulness, repentance, grace, forgiveness, suffering, and salvation. And boy oh boy, did she certainly understand suffering. Although she suffered from Lupus her entire adult life and succumbed to the disease at the age of 39, she considered her suffering a blessing. As she once wrote to a friend:

"Sickness before death is a very appropriate thing and I think those who don’t have it miss one of God’s mercies.”

As I said earlier, I've experienced little physical suffering, but I've spent a lot of time with those who have. I've prayed with and for them, and sat with them at their bedsides, where we joked, laughed, and cried. I've held shaky hands and hugged tired bodies. I've been with them during their last moments, brought Jesus to them in His Eucharistic Presence, and tried to help them reach out in peace to a loving, merciful Lord.  

Yes, they have suffered. But they have also been healed of the cares and worries and sins they carried with them. For as St. Paul reminds us:

"We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose" [Rom 8:28].

Yes, indeed, He calls us according to His purpose, not ours.

Let me share just a couple of other things Flannery O'Connor taught me and others about sufferings and healing.  

"You will have found Christ when you are concerned with other people's suffering and not your own."

...and then this:

"This notion that grace is healing omits the fact that before it heals, it cuts with the sword Christ said He came to bring."

I think both of these observations are worthy of our meditation.

God's peace...

Homily: 5th Sunday of Lent (Year B)

Readings: Jer 31:31-34; Ps 51; Heb 5:7-9; Jn 12: 20-33

When I was a kid in suburban New York, during the spring and summer months, my mom would sometimes ask me to help her weed her gardens. I always grumbled because she usually called me away from really important stuff, like playing stickball…but I obeyed. If you don’t know what stickball is, just ask someone who grew up in New York.

Anyway, Mom had two gardens, a small vegetable garden in the backyard and a rose garden out front. I’d usually end up in the rose garden, getting attacked by the thorns. I refused to wear the gloves she’d given me because they were pink girly gloves with flowers all over them. Out in the front yard, I couldn’t risk being seen. Some things are more important than pain and suffering.

Mom had names for her two gardens: Eden and Gethsemane. One day I asked, “Why those names?”

“The Garden of Eden,” she said, “far more than our little vegetable garden, was filled with wonderful things to eat, all kinds of fruit and vegetables that God provided for Adam and Eve. It was a very nice place. 

"But our beautiful rose garden, as you’ve discovered, can also be a painful place. I’m sure the Garden of Gethsemane was beautiful with its ancient olive trees, but for Jesus it became a place of deep suffering.”

“Perhaps tonight,” she said, “after supper, we can read about these two gardens in the Bible” – Mom’s way of opening the Scriptures to us.

Thorns Protect the Rose

This memory of long ago came to mind as I read the readings with which the Church blessed us today.

First, we heard the prophet Jeremiah, as he revealed the purpose of all that had come before, the fulfillment of the promises, the covenants God made with Abraham, Moses, and David. All will be fulfilled, Jeremiah tells God’s People, through a New eternal Covenant, very different from the Old. The Holy Spirit revealed to the prophet that God will pour His Law into His People and write it on their hearts. “All will know me,” says the Lord, ”from the least to the greatest.” This is the New Covenant fulfilled by Jesus, the eternal High Priest, the Son of God who offers Himself in sacrifice for the salvation of all, the salvation of everyone, from the least to the greatest.

Moments from now, Father will take the chalice in his hands and proclaim the words of consecration, Jesus’ words at the Last Supper:

“For this is the chalice of my Blood, the Blood of the New and Eternal Covenant, which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.”

Did you catch all that? The New Covenant is sealed in the Blood of the Son, the Blood of the Lamb of God, Blood poured out for us. Why?

“I will forgive their evildoing and remember their sin no more.” We are redeemed.

As Mom explained to me, “It began in Eden, in that garden filled with good things. But sin brought it all to an end, which led to more sin, to illness and pain and suffering, and to death itself.”

Those weren’t very happy words to throw at a ten-year-old kid, but Mom always spoke the truth to us. Then, pointing to the crucifix, she said: “God made a promise. Jesus, who is God Himself, died for us on that Cross, so we might be forgiven of all of sins, and live forever with Him in heaven.”

Well, pretty good catechesis. It hit the high points and heaven sounded better than suffering and death. So, I asked, “What about the rose garden?” Her answer?

“Jesus spent the night before He died in the Garden of Gethsemane to prepare Himself for the Cross. He saw all the bad things people had done…so hard for Him that His sweat became like drops of blood. And those band-aids on your hands are just a tiny sign of what Jesus suffered for you and me.” Then like every Catholic mother in those days said to her kids when they companied, “Offer it up!”

Olive Tree in Gethsemane

In John’s Gospel, speaking to Andrew and Philip, Jesus looks to His Passion, and His humanity is there in His words:

“I am troubled now. Yet what should I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? But it was for this purpose that I came to this hour. Father, glorify your name.”

…and again, we’re reminded of this in today’s 2^nd reading from Hebrews:

“…He offered prayers and supplications with loud cries and tears to the one who was able to save Him from death.”

Yes, Jesus knew He would have to suffer. But it’s also in Hebrews where our unknown author makes an astounding theological claim:

“God made His Son perfect through suffering”

We ask ourselves, “How could God’s Son need to be made perfect? And why through suffering?” But that’s not all. Hebrews goes on to tell us, “He learned obedience from what He suffered.”

What does it all mean? For Jesus to be made perfect doesn’t mean He was ever morally flawed. No, He freely chose to take on human nature in its fallen state, with its weaknesses, pain, and death; and through His suffering to perfect His human nature in holiness. In the Garden and during His Passion, Jesus allowed the evil of the world to pour over Him, and out of this to create the most perfect act of love, trust, and obedience to God that could ever come from a human heart. It was in this furnace of suffering that His human nature was refined to perfection, transformed for His entrance into divine glory through His Resurrection.

To make us holy, Jesus had to become one with us. As St. Paul reminds us, our salvation comes from God, Who lowered Himself to share our very being, in all but sin. Jesus, then, Son of God and Son of Man, is not ashamed to call us His sisters and brothers. Indeed, He’s overjoyed, for He became one of us in the most radical way: He became our blood relative.

All of this sets a pretty high standard for you and me. How did He put it in the Sermon on the Mount?

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

Again, what does it all mean for us? Let’s look first at ourselves, then turn again to the Gospel.

Here we are, most of us retired, living comfortable lives in central Florida. From a global perspective, materially, we’re probably in the top 10%. And for those of you still working, thank you. Thank you for funding our social security.

Yes, indeed, we have lives worth living, don’t we? But are they lives worth loving? 

Jesus speaks:

“Those who love their life lose it, those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.”

For Jesus, loving earthly life means placing it above all else. To hate our life in this world just means it must never outweigh our striving for eternal life. Yes, unless the grain of wheat dies, it cannot bear fruit. Can we die to this life? Can we, too, accept our suffering, the thorns in our lives, that lead to the perfection God desires of us.

How many today make the pleasures, comforts, wealth of their earthly lives ends in themselves? Indeed, we live in a world that preaches the denial of mortality, that offers a thousand ways to ease physical or mental pain, that promises youth even to the oldest among us, yet leaves us spiritually dead.

Some weeks ago, while visiting a parishioner in the hospital, I had a brief chat with the patient who shared his room. His first words to me: “My wife died years ago, but now because of my heart, I can’t play golf anymore. It’s made my Ife no longer worth living.”

How very sad that nothing in his life was more important. Yes, “those who love their life lose it.”

What, then, is more important than our life in this world? Jesus provides the answer:

Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor.

Yes, our confession of faith is necessary, but also insufficient. We must live our faith. We must serve.

Perhaps this should be our focus during these final days of Lent.

I can’t tell you how God is calling each of you to serve. His call, what He expects of us, is the fruit of our own prayer life, our willingness to listen to God’s Word as He speaks to us. God calls some, like the rich young man in the Gospel, to sell everything, and give it all to the poor. And yet, He doesn’t ask that of everyone. But to all of us, God commands: “Follow me and serve!” Get you hands dirty, brothers and sisters…

Feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, visit the sick and imprisoned…and inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.

All of us aren’t called to be global missionaries, but how many lonely, despairing people in your neighborhood live forgotten lives? Do you know?

How many, like the Greeks who came to Philip, would like to see Jesus, to see Jesus in their lives, to hear His Word, to taste His goodness?

How many are waiting…waiting for you or for me or for someone else to share God’s love with them?

How many?

 

Homily, Monday 19th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Dt 10:12-22; • Ps 147 • Mt 17:22-27

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Because we have the gift of hindsight, thanks to the Gospel, you and I are often amazed at how clueless the apostles seem, as if somehow we would handle it all better.

Jesus spends so much time shaping their hearts, opening their eyes to the meaning of the Incarnation and the Cross, to the Paschal mystery, to the Passion, Death, and Resurrection that must occur. We see an example of that shaping in today’s Gospel passage from Matthew.

In the two chapters preceding today’s passage, Jesus on several occasions refers indirectly and directly to His death and resurrection. But this time, indeed, this time Jesus is blunt.

“The Son of Man is to be handed over to men, and they will kill him, and he will be raised on the third day.”

Remember all the drama unleashed in Peter when Jesus first announced His passion. Compare that with the apostles’ reaction now. There’s no argument…no, Matthew simply tells us they’re “overwhelmed with grief.”

Jesus’ words were plain, their meaning clear. They now know better than to argue with Him. But still, they don’t understand. How can Jesus let this horror, this evil, happen? I suppose they’ve kind of turned the corner. Perhaps in their confusion and grief, they recognize the Pascal mystery is still beyond them. They certainly don’t understand the “why” of it all. That the Son of Man, the flower of humanity, will be betrayed by men underscores the tragic self-deceit that so often hides the truth from us.

Years ago, I’d been ordained less than a year, in another diocese, I was making hospital visits. Looking at the list of new arrivals, I noticed one man’s last name was Murphy, and thought, Well, this one has to be Catholic. As I entered his room I could see he was quite ill, so I asked if he’d like me to pray with him.

He responded with, “No. I’m a Muslim. Unlike you, I don’t pray to a dead God, one who was nailed to a cross. What kind of God would allow that?”

Talk about a surprise! I wasn’t sure what to say, so I guess I went on the attack:

“What kind of God? Only a God, whose love for you and for me is so great, He humbled Himself, became one of us, sacrificed His life to redeem us from our sinfulness. That’s why I worship a God who died, then rose from the dead to give us hope.”

I thought I had done so well, but in response he just told me to leave. “Go on, get out! I really don’t want to talk with you.”

I learned a lesson that day. The sick want and need to meet a God Who heals; they don’t need an intellectual or theological argument.

Yes, indeed, our God doesn’t come to us as some omniscient, omnipotent being…no, He comes to us as one of us, as a friend, as a loving brother, as a healer, a forgiver. But everyone’s not happy with this. Some actually hate how God approaches us in Jesus. Jesus, by showing us how we can be, lets us see how we really are. This presents us with two choices:

We can listen to Him, do the Father’s will, change, repent, and be conformed to Jesus’ goodness…or we can try to destroy that goodness, in a feeble attempt to suppress its judgment of our sinfulness.

But God simply overcomes all our foolishness. He allows Himself to fall into the abuse and violence of men’s hands so that, when they wound Him, they will be covered by the tide of His Precious Healing Blood flowing from Calvary, from this very altar, and from thousands like it. And His blood can absorb into its love the very worst of what we are capable.

Today we recall the memory of St. Maxmillian Mary Kolbe, priest and martyr, who gave his life in the Nazi death camp at Auschwitz. He followed Our Lord's example by sacrificing himself so another could live.

Victor Frankl, the Austrian Jewish psychotherapist who spent much of World War II as a prisoner in that same Auschwitz, wrote a remarkable book of his experiences called, Man's Search for Meaning. There Frankl describes how, amid unbelievable brutality and the most degrading conditions, he encountered so much remarkable faith and unselfish love. Again and again, he met people who achieved victory over the sinfulness surrounding them.

Out of this experience of suffering Frankl had a revelation. He wrote, “Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love. For the first time in my life I was able to understand the meaning of the words, ‘The angels are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory.’”

Most of us, haven’t known such suffering or come face to face with the kind of evil that surrounded St. Maximilian and Victor Frankl, the kind that Jesus encountered on that first Good Friday…most of us in our sufferings only argue and fight with God.

Perhaps, like the Israelites, we should listen to Moses, who in our reading from Deuteronomy said:

“He is your praise; he is your God, who has done for you those great and awesome things…”

Yes, like the Apostles, we too can grasp the great and awesome things our God has done, that He has died for us. 

Yes, as a 20^th-century Jew reminds us:

“The salvation of man is through love and in love.”

Grief and Thanksgiving

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                Thanksgiving

The roar of the world is in my ears.
Thank God for the roar of the world!
Thank God for the mighty tide of fears
Against me always hurled!

Thank God for the bitter and ceaseless strife,
And the sting of His chastening rod!
Thank God for the stress and the pain of life,
And Oh, thank God for God!

Homily: Tuesday, 19th Week in Ordinary Time

 Readings: Ez 2:8-3:4 • Psalm 119 • Matthew 18:1-5,12-14

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Jesus spent a lot of time shaping His disciples’ hearts, opening them to the Kingdom, to the Church they would soon be called on to lead. In today’s passage from Matthew, we see this shaping taking place.

The disciples ask Him a question: “Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven?” Jesus answers with a little “show and tell.” He calls a child to join them, instructing the disciples to be like this child, who acts in faith and humility.

“Do not despise one of these little ones…their angels in heaven always look upon the face of my heavenly Father.” [Mt 18:10]

We all know how different, how wonderfully innocent, children are from adults. Over 45 years ago, when our eldest was just a little girl, we lived on campus at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis where I was teaching. One morning our two daughters were playing with a bunch of neighborhood children, when the youngest came running up to us crying.

When Diane asked her older sister what had happened, she said, “A boy pushed her, and she fell down.” Diane asked, “Which boy?”, and our six-year-old responded with, “The boy in the red shirt.” We looked out at the mob of children, and there was only one boy in a red shirt. He was also the only black child there, the son of a friend and neighbor, another Navy pilot.

Now, almost any adult would have responded differently, probably saying, “the black kid.” But not a child. You see, there’s no bigotry; to the child the only differences are the externals, the red shirts, all those things that really have nothing to do with who we are.

This reminded me of our saint today: St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, perhaps better known as Edith Stein, a Jew who became an atheist, then a Catholic, and then a Carmelite nun. But her Jewish roots brought her to Auschwitz where she died a martyr 80 years ago today. She was certainly no child, but rather a brilliant philosopher who came to love the Lord. But Jesus, speaking of children and the Kingdom, brought her to mind.

You see, when I was a child of seven, we lived in Heidelberg Germany. On one of our vacation trips to Bavaria, our father took us to see Dachau, one of the Nazi death camps, this one near Munich.

You might think this would be too traumatic for a seven-year-old, but, no, it wasn’t, and my dad wanted us to see what people were capable of when they turned away from God.

I remember much of that day because it changed my life. For the first time, I saw a Godless world. I remember not understanding why anyone would do such things to others…all because I was a child, still innocent enough to disbelieve or excuse sin.

But for many, God’s love is so incomprehensible, they actually despise how God approaches us in Jesus. They hate it for the same reason Cain despised and killed his brother, Abel. The motive is clear: Jesus presents us with the reality of our better selves, but too often it’s the self we left behind when we grew up.

Like St. Teresa Benedicta, Jesus allows Himself to fall into the abuse and violence of men’s hands. But when they wound Jesus, they are covered by the tide of His Precious Blood flowing from Calvary, and from this very altar and thousands like it. For His blood has the power of absorbing into its love, and therefore neutralizing, the worst hatred of which we are capable.

Victor Frankl, the Austrian Jewish psychotherapist who spent much of World War II as a prisoner in Auschwitz, wrote a remarkable book of his experiences called, Man in Search of Meaning. In it he describes how in the midst of unbelievable brutality and the most degrading conditions he found so many examples of remarkable faith and unselfish love.

Again and again, he encountered people who had achieved victory over the sinfulness that surrounded them. And out of this experience of abject suffering Frankl had a revelation. He wrote,

“Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love. For the first time in my life I was able to understand the meaning of the words, ‘The angels are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory.’”

The Apostles, with the help of the Holy Spirit, also came to understand what Jesus meant when He asked them to be childlike. Let’s learn from them and today turn to the Holy Spirit. Invite Him into our hearts, to shape us, to give us the joy that only the love of God can bring. For the Spirit waits patiently, always listening for our invitation, always responding to our prayer.

 

St. Augustine Prayer for the Sick

Every so often I come across something that just strikes me as perfect. The other day a friend sent me the following prayer, apparently composed by the great St. Augustine. Involved as I am with funerals, cemetery committals, visits to the sick and homebound, and aware that many of my acquaintances are afflicted with illness or injury, I was struck by the beauty, the brevity, and the inclusion of the prayer. I intend to make it a part of my daily Evening Prayer.

            Prayer for the Sick

Watch, O Lord, with those who wake,

or watch, or weep tonight, and give

your angels charge over those who sleep.

Tend your sick ones, O Lord Christ.

Rest your weary ones.

Bless your dying ones.

Soothe your suffering ones

Pity your afflicted ones.

Shield your joyous ones.

And all for your love’s sake. Amen.

 

 

Timely and Saintly Words

Struggling as so many are, dealing month after month with pandemic restrictions and separation from others, I thought perhaps we all needed some words of encouragement and even redirection. It's easy to become a bit too inward-focused as we live out this odd cocoon-like existence and find ourselves actually looking forward to Face-time calls and Zoom meetings. Yes, indeed, we could all use some words to lift up our hearts and turn those same hearts to the Lord.

Here are a few comments by saintly men and women who managed to live extraordinary lives despite the difficult challenges they faced.

“Bodily suffering makes wicked souls miserable, but borne with fortitude it purifies souls that are good.” - St. Augustine

“Make sickness itself a prayer.” - St. Francis de Sales

“He causes his prayers to be of greater advantage to himself, who offers prayer also for others.” - Pope St. Gregory I

“God’s will is as much in sickness as in health.” - St. Francis de Sales

“Rise, let us be on our way!” - St. John Paul II

“Let us throw ourselves into God’s arms, and be sure that if He wants something from us, He will give us the strength to do everything He wants us to.” - St. Philip Neri

“Nothing can happen to me that God doesn't want. And all that He wants, no matter how bad it may appear to us, is really for the best.” - St. Thomas More

"Let the brothers ever avoid appearing gloomy, sad, and clouded, like the hypocrites; but let one ever be found joyous." - St. Francis of Assisi

“It does us much good, when we suffer, to have friendly hearts whose echo responds to our suffering.” - St. Thérèse of Lisieux

"Imagine yourself always to be the servant of all, and look upon all as if they were Christ our Lord in person; and so shall you do Him honor and reverence." - St. Teresa of Jesus

“He prays best who does not know that he is praying.” – St. Anthony of the Desert

“God allows failure but does not want discouragement.” - St. Teresa of Calcutta

“Don’t become discouraged. I have seen you fight ... Your defeat today is training for the final victory.” - St. Josemaría Escrivá

“Joy, study and piety: this is the best program to make you happy, and is the one that will most benefit your soul.” - St. John Bosco

“True love is hidden in the depths of the virtues, and manifests itself in any adversity.” - St. John of the Cross

“It is proper of faith to make us humble in happy events and unperturbed in setbacks.” - St. Clare of Assisi

“Have great confidence in God: His mercy is infinitely greater than our weakness.” - St. Margaret Mary Alacoque

"Humility is the mother of salvation." -- St. Bernard

"There is no love without hope, no hope without love, and neither hope nor love without faith." -- St. Augustine

 Faith over fear! God's peace.