We Are Doomed...

Yes, I'm afraid we are surely doomed. Now don't get me wrong. We're certainly not doomed in the eternal sense. Thankfully each of us still has some slight influence over his salvation. We can accept God's gift of faith and lead the lives He wants for us. We can "repent and believe in the Gospel" [Mk 1:15]. After that it's up to God and His mercy. And thank God for that! Without His mercy the hope of eternal life would be small indeed and this very finite life on earth would be a short but constant misery. Without that hope I could believe myself to be nothing but an infinitesimally tiny accident standing on my two aging legs, staring into the vast unverse, and uttering, "Why bother?" But buoyed by that hope I can instead believe God has loved me into existence. And my Creator honors me so highly that I am allowed to choose my response to His love. Created in His image and likeness, I have been blessed with both intellect and will: an intellect to know, if only partially, and a will to love, if only imperfectly. You and I are certainly not eternally doomed...unless we choose to be.

No, the doom of which I speak is nothing so great, nothing so eternal. I speak of nothing more than the end of Western Civilization. One doesn't have to be a historian to recognize that all civilizations, all cultures, eventually come to an end. Some end quietly and seem just to wither away, slowly decaying over time. The example of the Roman Empire immediately comes to mind. And others disappear almost overnight, as happened to the kingdoms of the ancient Hebrews, Israel and Judah, although each certainly planted and nourished the seeds of its own destruction.

In the case of our own civilization, the forces of decay have been working for quite some time. Some trace their origin to Marxism, some to the Enlightenment, some to the Reformation, and some, inexplicably, blame the Catholic Church. Indeed, a few months ago, during a conversation with a local minister (I will not reveal his denomination) I was told that the authoritarian, undemocratic ways of the Catholic Church were the cause of much of the misery that afflicts the West. I thought this conclusion of his especially remarkable since, only moments before, he had referred to "the irrelevance of Catholicism" in today's world. He made these comments as we chatted over a glass of punch at a social gathering celebrating the ecumenical nature of a local charity. I was proud of my restrained response -- unjustifiably so since I was seething with internal resentment. 

The cause of our decay, it seems to me, is simple: as a culture we have lost our faith. We are, indeed, a culture absent the cult that gives it life. And so, as a culture lacking its animating spirit, we seem to be well along the path to cultural doom. Our Christian faith, especially as it was lived within the Catholic Church, gave rise to so many of the institutions and values that made our culture as great as it was. The loss of this faith is, therefore, reflected in those institutions which we see degenerating all around us today. Lacking faith, their guiding principle becomes one of mere expedience and their foundations begin to crumble. It's evident throughout the culture. As a society we no longer love God and neighbor; rather we simply love ourselves. 

A medical profession that once promised to do no harm now willingly destroys those who have become socially inconvenient. And this same profession can, without embarrassment, declare perversion as just another form of normalcy.

No longer do the majority of the people accept their own sovereignty. No longer do they believe it is they who govern, that our government is a "government of the people, by the people, for the people." And so for the sake of their personal and economic security they have ceded the very core of their freedoms to others. They demand ever more from a government increasingly isolated from the people it claims to represent and serve. We see the ramifications of this in the stratospheric levels of debt piled up on the backs of our children, grandchildren and those yet unborn. It will get only worse.

Socialism, communism, fascism...all the failed authoritarian isms of the past have one thing in common: they despise Christianity and have tried mightily to destroy it. Although their failure in this is inevitable, they continue to attract those who prefer power over the good of others. Rejecting the idea of violent revolution, since one never knows where that might lead, government leaders in the West prefer to expand their power more subtly and move toward authoritarian rule under the guise of enhancing security and equality, all abetted by a people who no longer nurture the roots of their freedoms.


The family is disappearing as marriage has become either an option or a perversion. Couples who marry do so later and limit the size of their families. And as our population ages we create a potential demographic conflict in which a declining population of young, working people will eventually rebel and refuse to accept the burden of taking care of the aged.

I see no human exit strategy from this downward spiral. Fortunately with God all things are possible. After all, as Abraham discovered, just ten good men will lead God to spare an unjust society. We must all become Abrahams and plead with our just and merciful God for the future of Western Civilization. We've certainly messed it up. Let's ask Him to fix it.

Hidden Headlines

64% of Men Want Women to Pay Half on Dates. Just further proof of the feminization of the American male. What a pack of wimps!

Miley Cyrus "Grows Up" on MTV. One wag actually wrote that young Ms. Cyrus was simply out to prove to the world that she is no longer a little girl, but is now a woman. If her performance is indicative of our culture's understanding of what it means to be a woman, it's no wonder men want women to buy dinner. If you haven't seen a clip of her performance at the MTV awards, don't bother looking for it. It's just pornographically embarrassing.

Martin Luther King, Jr. Was Pro-Life. Dr. Alveda King, the niece of the late Dr. Martin Luther King, stated that her uncle was definitely pro-life. In her words:

“It’s not so much about labels — liberal, conservative and all of that. But he was someone who lived and gave his life to help all humanity. And so that definitely would include conception until natural death. And he would want everyone to be able to live — to have food, to have somewhere to sleep, and to have a job. You know, all of those things are very important. But, he would really support the best quality of life and that is conception to natural death.”

She then went on to say: “How can the dream survive if we murder our children?”

The Real War on Women. Why is it that the left hates women who support traditional values? Indeed, some liberals hate them so much they publicly call for them to be violently raped...and apparently get away with it. Case in point: Huffington Post contributor Pascal Robert did exactly that when he called for the rape of Dana Loesch, conservative activist, radio host, wife and mom. He then included her in a bizarre sexual fantasy which he described far too explicitly. The response from the Huffington Post? You guessed it. Nada.

(Former) Major Hassan Convicted of Workplace Violence. The military justice system has convicted the Army psychiatrist who committed the murderous terrorist attack at Ft. hood four years ago. Of course any serious discussion of terrorism was not permitted in the courtroom since that would contradict the Army's (and the administration's) insistence that the major, jihadist, doctor, victim, mass murderer (pick one) was simply a frustrated government employee who overreacted to the Islamophobia he was forced to endure in the U. S. Army. Today he was sentenced to death, a sentence with which I disagree.

Duck Dynasty Sweeps the Cable Ratings. Okay I'm a closet viewer and fan of this A&E Network show. I just love these guys and their family. Heck, I'd grow a big bushy beard if Dear Diane wouldn't set it on fire.

You Can't Go Home Again

Dear Diane and I are spending a few days in Panama City Beach, Florida. We're staying in a two-room suite in one of the many high-rise monstrosities that have risen up out of the white sand of this once-pristine coastline. This is not our usual sort of holiday. We're simply not resort people. To be honest (and I try to be so, especially when it's convenient), we succumbed to repeated telephone pleas to spend four days here free of charge. The company behind this effort sweetened the deal by giving us money, free hotel stays, and a subsequent vacation at another of their many resorts. Our only requirement was to spend two hours with one of their high-pressure salespeople as he tried to convince us to spend every cent we have on some overly complex timeshare scheme. As I informed the telemarketer at the start, I would never agree to purchase anything from them, but they apparently did not believe me. In the end, we  won the battle and can now in good conscience enjoy the view from our ninth-floor suite.

We actually had several other reasons to make this trip. Back in November 1968 Dear Diane and I spent our one-night honeymoon in a Holiday Inn located on this very beach. In those days there were only a few modest hotels here and I believe only the Holiday Inn was open at that time of year. I can remember leaving the wedding reception at Naval Air Station Pensacola's Mustin Beach Officers' Club and asking my new bride, "Well, which way shall we go, east or west?" She simply smiled and said, "Let's go to Panama City. I'm sure we can find a nice hotel there. And while we're there we can also stop and visit with my Aunt Pearl and Uncle Dewey." (Her aunt and uncle had been unable to attend the wedding.) And so I headed east and drove to Panama City Beach. The wedding was on Saturday morning, the honeymoon on Saturday night, and on Sunday we drove back to Pensacola. We had no choice.  Diane had to return to teaching her high schoolers on Monday morning, and that evening I had to fly my final instrument check before finishing up Navy pilot training. Looking back on it, I can say only that it was all very wonderful. We were young and excited about the life we saw before us. That was 45 years ago. See the photo below. There we are, young and happy, leaving the church.

And so, it is good to return and spend a few days here, even though all is so changed. But there's an even more ancient family connection to Panama City Beach. In 1950 and 1951 my family spent much of a year living here on this beach. My father was an Army officer stationed at then-Camp Rucker in Dothan, Alabama. He decided to rent a cottage for the family here, spend the work-week in Dothan, and spend the weekends with us. The backdoor of our little two-bedroom cottage opened right on the beach and, believe me, the livin' was easy. My brother, Jeff, and I attended Drummond Park School (which has since been renamed) and thoroughly enjoyed our backyard of sand and water. In the photo below I'm the little guy standing, wearing my favorite cowboy shirt and watching the older boys as they dug a hole in the sand. Jeff, four years older, is second from right.

I can recall much of that year, but everything is now gone. The little beachfront cottages (visible in the background of the above photo) with their sandy floors and space heaters and primitive kitchens have been replaced by towering condos and hotels. The miles of empty beaches littered with fascinating gifts from the sea now play host to thousands of sun screen-coated tourists sipping tropical drinks from the hotel bar. Our landlady, Mrs. Andrews, who made us a huge batch of the most wonderful hush puppies every week went to her well-deserved reward decades ago. I can't recall the names of any of the local kids on the school bus who laughed at our Yankee accents (I had to fight my way to respect and friendship). And thankfully the chain gangs that moved noisily past our house almost every afternoon have disappeared. But I feel specially blessed to have experienced that year, which was so very different from our family life in Connecticut and suburban New York. Panama City Beach in 1950 is an America that no longer exists, and for some reason that saddens me. It would seem Thomas Wolfe was right.

Tomorrow we'll drive along the coast to Pensacola, and there we'll pray at the graveside of Diane's parents and take a 95-year-old family friend out to lunch.

God's peace...

God Is Alive and Well

Another proof of the existence of God comes from the late, and often great, Hilaire Belloc. Referring to the Catholic Church he stated:

"An institute run with such knavish imbecility that if it were not the work of God it would not last a fortnight."

The fact that it has lasted 2,000 years largely unchanged is a wonder.
Praise God.

Thoughts on Salvation

After preaching on salvation (see previous post) this morning, I found myself thinking about the wonders of God's mercy. Here are a few of the thoughts that bounced around in my undisciplined mind:

Salvation is not something we can give ourselves. It is pure gift.

It is especially wonderful to realize that God's mercy means salvation is not reserved for the mystics; it's offered to everyone. It is God's grace, a gift from Jesus, through the Holy Spirit that saves. Our interior prayer life is important in that it helps us become vessels for that gift, but it's not necessary for salvation.

Religion, then, doesn't save. Only Jesus Christ saves. Jesus is God's gift of Himself to us. Our Christian faith is not a religion, but a revelation. It's not something we have devised to lead us to God; rather it's a gift from God through which He reveals to us the Way and the Truth and the Life.

The gulf between God, the eternal Creator of all, and man, the creature, is so objectively great it is beyond our understanding or imagining. But Jesus Christ is the Bridge. He is the One who spans the gulf between God and man. To be this Bridge Jesus had to become one of us and yet remain God as well. This had to be. It had to be because God is Love and only such an act could show us the depth of God's love. What a wonderful mystery this is!

All who are saved are saved through Jesus Christ. Every Jew, every Muslim, every Hindu, every Buddhist who is ultimately saved -- and, yes, millions upon millions of these will be saved -- is saved only through Jesus Christ. The Law doesn't save. The Five Pillars of Islam don't save. Yoga doesn't save. Nirvana isn't salvation. All who are saved are saved because Jesus Christ, the Word of God, came into the world. Through His infinite love, He not only saves those who know Him and believe in Him, but He also saves those people of good will who do not know him. To believe otherwise is to place human limits on God's mercy.

We need the Church -- the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church -- because without it we would distort God's gift of faith through human error. We need the Church, guided by the Holy Spirit just as Jesus promised, to keep us from error and on the path God wants for us, to help us accept the gift of salvation.

Pax et bonum. Being is certainly good.

Homily: 21st Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C)

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

When Isaiah proclaimed that remarkable prophecy we just heard in our first reading, the Jews of his time must have been shocked. From the time of Abraham they’d seen themselves as God’s Chosen People…and indeed they were. But for what purpose were they chosen?

Because of their unique status, they saw salvation as something only a few would experience, namely them. God’s heavenly banquet would be for a select few. Then they hear Isaiah, a prophet claiming to speak for God Himself, telling them something very different.

Isaiah describes a holy gathering where people of every nation of the world enter God’s house. All are invited by God; all are brought into His presence; all worship the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; and to all of them He reveals His glory. Not only that, but speaking for God Himself, Isaiah says, “Some of these I will take as priests and Levites.”

And so, here in the depths of this Old Testament prophecy, we find Jesus Christ present; for it is Jesus who will make a new priesthood, derived not from genealogy, but from faith. It will be a priesthood that ministers to the Gentiles, that takes the Word of God to the world, a priesthood founded by Christ Himself and made present through the apostles. Isaiah is preparing God’s people to accept the truth of salvation, that God desires it for all, Jew and Gentile – a desire later fulfilled by Jesus when He instructs the apostles to announce the Good News:

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

Yes, this is the new heaven and new earth that Isaiah speaks about later in this same prophecy. And how it must have shaken those who heard it, who no doubt asked, if only to themselves, “Is salvation really for all these people?”

Hundreds of years later, this same question is posed to Jesus in today’s Gospel passage: “Lord, will only a few people be saved?” [Lk 13:23]

Why did this unnamed person ask it? Is he simply asking, “Hey, Jesus, what are the odds I’ll win this salvation lottery of yours?” Or maybe, as a Jew he thought he had an inside track on salvation: he knew the Law, obeyed the rules, did all he was supposed to do as a sign of his justification. When you think of it this way, you can almost hear the complacency in the question, can’t you? Or maybe he was complacent because he knew Jesus…that as a disciple he thought he had an inside track...had walked by Jesus’ side as He taught in the streets...had shared meals with Him. Wouldn’t this be enough?

Whatever his reasons, I’m sure he was surprised when he didn’t get a simple Yes or No answer. It was really the wrong question. How many will be saved isn’t the important thing.  The important question, the one you and I should really be concerned about is: “How can we be saved?” And this is the question Jesus answers.

Your see, brothers and sisters, salvation is a gift. It’s nothing you or I can earn; rather it’s the result of Christ’s saving sacrifice on the Cross. And while everyone is invited to share in God’s Kingdom, accepting that invitation also means obeying His call to repentance and trying to do His Will.

Thankfully, God’s ways are so very different from ours. His judgment and His mercy are perfect But they are so different that we always question.

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

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

About a dozen years ago, I worked for a high-tech firm in New England. One morning a young co-worker, knowing I was deacon, asked if she could speak with me privately. She began to talk about her older brother. He was her hero, a bright, talented, seemingly happy young man who could do no wrong in her eyes. He had a good job with a major public relations firm, and even talked about starting his own business one day soon. He seemed to be doing so well.

And then for reasons she simply could not understand he turned to hard drugs. He became addicted. Within months he had lost his job and had even been arrested in some drug buying sting operation. Then tragically, the week before, he died of an overdose, which they suspect was intentional.

“He was always so good, so kind, so helpful to everyone,” she said. And then she asked, “Will Mark spend eternity in hell?” Once again we hear it: “Lord, will only a few people be saved?”

How I answered isn’t important. How Jesus answered is. For He took this simple question and used it to teach us about salvation.

Yes, the door is narrow and we can’t pin our hopes on the mere fact that we’re paid-up church-going people. And those words “depart from me” [Lk 13:27] are a stark and chilling reminder that the stakes are high. But God in His mercy calls us…again, and again, and again. Only He knows what’s in the human heart. And we can’t ignore what we heard in today’s 2nd reading from Hebrews: “…do not disdain the discipline of the Lord…for whom He disciplines, He loves” [Heb 12:5-6]. It’s no coincidence that the word discipline has its origins in the word disciple.

And so when the question is asked -- “Lord, will only a few people be saved?” -- we must be willing to accept the Lord’s answer.

We don’t fully understand this mystery of salvation, a salvation not limited by law, ritual, or our own expectations of who will or won’t be saved. Salvation is a gift from a God whose love is so expansive it includes the entire human family. Our God respects our freedom, takes our decisions seriously, and accepts the consequences of our decisions, even when we choose to reject Him. And this same loving God, whose heart overflows with mercy and forgiveness, always offers His us His healing grace. But we must still do our part.

But we mustn’t be too quick to condemn ourselves, and we certainly shouldn’t condemn others. When we’re conscious of and upset about the things we’re getting wrong, we can count ourselves among the 'last' of Luke's Gospel and that’s when we have a chance. That’s when we’re more likely to accept help, help from others, and God’s help and forgiveness.

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

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

Yes, brothers and sisters, the stakes are high, and the last thing we want to hear from God is, “Depart from me” [Lk 13:27]. How much better to hear Him say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant…Come, share your master’s joy” [Mt 25:23].

The Draft and the Professional Military

Back on June 26, 1963, when I entered the Naval Academy, I had in my wallet what was called a draft card. In those days every able-bodied young man became eligible for the military draft at age 18, and possession of the draft card was proof that one had registered with the local Selective Service office. More than that, though, obtaining a draft card was a kind of "coming of age" ritual through which a boy made the transition to manhood. I can recall my older high school classmates opening their wallets and proudly displaying the coveted card to those of us who were still 17. Because of my September birthday, I was among the youngest in my senior class, and didn't turn 18 until I had already begun my freshman year at Georgetown University. By then, of course, there was little reason to celebrate openly since most of my new college friends had preceded me. For them, it would have been a ho-hum moment.

Conscription remained the law of the land for another decade and the draft was eventually stopped by President Nixon in January of 1973. By that time I had spent four years at the Naval Academy and had been a commissioned officer in the U. S. Navy for almost six years. Although it might be hard for me and my contemporaries to believe, as a nation we have now had a professional, all-volunteer military for forty years.

All of this came to mind when I recently heard a senior officer make what was quite likely an off-hand comment by saying, "I do what my Commander-in-Chief tells me." Although I suspect it was taken out of context, it still bothered me, reminiscent of the "I was only following orders" excuse used in the past to rationalize some rather horrendous behavior by other, more authoritarian governments. It also led me to ask myself some questions I don't feel particularly competent to answer. But I believe they are questions our nation must ask itself and at least try to answer. For example:

Can an increasingly centralized federal government, one that has usurped many of the powers previously reserved to the states and local communities, more easily command the unquestioned loyalty of the military? Will we ever get to the point where our military leadership is more beholden to the Commander-in-Chief than to the Constitution it is sworn to uphold?

And then I asked myself another question: Does the presence of a professional, all-volunteer military eventually create a gap in both values and understanding between the citizenry and the armed forces? After 40 years, does this gap already exist? Can it lead to the kind of isolation that might cause the professional soldier to feel a degree of disdain toward civilians who do not share the values of the warrior? Would the reinstatement of the draft alter this? I recall a joke told to me by a retired Marine friend that's germane to these questions.

The young lieutenant turned to the gunnery sergeant and said, "Gunny, there's a base open house on Saturday and our platoon has been assigned to assist with crowd control. I'm putting you in charge of keeping visitors out of unauthorized areas."

"That could be a problem, sir. Are these visitors all civilians?"

"Yes, of course. Why's that a problem?"

"Well, sir, how do I get the word to them? From what I understand, civilians don't have squad leaders."

Perhaps I'm wrong, but I doubt that this joke would have been around when we still had the draft.

Christopher Dawson

I am a student (a very poor student) of history, and this week I've been re-reading a book written by a most remarkable historian, Christopher Dawson (1889-1970). The book, The Age of the Gods, was written between the two great wars of the twentieth century and first published in 1928. In it Dawson examines the spiritual and social development of our stone-age ancestors along with that of the early civilizations in Egypt and the Near East. This morning, as I read Dawson's description of the decline of Egypt's New Kingdom, I came across the following:

"Thus the fundamental weakness of the New Kingdom in Egypt was revealed in its ultimate consequences. The combination of the ancient theocratic culture with the warrior state of the Bronze Age proved a failure because no organic union of the two was possible. The military class remained external to the civilization which it defended, as a parasitic growth with no roots in the life of the nation" [The Age of the Gods, p. 300].

Will we ever get that far? I doubt it. The New Kingdom of Egypt and the American Republic are very different, culturally and politically. But since it's inevitable that our society will eventually go the way of all its predecessors, one can only wonder about the cause.

Connected Thoughts

We certainly live in interesting times. They're so interesting it's hard not to get lost in the details of current events, all the while neglecting what it means for our civilization. Troubled by this, I've given it some thought. Actually, what I've been left with are a collection of mildly connected thoughts...

Throughout most of my life, I've lived in a reasonably civil society, a society grounded in Judeo-Christian religious values and guided by its imperfect understanding of the Ten Commandments and the Sermon on the Mount. The vast majority of Americans understood and accepted this. One could even state this belief publicly without much fear of contradiction or ridicule. This is no longer true. Indeed, our civil society has given way to a most uncivil society guided only by an unholy alliance of pragmatism and narcissism. The rule of relativism has created a society in which anything, or almost anything, goes. In the prophetic words of the great G. K. Chesterton, "When men choose not to believe in God, they do not therefore believe in nothing, they become capable of believing in anything."

The fragility of our civilization has become apparent. The world's barbarians are at the gate and we, unlike those who came before us, seem oblivious to the fact. While we sacrifice the lives of many of the best among us in a "war on terror" -- or as the current administration prefers to call it: a war on "man-caused disasters" -- we ignore the cultural disintegration taking place all around us. We experience a national trauma when 20 young children are savagely murdered in their classroom, but we celebrate as freedom the far greater but equally savage slaughter of 50 million innocent children in the womb...and we apparently do not see the connection between the two. Today I read of three young men, all in their teens, who shot and killed a young jogger. After their arrest one of them told the police that they were bored and decided to kill someone. Yes, once they believe in nothing, they will believe in anything.

As a nation our response to all the chaos is to attack the symptoms. We "stop and frisk." We build up our swat teams and turn our police forces into small (and some not so small) armies. We take real-time video of everything and everybody. We send drones into our skies to watch ourselves living our lives below. We allow strangers at airports to treat us with disdain, to violate our persons, and to do virtually anything they want...all because of our cowardice.

We worry so much about our security and safety that we willingly allow a government on steroids to trample on our freedoms. As one of our parishioners said to me the other day, "I don't really care what the government does so long as it keeps the terrorists away." I hope he does not awaken one morning and discover there is little difference between the two.

Ben Stein, a man I have long admired even though I do not always agree with him, addressed the NSA's invasions of privacy in his latest online diary entry by writing:

My wife said it well tonight. “I have nothing to hide,” she said. “I’m not afraid of the NSA.”

I actually am nowhere near the person Big Wifey is, but I am not afraid of the NSA either. I am very afraid of the terrorists. It’s that simple.

Yes, Mr. Stein, it is that simple: we have become a nation of cowards. At least you are honest about your cowardice. Most are not. As a nation we have shown ourselves to be far more concerned with our personal safety than with the loss of our liberty. I wore the uniform of this nation for almost 30 years and willingly placed myself in harm's way. My brother, father and grandfather did the same. And I believe I can honestly say that each of us would have given his life for this nation, for the Constitution we were sworn to defend, and for the freedoms it guarantees for all of us. Now I'm the only one left, but believe me, I have never considered my life as important as those freedoms.

This is why I am so disturbed to hear Americans, when asked about the NSA's intrusive spying, say, "If you've got nothing to hide, you have nothing to worry about." Hanging on the wall in front of me is a framed but dirty and slightly tattered armband. It contains a roughly sewn Star of David with "Sachsenhausen" stenciled beneath it. A Jewish friend gave it to me because it caused him too much pain. It had belonged to his great uncle who had survived several camps and managed to stay alive until he was liberated. I keep it on my wall to remind me of what humanity is capable of, to remind me of the existence of original sin. The people forced to wear such armbands in such horrible places as Sachsenhausen also believed they had nothing to hide, nothing to worry about.They were wrong.

The solution to the problem we face is not to be found in the symptoms. It's buried deep within the cause. We are a nation that has rejected its Judeo-Christian roots. We have ceased to live our faith, to preach it openly, to pray in the public square. Too many today have turned their backs on God not realizing that the only road to salvation for this nation is to turn back to God.

Reading and Rereading

To the tiny band of loyal readers of this blog, my apologies. For the past month or so, and for no particular reason, I've taken a break from blogging.

Sometimes life just gets too busy, so busy I don't have time to think seriously about anything other than the practicalities of daily living. That's not good. We humans need to do those things that separate us from other creatures. We need to love and pray and think. And I really hadn't done much thinking lately. I believe I simply needed to step away from the unnecessary distractions and think about some of the things that have been roaming about in my aging brain. There was a need to take hold of them and pin them down. Whenever I get this way, I usually reach for a book, just to get me thinking. More often than not, it's a book I've already read, a little comfort food for the brain.

For example, about a week ago I was asked to conduct a committal service at the National Cemetery in Bushnell, Florida. This happens frequently since our parish is not far from the cemetery and we deacons are more than willing to assist more distant parishes by conducting these services for them.

I always include a brief homily during committals. After all, the committal is the final rite of the funeral, the time when family and friends say their public goodbyes to their loved one. It's really a very special time for most families. They need words of comfort and hope.

Flannery O'Connor

In this particular instance the deceased was a sixty-year-old woman who had suffered from Multiple Sclerosis for many years. Her husband, a retired Marine, had died three years before in a car accident. Their five children, now all in their twenties and thirties were present, along with a whole crew of grandchildren. They all mentioned how cheerful and loving this mother and grandmother had been, even in the midst of her illness and despite the tragedy of her husband's death. They would miss her terribly. It was a very sad day for these young people. What could I say to them?

As a sat down to write my brief homily, Flannery O'Connor came to mind and I reached for a book of her letters, The Habit of Being (1979). It's a thick book of over 600 pages, but after a moment's searching I found the letter I was looking for. O'Connor, who suffered her entire adult life from lupus, the disease that would ultimately take her life at age 39, wrote these words to a friend:

"I have never been anywhere but sick. In a sense sickness is a place...and it's always a place where there's no company, where nobody can follow. Sickness before death is a very appropriate thing and I think those who don't have it miss one of God's mercies." [p. 163]

I included this excerpt in my homily and suggested that their mother would have known exactly what O'Connor meant by the mercy of illness. This woman they loved so much had given them the example of one who had recognized this mercy of God in her long illness and had accepted it with joy. How blessed they are as a family to have had such a wonderful mother and grandmother, someone to show them the way.

We all need people like this in our lives.

This evening I decided to begin another book I've read many times before, Jane Austen's Mansfield Park. We'll see what this moral philosopher of another time and place has to teach me today.

Confronting Illness

Increasingly I seem to be spending time with those who suffer from illness of one kind or another. This, I suppose, should be expected since my ministry as a deacon certainly involves visiting the sick. Another obvious reason for this increase is that earlier this year Dear Diane and I began to minister as volunteer chaplains at our local hospital. After all, one doesn't go to the hospital with the expectation of encountering too many healthy people. And then there's my age and that of many of my friends and acquaintances. Most of us are at or approaching an age when we begin to encounter serious threats to our health. As a consequence we seem always to be praying for or visiting those who are hospitalized, or awaiting surgery, or in rehab, or entering hospice care. As you might expect, all of this is reflected in our conversation when we get together with our friends. Although we might begin by sharing stories about our grandchildren, the conversation inevitably devolves into a discussion of the three D's: doctors, diseases and drugs.

Now you might think all this involvement with illness would be depressing; but I haven't found it so. Indeed, I have been buoyed, literally raised up, by many of the most seriously ill people I have encountered. Their illnesses seem to have focused their minds and hearts on what is truly important. Let me pass along a few examples:

On one of my recent chaplain days at the hospital Dear Diane had a doctor's appointment of her own that morning and couldn't join me until later.  And so I was alone when I entered the room of a woman who suffers from several forms of cancer. After I introduced myself she told me she was a "believing Christian" -- as I recall, she later indicated she was a Baptist -- and then thanked me for stopping by. We spoke a while about her illness and then she said (these might not be her exact words, but they're close enough):

You know, one of the blessings I've received from my illness is the understanding and firm acceptance that our stay here on earth is purely tentative. It's a little like being on probation, isn't it? We are such fragile creatures, but God, and only God, can make us strong enough to face the end of our stay here with faith and really with a kind of happiness. I find that wonderful, but very strange at the same time. 

She is a perfect example of the surprising benefits and joys of hospital ministry. I'm not convinced that I bring very much lasting comfort to those I visit, but they certainly do educate me about the human condition.

Something else Diane and I have discovered as we make our rounds at the hospital relates to the love and care provided by family and friends. So often the patient's spouse will be there when we enter a room. Many of the patients we visit have been married 40, 50 or 60 years and the love between husband and wife has an almost physical presence. More often than not the spouse will be the one with the questions and concerns, the one who asks us to pray with the patient, the one who seeks signs of hope. This obvious care and concern, this open manifestation of faith, tends to have a positive effect on the spouse who is ill. The patient who has a caring, loving spouse and a devoted family seems to be the happier, more hopeful patient.

Interestingly, these same hopeful patients are those who often have the most visitors. Here in our large retirement community strong friendships seem to form rather quickly, resulting in informal but equally strong networks of solidarity formed to help and care for those in need. On many occasions we have entered a hospital room to find two or three friends and neighbors visiting the patient, seemingly very pleased to be there. They, too, usually join us in prayer before we leave the patient.

I should be used to the miracles God works in the lives of those who suffer because I witness them so frequently. A few weeks ago a parishioner approached me after daily Mass and said she wanted to discuss the meaning of suffering. Now I know that this woman suffers from the early stages of Alzheimer's and has experienced many severe problems. As you might expect, her life has undergone significant changes.

At first I tried to get her to talk about her own situation, but she'd have none of it. "Oh, no," she said, "I'm fine. I just want to know what suffering is all about. Someone told me it's a bad thing to suffer, and that didn't sound right to me."

I agreed that what she'd been told wasn't right. "How can suffering be bad," I asked her, "if Jesus instructs us to take up our cross in imitation of Him?"

And so we talked about the Cross, about how we can come to discern God's plan in our lives, about how the key to that discernment is the Cross of Jesus Christ. We shared our joy that Christ, the Word of God Incarnate, has taken on our weakness, our humanity, and done so through the mystery of the Cross. I mentioned to her that one of the "joys" of accepting the suffering in our lives is that we can become, through this, a source of hope and salvation for others. With this her face brightened into a wide smile. And then she asked, "Do you mean, I can just climb up on that Cross with Jesus, and be with Him, and just suffer right alongside Him?"

As I have said already, those who are ill, those who suffer have become my best teachers.

Pax et bonum...

Homily: Mass for Healing - Saturday, 14th Week of Ordinary Time

Readings: Gn 49:29-32, 50:15-26a; Ps 105; Mt 10:24-33
________________

Good morning to you all...and praise God!

For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Deacon Dana McCarthy, one of the permanent deacons who ministers here at St. Vincent de Paul Parish. I’m honored to have been asked to preach at this Healing Mass celebrated by our pastor, Fr. Peter.

Many charismatic Catholics and other Spirit-filled Christians usually attend this Mass. Is that true today? That’s wonderful – praise God – because we want the Holy Spirit here today in all His power, in all His wisdom, so we can come to know our loving Father better, all through Our Lord Jesus Christ.

Because that’s the first step in true healing, brothers and sisters: to get to know the source of all healing, the Divine Healer. And so today, we’re all drawn together at this Mass of Healing to praise and worship Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, to ask that God’s healing power work miracles in our lives.

You know, I’m going to let you in on a little secret about this Healing Mass: you see, every Mass is a healing Mass. How could it be otherwise? For where God is present there is healing.

He’s certainly present here today. He’s present in us, gathered together in His Holy Name [Mt 18:20]. He’s present in His Word, proclaimed here; for is not Jesus the living Word of God Incarnate? [Jn 1] And in a most special way, He’s present in the Eucharist, in this unique gift through which Our Lord Jesus Christ fulfills His promise to be with us until the end of the age [1 Cor 11:23ff; Mt 28:20].

It’s through this ever-deepening three-fold presence that we can come to know our loving God, the Divine Healer. Just think about it.

Through His presence in us we come to recognize Him in each other. Do you want to know, love, and serve God? Well, then, learn to know and love and serve each other. For it’s in each other we first recognize God’s presence in the world, His love for us.

And then, through His Divine Word, we can plumb the depths of this love, as it is revealed in His plan for our salvation.

And, finally, through the Eucharist, through our Communion we are pulled together by God Himself, united through the Real Presence of His Body and Blood. Indeed, the Church has declared the Eucharist to be the “source and summit of Christian life.” For as St. Paul instructs us, when we receive the Eucharist worthily, “It is no longer I who live but it is Christ who lives in me.” [1 Cor 11:27; Gal 2:20]

Believe me, then, when I say God is here among us and in us, and that He awaits only our response. And yet how often do you and I turn away, refusing to accept God’s healing touch when it’s offered so freely? How often do we respond not in love but in fear?

God offers us forgiveness, the healing of our souls, and yet we don’t accept it, fearing we have sinned too much, or thinking we haven’t sinned at all. God offers us eternal life and yet we fear death. If we believe in the immortality of the soul, in the good news of God’s plan for us – if we believe that, if we have faith in Jesus Christ, what’s there to fear?

“I am the resurrection and the life,” Jesus tells us, “whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die” [Jn 11:25-26].

And so never let fear be an obstacle to healing. Accept God’s gift of faith and watch all your fears evaporate.

Jesus did a lot of things during His public ministry. He preached, He taught, He listened, He warned, He prophesied…but the one thing He did everywhere He went was heal…and He was always telling us not to fear.

A few years ago I received one of those emails – you know the kind: the ones that get sent around to everybody – and it told me that in the Bible God says, “Be not afraid,” exactly 365 times, one for every day of the year. But, of course, like so many things that pass through the internet, it’s wrong. And it’s unfortunate that some people feel the need to exaggerate and make up such things, because it’s so unnecessary.

If God had told us to “fear not” only once, this would be sufficient. After all, He only had to say, “Let there be light,” once to begin the work of creation, because God’s Word makes things happen – as we say, it’s efficacious.

As it is, throughout Scripture, we’re told not to fear perhaps 100 or more times. Indeed, in today’s brief Gospel passage from Matthew 10, Jesus tells the Apostles not to be afraid three times. And so this command of His – and it is a command: “Be not afraid!” – must be pretty important.

Fear is a very human emotion; it’s the imagination’s testing of the future, of what could happen. Yes, it’s very human indeed. But by this command Jesus invites us to step out of our world, to move beyond our mere humanity, to suppress the unreality of our imagination, and to step into the reality of the divine life. And that’s pretty big step, at least it is for me.

Did you notice what else He told the Apostles in today’s Gospel passage?

“It is enough for the disciple that he become like his teacher…” [Mt 10:25]

That’s right, Jesus wants us to become like Him. He wants us to step into the true reality of the Divine Life He offers us. This, brothers and sisters, is what makes us disciples, this desire to become like Him. It’s step one on the path of the disciple. Some of us spend most of a lifetime before we have the courage to take this first step, and others…well, let me tell you of an experience I had.

Back in 1954, when I was just ten years old, I was stricken with acute appendicitis and rushed to the hospital. The surgeon operated on me almost as soon as I arrived. In those days they kept you in the hospital forever; and so I had plenty of time to feel sorry for myself. Of course, my family visited me daily, but I had another visitor, a young boy, about eight years old.

His name was Luke. He too was a patient in the hospital, and every afternoon he’d make his rounds of the children’s ward in his pjs, handing out comic books and other goodies to all the kids. He’d ask if I were feeling better, and then tell me that everything would be all right. As he left to visit the next kid, he’d always promise, “I’ll say a prayer for you.”

I didn’t quite know what to make of Luke, and so the morning I was released I asked the nurse about him. “Oh, Luke’s dying of leukemia,” she told me. “He probably has just a few more months, but he likes to make people happy.” As it turned out, Luke died a month or so later, and yet this eight-year-old responded to God’s call to discipleship far better than most of us.

You see, brothers and sisters, the fact that we’re ill, just because we’re in need of healing…this doesn’t free us from responding to God’s call to discipleship. Young Luke, it seems, understood this at a very early age.

Children and young people die every day in our broken world. And people always question how a loving God could allow such things to happen. But it’s only a reasonable question if one believes that this brief life on earth is our ultimate destination, that there’s no eternal life. And so when someone asks me that question, I speak to them of Luke – Luke the disciple. Was Luke healed of his illness? Well, in a way, yes he was. But more importantly Luke was himself a healer.

When I was ordained to the diaconate, my bishop instructed me to preach, to teach and to heal. It’s taken me a long while to understand the depth of that command: that while we might preach with our words, we teach with the example of our lives, and we heal simply by serving, by serving all those whom God places in our lives.

Do you see now what Jesus means when He tells us that “unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven”? [Mt 18:3] And He went on to say, “Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven” [Mt. 18:4]. Once again we are called to imitate Jesus who, as St. Paul reminds, us “humbled Himself, becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross” [Phil 2:8], even to the point of crying out “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” [Mt 27:46]

This, brothers and sisters, is His glory, and this is our salvation; for this is the greatest miracle, the greatest healing of all. What does Jesus accomplish through this redemptive, saving act of His? Quite simply, He makes us children. And He gives us the freedom of the child. He turns us all into Lukes.

This is the very essence of our faith as Christians. Because of this redeeming work of Jesus we can say, “Abba, Father” [Rom 8:15]. Because of Jesus we can call God our Daddy, and we can do so with the freedom, the openness of a child. This is the wonder, the miracle of God becoming one of us in Jesus Christ.

In the Gospel we find those most willing to take that first step are those who come to Jesus for healing. But I especially like the healing of Bartimaeus, the blind beggar of Jericho [Mk 10:46-52].

Surrounded by his disciples, and followed by a crowd, Jesus was leaving Jericho, on His way to Jerusalem, to His passion and death. Near the gates of the city sat Bartimaeus, a blind beggar. Alone in his misery, he knew full well how needy he was, how helpless if left to himself.  His dependence is manifested when Jesus passed buy and Bartimaeus cried out: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.”

No longer the quiet, blind beggar, no longer looking for alms, he now wanted only what God can give. He wanted divine mercy. Moved by the Spirit, he called Jesus by His messianic title, “Son of David.” Repeatedly shouting, “Son of David have mercy on me.”

Filled with the hope that comes from being in the Lord’s presence, Bartimaeus taught us three essential elements of Christian discipleship:

* He recognized his true condition
* He turned to the only one who could heal him
* And he persisted in the face of all opposition

Our Lord was surrounded by those who had yet to learn the way of the disciple, who tried to keep the blind man, the beggar, far away from the Healer. But Jesus, overruling His disciples, said, “Call him.”

Called by Jesus, Bartimaeus leaped to his feet, tossed aside his beggar’s rags, and went to his Lord with nothing but his enthusiasm, his love, and his faith. And we share in his joy. He asks for that which only God can give. He asks only to be restored to wholeness: “Master, I want to see.”

But Jesus doesn’t say, “I have healed you.” No, He says, “Your faith has saved you.” God doesn’t extend the fullness of His love and power where there is no faith, where it doesn’t find a heart ready to receive Him, a heart that recognizes who Jesus is and calls to Him, that He may intervene and change his life. We must invite Jesus continually to be Lord of our life. He never imposes Himself on us, never forces us to love Him, for love can exist only in freedom. Instead of loving God unconditionally, we spend so much of our time piously trying to manipulate His power to suit our own desires…but not Bartimaeus.

“Go your way,” Jesus says. But as Mark tells us, Bartimaeus turned and followed Jesus on His way, for He is the Way, the Truth and the Life.

Oh, that we could all be like leaping Bartimaeus… the blind man who accepted his condition as a child of God. Let’s make that our prayer: that we can recognize our own blindness, all the apparent dead ends in our lives, and expose them to the light of God’s mercy in Jesus Christ. We, all of us, who have lived in the slavery of our own sinfulness, have been made free by the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Yes, brothers and sisters, as Pope Francis recently preached, “He has healed us at the very core of our existence.”

We would do well to think about this, and to think how beautiful, how liberating it is to be child of God.

It is good that only God loves with the love that can heal.

It is good that our God loves so much that He’s willing to go to the Cross for us.

It is good that Jesus on the Cross is God with skin on, a God up close and personal and touching, a God who actually cares for each and every one of us.

It is good that God wants His disciples to seek healing, to implore God boldly and unceasingly.

For the Risen Christ lives. He lives in our world…speaking...guiding...healing…walking with us...eating, drinking, crying. And He wants us to join Him in His healing work.

And so today, let’s all of us make an act of surrender, an act of childlike abandonment.  Let’s take all that we have, all that we are, and turn it over to God. He wants to take it all, and He does so out of a love so great it’s beyond our understanding.

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

“Heal me, Lord.” Let that be your prayer. “Heal me, Lord, of all that is keeping me from being one with you.”

Praised be Jesus Christ…now and forever.

News You Won't See on TV

Our politically correct and remarkably biased mainstream media can always be counted on to ignore any news that doesn't fit it's worldview, particularly when that news involves the persecution of Christians. Here are just a few of those intentionally overlooked news stories that I came across during less than a half-hour of browsing on the web. I've including a link to each story.

Christians tortured and enslaved in Sinai. This is a horrendous story involving kidnapping, torture, slavery and murder. It describes how more than 7,000 Eritrean Christians were taken from their homes and treated abominably by Arab Beduins. Probably 4,000 of them died as a result of this murderous treatment. Read the complete story, one you are not likely to see on the network evening news...and then ask yourself, "Why not? Why hasn't this been reported?"

Iranian Christians continue to be tried for apostasy and illegal worship. You may recall (if you get your news from non-mainstream sources) that Saeed Abedini, an Iranian-American pastor, was sentenced to eight years in prison last year for "starting a house church aimed to disrupt national security." Such trials are still taking place. Mostafa Bordbar, another Christian convert, is currently being tried in Iran's Revolutionary Court in Tehran. And he is just one of many Christians imprisoned simply because they are Christians. 

Port Said church attacked by Mursi supporters. Gunmen, thought to be supporters of ousted Egyptian president Mohamed Mursi, for the third time in 24 hours, attacked sites in Port Said. In this incident, the Islamists fired on the Mar Mina Church. Fortunately there were no casualties from the attack, although only three days earlier a Coptic priest was murdered in the coastal Sinai city of El Arish. His murder was preceded by attacks at four military checkpoints in the region. Mursi's Muslim Brotherhood has been fierce in its criticism of Coptic Pope Tawadros who is the spiritual leader of Egypt's more than 8 million Coptic Christians. Under Mursi's government, strongly supported by most Islamist groups, including the Muslim Brotherhood, the persecution of Egyptian Christians increased dramatically in both frequency and intensity.

Saudis force Ramadan on non-Muslims. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, a nation we consider, for some unknown reason, an ally, continues to display its unique brand of religious intolerance. During the holy month of Ramadan, when Muslims are required to fast from food, drink, and smoking during daylight hours, the authorities have decreed that all foreigners, including non-Muslims, must also follow the Ramadan fast. Those whom the religious police see breaking the fast in public will be arrested, fired from their jobs, and expelled from the kingdom. What a country!

The following story doesn't relate directly to Christian persecution, but it is symptomatic of how so-called liberals love to force their distorted worldview on others, particularly the Catholic Church.

Jimmy Carter: Catholic Church Causes Discrimination. Former President Jimmy Carter, certainly among the worst of our twentieth-century presidents, continues to cement his reputation as our worst ex-president. The man simply refuses to sit on the front porch of the family farmhouse in Plains and dictate another volume of soporific memoirs. No, dedicated to embarrassing himself and our nation, he has become a globe-trotting, self-appointed ambassador who apparently believes he is called to solve the most pressing of the world's problems. Sadly, his solutions are inevitably wrongheaded and only exacerbate the problems they are intended to solve. Spurred on by these failures, he has now decided to take on the Catholic Church, which he considers a prime cause of sexism because of its refusal to ordain women priests. His comments, repeated in the linked article, only highlight his ignorance of both Church history and Catholic theology. The Church, of course, will not change its teaching since it believes it is based on divine, not human, law. I believe I can safely say that the Church will listen politely to our former president, ignore his words, and continue to pray for him.

Flannery O'Connor on Christianity today

O'Connor with peacock at Andalusia

Among the books in my personal library, perhaps my favorite is the fascinating collection of Flannery O'Connor's letters, The Habit of Being (1988). Here's a sample of her straightforward wisdom:

"One of the effects of modern liberal Protestantism has been gradually to turn religion into poetry and therapy, to make truth vaguer and vaguer and more and more relative, to banish intellectual distinctions, to depend on feeling instead of thought, and gradually to come to believe that God has no power, that he cannot communicate with us, cannot reveal himself to us, indeed has not done so, and that religion is our own sweet invention. This seems to be about where you find yourself now. Of course, I am a Catholic and I believe the opposite of all this." - Flannery O'Connor in a letter to Alfred Corn, June 16, 1962

And some wonder at the dwindling congregations of mainline Protestant churches. Honest seekers of the truth with not look where the very concept of objective truth is rejected.


O'Connor died of lupus in 1964 at age 39. The above photo shows her on the front steps of her family farm, Andalusia in Milledgeville, Georgia, as she greets one of her beloved peacocks.

Homily: 13th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings:1 Kgs 19:16-21; Ps 19; Gal 5:1,13-18; Lke 9:51-62

Growing up in suburban New York back in the fifties, I loved the long days of summer vacation. And I especially liked those hours of daylight between supper and sunset. Right after dinner, all the kids in the neighborhood would run out into the street to play stick-ball or curb-ball, two perfect games created by God for the exclusive enjoyment of the children of New York. We’d play until right before sunset, for that’s when we’d begin to hear voices, the voices of mothers calling for their children.

The youngest would always be called first. Then came the twins, Robert and Dick Moll, whose strict Jewish mother was sure they’d be hit by a car if they stayed out a minute past dusk. Next came Larry Henriques, Kenny Flowers, Teddy Nichols, and me. And then the older kids, who’d get maybe another 15 minutes.

It was quite a ritual. I was particularly good at pleading and begging for more time. “It’s a tie game, Mom. We can’t end on a tie game.” Sometimes it actually worked and I’d win a few precious minutes. But more often the next thing I’d hear would be the booming voice of my father. This was no request. It was a command. The alternative? Well, that was something no ten-year-old mind wanted to dwell on. So when my father called, I obeyed...well, usually.

Remembering those days, I realized how little we change as we age. Oh, we change on the surface. We mature physically, emotionally, and intellectually. We may no longer look like children, but we are still childish in so many ways. We’ve learned to place a few controls on our emotions, so we won’t embarrass ourselves in polite company. And unlike children with their transparent excuses, we’ve learned to create and express nice-sounding, politically correct rationales for our less-than-perfect behavior. Quite simply, we’ve become devious. Hiding behind our age and the trappings of adulthood, we manage to fool ourselves into believing we’re no longer the naïve, dependent children we once were.

Indeed, most of us actually believe we’re self-sufficient, independent beings, in complete control of our lives. We have our homes, our jobs, our investments, our nice cars, our retirement home in The Villages… Everything is right with our little world.

But then reality intrudes in the form of the Gospel. In the Gospel we’re confronted by uncomfortable truths that conflict with our seemingly comfortable lives.

The first truth? We are all called. And Jesus’ call is at the very heart of Christian discipleship.

In today’s Gospel passage, Jesus, knowing what lies ahead of Him in Jerusalem, nevertheless begins His journey full of resolve because His mission is nothing less than the salvation of humanity. And as He and His disciples make their way across Samaria, Jesus continues to call us to Him. “Follow me,” He says, first to one, then another. Jesus calls them – the same invitation He offers to you and to me. And what’s their response? What’s our response?

Like the children playing in that New York street 50 years ago, all those called by Jesus expressed a willingness to comply…just not quite yet. Each made an excuse for putting it off. Each was bound to his current life by something he considered more important than God and His call. How utterly foolish of them…and of us! They fell prey to the misguided and soul-destroying belief that the things of this world take precedence over God.

Oh, their excuses sound legitimate enough. “Let me bury my father first,” one replied. Sounds reasonable, until we understand what he really meant. His father, you see, was still alive or the man wouldn’t have been there. It was Jewish custom to bury their dead on the same day they died.

What this young man was really saying is that he was not yet willing to leave the comforts of home and family. Maybe after his father died…But Jesus would have none of it. “Come away and proclaim the kingdom of God,” He responds. Jesus knows that, in everything, there’s a crucial moment when one is expected to act. This was this young man’s crucial moment, and he missed it.

When another expressed a desire to respond, Jesus looked into his heart and saw unwillingness to accept the poverty and insecurity he’ll be called to face. “The Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.” Are you ready for that?

Still another wanted to say goodbye to the folks at home, but Jesus told him a disciple must be prepared to sacrifice everything, even the affection of a family. “Whoever puts his hand to the plow but keeps looking back is unfit for the reign of God.” Everyone in that rural audience knew that if one wants to plow a straight furrow, he must pay attention to where he’s going, not where he’s been.

They also knew the story told in our first reading. When called by Elijah, Elisha, a wealthy man with 12 yoke of oxen, gave up everything. Using his wooden plows as fuel, he barbecued his oxen, distributed the food among his people. He gave up every asset, left his parents, and broke all ties with his comfortable life. There was no going back for Elisha.

The world sees Elisha’s actions as the height of irresponsibility, but God doesn’t call us to conform to the world. He calls us to conform to His Will.

Some of you may object that God’s call is reserved for prophets and saints, for specially chosen men and women. And you’d be wrong. God issues His call to each of us. As St. Paul told the people of Galatia, “Remember that you have been called to live in freedom – but not a freedom that gives reign to the flesh.”

For here lies one of the great truths and great paradoxes of Christianity: We are truly free only when we accept our complete dependence on the will of God. Anything else leads to slavery, the slavery of sin, the slavery of materialism, the slavery of setting ourselves up like gods in control of our own destiny.

Listen to the call of Christ. It is Christ who sets us free – who calls us to freedom. Stand firm, St. Paul instructs us, don’t slip back into slavery.

But sometimes it’s easier to remain enslaved. Like the faithless Israelites who cursed Moses for leading them into the suffering of the desert. Better to live in slavery than to die in the desert. It’s no different today. The entire world – the world of media, advertising, entertainment, politics – all the machinery of our secular society entices us into slavery. It’s a message designed to drown out the message of Jesus Christ: “Listen to us” the world shouts at us, “We will tell you what you want!”

But Jesus doesn’t shout. He doesn’t force us. No, He asks us; for He respects our freedom.

“What do you want?” he asks. Do you really want the life in the Spirit I have promised you?

Do you really want to follow me? Do you want the exhilarating joy of God’s freedom?

If you walk in my light, if you walk in the light of Christ, I will free you from the darkness that surrounds you.

What do you want?

And then, brothers and sisters, you and I are left to give our answer.

Homily: 12th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Zed 12:10-11;13:1 ;Ps 63; Gal 3:26-29; Lk 9:18-24

Something we notice when reading the Gospels is that Jesus always seems to be asking questions. Now, when you and I ask a question, we’re usually looking for an answer. We want to know something we didn’t know before. But Jesus asks questions not to inform Himself, but to inform the person being questioned.

For example, I know you all remember that remarkable scene when the friends of a paralytic lower him through the roof, hoping Jesus would heal him. Jesus responds by saying, “Child, your sins are forgiven.” Now this really bothers a group of scribes who witness the scene and they whisper among themselves, accusing Jesus of blasphemy. Jesus simply turns and asks them: “Why are you thinking such things in your hearts? Yes, Jesus knows the answer, but He wants the scribes to think about what they’re doing, to examine their own consciences.

And remember that wonderful incident in Jericho when Jesus confronted Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, and asked him: “What do you want me to do for you?” Bartimaeus simply responded, “Master, I want to see.” No surprise there. But then Jesus says, “Go your way; your faith has saved you.”

Jesus said nothing about healing his physical blindness, but instead addressed the state of Bartimaeus’ soul. Jesus didn’t say, “I have healed you.” No, He said, “…your faith has saved you.” Bartimaeus received his sight immediately, both his physical and his spiritual sight; for we’re told he stayed with Jesus and followed Him on the way.

And then there’s that scene in John’s Gospel when almost all of His disciples left Him because they couldn’t accept His teaching on the Eucharist. Jesus asked the Apostles, “Do you also want to leave?” It’s Peter who responded, and with a question of his own: “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.

Yes, Jesus is always asking questions, and in today’s reading from Luke, He again questioned the Apostles. This brief dialogue took place at Caesarea Philippi – not a Jewish place, but a pagan place. Nearby were temples devoted to the pagan gods, to the Syrian god, Baal, and to the Greek god, Pan, the god of the wild, of nature. There was even a temple there celebrating the divinity of the Roman emperor. In the midst of all this, surrounded by false gods made by men in their own image and likeness, Jesus confronts the twelve and asks: “Who do the crowds say that I am?”

Such a simple, non-threatening question – just tell me what folks are saying. Take a poll, sample public opinion, let me know what the man or woman in the street thinks about me. Today he probably would have said, “Did you Google my name? What popped up?”

Oh, yes, all kinds of things popped up…lots of things.  And so they told Him. After all, they had no stake in it. They had only to pass along the opinions of others.

Once again, Jesus knows the answer, for He too has certainly heard the crowds. He knows full well what the people say about Him: He is a prophet, John the Baptist or Elijah or Jeremiah, returned from the dead. And this exactly is what the Apostles tell Him.

But, again, Jesus didn’t ask the question to hear what He already knows. No, He wants the Apostles to question themselves about His identity…because their answer will determine their future. Once they come to a firm understanding of exactly who Jesus is, and once they accept the truth of that answer, their lives will change forever. And so Jesus leads them into the future by asking them: “But who do you say that I am?”

And again it’s Peter who shows the way. Peter, the de facto leader of the twelve, the boaster who hides his weakness behind a façade of bluster, the disciple who will shed tears of shame in the face of his threefold denial – yes, it’s this Peter who can answer by saying: “The Christ of God.” In Matthew’s Gospel his words are slightly different: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

Filled with the Spirit, Peter exclaims, “You are the promised One, the One sent by God.” It’s confirmed when Jesus tells them to keep quiet. And He goes on to tell them what will happen to Him: He, the long-awaited Messiah, will be rejected by those who await Him. The One sent by God will suffer greatly and be killed.

As Zechariah prophesied in our first reading, “they shall look on him whom they have pierced, and they shall mourn for him.” But He also gives them a glimpse of hope: on the third day He will be raised.

Of course the disciples understand nothing of this. The very thought of a murdered Messiah simply doesn’t compute. But there’s more…because discipleship has consequences. Jesus leads them into their own future, for they must follow Him, take the same path, a path that leads to the Cross. It’s here He introduces the great paradox of Christian life: that we will save our lives, only if we’re willing to risk losing our lives. And if we do, God will raise us just as He raised up His Son on the third day.

You see, Jesus was looking for more than a quick one-liner answer to His question. He was looking for an answer that lasts a lifetime. It wasn’t a question just for those first disciples, for Peter and that small band of followers. For Jesus turns to us as well…

“You there! Yes, you…Who do you say that I am?”

Deep down we all know what He means, don’t we? Do I really have to take up those crosses – those people, those hardships, those sorrows, those personal calamities – that conspire to make my life so difficult?

“Yes, if you would be my disciple.”

As Paul told us, “For all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.” To be “clothed in Christ” is to accept the cost of discipleship, to accept His invitation to love, to love as Jesus loved when He took up His cross. This is what it means to be a cross-bearer alongside Our Lord.

And so He continues to question us, “Who do you say that I am?” The question just hangs in the air, doesn’t it? It won’t go away, brothers and sisters. We can try to ignore it, drown it out with the sounds of our lives…but it remains, waiting for an answer.

Jesus doesn’t want opinions. He wants an answer: “Who do you say that I am?”  There comes a time when we must answer this question, make our own confessions, as Peter did. But along with the question comes the promise of joy, the promise of eternal life beyond our imagining.

Brothers and sisters, Jesus is here with us right now, present in this gathering as he always is — the walking, talking, living presence of God in our lives. We have already listened to Him as He spoke to us through His Word, and in a few moments, He’ll be present on this Altar. When we join together and process to communion, when we extend our hands, when we eat and drink, will we be able to give him our final answer — no opinions, just the testimony of our lives. “Who do you say that I am?

Homily: Wednesday, 12th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Gen 15:1-12,17-18; Ps 105; Mt 7:15-20
Do you remember that preacher, Harold Camping, who predicted the world would end on October 21, 2011. He collected all sorts of donations from supporters, and used much of the money to put up billboards across the country announcing his prediction. I recall seeing several along the interstate on one of our trips up north. Of course, as it turned out, he wasn’t a very adept prophet, and the fateful day came and went.

About the same time we began to hear rumblings from new-agers that centuries ago the Mayans had predicted the world would end on December 21, 2012. It seems that millions of people throughout the world had become convinced that these primitive folks apparently had some inside knowledge. Of course, that day came and went as well. The prophecy was grudgingly accepted as false and I suppose the true believers are now searching for the next false prophet.

Yes, our world is filled with false prophets and their followers, people so caught up in their fantasies that they’re unable to recognize the truth. But many not only reject the truth; they reject the source of all truth. They reject God Himself. And by doing so they can’t accept that humanity’s ultimate vocation is salvation, eternal life, the reason we were created in the first place.

In the Gospel passage we just heard from the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus warns us about false prophets, telling us we can recognize them by their fruits. How easy to listen to the words of the false prophet, all the while ignoring what those words yield.

False prophets abound, but fortunately we have the example of others, of those who yield good fruit. How blessed we’ve been with the saintly popes who have led the Church in recent years – with John Paul, Benedict and Francis.

But this has been true in every age of the Church. The Spirit seems always to raise up the saintly men and women most needed by the Church and the world. Whenever the Church faced a crisis, God supplied just the right person to handle it; people like Leo the Great, Catherine of Sienna, Francis Assisi, and two saints whose feasts we celebrated just last Saturday: Thomas More and John Fisher.

Both were executed by King Henry VIII because they refused to accept the king’s temporal authority over Christ’s universal Church. Who could be more relevant to our own times?  Indeed, Pope John Paul II named Thomas More the patron saint of political leaders.

Our modern politicians would do well to emulate these two 16th-century martyrs, for each was both wise and virtuous. In wisdom each applied his intelligence toward the accomplishment of what was good, and in virtue each habitually chose the good, regardless of the consequences.
This, of course, demands courage, the sort of personal courage rare among politicians of any time and place, but increasingly rare today.

How sad that we live in a world where true wisdom and true virtue are more often ridiculed than praised. For too many, cleverness has supplanted wisdom and pragmatism has replaced virtue, and the intoxicating and corrupting influence of power becomes oh so apparent. Too many see no difference between good and bad fruit because they no longer recognize virtue, they do longer discriminate between good and evil.

Relativism has replaced truth, and like Pontius Pilate they can look into the eyes of their God and sneer, “What is truth?” Like Pilate, some trees are deceivingly and splendidly arrayed, but have no fruit…while others bear only bad fruit, because they have chosen their will over God’s.

The Church will provide today’s prophets, brothers and sisters, and we will recognize them by their fruits. The patron of our parish, St. Vincent de Paul, warned his brothers not to become those wolves in sheep‘s clothing that Jesus warned us about.

In Vincent’s words…

“They pride themselves on their inflated imaginations. They are satisfied with the sweet exchanges they have with God in prayer; they even talk about it like angels. But when they come away is there any question of working for God, of suffering, practicing mortification, teaching the poor, searching for the lost sheep, being pleased when they lack something, accepting sickness or some other misfortune? No, let us not deceive ourselves: our whole task consists in doing the Father’s will.”

And that, brothers and sisters, is our task as well.