Sunday, March 27, 2016

Nosotros somos testigos


Homilía: Domingo de Pascua – Ciclo C
          Somos testigos... En su definición más básica, un testigo es alguien que ve un evento ocurra. Por lo general, asociamos un testigo con un procedimiento judicial. Debido a esto, todos reconocen en general que sea un testigo conlleva responsabilidades, específicamente la responsabilidad de contar qué es lo que hemos visto o experimentado. Aquí en los Estados Unidos, uno sólo puede exigirse a "dar testimonio" en un tribunal de justicia. De lo contrario, tenemos el "derecho a permanecer en silencio." Para los cristianos, sin embargo, este derecho no necesariamente existir. Ciertamente, nuestra libertad de permanecer en silencio nunca puede ser tomado de nosotros. Sin embargo, como cristianos, creemos que un encuentro con el Cristo resucitado exige una respuesta kerygmática. De hecho, es una respuesta encargado por Cristo cuando dijo a sus discípulos: "Ustedes son testigos...".
          Sé que muchos de ustedes probablemente me están mirando y diciendo: "Yo te estaba siguiendo justo hasta esta palabra que comienza con “k”. Si, kerygmática. En primer lugar déjeme decirle que no es importante que sepa cómo decir esta palabra y es mucho menos importante que sepa deletrearlo. Ahora déjeme decirle lo que significa. Kerygmática es una palabra griega que significa una proclamación convincente de lo que uno ha visto y oído. Para los cristianos, kerigma es una proclamación que el Jesús crucificado y resucitado es el acto final y definitiva de la salvación de Dios.
          Imagínese por un momento que alguien se ponía de pie en esta asamblea y decía esto: "Hermanos y hermanas, ustedes recuerdan este hombre, Jesús de Nazaret, el profeta, poderoso en palabras y hechos, que trabajó muchas señales y prodigios en medio de nosotros y al que alabábamos como nuestro rey al entrar en esta ciudad; este hombre al que luego vimos cómo fue condenado injustamente y conducido fuera para ser crucificado. Me presento ante ustedes hoy y les digo que él ha resucitado a la vida y que yo le he visto. Y no sólo a mí, pero estos otros hombres, también. Le hemos visto cara a cara. Le hemos oído hablar y hemos visto sus manos y sus pies. Incluso hemos comido con él y por lo que estamos seguros de que no es ningún fantasma que hemos visto, pero un hombre vivo. En verdad, les digo, este Jesús, el crucificado, ha resucitado a la vida." Se puede imaginar que este tipo de testigo sería bastante potente. Este es exactamente el testimonio que Pedro da en la primera lectura de hoy.
          Durante estos últimos días, fuimos testigos de muchas cosas. En primer lugar, el jueves por la noche, fuimos testigos de la última cena en la que Jesús, sabiendo que estaba a punto de morir, instituyó la Eucaristía, dando a sus doce discípulos más cercanos a su cuerpo para comer y su sangre para beber en forma de pan y vino. Al mismo tiempo, hemos sido testigos de cómo se instituyó el sacerdocio esa misma noche con el fin de asegurar que esta Eucaristía continuaría después de que él se había ido. Y fuimos testigos de cómo Jesús se inclinó para lavar los pies de sus discípulos, dándoles un ejemplo de cómo es que fueran a servir a los demás. Por último, fuimos testigos de cómo él salió al jardín para orar y fue detenido después de que fue traicionado por Judas, uno de sus doce discípulos más cercanos.
          Luego, el viernes, fuimos testigos de cómo Jesús fue llevado ante Poncio Pilato y fue condenado injustamente. Tal vez ni siquiera sintió el aguijón de la culpa, ya que se unieron a las multitudes que gritaban "¡Crucifícalo! ¡Crucifícalo!" y que exigió la liberación de Barrabás el asesino en lugar de Jesús. Fuimos testigos de cómo se llevó su propia cruz y fue crucificado en el Calvario. Tal vez el dolor de nuestros pecados nos movió a venerar la cruz ese día: la cruz en la que Jesús sufrió por nuestros pecados, sino a través de la que nos hace libres. Al final, vimos como su cuerpo muerto fue bajado de la cruz y puso en un sepulcro antes del anochecer de la noche.
          El sábado, fuimos testigos del silencio extraño y misterioso que siempre viene con el Sábado Santo. "Hay un gran silencio en la tierra hoy en día, un gran silencio y la quietud", escribió un antiguo predicador cristiano. Y continúa: "Toda la tierra guarda silencio porque el Rey duerme." Fuimos testigos del sepulcro cerrado de nuestro Señor y se observó el descanso del sábado. Nos sentábamos y esperábamos, sin saber si lo que Jesús había dicho acerca de la resurrección era verdad y, en caso afirmativo, cómo y cuándo sucederá. Fuimos testigos de la caída de la noche y nos sentimos ansiedad de no saber lo que sostendría el futuro y la tristeza en nuestros corazones por haber perdido, al parecer, todo lo que habíamos esperado.
          Ahora hoy venimos aquí y somos testigos de la increíble noticia que ha llegado a nosotros de las mujeres que fueron a del sepulcro: "Se han llevado del sepulcro al Señor" y nosotros somos testigos de lo que Pedro nos decía después de que él corrió al sepulcro y lo encontró vacía. "¿Podría ser que el Señor ha resucitado?" Sí, Pedro, ha resucitado, y de esto somos testigos.
          Mis hermanos y hermanas, somos testigos. Nos hemos encontrado con el Cristo resucitado. De hecho, nos encontramos con él todos los domingos, aquí, en este altar. Pedro y los otros discípulos sabía que una vez que se habían encontrado con el Cristo resucitado, no podían permanecer en el Cenáculo, pero tuvo que salir de allí para anunciar lo que habían visto y oído. Y lo mismo ocurre con nosotros. Por mucho que ya no se puede alegar ignorancia de nuestros pecados, después de haber visto el sufrimiento que causaron nuestro Señor, ya no podemos permanecer inactivo, tampoco.
          Ite. Missa est. Los más viejos entre nosotros recordarán que estas son las palabras de despido de la misa que se celebró en latín. Irónicamente, a pesar de que la nueva traducción de la misa se pretendía imitar más cerca el latín, el despido parece haber escapado ese tratamiento. Traducido literalmente, la frase en latín significa "Vayan. Es el despido". Sin embargo, la palabra "despido", en el sentido de que se utiliza en latín, significa algo más que "ustedes son libre de salir" al igual que lo hace en español. Significa, más bien, "que son enviados" y se entiende que esta "enviando" implica algún tipo de misión. Missa. Misión. Esas palabras suenan relacionados, ¿verdad?
          Todos los domingos, y de manera particularmente poderosa en domingo de Pascua, participamos de nuevo en la vida, muerte y resurrección de Cristo; nos encontramos de nuevo al Señor resucitado en la Palabra y el Sacramento. Mis hermanos y hermanas, somos testigos. Por lo tanto, el despido en la misa no es el final de nuestra obligación cristiana de la semana (o del año, ¿tal vez?), sino que es sólo el principio. El privilegio de ser testigo—y es un privilegio—trae consigo la responsabilidad de anunciar lo que hemos visto y oído en todos los lugares donde vivimos. Basta con escuchar a nuestro difunto Santo Padre, San Juan Pablo II, quien dijo al inicio de su pontificado, "No tenga miedo de salir a las calles y los lugares públicos—¡como los primeros apóstoles!—a predicar a Cristo y la buenas nuevas de salvación en las plazas de las ciudades." Si seamos testigos auténticos, entonces debemos tomar en serio esta "enviando" que recibimos hoy y todos los domingos.
          Puesto que estamos aprendiendo vocabulario griego hoy, vamos a probar una más: ¿Alguien sabe cuál es la palabra griega que significa "testigo"? Es mártir. Que nuestra kerigma, nuestro testimonio, de Cristo resucitado quien encontramos aquí en esta misa ganar para nosotros tan noble título.
Dado en la parroquia Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN – 27 de marzo, 2016

We are witnesses


Homily: Easter Sunday – Cycle C
          We are witnesses…  In its most basic definition, a witness is someone who sees an event take place.  Typically, we associate a witness with legal proceedings.  Because of this, we all generally recognize that being a witness carries with it responsibilities, specifically the responsibility to recount what it is we have seen or experienced.  Here in the United States, one can only be demanded to “give witness” in a court of law.  Otherwise, we have the “right to remain silent.”  For Christians, however, this right doesn’t necessarily exist.  Certainly, our freedom to remain silent can never be taken from us.  Nevertheless, as Christians we believe that an encounter with the risen Christ demands a kerygmatic response.  It is in fact a response commissioned by Christ when he told his disciples, “You are witnesses….”
          Now I know many of you are probably looking at me and saying, “I was with you right up until that “K”-word.  Right, kerygmatic.  First let me tell you that it is not important that you know how to say this word and it is even less important that you know how to spell it (if it wasn’t for spell-check, I would get it wrong every time).  Now let me tell you what it means.  It’s a Greek word that means a convincing proclamation of what one has seen and heard.  For Christians, kerygma is a proclamation that the crucified and risen Jesus is God’s final and definitive act of salvation.  Imagine for a moment that someone would stand up in this assembly and say: “Brothers and Sisters, you remember this man, Jesus of Nazareth, the prophet mighty in word and deed, who worked many signs and wonders in our midst and whom we lauded as our king as he entered this city; this man whom we then watched as he was condemned wrongfully and led off to be crucified.  I stand before you today and tell you that he has been raised to life and that I have seen him.  And not only me, but these other men, too.  We have seen him face to face.  We have heard him talk and have seen his hands and his feet.  We have even eaten with him and so are assured that it is no ghost that we have seen, but a living man.  Truly, I tell you, this Jesus, who was crucified, has been raised to life.”  You can imagine that this kind of a witness would be pretty powerful.  This is exactly the witness that Peter gives in our first reading today.
          Over these last few days, we have witnessed many things.  First, on Thursday night, we witnessed the Last Supper in which Jesus, knowing that he was about to die, instituted the Eucharist by giving to his twelve closest disciples his body to eat and blood to drink in the form of bread and wine.  At the same time, we witnessed how he instituted the priesthood that same night in order to ensure that this Eucharist would continue after he was gone.  And we witnessed how Jesus bent low to wash his disciples’ feet, giving them an example of how it is that they were to serve one another.  Finally, we witnessed how he went out to the garden to pray and was arrested after he was betrayed by Judas, one of his twelve closest disciples.
          Then, on Friday, we witnessed how Jesus was brought before Pontius Pilate and was condemned unjustly.  Perhaps we even felt the sting of guilt as we joined in with the crowds who shouted “Crucify him!  Crucify him!” and who demanded for the release of Barabbas the murderer instead of Jesus.  We witnessed how he carried his own cross and was crucified on Calvary.  Perhaps the sorrow for our sins moved us to venerate the cross that day: the cross on which Jesus suffered for our sins, but through which he set us free.  At the end, we watched as his dead body was taken down from the cross and laid in a tomb before nightfall that night.
          On Saturday, we witnessed that strange, eerie silence that always comes with Holy Saturday.  “There is a great silence on earth today, a great silence and stillness” an ancient Christian homilist wrote.  He continues, “The whole earth keeps silence because the King is asleep.”  We witnessed the closed tomb of our Lord and (hopefully) witnessed the Sabbath rest.  We sat and waited, not knowing if what Jesus had said about the resurrection was true and, if so, how and when it would come about.  We witnessed night fall and felt the anxiety of not knowing what the future would hold and the sadness in our hearts for having lost, it seemed, all that we had hoped for.
          Now this morning we come here and we are witnesses to the incredible news that has come to us from the women who went to the tomb: “They have taken the Lord from the tomb!” and we are witnesses of what Peter would tell us after he ran to the tomb and found it empty.  “Could it be that our Lord has risen?”  Yes, Peter, he is risen and of this we are witnesses.
          My brothers and sisters, we are witnesses.  We have encountered the risen Christ.  In fact, we encounter him every Sunday, here at this altar. Peter and the other disciples knew that once they had encountered the risen Christ, they could not remain in the Upper Room, but had to go forth from there to proclaim what they had seen and heard.  And so it is with us.  As much as we can no longer claim ignorance of our sins, having seen the suffering that they caused our Lord, no longer can we stand idle, either.
          Ite. Missa est.  Those old enough will recall that these are the words of dismissal from the Mass as it was celebrated in Latin.  Ironically, even though the new English translation of the mass was intended to more closely emulate the Latin, the dismissal seems to have somehow escaped that treatment.  Literally translated, the Latin phrase means “Go.  It is the dismissal.”  However, the word “dismissal,” in the sense that it is used in Latin, means something more than “you are free to go” like it does in English.  It means, rather, “you are sent forth” and it is understood that this “sending forth” involves some sort of mission.  Missa.  Dismissal.  Mission.  Those words all sound related, don’t they?
          Every Sunday, and in a particularly powerful way on Easter Sunday, we participate anew in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ; we encounter again the risen Lord in Word and Sacrament.  My brothers and sisters, we are witnesses.  Therefore, the dismissal at Mass is never the end of our Christian obligation for the week (or for the year, perhaps?), but rather it is just the beginning.  The privilege of being a witness—and it is a privilege—brings with it the responsibility to proclaim what we have seen and heard in every place where we live.  Just listen to our late Holy Father, Saint Pope John Paul II, who said at the beginning of his pontificate, “Do not be afraid to go out into the streets and the public places—like the first apostles!—to preach Christ and the good news of salvation in the squares of cities.”  If we are to be authentic witnesses then we must take seriously this “sending forth” that we receive today and every Sunday.
          Since we are learning Greek vocabulary today, why don’t we try one more?  Does anyone know what the Greek word for “witness” is?  It’s martyr.  May our kerygma, our witness, of the risen Christ whom we encounter here at this Mass earn for us so noble a title.
Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 27th, 2016

The light and the water / La Luz y el agua

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Homily/Homilía: Easter Vigil/Vigilia de la Pascua – Cycle/Ciclo C
          What an amazing night that God has blessed us with to celebrate this beautiful liturgy in which we stand watch for the resurrection of Our Lord Jesus.  It is a liturgy unlike any throughout the year which truly engages all of our senses.  We started with the fire outside and walked in procession into a darkened church, which nonetheless became bright with the light of the candles and we sang the praises both of this night, which alone knew the hour that our Savior arose from the dead, and of this candle, whose light we shared and broke through the darkness of the night, just like Christ’s resurrection broke through the darkness of death.
          Then we heard the Word of God proclaimed to us: the word which reminds us of the many ways that God has worked throughout history to bring salvation to the human race; and specifically how he has used water to bring it about.  Soon we will welcome eight of our brothers and sisters to be washed in the waters of baptism so that they, too, might “grow into union with him through a death like his” and thus “be united with him in the resurrection.”  So prominent are these two elements—the light and the water—that it bears to speak of them with a little more detail.  First, the light.
          Darkness is a fearful thing, isn’t it?  Anyone here still afraid of the dark?  It can also be a very disorienting thing.  If you find yourself in an unfamiliar place and experience true total darkness, you’ll find yourself becoming very anxious, very quickly because you soon realize that without the aid of light, you have almost no hope to escape.  You become frozen.  Light, therefore, removes darkness and gives us confidence to move and to find our way.  In the Gospel tonight, however, we heard of how the light shining off of the two men sitting in the tomb of Jesus was not a comfort, but a thing of fear; and so we see that even the light can terrify us when it is misunderstood.  We have been enlightened, though, to understand that the brilliance of this light is the glory of Christ shining upon us and so we are comforted.  Tonight, this light shines especially on our elect, who will receive this light into their souls through baptism.
          And what about the water?  Water, for all of us, is a sign of life.  Not too long ago, scientists identified what they thought were signs that there was water on Mars and they rejoiced because, for them, it means that life could exist on that planet.  Water cleanses us; it refreshes us; but it can also be destructive, right?  Think back to the recent tsunamis in the Philippines and in Japan.  Water has the power to cause massive destruction and the loss of life.  In our first reading from the book of Exodus, we heard how the Lord saved the Israelites from the Egyptians by holding the water of the Red Sea like a wall to their right and to their left while they passed through the sea to the other side.  Then, when the Egyptians tried to follow them through, the Lord allowed the water to flow back down and it covered them and destroyed them.  Christ, our Lord, calls our elect to pass through these waters—the waters of baptism—to be cleansed, to be given a new heart, and to come and drink freely of his goodness; and so with courage they enter into it.  The light and the water: earthly elements made powerful by God to bring new life to those dead in sin.

          Qué asombrosa esa noche con que Dios nos ha bendecido para celebrar esta hermosa liturgia en la que nos estamos en vigilia para la resurrección de Nuestro Señor Jesús. Es una liturgia como ninguna en todo el año, lo que realmente se involucra todos nuestros sentidos. Empezábamos con el fuego fuera y caminamos en procesión en una iglesia sin luz, que no obstante se iluminó con la luz de las velas y cantamos las alabanzas tanto de esta noche, la única que sabía la hora que nuestro Salvador se levantó de entre los muertos, y de esta vela, cuya luz que hemos compartido y que derrumbó la oscuridad de la noche, al igual que la resurrección de Cristo derrumbó la oscuridad de la muerte.
          Entonces oímos la Palabra de Dios proclamada a nosotros: la palabra que nos recuerda de las muchas maneras en que Dios ha trabajado a lo largo de la historia para salvar a la raza humana; y, específicamente, cómo se ha utilizado el agua para llevarla a cabo. Pronto daremos la bienvenida a ocho de nuestros hermanos y hermanas ser lavados en las aguas del bautismo para que también ellos pueden estar “íntimamente unidos a él por una muerte semejante a la suya” y así estar unidos con él “en su resurrección.” Tan prominentes son estos dos elementos, la luz y el agua, que merece hablar de ellos con un poco más de detalle. En primer lugar, la luz.
          La oscuridad es una cosa terrible, ¿verdad? También puede ser una cosa muy desorientador. La luz, por lo tanto, elimina la oscuridad y nos da confianza para seguir y encontrar nuestro camino. En el Evangelio de esta noche, sin embargo, hemos escuchado de cómo la luz que brilla fuera de los dos hombres que estaban en el sepulcro de Jesús no era un consuelo, pero una cosa del miedo; y así vemos que incluso la luz que nos puede asustar cuando es mal interpretado. Hemos sido iluminados, sin embargo, para entender que el brillo de esta luz es la gloria de Cristo brillando sobre nosotros y por lo que estamos consolados. Esta noche, esta luz brilla sobre todo en nuestros elegidos, que recibirán esta luz en sus almas por medio del bautismo.
          Y ¿qué hay del agua? Agua, para todos nosotros, es un signo de vida. El agua nos limpia y nos refresca; pero también puede ser destructivo, ¿verdad? Piense de nuevo a los recientes tsunamis en las Filipinas y en Japón. El agua tiene el poder de causar una destrucción masiva y la pérdida de la vida. En nuestra primera lectura, tomada del libro del Éxodo, oímos cómo el Señor salvó a los israelitas de los egipcios mediante la celebración de las aguas del Mar Rojo como una muralla a su derecha ya su izquierda, mientras que pasaron por el mar hasta el otro lado. Entonces, cuando los egipcios intentaron seguirles, el Señor permitió que el agua fluya de nuevo y que los cubrió y los destruyó. Cristo, nuestro Señor, llama a nuestras elegidos para pasar a través de estas aguas, las aguas del bautismo, para ser limpiados, para ser dado un nuevo corazón, y para venir a beber libremente de su bondad; y así, con el valor entran en él. La luz y el agua: elementos terrestres hechos poderosos por Dios para traer nueva vida a los muertos en el pecado.
          Al haber limpiado e iluminados nuestras hermanos y hermanas, nos reuniremos alrededor y compartir en la fiesta de nuestra salvación, el sacrificio de Jesús, resucitado de entre los muertos, hecha presente para nosotros en este altar; y vamos a abarcar una vez más el cielo y la tierra de una manera muy real, ya que comer el pan de los ángeles y compartir nuestra comunión con todos los santos en Cristo. Mis hermanos y hermanas, esto es una cosa alegre que celebramos y damos gracias a Jesucristo nuestro Señor, que murió para que nosotros pudiéramos vivir y que ahora vive y permanece con nosotros en estos sacramentos, sobre todo el sacramento de la Eucaristía. Que nuestra alegría por la celebración de estos sacramentos derrama de nuestros corazones en todos estos próximos cincuenta días para que nunca pueda dejar de alabar la gloria de nuestro Dios que ha venido a salvarnos por medio de Jesucristo nuestro Señor.

          Having cleansed and enlightened our brothers and sisters, we will then gather around and share in the feast of our salvation, the sacrifice of Jesus, risen from the dead, made present to us on this altar; and we will once again bridge heaven and earth in a very real way as we feast on the Bread of Angels and share our communion with all of the saints in Christ.  My brothers and sisters, this is a joyful thing that we celebrate and we give thanks to Christ Jesus our Lord who died so that we might live and who now lives and remains with us in these sacraments, most especially the sacrament of the Eucharist.  May our joy at the celebration of these sacraments pour out from our hearts throughout these next fifty days so that we may never cease to praise the glory of our God who has come to save us through our Lord Jesus Christ.
Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 26, 2016
Dado en la parroquia Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN – 26 de marzo, 2016

Friday, March 25, 2016

It is finished.

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Homily: Good Friday of the Lord’s Passion – Cycle C
          It is finished.  Although it’s difficult for us to forget something that we already know, let’s imagine for a moment that we are hearing these words for the first time.  Let’s imagine that we don’t know, as Paul Harvey would say, “the rest of the story.”
          Imagine a mother and a friend, looking up on the one they love so dear now horribly disfigured—and how their own countenances have been disfigured by their sorrow.  Intense fear and agony overwhelm them, yet we can imagine that there was still hope: hope that in spite of all the mocking and jeering he may yet work a miracle that would save him from this death. /// “It is finished.” /// Even for these, the ones who were closest to Christ’s heart, as the resurrection was yet unknown to them, these words must have cast a shadow of doubt on their hope in the fulfillment of all that God had promised them throughout the ages.
          Imagine also a crowd of priests and soldiers, looking with anxiety to ensure the execution is completed.  As the intensity of their fervor diminishes—as the intensity of their mocking and jeering subsides—imagine that a certain uneasiness crept into their hearts. /// “It is finished.” /// Outwardly, they agree and are satisfied; yet inwardly their consciences continue to question.
          Imagine the disciples who didn’t follow their master to that hill, those who were afraid and hid away.  Imagine their questions to those who returned.  “What happened?”  “Did they kill him?”  “Did he say anything before he died?” /// “It is finished.” /// The intensity of their fear spikes as they hear these words.  Immediately they are flooded with confusion and doubt about their future, about what it will mean to be a follower of his way.  In the days following, fishermen will return to their nets, women will prepare the final burial spices, and pilgrims will walk the long road back to their homes questioning how this could have been the end.
          It is only the light of the resurrection, however, that can reveal that what is finished—that is, what has ended—is not our hope in one who can save, but rather our slavery to sin.  Christ proclaimed these words from the cross as a definitive statement to the evil one that his reign had ended and that death—Satan’s last power over man—had been forever destroyed.
          Today, we recall these words as a reminder to each of us that what Christ accomplished on the cross wasn’t just for a few people in a specific place and at a specific time, but rather that it was for all people of all places in all times… including right here and right now.  Therefore, my friends, let us listen closely to these words of Christ: for in them he says to each of us, “Your life of sin is over.  It is finished.”  May this end that we remember today lead us to begin our lives in Christ anew.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 25th, 2016

Jesus' final acts / Los actos finales de Jesus



Homily: Holy Thursday Mass of the Lord’s Supper – Cycle C
          We all know that a person’s last words are important.  This is particularly true when someone we love dies.  Whether a person’s death happens suddenly or after an extended illness, once the person has died most people instinctively think about their last conversation with that person and what was said.  “Just be for she drifted off, mom looked around and said that she loved us all.”  “As I sat there with him, dad looked over at me and said, ‘Take care of your mother for me, okay?’”  These last words from someone we care about have the power to shape our lives in the weeks, months, and years following our loved one’s death.
          Sometimes, however, there aren’t any words.  Perhaps the death came so suddenly that no one talked to the person before he or she died.  In this case, those left behind often look back to the things that were happening in their loved one’s life in the days and weeks leading up to his or her death.  “I thought it was weird that dad was doing all of that, but now it makes sense.  He must have been getting ready to die.”  “We thought mom was crazy, going through all of her old stuff and either giving it to us or getting rid of it.  She must have known that this was coming.”  Sometimes the last actions of our loved ones can be just as powerful as their last words.
          Certainly this applies to the disciples of Jesus.  One of the many traditions of Good Friday is the Tre Ore service, which includes reflections on the “seven last words” of Jesus from the Cross.  Knowing the anguish that he was suffering—and, thus, how difficult it was for him to speak—means that these words hold extra weight for us, his followers.  But Jesus’ last actions are also significant for us; and it is these that we remember tonight.
          In this Mass of the Lord’s Supper we celebrate and remember both the institution of the priesthood and the institution of the Eucharist; and the Scriptures we read tonight teach us something of what Jesus was telling us by performing these last actions.  By bending down and washing the feet of his disciples—the twelve apostles, his first priests—Jesus is teaching us both about the Eucharist, in which he lowers himself to become fully present to us in the form of bread and wine, and about the priesthood: that it is a ministry of service to one and to all.  In doing so, Jesus both invites us to his table and gives us an example we must follow.  Saint Augustine spoke eloquently of this and his words are worth quoting at length:
This is surely what we read in [the book of Proverbs]: “If you sit down to eat at the table of a ruler, observe carefully what is set before you; then stretch out your hand, knowing that you must provide the same kind of meal yourself.”  What is this ruler’s table if not the one at which we receive the body and blood of him who laid down his life for us?  What does it mean to sit at this table if not to approach it with humility?  What does it mean to observe carefully what is set before you if not to meditate devoutly on so great a gift?  What does it mean to stretch out one’s hand, knowing that one must provide the same kind of meal oneself, if not what I have just said: as Christ laid down his life for us, so we in our turn ought to lay down our lives for our brothers?  This is what the apostle Paul said: “Christ suffered for us, leaving us an example, that we might follow in his footsteps.”
This is what is meant by providing “the same kind of meal.”  This is what the blessed martyrs did with such burning love.  If we are to give true meaning to our celebration of their memorials, to our approaching the Lord’s table in the very banquet at which they were fed, we must, like them, provide “the same kind of meal.”

          Todos sabemos que las últimas palabras de una persona son importantes. Esto es particularmente cierto cuando un ser querido se muere. Si la muerte de una persona pasa repentinamente o después de una enfermedad prolongada, cuando la persona ha muerto la mayoría de la gente instintivamente piensan en su última conversación con esa persona y lo que se dijo. Estas últimas palabras de un ser querido tienen el poder de dar forma a nuestras vidas en las semanas, meses y años después de la muerte de nuestro ser querido.
          A veces, sin embargo, no hay palabras. Tal vez la muerte vino tan repentinamente que nadie hablaba con la persona antes de que él o ella se murió. En este caso, los que se quedan a menudo mirar hacia atrás a las cosas que estaban ocurriendo en la vida de sus seres queridos en los días y semanas previas a su muerte. A veces, las últimas acciones de nuestros seres queridos pueden ser tan poderoso como sus últimas palabras.
          Ciertamente esto se aplica a los discípulos de Jesús. Una de las numerosas tradiciones de Viernes Santo es el servicio Tre Ore, que incluye reflexiones sobre las "siete últimas palabras" de Jesús de la Cruz. Conociendo la angustia que sufría—y, por lo tanto, lo difícil que era hablar para él—significa que estas palabras tienen un peso extra para nosotros, sus seguidores. Pero las últimas acciones de Jesús son importantes para nosotros también; y son éstas las que recordamos esta noche.
          En esta misa de la Cena del Señor celebramos y recordamos tanto la institución del sacerdocio y la institución de la Eucaristía; y las Escrituras que leemos esta noche nos enseñan algo de lo que Jesús nos estaba diciendo mediante la realización de estas últimas acciones. Al doblarse abajo y lavar los pies de sus discípulos (los doce apóstoles, sus primeros sacerdotes) Jesús nos está enseñando tanto acerca de la Eucaristía, en la que se rebaja a ser plenamente presente para nosotros en la forma de pan y vino, y sobre el sacerdocio: que es un ministerio de servicio a uno y a todos. De este modo, Jesús tanto nos invita a su mesa y nos da un ejemplo que debemos seguir.
          Esta noche, Mis hermanos y hermanas, reconocemos tanto lo que hemos recibido y lo que estamos llamados a dar. Por sus acciones, nuestro Señor nos ha mostrado lo que tenemos que ofrecer a los demás y la forma en que se le proporcione. Que estos tres días nos llene de la gracia de entregarnos al máximo y por lo tanto ser brillante testigos de la gloria y la misericordia de Dios tanto a nuestra comunidad y a nuestro mundo.

          Tonight, my brothers and sisters, we acknowledge both what we’ve received and what we’re called to give.  By his actions, our Lord has shown us “the kind of meal” that we must provide to others and how we are to provide it.  May these three days fill us with the grace to give ourselves to the fullest and thus to be shining witnesses of God’s glory and mercy both to our community and to our world.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 24th, 2016

Sunday, March 20, 2016

The Paradox of Palm Sunday

Homily: Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion – Cycle C
          Today we stand in the midst of a paradox.  We celebrate both the triumphal entry of Jesus to Jerusalem—and the acknowledgement of God’s people that he is the Messiah, the one they had been waiting for—and, minutes later, we are celebrating his sorrowful passion and death on the Cross.  Both joy and suffering mix together in today’s liturgy and I suspect, that is, if we are paying attention, that we could be feeling somewhat confused.  Why, on Palm Sunday, would we also read the account of Our Lord’s Passion?  I mean, why can’t we just celebrate Jesus’ triumphal entry to Jerusalem?
          I think that the Church gives us the answer in setting this liturgy up the way it has.  You see, in celebrating the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem as well as his passion and death, the Church is reminding us that Jesus’ triumph cannot be separated from the Cross.  In other words, we don’t get the triumph without the trial.
          Most of us, however, could probably agree with that.  “No cross, no crown” Saint Augustine has said.  So, why the triumphal entry and then the cross?  Isn’t that backwards?  Logically, yes it is backwards.  Theologically, however, I think that it makes sense.  You see, when Jesus entered into Jerusalem that final time and was hailed as Messiah a very clear message was sent: no longer could you just “sign-off” this itinerant preacher from Galilee, but rather you either had to accept him as the Messiah or condemn him as a blasphemer.  The religious authorities decided to condemn him, thus setting into motion the events that would confirm who Jesus was: the king who has come to save God’s people, even if they weren’t expecting that their salvation would be won by his death on the Cross.  This is the true Messianic fulfillment: the king who made himself the sacrifice to expiate the sins of his people.
          Thus, as we enter into this most holy week of the year—especially this year as we celebrate this Jubilee Year of Mercy—let us take time this week to meditate on the Passion of our Lord, recognizing in it the incredible mercy that God has poured out upon us; and may it form us to then go forth and pour out mercy on others.  Because, when we enter into Christ’s passion in this way—emptying ourselves for others like he did on the cross—we open ourselves to being exalted as he was.  More than that, however, when we empty ourselves like Christ did, we also open ourselves to discover him: Jesus Christ our king, who laid down his life so that we might live.  Thus emptied of ourselves, we become truly ready to experience the joy that comes after suffering: the joy of the Resurrection that awaits us on Easter Sunday.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 19th & 20th, 2016

Sunday, March 13, 2016

Jesus saves us from the zombie apocalypse

          I preached for the third scrutiny today and the readings centering around the Gospel reading of the Raising of Lazarus.  Enjoy!


Zombie movie filmed in Kokomo, Logansport ready for screening
Image from the scene of "Hungry Eyes" shot in Logansport 
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Homily: 5th Sunday of Lent – Cycle C (Scrutinies)
          A couple of years ago, I was home visiting my folks and we were in the car going out to dinner when I noticed on the back windows of a couple of cars stickers that referenced a coming “Zombie Apocalypse”.  The one I remember clearly said: “Zombie Apocalypse Survival Vehicle”.  I turned to ask my sister if this was something I was imagining or if people really were worried about a zombie apocalypse and she told me that was kind of a “thing” that people were into.  Since then I’ve noticed that there seems to be a fascination with zombies: the TV series, “The Walking Dead”, the 2011 film “Zombie Apocalypse”, and the 2013 film “World War Z” all testify to this.
          In fact, poor Fr. Clayton received an awkward first impression of Logansport when, on the first day of his assignment here, as I was taking him out to dinner, we passed by a group of people who were all made-up like zombies for the filming of that scene of the film “Hungry Eyes” that was filmed here in Logansport.  I recall distinctly that he responded with what has now become his quite commonplace response: “Where am I?”
          So, why have we become so fascinated with zombies?  Well, that I can’t really answer.  As a subject for entertainment, however—that is, for those who are entertained by these type of gory thrillers—I can propose a few thoughts.  First, of course, is that they are “thrillers”—that is, they get our blood pumping—and in this way, they are kind of like roller coasters; which, if they don’t make us sick, are a lot of fun.  Second is that there is something about this idea of dead bodies coming back to life: only this time without any rational soul and with an insatiable desire to consume human flesh.  I mean, it’s our worst nightmare, right?  Every other threat to our lives we can stop by killing it, ultimately.  But what about those who are already dead?  How do you kill what’s already dead?  And how do you stop something that doesn’t seem to need food to survive, but nonetheless has an insatiable need to eat?  Yes, it’s our worst nightmare, but it is just far enough removed from any reality that we know that we’re not traumatized by seeing it portrayed on a screen.
          If we take a step back and reflect for a moment, however, we may realize that this nightmare is something that we are more ready to embrace and to face.  You see, in an era in which more and more people are turning away from the idea that there can be new life after death, anything that “re-animates” after having died will assuredly be monstrous: the idea of resurrection (that is, that life is renewed or reborn, not just resuscitated) is thought of as absurd.
          You see, death is a reality that we all must face.  For those of us in the Judeo-Christian tradition, death is a result of sin and the decay associated with death is the evidence that, separated from God, no life can be sustained.  We believe that God has the power to restore us to life, however, and so when Ezekiel says “Thus says the Lord God: O my people, I will open your graves and have you rise from them;” we don’t think of the zombie apocalypse (though, perhaps, now you will), rather we think about being resurrected to new life.  In a very real way, this is exactly what Jesus proved when he raised Lazarus from the dead and, more poignantly, when he himself rose from the dead.
          For those who have abandoned this tradition, however, death is simply the final part of life and the decay associated with death is simply the natural breakdown of the material body once the animating power no longer exists.  In this there is no power to restore life: only nightmarish concepts of bodies rising from graves by some unknowable power only to suck the lives out of those who are still living.  And so we see that, in a world in which God is denied (or simply ignored)—that is, a world without the resurrection of Christ—any concept of life after death can’t be anything more than the zombie apocalypse.  By acknowledging Christ’s resurrection, however, we come to realize that life after death isn’t something monstrous; rather it is something new and glorious and to be sought after.
          Eight of our brothers and sisters have acknowledged Christ’s resurrection and so have come to realize that God offers us something beautiful after this life is through.  Their desire is to be united to that offer (like the rest of us have been) through Baptism at the Easter Vigil.  To help them prepare, we have spent the last weeks scrutinizing them: calling them to turn away from sin and towards new life in Christ and today is our final scrutiny, in which we will remind them that only Jesus can save us from the death that sin has imposed upon us and ask God once again to free them from any and every attachment to sin to which they might still be clinging.
          And, of course, this message is also for all of us: a reminder of the necessity to remain vigilant against any attachment to sin that may creep into our lives.  One of the best ways that we do this, of course, is to make frequent use of the sacrament of reconciliation.  By making good and sincere confessions regularly throughout the year, we keep tabs on which sins in our lives have become habitual—and, thus, have become an attachment to our lives—so that we can take steps to remove these sinful habits and replace them with virtuous ones.
          My brothers and sisters, Jesus Christ, Emmanuel, God with us, has proven to us that, while death will still touch all of us, life after death will not be a nightmarish zombie apocalypse: at least not for those who have been united to him in a death like his through Baptism.  Rather, it will be new and glorious if only we remain faithful to him throughout our short time here in this world.  Let us pray, then, for our brothers and sisters, the elect—and let us pray also for ourselves—that, strengthened by our celebration of this Holy Eucharist, we may come to the realization of that glorious new life that awaits us: the eternal Easter of heaven.
Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 13th, 2016

Monday, March 7, 2016

Regocijándose en la buena nueva de la redención

Homilía: 4º Domingo de la Cuaresma – Ciclo C
          En la película del 2008 se llama "Siete almas", el actor Will Smith interpreta el papel de "Tim Thomas", un ingeniero aeronáutico que cometió un error que rompió toda su vida. Mientras se conduce una noche con su novio, Tim intenta enviar un mensaje de texto con su teléfono. Mientras se está distraído accidentalmente cruza la línea central de la carretera y provoca un accidente múltiple en el que siete personas mueren: seis extraños y su prometida. Superado por completo por el dolor, Tim se dispone a hacer expiación por su error mediante la búsqueda de siete individuos por la que puede ofrecer parte de sí mismo con el fin de mejorar drásticamente o incluso salvar sus vidas.
          La generosidad de Tim es condicional, sin embargo. Las siete personas que va a ayudar tienen que ser "buena gente": las personas que son merecedores de recibir este acto de la bondad no solicitada. En el transcurso del próximo año y medio Tim dona parte de un pulmón, una parte de su hígado, una médula renal y ósea para ayudar a personas a las que ha encontrado y que él considera "suficientemente bueno" para recibirlos. A continuación se dona su casa a una madre soltera con dos niños que se siente atrapada en una relación abusiva. Por último, dará su vida para donar su corazón a una mujer que tiene insuficiencia cardíaca congénita y sus ojos a un hombre que es ciego. En cada uno de los casos, que hizo estas cosas de forma anónima (utilizando una identidad falsa) de manera que las personas que recibieron sus regalos no lo serán capaz de ponerse en contacto con él para darle las gracias o tratar de devolver el dinero. Al final, se obtiene el sentido de que ha "compensado" las siete vidas que se perdieron por su error al salvar la vida de otras siete personas en la costa de su propia vida.
          Esta es una buena película en muchos niveles, ya que se ocupa de un tema muy humano: ¿cómo nos ocupamos con la culpa y nuestra necesidad natural para hacer expiación por nuestros errores? Simpatizamos con la situación difícil de Tim Thomas: ¿quién no querría tratar de expiar el dolor y el sufrimiento que uno ha causado? Y simpatizamos con las condiciones que se utiliza para decidir quién va a ayudar: porque ¿quién no piensa que las personas que se han esforzado para hacer lo correcto en sus vidas merecen ser recompensados por recibir ayuda para superar sus dificultades? Sin embargo, la película retrata una comprensión atea, o al menos deísta, de la misericordia y la redención.
          Miran, si no hay un Dios—o al menos si Dios es sólo un "relojero divina" que creó el mundo y lo puso en movimiento y ahora se sienta de nuevo a verlo tic—entonces no hay a quien para dirigirse que es superior a los poderes de este mundo; por lo que la única esperanza de redención de nuestros errores que alguna vez tendremos es llegar a ser el salvador para nosotros mismos: yendo hasta el extremo de dar la vida para expiar nuestros errores, si tenemos que hacerlo. En este punto de vista no hay perdón de los errores de otros; y por lo tanto no puede haber misericordia de aquellos que no pueden expiarse por sí mismos. Sólo hay la justicia de "ojo por ojo y diente por diente". Teniendo en cuenta esta visión del mundo, Tim Thomas es un héroe porque él hizo su vida única expía para los siete vidas que se perdieron por su error. Pero esta no es la visión del mundo de los cristianos, que se muestra perfectamente para nosotros en nuestra lectura del Evangelio de hoy.
          Al proponer esta parábola, Jesús está respondiendo a los fariseos y los escribas que lo están enfrentando por mantener la compañía con los que fueron considerados como pecadores: es decir, los que habían dado la espalda a Dios para seguir su propio camino. Estas personas (los fariseos y los escribas), al igual que Tim Thomas, tenían una idea similar de "misericordia": es decir, que las bendiciones de Dios sólo debe administrarse a "gente buena"—es decir, aquellos que se lo merecía por vivir una vida justa de acuerdo con la Ley. La parábola, por lo tanto, estaba destinado a mostrar a ellos (y, así, para mostrar a nosotros) que no ganamos la misericordia de Dios por expiatorio de todos nuestros pecados. Por el contrario, la misericordia de Dios es pura gracia: es decir, regalo.
          Aquellos de nosotros que entendemos que grande un regalo que es vivir en el favor de Dios conformaremos nuestras vidas a su voluntad, porque reconocemos que Él es un Padre amoroso que sólo quiere lo que es bueno para nosotros y porque confiamos en que la herencia prometida a nosotros será nuestra. Los que han tenido el don por sentado, y han despilfarrándolo, todavía están amado por Dios y Dios está listo para recibirnos de vuelta, ya que, como sus hijos amados, todavía nos quiere proporcionará todo lo que nos hará feliz, incluso si hemos dado la espalda a él. En pocas palabras, la misericordia de Dios está disponible para todos los que pedirlo humildemente, no sólo los que "merecen" la misma.
          En la visión del mundo presentada en la película "Siete almas", uno tiene que ser heroica, como Tim Thomas, con el fin de expiar sus pecados, porque no hay la misericordia, solamente estricta justicia. En la visión cristiana del mundo, sin embargo, la expiación se ha hecho y por lo tanto la misericordia está disponible para aquellos que no podían expiar sus pecados a sí mismos. Y debido a que la misericordia está disponible, lo es la esperanza, también: la esperanza de que uno puede ser redimido incluso sin haber hecho la expiación personal. Esta es la parábola del hijo pródigo: la historia de uno no redimido por la expiación personal, sino más bien por la misericordia.
          Cuaresma, mis hermanos y hermanas, es un momento para recordar que este es el mundo en que vivimos: un mundo en el que, por la misericordia, podemos ser redimidos sin la necesidad de la expiación personal. Y nos recordamos de este haciendo tres cosas: la reflexión, el arrepentimiento y reconciliación.
          La reflexión: ¿He dado la espalda a Dios (como el hijo pródigo)? ¿He hecho cosas terribles en mi vida? O bien, ¿he estado luchando para vivir según la voluntad de Dios, pero he tenido el orgullo y prejuicios al respecto (como el hijo mayor)? ¿He rechazado alguien porque se han alejado de Dios? ¿Desea que todos los hombres y mujeres reconciliarse con Dios?
          El arrepentimiento: Si he dado la espalda a Dios, me vuelvo hacia él ahora a pedir su perdón y misericordia. Si he hecho cosas terribles, no intente expiar para ellos por mí mismo, sino más bien que confesar mis pecados y enmendar mi vida: debido a una larga vida se apartó del pecado tiene mucho más valor que la justicia de "ojo por ojo y diente por diente”. Si he rechazado pecadores como no merecedores del perdón de Dios—si he juzgado a otros como "no-salvable"—y así han renunciado a ellos, me vuelvo a reconocerlos como mi hermano o hermana: como alguien para quien nuestro Padre duele literalmente, y me comprometo a estirar el brazo a ellos. Reconociendo la reconciliación de Dios en mi propia vida, me vuelvo a trabajar por la reconciliación de los otros a Dios.
          La reconciliación: Cuando me vuelvo de cualquiera de estas cosas, inmediatamente vuelvo al Padre y me acerco al sacramento de la reconciliación. Como tanto el hijo pródigo y el hijo mayor que encuentra su Padre esperando a ellos, por lo que nuestro Padre celestial nos espera en el confesionario, puerta abierta y lista para recibir a su hijo o hija perdida que se ha arrepentido para que pudiera celebrar su regreso.
          Ustedes saben, muchos de nosotros hemos sido reconciliados con Dios, y ¡para ello nos regocijamos! Aun así muchos más no se han reconciliado. Por lo tanto nuestra necesidad de evangelizar es grande. Imagínese, sin embargo, si, cuando llamamos a la gente al arrepentimiento, que les dijo que ellos también tendrían que expiar todos sus pecados. ¡Lo triste noticia de que sería! Y, si este fuera el caso, ¡podría entender nuestra renuencia a compartirlo! Qué maravilloso es, entonces, que tenemos realmente buenas noticias para compartir: que Jesucristo ya ha expiado nuestros pecados al morir en la cruz; y así ¡la redención es gratis! ¿Cómo no compartimos esta buena noticia con todo el mundo? Aunque muchos no estén preparados para recibir este mensaje, no nos debe impedir que compartirlo.
          Por lo tanto, mis hermanos y hermanas, que nos deja la alegría que sentimos hoy resuenan en nuestras vidas; de manera que cuando los demás nos pregunta "¿Por qué estás tan alegre?", siempre vamos a tener una respuesta preparada: "Porque he sido salvado por la Sangre de Jesucristo y así ¡no tengo nada que temer!" Que nuestra alegría derramará en acción de gracias ahora, ya que ofrecemos a Dios este increíble don de la misericordia que nos ha redimido.
Dado en la parroquia de Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN

6 de marzo, 2016

Rejoicing in the Good News about redemption

Homily: 4th Sunday of Lent – Cycle C
          In the 2008 film “Seven Pounds”, actor Will Smith plays the role of “Tim Thomas”, an aeronautical engineer who made a life-shattering mistake.  While driving one night with his fiancé, Tim tries to send a text message using his phone.  While distracted he accidentally crosses the center line of the road and causes a multi-car accident in which seven people die: six strangers and his fiancé.  Completely overcome by grief, Tim sets out to make atonement for his mistake by searching for seven individuals for which he can offer part of himself in order to drastically improve or even save their lives.
          Tim’s generosity is conditional, however.  The seven individuals that he will help have to be “good” people: people who are deserving of receiving this unsolicited act of kindness.  Over the course of the next year and a half Tim donates part of a lung, a part of his liver, a kidney and bone marrow to help individuals whom he has encountered and whom he deems “good enough” to receive them.  Next he donates his house to a single mother of two children who feels trapped in an abusive relationship.  Finally, he will give his life to donate his heart to a woman who has congenital heart failure and his eyes to a man who is blind.  In each of the cases, he did these things anonymously (using a false identity) so that the people who received his gifts would not be able to contact him to thank him or try to pay him back.  In the end, you get the sense that he has “made up for” the seven lives that were lost by his mistake by saving the lives of seven other individuals at the cost of his own life.
          This is a good film on many levels as it deals with a very human issue: how do we deal with guilt and our natural need to make atonement for our mistakes?  We are sympathetic with Tim Thomas’ plight: who wouldn’t want to try to atone for the pain and suffering that one has caused?  And we are sympathetic with the conditions that he uses to decide who he will help: because who doesn’t think that people who have strived to do the right thing in their lives deserve to be rewarded by receiving help to overcome their hardships?  Nevertheless, the film portrays an atheistic, or at least deistic, understanding of mercy and redemption.
          You see, if there isn’t a God—or at least if God is just a “divine watchmaker” who created the world and set it in motion and now sits back to watch it tick—then there is no one to turn to who is greater than the powers of this world; and so the only hope of redemption from our mistakes that we will ever have is to become the savior ourselves: going so far as to give our lives to atone for our mistakes, if we have to.  In this view there is no atoning for others’ mistakes; and thus there can be no mercy on those unable to atone for themselves.  There’s only “eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth” justice.  Given this worldview, Tim Thomas is a hero because he made his one life atone for the seven lives that were lost by his mistake.  But this is not the worldview of Christians, which is displayed perfectly for us in our Gospel reading today.
          In proposing this parable, Jesus is responding to the Pharisees and the scribes who are confronting him about keeping company with those who were regarded as sinners: that is, those who had turned their backs on God to go their own way.  These folks, like Tim Thomas, had a similar idea of “mercy”: that is, that the blessings of God should only be given to “good” people—that is, those who deserved it by living a righteous life according to the Law.  The parable, therefore, was meant to show them (and, so, to show us) that we don’t earn God’s mercy by first atoning for all of our sins.  Rather, God’s mercy is pure grace, that is, gift.
          Those of us who understand what a gift it is to live in God's favor will conform our lives to his will because we acknowledge that he is a loving Father who only wants what is good for us and because we trust that the inheritance promised to us will be ours.  Those of us who have taken the gift for granted and have squandered it are nonetheless still loved by God and God is ready to receive us back, because as his beloved children he still desires to provide us with everything that will make us happy, even if we have turned our backs on him.  Simply stated, God's mercy is available to everyone who humbly ask for it, not just those who "deserve" it.
          In the worldview presented in the film “Seven Pounds”, one has to be heroic, like Tim Thomas, in order to atone for his or her sins, because there is no mercy, only strict justice.  In the Christian worldview, however, atonement has been made and thus mercy is available to those who could not atone for their sins themselves.  And because mercy is available, so is hope: hope that one can be redeemed even without having made personal atonement.  This is the parable of the Prodigal Son: the story of one redeemed not by personal atonement, but rather by mercy.
          Lent, my brothers and sisters, is a time to remind ourselves that this is the world that we live in: a world in which, because of mercy, we can be redeemed without the need of personal atonement.  And we remind ourselves of this by doing three things: reflection, repentance, and reconciliation.
          Reflection: Have I turned my back on God (like the prodigal son)?  Have I done terrible things in my life?  Or, have I been striving to live according to God's will, but have been proud and judgmental about it (like the older son)?  Have I shunned anyone because they have turned away from God?  Do I desire that all men and women be reconciled to God?
          Repentance: If I have turned my back on God (again, like the prodigal son), I turn back to him now to beg his forgiveness and mercy.  If I have done terrible things, I don't try to atone for them by myself, but rather I confess my sins and amend my life: because a long life turned away from sin has much more value than "eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth" justice.  If I have shunned sinners as undeserving of God's forgiveness (again, like the older son)—if I have judged others as "un-savable" and so have given up on them—I turn to recognize them as my brother or sister: as someone for whom our Father literally aches, and I commit myself to reaching out to them.  Recognizing the reconciliation of God in my own life, I turn to work for the reconciliation of others to God.
          Reconciliation: When I turn from any of these things, I immediately turn back to the Father and I approach the sacrament of reconciliation.  Like both the prodigal son and the older son who finds their Father waiting for them, so our heavenly Father waits for us in the confessional, door open and ready to receive his lost son or daughter who has repented so that he might celebrate his or her return.
          You know, many of us have been reconciled to God, and for this we rejoice!  Still many more, however, have yet to be reconciled.  Thus our need to evangelize is great.  Just imagine, however, if, when we called people to repentance, we told them that they would also have to atone for all of their sins.  What miserable news that would be!  And, if this were the case, I could understand our reluctance to share it!  How wonderful is it, then, that we have truly good news to share: that Jesus has already atoned for our sins by dying on the cross; and so redemption is free!  How could we not share this good news with everyone?  Although many may not be ready to receive this message, it shouldn't keep us from sharing it.
          Therefore, my brothers and sisters, let us let the joy that we feel today resonate in our lives; so that when others ask us "Why are you so joyful?", we will always have a ready response: "Because I have been saved by the Blood of Jesus and so have nothing to fear!"  May our joy pour out in thanksgiving now as we offer back to God this incredible gift of mercy that has redeemed us.
Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 5th & 6th, 2016