Friday, March 30, 2018

The terror of the cross




Homily: Friday of the Passion of the Lord
Homilía: Viernes de la Pasión del Señor
          Terrorism is something with which, sadly, we are all familiar and terrorists are those who seek to intimidate people into conformance with their group’s ideology.  For example, the playground bully uses taunts and physical violence to force the other kids to recognize him as “king of the playground”.  The other kids don’t like him, but they are so afraid of him that they conform so as to avoid his verbal and physical assaults.  On a larger scale, the videos published by ISIS are true “acts of terror” meant to instill fear into the hearts of whomever views or even hears about them so that no one will resist them for fear of suffering the same fate.
          In the ancient Roman Empire, the cross was meant to terrify people.  As a form of execution, it wasn’t meant solely to punish the criminal.  Rather, it was also a public display of cruelty meant to instill fear into the heart of every other person: a form of intimidation meant to eliminate any resistance to the Roman authorities.  Thus, the charge against the crucified person was posted above their head as a way of saying “Don’t even think about doing this, because this is how you’ll end up.”  So effective was this method of intimidation that people of that time wouldn’t speak about the cross in polite conversation: it was disturbing even to think about it because, for them, the cross was equated with a horrific death: a death that was humiliating, agonizingly painful, and, ultimately, dehumanizing.
          Today, however, it seems like we have sanitized the cross.  We have made it nothing more than an expression of our personal style or a pious thing about which to talk.  In other words, we’ve lost the “fear factor” that originally came with it.  As part of the Easter Triduum, Good Friday invites us once again to recognize that truly it is a fearful thing to hold up the cross as the symbol of our victory; because in doing so we proclaim not only that we are a follower of Jesus, but that we, too, would be gladly crucified with him and for him, because of our faith that one day he will raise us up again.
          My brothers and sisters, events happening around the world, and even those happening here in the United States, demonstrate that this type of witness is not far from being demanded of us.  Therefore, as we come forward to venerate the cross, let us keep this in mind: that Christ suffered for our sins—yours and mine—and so we must constantly plead for his mercy; and that the cross, symbol of our victory in Christ, should be fearfully embraced: for one day what it demanded of Christ may be demanded of us, too.  Nonetheless we have hope: because in Christ the cross no longer means certain and irrevocable death, but it means life: the eternal life that dawns on Easter Sunday.

          El terrorismo es algo con lo que, tristemente, todos somos familiares y los terroristas son aquellos que intentan intimidar a las personas para que se ajusten a la ideología de su grupo. Por ejemplo, el matón del patio de recreo utiliza burlas y violencia física para obligar a los otros niños a reconocerlo como "rey del patio de recreo". A los otros niños no les gusta, pero tienen tanto miedo de él que se conforman para evitar sus agresiones verbales y físicas. En una escala más grande, los videos publicados por ISIS son verdaderos "actos de terror" destinados a infundir miedo en los corazones de quienquiera que vean o incluso escuchar sobre ellos para que nadie se resista a ellos por temor a sufrir el mismo destino.
          En el antiguo Imperio Romano, la cruz estaba destinada a aterrorizar a la gente. Como una forma de ejecución, no fue solo para castigar al criminal. Más bien, era también una muestra pública de crueldad destinada a infundir temor en el corazón de todas las demás personas: una forma de intimidación destinada a eliminar cualquier resistencia a las autoridades romanas. Por lo tanto, la acusación contra la persona crucificada se publicó sobre su cabeza como una forma de decir "Ni siquiera pienses en hacer esto, porque así es como terminarás". Tan efectivo era este método de intimidación que la gente de ese tiempo no hablaría de la cruz en una conversación educada: era inquietante incluso pensar en ello porque, para ellos, la cruz se equiparaba con una muerte horrible: una muerte que era humillante, angustiosamente dolorosa y, en última instancia, deshumanizante.
          Hoy, sin embargo, parece que hemos desinfectado la cruz. La hemos hecho nada más que una expresión de nuestro estilo personal o algo piadoso de lo que hablar. En otras palabras, hemos perdido el "factor de miedo" que originalmente vino con la cruz. Como parte del Triduo Pascual, el Viernes Santo nos invita una vez más a reconocer que verdaderamente es algo espantoso sostener la cruz como el símbolo de nuestra victoria; porque al hacerlo, proclamamos no solo que somos seguidores de Jesús, sino que también nosotros, con gusto, seríamos crucificados con él y por él, debido a nuestra fe en que algún día nos resucitará.
          Mis hermanos y hermanas, los eventos que suceden en todo el mundo, e incluso los que suceden aquí en los Estados Unidos, demuestran que este tipo de testimonio no está lejos de exigirse a nosotros. Por lo tanto, cuando avancemos para venerar la cruz, tengamos esto en mente: que Cristo sufrió por nuestros pecados, el suyo y el mío, y así debemos constantemente rogar por su misericordia; y que la cruz, símbolo de nuestra victoria en Cristo, debe ser abrazada con miedo; porque un día también se nos exigirá lo que exigió a Cristo. Sin embargo, tenemos esperanza: porque en Cristo la cruz ya no significa una muerte cierto e irrevocable, sino la vida: la vida eterna que amanece el domingo de Pascua.
Dado en la parroquia Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN – 30 de marzo, 2018
Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 30th, 2018

A true gift: the gift of Christ



Homily/Homilía: Holy Thursday/El Jueves Santo
          A gift, by its nature, has two defining characteristics: 1) it is something that has been freely given and 2) it is undeserved by the one who receives it.  Just think about a birthday gift for a moment.  One who gives a gift for a birthday always does so freely, motivated by love for the person whose birthday is being celebrated.  In other words, no one is ever coerced into giving a birthday gift, because if they are then it really isn’t a gift.  And the person receiving the gift did nothing to earn this gift, right?  I mean, they didn’t choose to be born on whatever particular day it happens to be; and, besides, there is nothing particularly deserving of gifts for being born on any given day.  Thus, a present given to celebrate someone’s birthday is truly a gift, because it is both freely given and “unearned” by the one who receives it.
          When we look at this story that we just recounted from the Gospel of John, we see in Jesus’ action more than just a model of how to treat one another; rather, we see also a gift.  Jesus, the teacher and leader of this band of disciples, does not owe these men anything.  If anything, these men ought to be the one’s washing Jesus’ feet.  Nonetheless, Jesus freely chooses to wash their feet, demonstrating just how devoted he is to them by offering them this undeserved gift of loving service, calling it a “model to follow”.  Peter, perhaps speaking on behalf of the other disciples, fails to understand Jesus’ action as a gift and at first he refuses it, but then asks for more than what was being given.  In other words, it seems as if he only wanted Jesus’ gift if he could have it “his way”.  Only after the events of Good Friday will he come to understand the gift that they had been given.
          Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI has said that “to be a Christian is primarily a gift…”  Beginning tonight, we meditate on the gifts that Jesus has given us: the gift of the Eucharist, the gift of the priesthood, and the gift of this “model to be followed”.  Over these next three days we will meditate deeply on these gifts in light of the gift that unifies them all—a gift freely given and of which we are wholly undeserving—the sacrifice of his life so that we might have eternal life.
          Perhaps tonight we find ourselves like Peter, unwilling to accept Jesus’ gift as it has been given or perhaps even asking for more than was offered (in other words, trying to have it “our way”).  If so, then let us pray—tonight and over these next three days—that we may be like Peter also at Easter Sunday: humbled but joyful before the Risen Christ whose gift—the sacrifice of his Body and Blood, his living Body and Blood—is still being given to us.

          Un regalo, por su naturaleza, tiene dos características definitorias: 1) es algo que ha sido dado libremente y 2) no es merecido por quien lo recibe. Solo piensa por un momento en un regalo de cumpleaños. Quien da un regalo para un cumpleaños siempre lo hace libremente, motivado por el amor hacia la persona cuyo cumpleaños se celebra. En otras palabras, nunca se obliga a nadie a dar un regalo de cumpleaños, porque si lo es, realmente no es un regalo. Y la persona que recibió el regalo no hizo nada para ganarse este regalo, ¿verdad? Quiero decir, no eligió nacer el día que sea; y, además, no hay nada particularmente digno de regalos por haber nacido en un día determinado. Por lo tanto, un regalo dado a celebrar el cumpleaños de alguien es verdaderamente un regalo, ya que es a la vez dado libremente e inmerecido por el que lo recibe.
          Cuando miramos esta historia que acabamos de contar del Evangelio de Juan, vemos en la acción de Jesús más que solo un modelo de cómo tratarnos unos a otros; más bien, vemos un regalo. Jesús, el maestro y líder de esta banda de discípulos, no les debe nada a estos hombres. En todo caso, estos hombres deberían ser los que lavan los pies de Jesús. Sin embargo, Jesús elige libremente lavarse los pies, demostrando cuán devoto está con ellos al ofrecerles este regalo de servicio amoroso inmerecido, llamándolo un "modelo a seguir". Pedro, tal vez hablando en nombre de los otros discípulos, no comprende la acción de Jesús como un regalo y al principio la rechaza, pero luego pide más de lo que se le daba. En otras palabras, parece como si solo quisiera el regalo de Jesús si pudiera tenerlo "a su manera". Solo después de los eventos del Viernes Santo podrá entender el regalo que se les ha dado.
          El Papa emérito Benedicto XVI ha dicho que "ser cristiano es ante todo un don ..." A partir de esta noche, meditamos en los dones que Jesús nos ha dado: el don de la Eucaristía, el don del sacerdocio y el don de este "modelo a seguir". Durante estos próximos tres días meditaremos profundamente sobre estos dones a la luz del don que los unifica a todos—un regalo dado libremente y del cual no merecemos nada—el sacrificio de su vida para que podamos tener la vida eterna.
          Tal vez esta noche nos encontramos como Pedro, indispuestos a aceptar el regalo de Jesús, ya que se ha dado o tal vez incluso pidiendo más de lo ofrecido (en otras palabras, tratando de tenerlo a nuestra manera). Si es así, recemos hoy y por estos tres días para que también podamos ser como Pedro en el Domingo de Pascua: humilde pero alegre ante el Cristo resucitado, cuyo don, el sacrificio de su Cuerpo y Sangre—su Cuerpo y Sangre viviente—aún se nos está dando.
Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 29th, 2018
Dado en la parroquia Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN – 1º de abril, 2018

Saturday, March 24, 2018

It's not a tragedy, it's a triumph



          You really should read the Passion Narrative according to Mark before hearing this brief homily.  More than normal weeks, it depends on hearing/reading it.  Go here to read the readings for the Mass.  In the column to the right, click on "Daily Readings - Audio" and find this Sunday's date to hear the readings read aloud.

Homily: Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord – Cycle B
          You know, it can be pretty hard for us to imagine what it was like to be a first century Jew.  Here was a people who, ever since the Babylonian exile, were awaiting a new Davidic king—a king who would sit on the throne of King David—and would restore completely the covenant with Yahweh.  The sign for that restoration would be the when the shekinah—that is, the glory of the Lord (meaning, God’s presence among them)—would once again appear in the Temple.  For hundreds of years they waited: many of them wondering if God had forgotten them, altogether.
          Imagine what it is like when your spouse, your child, your parents (if you are younger), or your best friend is away for an extended period of time.  Imagine also that you can’t call, text, or video chat with them.  Imagine what the waiting would feel like.  Take that longing that you would feel for their return and multiply it exponentially and you’ll begin to understand what those first century Jews felt waiting for the Messiah—God’s anointed one—who would sit on David’s throne and would restore the covenant with Yahweh so that his presence might dwell among them once again.
          The prophet Ezekiel documents for us in a vision that, when the Lord’s glory left the Temple at the time of the Babylonian Exile, it left towards the east and that from the east it would return.  Therefore, the ancient Jews looked towards the east, hoping to see the glory of the Lord returning to them.  It is no accident, then, that we read that Jesus, on his triumphal entry into Jerusalem, came by way of Bethphage and Bethany at the Mount of Olives, which was directly east of Jerusalem.  God Incarnate was returning to restore the covenant with his people in Jerusalem and he enters the city from the east to fulfill Ezekiel’s prophecy.
          Many people recognized this and so hailed Jesus as the king who would sit on David’s throne and restore God’s kingdom.  They thought him to be a worldly king, however, and so forgot that God’s servant—as prophesied by Isaiah—would suffer for the restoration of his people.  Jesus, however, knew that this must be the case and so freely handed himself over to torture and to death.  In Isaiah’s words: “I gave my back to those who beat me, my cheeks to those who plucked my beard; my face I did not shield from buffets and spitting.”  This is why we read the account of Christ’s Passion on Palm Sunday: because the crucifixion is his triumphant victory and the restoration of the covenant between Yahweh and his people.
          Friends, as we enter into this Holy Week, let this be the “tone” that is set over the whole week: that the Passion and Death of Jesus was not a tragedy that could have been avoided, but luckily was overcome by the resurrection, but rather that the Passion and Death of Jesus is the fulfillment of God’s love for us: Him suffering death on our behalf so that our union with him could be restored in his rising to new life.  Let us, therefore, walk with Jesus as his disciples this week—both in our personal prayer and in our liturgies—so that we, too, might feel the ecstatic joy of Christ’s victory on Easter Sunday: the victory that we celebrate even now, here in this Eucharist.
Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 24th & 25th, 2018

Monday, March 19, 2018

Cristo crucificado es esencial


Homilía: 5º Domingo en la Cuaresma – Ciclo B
          En el Evangelio de hoy, nos encontramos con Cristo en un momento liminal, es decir, una transición. Sabemos que vino por todas las personas, pero como proclamó en múltiples ocasiones a lo largo de su ministerio público, vino primeramente para los judíos: es decir, los descendientes de los antiguos israelitas. Sin embargo, su trabajo era cumplir la tarea que Dios le había dado a su pueblo elegido desde el principio, que debía ser una "luz para todas las naciones" para que todos los pueblos regresarían a Dios. Por lo tanto, en esta lectura, cuando los griegos (es decir, los miembros de "las naciones") vienen a buscar a Jesús, Jesús se da cuenta de que su "hora" había llegado (es decir, el tiempo para que él cumpliera aquello por el cual vino).
          Cuando entra en este momento, dice varias cosas interesantes. En primer lugar, revela la plenitud total de su humanidad y dice: "que si el grano de trigo, sembrado en la tierra, no muere, queda infecundo; pero si muere, producirá mucho fruto". Jesús ve que, aunque todo lo que ha hecho hasta este punto ha sido bueno, todavía debe entregarse para sufrir y morir si ha de producir el fruto por el cual vino. Es el tipo de cosa sobria que dices cuando te das cuenta de que tu "destino ha sido sellado", por así decirlo. Luego dice "ahora que tengo miedo". ¿Qué humano no se preocuparía sabiendo que el sufrimiento inmenso le venía? Él lo sigue con "Pero ¿qué más haría? ¡Por eso vine!" En esto escuchamos ecos de la carta a los Hebreos: "Aprendió la obediencia padeciendo". Entonces Jesús pone su mirada claramente al final: que es la cruz. "Cuando yo sea levantado de la tierra,” él dijo, “atraeré a todos hacia mí".
          Si bien este último comentario se refiere a la cruz, también se refiere a una imagen que cualquier buen judío del primer siglo habría reconocido; y es algo a lo que Jesús hizo referencia más específicamente en el Evangelio de Juan (en realidad lo escuchamos leer la semana pasada). Allí, Jesús estaba hablando con Nicodemo, un miembro de la corte religiosa judía, que había venido a Jesús tratando de descubrir quién era. Jesús le dijo: "Así como Moisés levantó la serpiente en el desierto, así tiene que ser levantado el Hijo del hombre, para que todo el que crea en él tenga vida eterna". Él se está refiriendo al incidente que ocurrió cuando los israelitas vagaron por el desierto en su éxodo de Egipto, en el cual se quejaron demasiadas veces contra Dios por sacarlos de Egipto. Como castigo, Dios envió serpientes venenosas a su campamento. Muchas personas estaban mordidas por las serpientes y estaban muriendo. Y entonces, empezaron a suplicarle a Moisés que pidiera alivio a Dios, quien le instruyó que hiciera una serpiente de bronce y la montara en un poste para que pudiera levantarse y la gente pudiera verla. Cualquiera que haya sido mordido por una serpiente, pero que luego miró a la serpiente de bronce con un corazón arrepentido, fue sanado y vivió.
          Jesús se refiere a este incidente para darle sentido a su pasión y muerte. En el desierto, los israelitas contemplaron la imagen de la serpiente, que era un signo de muerte para ellos y, por lo tanto, la imagen del peso total del castigo que se les debía. En la sabiduría paradójica de Dios, sin embargo, la imagen del castigo se convirtió en la fuente del arrepentimiento y la curación. Jesús, al ser crucificado, toma este imagen y lo lleva a su cumplimiento. Miran, cuando Jesús es crucificado, la plenitud del castigo debido a la humanidad se efectúa. Por lo tanto, la imagen levantada ya no es motivo de temor, ya que la serpiente estaba en el desierto, lo que le recordó a la gente el castigo que se les debe, sino que es un signo de esperanza, teñida de tristeza: esperanza, porque esos quienes reconocen su pecaminosidad ven en ella a alguien que se ha entregado a sí mismo para pagar la deuda completa del castigo debido a sus pecados y tristeza, porque esas mismas personas comprenden la inocencia pura de aquel que fue sacrificado y que realmente no merecía sufrir.
          Esta imagen, la inocente que sufrió por nosotros, y la reacción, pena por nuestra pecaminosidad que le causó sufrir y morir, pero con la esperanza de que nuestro castigo se haya cumplido, se ha convertido en la fuente de salvación para todos. Por lo tanto, la imagen de Jesús crucificado cumple lo que dijo, que "cuando sea levantado de la tierra, atraerá a todos hacia sí mismo". Por lo tanto, cualquiera que reconozca su propia miseria tiene una sola fuente de consuelo: Jesucristo crucificado.
          Esto, amigos míos, es la razón por la cual conservamos la imagen del Cristo crucificado en nuestras cruces. Ciertamente, honramos a la cruz misma como el instrumento sobre el cual se ganó nuestra salvación, pero es Cristo, quien fue crucificado en la cruz, lo que le da a la cruz su significado. Nuestros hermanos y hermanas cristianos no católicos nos critican por mantener la imagen del Cristo muerto en nuestras cruces, diciendo que "¡Cristo ya no está muerto! ¡Así que no deberíamos mostrarlo como si lo fuera!" Pero sin la imagen del cadáver de Cristo en la cruz, la imagen de la cruz pierde el poder que Cristo quería que tuviera para atraer a todos los hombres y mujeres a sí mismo. Esto se debe a que la imagen de Cristo crucificado en la cruz le dice a aquel que reconoce su pecaminosidad y que no ve ninguna salida: "Mira el castigo debido a tus pecados y ten esperanza en mí, porque he sido castigado ¡para ti!"
          Y esto, en cierto sentido, es lo que hemos sido llamados a hacer durante esta Cuaresma: reconocer nuestra pecaminosidad y mirar a Cristo crucificado en la cruz y, por lo tanto, ver el horrible castigo que se nos debe a causa de nuestros pecados; y luego arrepentirnos de ellos, sabiendo que Cristo ha sido castigado por nuestro bien, y así poner nuestra esperanza completamente en él una vez más (o por primera vez) para que no podamos perder la vida eterna que tenemos en él, a través de bautismo.
          Si, por lo tanto, no tienes un crucifijo en algún lugar de tu casa, ¡entonces debes obtener uno! Luego (o si ya tiene uno), dedique tiempo durante estas próximas dos semanas mirando la imagen de Cristo crucificado y medite sobre el castigo que sufrió por usted. Agradézcale por no decir "Padre, ¡líbrame de esta hora!", sino que dijo "Padre, dale gloria a tu nombre". Entonces, comprométase a erradicar el pecado en su vida y a soportar cualquier sufrimiento que se le presente en este mundo para consolar su corazón, lo cual abre las compuertas de su amor misericordioso por nosotros. Mis amigos, si pueden hacer esto, no solo se prepararán bien para celebrar la Pascua, sino que se convertirán en santos.
          Que su amor misericordioso, derramado más perfectamente para nosotros aquí en esta Eucaristía, traiga este buen trabajo a su fin en usted.
Dado en la parroquia de Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN
18 de marzo, 2018

Christ crucified is essential


Homily: 5th Sunday in Lent – Cycle B
          In the Gospel today, we encounter Christ in a liminal moment—that is, a transition… the proverbial “fork in the road”.  We know that he came for all people, but as he proclaimed multiple times throughout his public ministry, he came first for the Jews—the descendants of the ancient Israelites.  Nonetheless, his job was to fulfill the task that God had given to his chosen people from the beginning, which was to be a “light to all nations” so that all peoples would be drawn back to God.  Thus, in this reading, when the Greeks (that is, members of "the nations") come looking for Jesus, Jesus realizes that his "hour" had come (that is, the time for him to fulfill that for which he came).
          As he enters this moment he says a number of interesting things.  First, he reveals the utter fullness of his humanity and says, "unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit."  Jesus sees that, while all that he had done so far has been good, he still must hand himself over to suffer and to die if he is to produce the fruit for which he came.  It's the kind of sober thing that you say when you realize that your “fate has been sealed”, so to speak.  Then he says "I am troubled now."  What human wouldn't be troubled knowing that immense suffering was coming their way?  He follows it with "But what else would I do?  This is why I came!"  In this we hear echoes of the letter to the Hebrews: "He learned obedience from what he suffered."  Then Jesus sets his sights clearly on the end: the cross.  "When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself."
          While this last comment refers to the cross, it also refers to an image that any good first century Jew would have recognized; and it is something to which Jesus more specifically referenced earlier in the Gospel of John (we actually heard it read last week).  There, Jesus was speaking to Nicodemus, a member of the Jewish religious court, who had come to Jesus trying to figure out who he was.  Jesus said to him: “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.”  He is referring to the incident that occurred as the Israelites wandered through the desert on their exodus from Egypt, in which they complained one too many times against God for taking them from Egypt.  As a punishment, God sent poisonous serpents into their camp.  Many people were being bit by the serpents and were dying.  And so, they began to beg Moses to plead for relief from God, who instructed him to make a serpent out of bronze and mount it onto a pole so that it could be raised up and people could see it.  Anyone who had been bitten by a serpent, but who then looked at the bronze serpent with a repentant heart, was healed and lived.
          Jesus refers to this incident in order to make sense of his upcoming passion and death.  In the desert, the Israelites looked upon the image of the serpent, which was a sign of death to them and, thus, the image of the full weight of the punishment due to them.  In God’s paradoxical wisdom, however, the image of the punishment became the source of repentance and healing.  Jesus, in being crucified, takes this sign and brings it to fulfillment.  You see, when Jesus is crucified, the fullness of the punishment due to mankind is effected.  Therefore, the image lifted up is no longer a thing of fear, as the serpent was in the desert, which reminded the people of the punishment due to them, but rather it is a sign of hope, tinged with sorrow: hope, because those who acknowledge their sinfulness see in it one who has given himself over to pay the full debt of punishment due for their sins, and sorrow, because those same persons realize the pure innocence of the one who was sacrificed and that he truly did not deserve to suffer. 
          This image, the innocent one who suffered for our sake, and the reaction, sorrow for our sinfulness that caused him to suffer and die, yet with hope that our punishment has been fulfilled, has become the source of salvation for everyone.  Thus, the image of Jesus crucified fulfills what he said, that “when he is lifted up from the earth, he will draw everyone to himself”.  Anyone, therefore, who recognizes their own wretchedness has only one source of consolation: Jesus Christ crucified.
          This, my friends, is why we keep the image of the crucified Christ on our crosses.  Certainly, we honor the cross itself as the instrument on which our salvation was won for us, but it is Christ, who was crucified on the cross, that gives the cross its meaning.  Our non-Catholic Christian brothers and sisters criticize us for keeping the image of the dead Christ on our crosses, saying that “Christ is no longer dead!  So we shouldn’t show him as if he is!”  But without the image of Christ’s dead body on the cross, the image of the cross loses the power that Christ intended it to have to draw all men and women to himself.  This is because the image of Christ crucified on the cross says to the one who recognizes his or her sinfulness and who sees no way out of it: “Look at the punishment due to your sins and take hope in me, because I have been punished for you!”
          And this, in a sense, is what we have been called to do during this Lent: to acknowledge our sinfulness and to look upon Christ, crucified on the cross, and, thus, to see the horrible punishment due to us because of our sins; and then to repent from them, knowing that Christ has been punished for our sake, and so putting our hope fully in him once again (or for the first time) so that we may not lose the everlasting life that we have in him, through baptism.
          If you, therefore, do not have a crucifix somewhere in your home then you must get one!  Then (or if you already have one), spend time over these next two weeks looking at the image of Christ crucified and meditate on the punishment that he suffered for you.  Thank him for not saying “Father, save me from this hour!”, but rather that he said “Father, glorify your name”.  Then, commit yourself to rooting out sin in your life and to enduring whatever suffering may come your way in this world so as to console his heart, which opens the floodgates of his merciful love for us.  My friends, if you can do this, you will not only prepare yourself well to celebrate Easter, but you will become saints.
          May his merciful love, poured out most perfectly for us here in this Eucharist, bring this good work to completion in you.
Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 18th, 2018

Sunday, March 11, 2018

God is always on our side


Homily: 4th Sunday in Lent – Cycle B
          We are now a little more than halfway through Lent and we come to this Sunday, named Laetare, which calls us to “rejoice”.  Perhaps you are having your best Lent ever so far and so this invitation to “rejoice” is quite a welcome one.  If so, good for you!  Keep up that awesome work!  If you are anything like me, however, your Lent has been a mixed-bag so far: either some steps forward mixed with some steps back or even a struggle to get it off the ground all together.  If so, then it might be a little annoying that the Church tells us to “rejoice” at this point.
          No, if you’re anything like me, you’ve experienced a situation like I have sometime during your Lent.  My story goes something like this: I commit to giving up that favorite sin of mine (you know, the sin that I am not happy about committing, but for which make excuses whenever I do it… that’s right, the one that I am annoyed that I have to confess almost every time I go to confession), but then Satan throws me an unexpected curveball and, before I know it, I’m right back into that sin.  Frustrated, I wonder if I will ever overcome it.
          Recently, this story played out again.  When it did, I was really upset with myself.  I had trouble sleeping the whole night because I felt so bothered by my failure to respond to grace and my prideful inclinations that made me think that I could “play” with Satan’s temptations and get away without falling into sin (don’t play with Satan’s temptations, people!).  The next day I woke up earlier than normal, still bothered by my failure.  Then this phrase from Saint Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians came to my mind: “What I do is discipline my body.”  It was a cold winter morning with a biting wind and I knew it.  But I was convinced that I needed to discipline my body so I decided to get up and go for a run outside.  I’ve done this before, but that day it was particularly miserable.  About halfway through the run, however, as I was thinking about how miserable it was, another insight came into my mind: God put that thought there this morning because he wants me to discipline my body, not to punish me, but so that I can win the battle today.  He’s not happy with my failure yesterday, but he’s still on my side and he wants me to win today.  Now, while that didn’t change how physically miserable the run was, I did begin to feel a sense of hope that pulled me out from the wallowing in my guilt that I had been doing.
          Friends, I think that this is the story of the Scriptures this weekend: that God allows us to suffer for our sins, but always with his eye towards the restoration that he wants to make in our lives.  Just look at the reading from the book of Chronicles.  It describes the great infidelities that the Israelite people had committed against God; and how time and again God had sent his prophets to call them to repentance and warn them of the suffering that would come to them if they continued in their ways.  It describes how the Israelites ignored the prophets, even mocking and mistreating them, until there was nothing further God could do; and so he took back his hand of protection from them and allowed their enemies from the north, the Babylonian empire, to come and destroy Jerusalem, along with the Temple within it, who then took the Israelites into exile.  He did this to “discipline their bodies”, so to speak, so that, when the fullness of their discipline had been fulfilled, he could raise up Cyrus, king of Persia, over the Babylonian empire, who would show benevolence to the Israelites and allow them to return to Judah and rebuild the Temple so that they could worship God once again.  God allowed the Israelites to suffer for their sins, but remained “on their side”: knowing that, through their suffering, they were being made stronger so as to win the next battle with the forces of the evil one.
          The ultimate rendition of this story comes in the Gospel reading, of course.  While Chronicles documents how God worked for this particular people, whom he had chosen to be his light to the nations, the Gospel reading reveals the fullness of that plan.  In one of the most famous passages in the Gospels, we read that “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.”  As beautiful and powerful as that verse is, the one that follows it adds emphasis that applies to our reflection here today: “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.”  In other words, although God may have allowed us to suffer on account of our sins, he remained on our side, waiting until our “bodies” had been “disciplined” fully so that he could send his Son: not to “finish us off”, so to speak, but rather to save us and restore us to his friendship.
          Friends, when we look at our failures this way—and when we look at the suffering that has come along with them in this way (even if that suffering has only been a bit of mental anguish over failing to live up to our values)—then we truly do have reason to “rejoice”: because God, who never fails to acknowledge our sins (and the punishments due to us because of them) is, nonetheless, “rich in mercy” and desires not to condemn us, but rather that we would be restored so as to win the next battle against Satan and his wiles.
          And so, if you are feeling a bit down about your failure to live up to your ideals this Lent (regardless of how specific or vague they might have been), do not despair!  God has not given up on you!  Rather, he wants you to repent, to confess your sins and to receive his forgiveness in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, and to allow your body to be disciplined by him so as to make you stronger against the attacks of the evil one so that you can win the next battle.  Christ has already won the war.  In him, with bodies made pure through discipline, we can win each battle.  This Eucharist that we celebrate is both our reminder of God’s care and our strength for the fight; and so let us rejoice in it.  May our rejoicing carry us through the remaining discipline of Lent; so that, with minds and hearts made pure, we may truly celebrate the victory of Christ’s Resurrection.
Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 10th & 11th, 2018

Monday, March 5, 2018

Volcar las mesas de lo familiar


Homilía: 3º Domingo en la Cuaresma – Ciclo B
          La familiaridad engendra desprecio... al menos eso es lo que dice el proverbio moderno. Lo que este dicho es diciendo es que, a medida que conocemos a alguien más profundamente, nos damos cuenta de lo mucho que realmente no nos gusta esa persona; es decir, que con familiaridad viene el conocimiento no solo de los rasgos atractivos de la persona, sino también de los más feos (y todos nosotros los tenemos algunos, ¿no?). Creo que, en cierto sentido, todos podemos ver algo de la verdad en este dicho. Pero hay otro aspecto de este dicho que también lleva algo de verdad: es decir, que familiaridad también engendra complacencia.
          Podemos ver esto en nuestras rutinas diarias. La mayoría de ustedes ha vivido en Logansport o sus alrededores por mucho tiempo; y los puntos de referencia que solía observar a medida que realizaba sus tareas cotidianas—como llevar a los niños a la escuela o salir a la tienda para comprar, o incluso salir para el trabajo—después de un tiempo, estos puntos de referencia simplemente se desvanecían en el paisaje ¿no? Después de años de vivir en este lugar, a menudo descubre que las características de su vecindario ya no se registren en su conciencia.
          Esto también puede suceder con las personas. Nuestros compañeros de trabajo, compañeros en la escuela, amigos cercanos, hermanos y hermanas, e incluso nuestros cónyuges llegan a ser tan familiar para nosotros y parte de nuestra rutina diaria, que la apreciación de lo especiales que son para nuestra vida no es algo que entra en nuestra conciencia diaria. Y así, aunque esta familiaridad no engendra desprecio necesariamente, a menudo engendra complacencia.
          En la primera lectura de hoy, escuchamos el recuento de los Diez Mandamientos. Para muchos de nosotros, sospecho que escuchar estos que se leen es como hacer nuestro viaje diario al trabajo o a la escuela: estábamos conscientes de que comenzamos el viaje, pero cuando llegamos a nuestro destino no estábamos muy seguros de cómo llegamos allí. En otras palabras, los Diez Mandamientos quizás son tan familiares para nosotros que se han convertido en "parte del paisaje" y ya no afectan nuestra conciencia diaria.
          Y esto no es nada nuevo. Los antiguos judíos también cayeron en esta trampa. Tenían la Ley por muchos años y la mayoría de la gente estaba muy familiarizada con ella y sus demandas. Por lo tanto, seguir los preceptos de la Ley se había convertido para ellos como nuestra rutina diaria: nada más que parte del paisaje diario a través del cual tenían que navegar. Y esto en la medida en que convirtieron lo que se llama el "Culto del Templo"—es decir, los sacrificios ofrecidos en el Templo tanto en homenaje a Dios como en expiación por los pecados—en un negocio con fines de lucro.
          Ahí es cuando Jesús irrumpe en la escena e interrumpe lo familiar. Vio la forma en que Satanás había distorsionado la verdad que representaba la Ley—es decir, que era una forma de que el pueblo elegido de Dios permaneciera en "relación correcta" con Él—y la convirtió en una Ley de demandas frías y transacciones comerciales. Jesús vio que esto se había vuelto tan familiar para las personas que simplemente lo aceptaron como las condiciones para vivir como Pueblo de Dios. Al volcar las mesas de lo familiar, Jesús esperaba despertar en ellos una conciencia de la verdadera relación a la que Dios los había llamado.
          El celo con que Jesús deseaba que el Templo—la casa de su Padre—estuviera libre de impureza es el mismo celo que tiene por nuestros corazones. Quiere volcar las mesas de lo familiar en nuestros corazones y expulsar cualquier imagen distorsionada de uno mismo, de los demás, de Dios y de lo que Dios nos pide para que podamos ver una vez más la belleza de la relación a la que él se nos ha llamado: tanto colectivamente como el Pueblo de Dios e individualmente como hijos e hijas adoptados. ///
          Sin embargo, a diferencia del Templo, Cristo no puede irrumpir en nuestros corazones y comenzar a volcar las mesas. Dios nos creó para la libertad y, para él, hacerlo violaría esa dignidad. Y así esta Cuaresma—como lo hace a lo largo del año, pero particularmente en este tiempo sagrado—Jesús nos llama una vez más para abrir nuestros corazones a él y para darle permiso de arrojar luz sobre cualquier cosa que no sea santa, lo que es falso, y así expulsarlos, para purificar sus "templos del Espíritu Santo".
          Mis hermanos y hermanas, si todo lo que hemos hecho esta Cuaresma es retomar nuestras viejas prácticas familiares de oración, ayuno y limosna, entonces tenemos poco más que esperar cuando lleguemos al Domingo de Pascua que una sensación de alivio por no tener que mantener estas disciplinas por más tiempo. El desafío que tenemos ante nosotros hoy es hacer que esta Cuaresma sea diferente al "abrir de par en par las puertas a Cristo", que fue el toque de clarín del Santo Papa Juan Pablo II. Hacemos esto al desviar nuestra mirada de nosotros mismos y hacia los demás.
          En la oración, le pedimos a Dios que nos muestre formas en que podemos vencer nuestros hábitos pecaminosos volteándonos hacia nuestro prójimo y ofreciendo una palabra de aliento, una corrección suave cuando lo necesiten, una ayuda en sus dificultades y un humilde reconocimiento de cómo les hemos herido en el pasado que está acompañado por un sincero deseo de perdón. Luego volvemos a Dios, ofreciéndole nuestros éxitos y nuestros fracasos y pidiendo nuevamente la gracia para reconocer nuestras debilidades y confiar en su ayuda para superarlas.
          Este trabajo, por supuesto, es incómodo. Es incómodo porque tenemos que ceder nuestro control a Cristo y hacernos vulnerables a él y a los demás. Pero está bien, porque, como dice nuestro Santo Padre jubilado, el Papa emérito Benedicto XVI, "el mundo te ofrece comodidad, pero no fuiste hecho para la comodidad; sino que fuiste hecho para la grandeza ".
          Mis hermanos y hermanas, esta Cuaresma no puede ser solo "sobresalir" hasta el final, sino que debe tratarse de lograr la grandeza para la que fuimos hechos. Y entonces, que Cristo—el Cristo que encontramos aquí en el sacrificio que ofrecemos y en la comida que compartimos—vuelque lo familiar en sus corazones. Si lo haces, entonces estará realmente preparado para encontrar de nuevo la alegría de la Pascua.
Dado en la parroquia Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN
4 de marzo, 2018

Turning over the tables of the familiar


Homily: 3rd Sunday of Lent – Cycle B
          Familiarity breeds contempt… at least that’s what the modern proverb says.  What this saying is, well, saying is that, as we come to know someone more deeply, we realize just how much we actually don’t like that person; that is, that with familiarity comes knowledge not just of the person’s attractive traits, but also of their uglier ones (and we all have them, don’t we?).  I think, in a certain sense, we can all see some truth in this saying.  But there’s another aspect of this saying that also carries some truth: that is, that familiarity also breeds complacency.
          We can see this in our daily routines.  Most of you have lived in Logansport or the surrounding area for some time; and the landmarks that you used to notice as you went about your daily tasks—such as taking the kids to school, or making a run to the grocery store, or even just driving to work—after a while just kind of fade into the landscape, don’t they?  After years of living in this one place, you often find that the features of your neighborhood no longer seem to register in your consciousness.
          This can happen with people, too.  Our co-workers, classmates, close friends, brothers and sisters, and even our spouses become so familiar to us and part of our daily routine, that the appreciation of how special they are to our lives is not something that enters our daily consciousness.  And so, while this familiarity doesn’t necessarily breed contempt, it does often breed complacency.
          In the first reading today, we heard the recounting of the Ten Commandments.  For many of us, I suspect that listening to these being read is kind of like making our daily drive to work or school: we were conscious that we began the trip, but when we got to our destination we weren’t quite sure how we got there.  In other words, the Ten Commandments are perhaps so familiar to us that they’ve become “part of the landscape” and no longer impact our daily consciousness.
          And this is nothing new.  The ancient Jews also fell into this trap.  They had the Law for many years and most people were very familiar with it and its demands.  Thus, following the precepts of the Law had become for them like our daily routine: nothing more than part of the daily landscape through which they had to navigate.  And this to the extent that they turned what is called the “Temple Cult”—that is, the sacrifices offered in the Temple both in homage of God and as an atonement for sins—into a business for profit.
          That’s when Jesus breaks into the scene and disrupts the familiar.  He saw the way that Satan had distorted the truth that the Law represented—that is, that it was a way for God’s chosen people to remain in “right relationship” with Him—and turned it into a Law of cold demands and business transactions.  Jesus saw that this had become so familiar to the people that they simply accepted it as the conditions for living as the People of God. By turning over the tables of the familiar, Jesus was hoping to reawaken in them an awareness of the true relationship to which God had called them.
          The zeal with which Jesus desired that the Temple—his Father’s house—be free from defilement is the same zeal that he has for our hearts.  He wants to turn over the tables of the familiar in our hearts and drive out any distorted images of self, of others, of God, and of what God asks of us so that we can once again see the beauty of the relationship to which he has called us: both collectively as the People of God and individually as adopted sons and daughters. ///
          Yet, unlike the Temple, Christ cannot just burst into our hearts and start turning things over.  God created us for freedom and for him to do so would violate that dignity.  And so this Lent—as he does throughout the year, but particularly in this holy season—Jesus calls us once again to open our hearts to him and to give him permission to shed light on anything in them that is unholy, that is untrue, and thus to drive them out, so as to purify his “temples of the Holy Spirit.”
          My brothers and sisters, if all we have done this Lent is take up our old familiar practices of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving, then we have little more to hope for when we arrive at Easter Sunday than a feeling of relief for not having to maintain these disciplines any longer.  The challenge we have before us today is to make this Lent different by “opening wide the doors to Christ,” which was the clarion call of Saint Pope John Paul II.  We do this by turning our gaze away from ourselves and towards others.
          In prayer, we ask God to show us ways that we can overcome our sinful habits by turning towards our neighbor and offering a word of encouragement, a gentle correction when they need it, a helping hand in their difficulties, and a humble acknowledgement of how we’ve hurt them in the past that is accompanied by a sincere desire for forgiveness.  Then we return to God, offering him our successes and our failures and asking again for the grace to recognize our weaknesses and to trust in his help to overcome them.
          This work, of course, is uncomfortable.  It is uncomfortable because we have to give up our control to Christ and make ourselves vulnerable to him and to others.  But that’s ok, because, as our retired Holy Father, Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI says, “the world offers you comfort, but you were not made for comfort; rather you were made for greatness.”
          My brothers and sisters, this Lent cannot be just about “sticking it out” to the end, but rather it must be about achieving the greatness for which we were made.  And so, let Christ—the Christ we encounter here in the sacrifice we offer and in the meal we share—turn over the familiar in your hearts.  If you do so, then you will be truly ready to encounter anew the joy of Easter.
Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 4th, 2018