Homily: Tuesday, 1st Week of Lent

Readings: Is 55:10-11; Ps 34; Mt 6:6-15

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The “Our Father” is likely the prayer we pray the most. And the version we just heard from Matthew’s Gospel is the more complete version, the one with which we’re all familiar. Yes, indeed, the Our Father – or the Lord’s Prayer – gets a lot of coverage in our lives as Christians.

It was certainly among the first prayers I learned as a child. Our mother taught us the Our Father, the Hail Mary, the Glory Be, and the brief Guardian Angel prayer-poem. We learned them all by heart, back when we were still smart and could remember things well. And I expect most of you had similar experiences as children.

And most of us still pray the Our Father daily. Of course, we pray it during every Mass, and each time you pray the Rosary, you pray the Our Father six more times. Depending on how often you pray, it probably finds its way into other parts of your prayer life. I know it’s my last prayer before I go to sleep each evening. There’s just something soothing and all-encompassing about this prayer that Jesus taught to His disciples.

How did Isaiah put it in our first reading?

“So shall my word be that goes forth from my mouth; it shall not return to me void, but shall do my will…”

And because of this, because it’s the prayer of Jesus, it comes from the mouth of God and must have special meaning for all of us.

For me the very fact that Jesus asks us to call God our “Father” is particularly wonderful, especially for the Baptized who are His adopted children. That's a very special, very personal relationship that perhaps we don’t appreciate as we should. 

Jesus goes on to remind us that the Father’s name is holy, beyond anything we can imagine. He then includes the truth that our God’s will rules the entirety of creation, fulfilled in both heaven and on earth. A nice reminder that perhaps we should suppress our sinful wills and unite our wills to His.

Those few words should also generate a deep sense of humility within us. I’ve always believed humility to be the foundational virtue, without which no other virtue can exist. Humility is simply a manifestation of the reality of existence, an acceptance of the vast difference between God and me. It also helps me understand that I am no better than anyone else created by God.

The prayer then turns to a plea, asking the Father to provide all that we need to live His gift, this gift of life. Yes, we ask for “our daily bread” that which sustains us physically, but more than that, even spiritually, for Eucharistic Bread also sustains us, and provides the indwelling of God promised by Jesus Himself.

We then beg our Father for forgiveness, don’t we? But it comes with a qualification, doesn’t it?

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

How many of us consider the depth of these words? That we tell God not to forgive us if we fail to forgive others…for that’s exactly what we’re saying.

Now I’m not a priest. I’m just a deacon, a servant, but a lot of folks seem to confess a lot to me – not in a sacramental confession, just a human one. Most often they don’t realize they’re confessing. You see, they just talk to me and in doing so complain about all kinds of things. But so often it’s really about their anger, anger about something their kids or grandkids have done, or something a neighbor said or did, something they tell me they just “can’t” forgive. Of course, in truth it’s just something they won’t forgive, and I tell them so. They usually don’t like that.

I find it interesting that immediately afterwards this is the part of the prayer on which Jesus focuses. Perhaps Jesus sees it as the most important part since it can have such an effect on our salvation. I get the sense He wants to ensure we understand what we’re praying. Forgiveness is easy, brothers and sisters. After all it’s what we sinners expect from God and in our efforts to become more Christlike, God simply calls us to do the same.

Maybe that would be a good Lenten task for us today. Is there someone in need of your forgiveness? Don’t delay. Offer it to them. Or perhaps you need another’s forgiveness for something you’ve said or done. Humble yourself and ask for it. After all, by doing so you give them an opportunity to become more Christlike by forgiving you.

I think that’s enough.

God’s peace…

 

Homily: 5th Sunday of Lent - Year C

Readings:  Is 43:16-21; Ps 126; Phil 3:8-14; Jn 8:1-11

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Do any of you watch those TV movies on the Hallmark and Great American Family networks? I recently read they’re the most popular movies on TV. So, it seems a lot of people like these sappy, feel-good movies. 

They depict a world of personal, work, and family problems, all quickly solved by perfect solutions. And the plots? They really don’t vary much, do they? A workaholic or a struggling single parent suddenly encounters someone who at first just adds to life’s challenges. But over time relationships develop, and they’re attracted to each other. But then there arises a seemingly insoluble crisis, followed, of course, by a miraculous resolution, then the happily-ever-after kiss.

Just like real life!

The trouble with real life is that it not only has a present, but also both a past and a future. The past isn’t always pleasant, but we try to forget those unpleasant pieces of it. Unless, of course, your spouse, desiring only to improve you, kindly reminds you of past mistakes.

Today’s readings focus on past problems. In Isaiah, the Jews, exiled in Babylon, had been looking nostalgically to the days of Moses and Joshua, their liberation from Egypt and their entry to the Promised Land. But they were also reminded of their sinfulness and disobedience which led them into exile. Then God, speaking through His prophet, Isaiah, chastised them:

Remember not the events of the past… see, I am doing something new!

Trust in me, God tells them. Put your sins and idolatry behind you and serve the Living God. You remain My Chosen People; and through you I will bring salvation to the world.

In our second reading we find St. Paul facing a past that was hard to forget. Before his miraculous conversion, Paul had been an active persecutor of Christians. Elsewhere, he tells us:

“I not only shut up many of the saints in prison…but when they were put to death, I cast my vote against them.” (Acts 26:10)

Despite this heavy burden, Paul knew that God had given him incredible graces. And so, he could remind us that he was 

“...forgetting what lies behind but straining forward to what lies ahead.”

Paul didn’t forget all God had done for him. And we, too, must thank God for not leaving us where we were. But like Paul, we can’t live in the past.

And that, sisters and brothers, is real life: past, present, and future. And to see it manifested in its fulness, just turn to the Gospel. For Jesus didn’t water down the problems, and the solutions can be hard indeed.

Just consider today’s passage from John. It’s not a little made-for-TV story, is it? No, the situation and the people are very real. It’s about life and death, about sin and hatred and human judgment. It’s about divine forgiveness, about salvation and eternal life.

Picture it: scribes and Pharisees, spiritually entombed by an intractable understanding of the Law, dragged this woman, an adulteress, before Jesus, and surrounded her. They were so sure of themselves, weren’t they?

Yes, they’d used her, this woman who meant nothing to them. The used her to entrap Jesus, whom they considered an ignorant Galilean bumpkin. So they tossed the case to Jesus. Let Him solve this one, in front of everyone, right here in the Temple area.

Should we stone her as Moses prescribed? What do you say, teacher?

A "YES" would deny His own teaching – His behavior with sinners – and also violate Roman law, for only the Romans could execute. A "NO" would violate Mosaic law and show Himself to be a heretic of sorts. Once again, the scribes and Pharisees were certain they had entrapped Jesus.

Just try to imagine how the woman felt. Probably petrified. Is she about to die? Will they stone her? And who is this man? Why did they bring her to Him?

Jesus says nothing. He bends down and with his finger writes in the dust of the ground.

But the mob of holy men is impatient and press Him for an answer. So, Jesus just straightens up and utters those remarkable words:

“Let the one among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.”

Again, He bent down and wrote in the dirt. What does He write in that dust beneath their feet? Names? Sins? John doesn’t tell us. We can only guess.

One thing we know for certain. Jesus Christ, the Creative Word of God, “Who formed man out of the dust of the ground,” spoke and then wrote words that day in that same dust. And the effect? The scribes and Pharisees disperse, “one by one, beginning with the elders” – presumably those, like many of us here, whose memories are filled with a longer list of sins.

Yes, Jesus confronted a lot of sinners that day. An adulteress, who represents us all, all who need and seek forgiveness. But the scribes and Pharisees represent us too. It’s easy to slide into their kind of sinfulness, their self-righteous judgment of others. How easy it is to condemn rather than extend love and compassion.

The contrast is vivid: The woman, now alone with Jesus, hears His voice.

“Has no one condemned you?…Neither do I condemn you. Go, sin no more.”

You see, brothers and sisters, we are blessed with a God who forgives and forgets. The woman will never forget her past, for it brought her to forgiveness and salvation. But she cannot live in it. For she is all of us, everyone from Adam until judgment day, all of us in need of salvation, in need of forgiveness, in need of a Savior.

She’s the very story of salvation, of sin and mercy, of sin committed and sin forgiven. She, like Paul, like the exiled Israelites, like you and I, cannot live in the past; for all of us are called to a new life brought to us by a Savior, God’s only Son. She must go and sin no more, while striving to know and love the God who refused to condemn her.

No, we can’t and shouldn’t live in the past. A sense of nostalgia is a normal, human reaction to the constant change we encounter in the world, in our lives, in our Church. But to try to live in the past, to focus only on what once was…well, that can blind us to God’s continuing shower of gifts.

The point is, the Church remains God’s community of salvation, in which He acts through His people, through you and me. God acts right here. Through the sacraments, the Holy Spirit sanctifies us, making us holy.

Of course, we can also crumble under life’s challenges, and they come in many flavors: debilitating illness, financial problems, aging, assisted living, death of a spouse, wayward children, addictions, family problems…so many things that can turn us from God’s love. If we allow it, they can diminish us, tempt us to look only to happier, more stable times…

But as Christians the glory days aren’t in the past; they’re still ahead: life with Christ in glory. We must keep growing until we die; for full oneness with the living Christ, is never perfected here.

You and I must “strain forward” as Paul did; and keep dying with Christ so as to live more fully. For the true disciple of Jesus Christ, tomorrow is always better than yesterday. Each day is a new creation in the presence of a living, loving, merciful God.

And just like the woman in the Gospel, we must learn to accept Christ’s forgiveness. So many people don’t. They go through life, wallowing in guilt, afraid of hell, tormented by their pasts, burdened by brokenness and human frailty. This isn’t why God became man. This isn’t why He died that death on that dark Friday afternoon.

“Christ loved me,” St. Paul insisted, “and gave Himself for me.” And that love is present, even in my sinfulness. So, fix your eyes not on yesterday’s sin, but on today’s forgiveness and tomorrow’s hope. Repent, yes, but to repent is to re-think, to change. Repentance that saves is not a ceaseless self-scourging, but fresh self-giving, a new birth of love.

Barely two weeks of Lent remain. If you really want to rise with Christ, repeat the song He sings to you:

“Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth.”

Come to think of it, as Christians, we are the new thing. And it’s far better than any Hallmark movie. Why not spring forth? 

Do so gloriously, rejoicing in God’s mercy, His forgiveness, and the New Life, the eternal life He offers to every one of us.

Homily: 3rd Sunday of Advent - Year C

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, indeed, “What are we to do?”

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

“What are we to do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Life in The Villages

Here in The Villages Diane and I live in a neighborhood brought into being 20 years ago. We and many of our neighbors have lived here from the start. Some of our original neighbors have died, or moved away, or entered some form of assisted living. Other slightly younger folks have bought their homes and changed the neighborhood demographics somewhat. But time marches on, so the change is hardly noticeable. Just do the math and you'll realize we're an aged bunch. 

Because we’ve lived in this neighborhood for so many years, most of us tend to watch out for each other. After all, as Dear Diane and I often remind ourselves, “We’re just a bunch of geezers and geezettes, who sometimes need a little help.” Too often the help we provide, or try to provide, progresses in strange and circuitous ways. In many respects I’m probably the least helpful neighbor. My excuse? I’m just not at home very much. Ministries in our parish keep me on the move and too often away from home. Perhaps I should learn to focus more on that which is near to me. I’m trying to work on that, as I come to the understanding that others can do all that I do, and likely do it better. But enough self-analysis. Let me offer an example of neighbors helping neighbors by relating a series of events that took place a not long ago. 

One Saturday evening I had returned home from the 4 pm vigil Mass when I received a detailed text from a neighbor. She informed me an ambulance had arrived at another neighbor’s home, and soon after the EMTs placed someone in the ambulance and left, presumably headed for the hospital. She couldn’t identify whether the “patient” was a man or a woman. I had some questions, so she suggested I call the couple’s immediate neighbor who had been directly involved. So I called the other neighbor, who provided more detail. Apparently, unknown to me, the wife, suffering from pneumonia, had been admitted to the hospital the day before. On Saturday afternoon she’d tried to call her husband to ask if he would bring a few needed items to the hospital, but he hadn’t answered the phone. Understandably concerned, she called her immediate neighbor. That couple went next door and found the husband disoriented and unable to walk even a few steps. They called for an ambulance which ultimately took him to the hospital. 

Two problems arose. First, when she called the hospital, the immediate neighbor could get no information on the man’s condition — standard hospital protocol. They were told only that he was in the ER. Second, the hospitalized couple have a dog. The immediate neighbors fed the dog, took him out for a few minutes, then returned him to his own home. Later, at about 9 p.m., they discover the husband had definitely been admitted. So they called me and asked the big question: What to do with the dog? They were in the process of training their own new puppy, so really couldn’t introduce another dog into their home. No problem. Because Diane and I love dogs, we volunteered to take temporary custody of Scout, a little Shih Tzu. Scout knew and trusted us, had been a pal of our dear, late Maddie, and had been in our house several times. So I went to Scout’s home, let myself in, gathered some dogfood and a few other items, then took the little critter back to our home.

As it turned out, Scout’s owners each spent about a week in the hospital, then several more weeks at a local rehab facility. Throughout it all Scout adjusted well, slept on our bed, and accompanied me on my daily walks. He and I established a routine that worked well for both of us. It seems, however, he got rather attached to me. According to Diane, whenever I left the house, Scout would sit by the door until I returned. She, of course, was the one who fed him, so perhaps his loyalty was more than a little displaced. I just think he’s one of those “guy dogs.” I tell you all this so you won’t think Diane and I were inconvenienced. We weren’t, not the slightest. It was a joy. We had recently lost our little Maddie, and Scout’s “parents” were friends, so we were the logical candidates to care for Scout. All went well. Many other neighbors contributed in a variety of helpful and far more meaningful ways. Scout is now back home with his “mom and dad,” who are recovering well.

Since these events, just a month or so ago, several similar situations have arisen in the neighborhood. In each instance different neighbors have stepped in and cared for those in need. Some even took ill neighbors into their homes and provided temporary care. Christians and Jews, these good people live their faith and instinctively help others whenever needed. 

And yet, the neighborhood isn’t perfect, because all of us who live here are imperfect as well. Sadly, you and I are too often ready to focus of others’ imperfections or criticize them over petty issues. Perhaps we should look in the mirror and remove the beam from our own eye. Yes, we know our neighbors, or think we do. We hear the stories (the neighborhood gossip) and too often spread it around a bit. But at some point we must accept that no one, at that includes you and me, is perfect. We’re all sinners. But most of these imperfections we carry around with us are not horrible things; they’re just human things. And as we see in the Gospel, Jesus is remarkably tolerant toward them. He forgives, he loves, just as we must forgive and love.

God likes to keep things simple, while we’re the ones who complicate everything. God told us to do two things, and if we do them, all else just falls in line: Love the Lord, your God with your whole heart, soul, mind, and strength; and love your neighbor as yourself. If we all did that, just imagine the kind of world we’d have. And even though we live in a sinful world, we are blessed with an occasional glimpse of God’s love right here in our neighborhoods as we witness neighbor helping neighbor. 

Love your neighbor, sisters and brothers — love your neighbor as you love yourself. Perhaps that’s the problem today. Too many people don’t love themselves, so they can hardly love another. And if you don’t love yourself, just remember, God knows everything about you, and yet He loves you more deeply than you could ever imagine. Once you understand and accept this, and learn to love yourself, loving others becomes much easier. 

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

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

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

St. Charles de Foucauld

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

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

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

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

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

For You are my Father. Amen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Homily: Tuesday, 1st Week of Advent

Readings Is 11:1-10; Ps 72; Lk 10:21-24

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Whenever I read today’s Gospel passage from Luke, I realize how blessed we are as Christians because we know Jesus Christ, just as Jesus revealed to the disciples:

“Blessed are the eyes that see what you see. For I say to you, many prophets and kings desired to see what you see, but did not see it, and to hear what you hear, but did not hear it.”

He said this to the 72 who had just returned from their mission to take the Good News into the world, to do the work Jesus had been doing. Not long before, Jesus had sent the 12 out on their first mission to do the same: to preach, to teach, and to heal, all in the name of Jesus Christ. And all of these first missionaries had proclaimed the Kingdom of God to the People of God, for the Jews would be the first to hear the Good News. Jesus had also told them:

“To you it has been given to know the secrets of the Kingdom of God, but to others I speak in parables, so that looking they may not perceive and hearing they may not understand.”

These words don’t mean that insight and understanding are given only to Jesus’ immediate disciples. Rather, He is telling them that they, because they are faithful disciples, have opened themselves to hear and, therefore, to understand His message, and to see and imitate His works.

I can take no credit for converting a single soul, but I suppose in some way, God works through us to lead those He calls to discipleship. For over ten years, Diane and I served as hospital chaplains here in The Villages. On our assigned days we would be asked to visit 20 or 30 newly admitted patients, people of all faiths. Our role was largely prayerful, to provide comfort to those who were suffering, to assist them if they had unaddressed needs, but mostly just to listen.

One morning we visited a man on the cardiac care floor. As we entered his room, he noticed our “Chaplain” name tags, and with a frown said:

“I had a heart attack that almost killed me. Now the doctors tell me I need a transplant, But the chances aren’t good that I’ll survive long enough to get one.”

He then asked – and these were his words:

“What the hell do you want?”

So, I said the only thing I could think of saying:

“To help you avoid going there.”

I guess that broke the ice. He laughed and asked us what church we came from. When I told him we were Catholic, he said he used to be, but left the Church when he was in his 20s. I just said, “Well, if you were baptized, you’re still a Catholic, even if you don’t know it.”

With that the three of us talked a while – about his life, about his fear of death, about Jesus and God’s unconditional love, but mostly about forgiveness. Eventually he admitted, as he described it, having “a mountain of sins, mostly unforgiveable.”

So, we suggested, “Well, then, let’s test your theory. I’m going to call a priest friend, a really good guy, and he’ll come here, and hear your confession. With that you’ll taste the goodness of God’s forgiveness. And you’ll also see how wonderful it is to be in friendship with Jesus Christ.”

It all happened just as God planned it. When my priest friend entered the room, this long-lapsed soul sat up and cried.

He died the following week.

So, do you see how blessed we are to have known Jesus Christ, most of us for our entire lives? And yet, He is there for all, even those who have long ignored Him.

But we are called, just like the Apostles and the 72, to evangelize, to take the Good News of Jesus Christ to all those we encounter, to all those places in our lives.

The great thing is, He does all the work; we just say and do whatever He tells us.

Homily: Year A, 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Note: Years ago, the deacons of our parish often preached at both daily and Sunday Masses, but like so many things in life, this changed, and we found ourselves preaching far less frequently. I accepted this change as I try to accept most of what happens in my life, especially that over which I have little or no control. But Fr. Kenny, our new pastor, has decided that we deacons should again preach at Sunday and Saturday Vigil Masses. And so now, on one weekend each month, the deacons will preach at all Masses. I applaud the pastor's decision because I believe deacons bring a unique perspective to our understanding of the readings from Sacred Scripture. Our working lives, our family lives, our struggles to balance the often-conflicting demands of faith, profession, and family mirror the same struggles faced by our parishioners. I hope we deacons all accept this challenge gratefully and, as always, call on the Holy Spirit to guide us during the preparation of our homilies.  

Anyway, here's my homily from yesterday, the 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time:

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Readings: Is 55:6-9; Psalm 145; Phil 1:20c-24, 27a; Mt 20: 1-16a

I was the younger of two sons. My brother, Jeff, was four years older, the smarter, better-looking son. Jeff got a lot of attention, far more than I. Now, believe me, I’m not complaining, for the benefits far outweighed the disadvantages. Because they focused on dear Jeff so much, they kind of left me alone. In other words, constantly measured and examined, Jeff’s life was under the family microscope, while I, on the other hand, had remarkable freedom.

For me it was a good life. But one day, when I was 17, a high school senior, I totaled my father’s car. It was a nice car, a very nice car, a French car. Approaching an uncontrolled intersection, I had assumed the cross street had a stop sign. It didn’t; and I plowed into the side of a taxicab.

As you might imagine, when Dad got home from work, he was upset. His first words:

“Your brother would never have done that! You’re grounded for a month, and that’s just the start.”

I was tempted to reveal some of Jeff’s secrets, but instead appealed to my father’s higher instincts. You see, on Saturday mornings Dad, "the colonel," conducted a family “staff meeting” as he called it. It included reading and discussing the Sunday Gospel.

And so, I told him, “You never would have grounded Jeff. You told us to treat everyone alike, to be merciful like that, that vineyard guy in the Gospel.”

Well, that was a mistake. He just said, “Two months,” and left. Yes, Dad was justifiably upset.

Now don’t get me wrong. My folks loved us both and were wonderful parents. And I probably deserved a greater punishment than I was given. But that little episode also showed me a couple of things: first, Dad was not God; and second, that, indeed, our ways are not God’s ways.

We hear this first from Isaiah, who takes on the role of opening act for Jesus, the warm-up act 700 years in advance, sharing God’s message:

“…my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways.”

Jesus emphasizes this by spending an awful lot of time telling us how different God is from us. As we hope to enter His Kingdom, He urges us to look at the world through His eyes, not our own. That seems hard enough, but He not only wants us to see as He sees, but also to live as He lives. And in His Sermon on the Mount, He seems to demand the impossible: “be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.” We know perfection is beyond us, at least in this life, but we struggle to be open to His Word and His gifts of grace, trying to see each other as God sees us.

Today’s Gospel parable shows us the difference between God and us about as clearly as any. It’s all about mercy; about striving for the holiness God wants for us; about entering a personal relationship with our Lord Jesus.

First, it’s a parable; it’s not a mini-seminar on labor-management relations. Today any employer who behaved like the landowner would probably go bankrupt because of his high labor costs. He’d also be accused of unfair labor practices and likely face a shutdown strike.

Of course, this just highlights the point that Jesus makes: God is different. God is so very different. Indeed, God is so different from us that if we actually acted as He acts, the people around us wouldn’t know what to make of us. That’s what saints do. They go against the grain of the world and upset a lot of people. Yes, they’re always scraping their fingernails on the world’s blackboard and driving people crazy.

Yes, saints and martyrs strive to act like God. It’s because they’re so different that they can make a difference. And because God continually raises them up from among us, we’ll never be at a loss for saints and martyrs, for these models He places in our midst.

Anyway, let’s get back to our parable.

For all of us who spent a lifetime working hard preparing for our retirement, it’s easy to get caught up with the literal, human side of the parable, sympathizing with the workers who had spent a long, hard day in the vineyard. Even though they were paid the wages they agreed to…well, it just doesn’t seem fair, does it? For the others, though, waiting all day to be hired, the landowner’s a savior, a most kind and generous man. It all depends on our point of view, doesn’t it?

But we can put all that aside because this parable isn’t about agriculture or farm workers. It’s about the Kingdom of Heaven. And it just gives us a tiny glimpse, a narrow window through which we can view that Kingdom. And what we see is Jesus. He's out there, everywhere...He's out there looking for us, calling to us, and He does it early and late and in-between.

We need only respond in faith: “Yes, I’ll be your disciple, tell me what to do.” Whether we're early or late, the reward, the wages, will be the same: salvation and eternal happiness.

It’s interesting, isn’t it? The early workers suggest the landowner is unjust, not because he’s broken their agreement, but because he’s gone beyond it and been overly generous to all who come to him. By saying “Yes” all the workers agreed to His terms, and by saying, “Yes” we do the same. And His terms are quite straightforward.

God likes to keep things simple; we’re the ones who complicate everything, making our lives far more difficult than they need be. 

Not long after this, after Jesus entered Jerusalem, Matthew tells us how our Lord summed it all up, going back to the Old Testament, turning to Deuteronomy and Leviticus, and repeating what God had revealed to Moses:

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. And you shall love your neighbor as yourself.

Sounds simple, doesn’t it? If we all did that, imagine what our world would be like. Yet the world's not like that, is it? Because we’re all sinners. But for a pack of sinners, we should be overjoyed that the rules of divine grace are not the same as human rules, that God’s justice is so far beyond our human justice. You see, God’s capacity for forgiveness exceeds, it just outdistances, any human potential.

We hear the early workers’ complaint: You have made them equal to us! And that, sisters and brothers, is Satan talking, Satan tries to convince us that God plays a zero-sum game, that it’s impossible for all to win, that God simply doesn’t have enough grace, enough love for everyone. As always, the father of lies is wrong. Jesus’ teaching on discipleship reflects the absolute equality within the Kingdom, and the freedom of its King to shed His grace as He sees fit. Of course, given our competitiveness and the calculating nature of our self-driven sense of justice, Jesus will always stir up resentment in the hearts of men and women.

God loves outrageously, asking us to do the same. And in doing so, He scandalizes the just, the good, the worthy. We see this in so many parables…in the merciful father when the repentant prodigal returns seeking forgiveness. Who is then scandalized? The elder son, the one who had done everything well but failed to understand both the mercy and joy of his father.

Yes, our God flaunts His love and mercy, and dares us to be as generous, as selfless, as merciful as He. Like the Good Shepherd who celebrates when he finds the lost sheep, Jesus turns our attention to the sheer delight that should accompany conversion.

God doesn’t forget the faithfulness of those who responded early -- like all of us cradle Catholics who, if we’ve been faithful, have also been out in the vineyard doing His work, bringing others to Him. That's what we've all been doing...right?

That’s right. You do know that we are all called to evangelize, that evangelization is the primary mission, the work of the Church. Where do we evangelize? In our families, our friendships, our neighborhoods, in our own little slice of God’s world sharing His unconditional love with the others He places in our lives. God never forgets the faithful. But He also rejoices and celebrates the arrival of those who were a little late in joining them.

For our God is the ultimate landowner. It’s good for us to remember that. You and I own nothing; all of creation belongs to God and our share is pure gift. It’s certainly nothing we earn. Once we let that really sink in and allow our lives to be motivated by thanksgiving for that generosity, we can get over our fussy little comparisons between ourselves and others. We can avoid the nasty and foolish rivalries that lead only to envious resentment and sin. And we can forgive fathers and brothers, mothers and sisters, and daughters and sons. Yes, we can forgive all, forgive as God forgives...for failing to do so is no way to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

I've always thought St. John of the Cross said it best: 

“In the evening of life, we shall be judged by love.” 

Yes, indeed, judged both by a God who is love and by how much we have loved.

Homily: Tuesday, 11th Week in Ordinary Time

Note: I didn't preach this homily today. Our celebrant decided to preach instead, which is his prerogative. It's no big deal since I always have a homily ready whenever I assist at Mass as the deacon. Sometimes I'm asked to preach, and sometimes I'm not. Anyway, this unpreached homily follows:

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Readings: 2 Cor 8:1-9; Ps 146; Mt 5:43-48

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On Sunday, one of my sons posted a Father’s Day note on Facebook. He began with a bunch of nice words about me, and then he added: “He wasn’t perfect, and he never said he was, unless he was joking.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but it got me thinking of what Jesus told us in today’s Gospel passage from the Sermon on the Mount.

“So be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect."

I suspect these words have made a lot of Christians suddenly pay attention and scratch their heads. Did He really mean that? How can we, these obviously imperfect beings, be perfect. Yes, indeed, Jesus sure can make life difficult, can’t He? 

Back when we were young and doing well in the world, a lot of us thought we were…well, if not perfect, at least pretty good. I remember the first time I realized I harbored some major imperfections – things that separated me from what God wanted for me. 

I was a Navy pilot during the war in Vietnam. At the time, I flew search and rescue helicopters. All I wanted to do was pickup American pilots who’d been shot down, and get them to safety. But at the time, the Communists of both North Vietnam and the Viet Cong were doing their very best to kill me. And here’s Jesus telling me to “love your enemies.” Let me tell you, that ain’t so easy when they’re shooting at you. Yes, they were an easy enemy to hate. But hating them troubled me because I knew what Jesus had commanded of us.

And so, one day I paid a visit to the Catholic chaplain and asked how we could reconcile loving our enemies with this conflict in which we were engaged. I’ll always remember that conversation. I won’t go into our rather lengthy discussion on the just war doctrine. That’s a subject for another time. But I will tell you what this young priest had to say about enemies and hatred and love and forgiveness.

He began by saying that if our enemies are those we hate, we have ceased being Christians. As disciples of Jesus Christ, we are to hate no one. But if our enemies are those who hate us, then we will always have enemies. After all, Jesus had many enemies because He did the Father’s will: He spoke the truth and He loved. He loved all, especially those despised by the world, and He spoke the truth even when it upset people.

Our enemies decide how they will treat us. We decide only to love them or hate them. Love and hate, then, are not emotions. They’re decisions. Jesus calls us to love regardless of the evil others do. And He calls to exclude no one from our love.

These are hard words for us, aren’t they? Hard indeed…until we come face to face with the Cross, and we hear His words:

“Father, forgive them, they know not what they do” [Lk 23:34].

There, on the Cross, we encounter Divine Mercy: God’s perfect love, a love that demands forgiveness. Forgiveness is the only thing we can do to those we are called to love. If we refuse to forgive, we refuse to love.

About 30 years ago I saw the movie, “Dead Man Walking” about a convicted killer named Robert Willie who'd been sentenced to death. Well, one person you won’t see in the movie is Debbie Morris, the one victim who miraculously survived her horrific ordeal at the hands of Willie. After Willie’s execution, she said, “Justice didn’t do a thing to heal me. Forgiveness did.”

Yes, it’s easy to hate and scream for justice, for man’s justice, but it never really brings healing, or the so-called "closure" the world promises. Only forgiveness does that. Only forgiveness heals.

Yes, we can defend ourselves from evil, but in defending ourselves we must not produce even greater evils. The world will never run out of objects for our hatred, especially today when enemies abound. How did Paul put it to the Corinthians:

“…test the genuineness of your love by your concern for others” [2 Cor 8:8].

After all, we were created in God’s image and likeness, so He really does call us to perfection, to live up to His expectations for us, to live up to that image and likeness. He calls each of us to view this life as a pilgrimage of love, one in which we seek out others, finding Jesus Christ in each person we meet, and letting them recognize Jesus in us.

Let God be the one who will judge His creations. We need only love and forgive. I’ve long thought this is what Jesus means when He commands us to “be perfect just as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

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!