Remain faithful to the grace of God

Homily: 4^th Sunday in Easter – Cycle C

Friends, this weekend we are celebrating a number of wonderful things: namely, the World Day for Vocations and Mother’s Day.  We also call today “Good Shepherd Sunday”, since the Gospel reading for the day, regardless of which year in the three-year cycle of readings we are in, is taken from the “Good Shepherd” discourse in John’s Gospel.  Certainly, there are many great things to preach on today, but I am going to focus in on a phrase from our first reading that, hopefully, will give us something to take home with us to ponder and to work on this week.

In the reading from the Acts of the Apostles, we hear of Paul and Barnabas making their way to Antioch to proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ to the community there.  Being Jews, they went straight to the synagogue to proclaim to God’s chosen people that the long-awaited Messiah had come: Jesus of Nazareth, who was persecuted and put to death, but rose from the dead on the third day and now lives, having taken his place at the right hand of God in heaven.  They came to proclaim to the Jews in Antioch that it is only in the name of Jesus that they can find salvation.  From the sound of it, they found a positive reception that first sabbath day as it says that many who were there began to follow them.

To those who began following them, Paul and Barnabas spoke to them and urged them to “remain faithful to the grace of God.”  This phrase—remain faithful to the grace of God—struck me as important.  Of all of the things that Paul and Barnabas could have told the ones who were beginning to follow them—for example, “go learn to pray”, or “go study the scriptures”, or “go serve the poor”—they chose to urge them to “remain faithful to the grace of God”.  I think that this is a great Easter message for all of us and it’s a theme that connects with our other readings today.

In the second reading, we continue to hear of John’s visions, recorded for us in the book of Revelation.  In this vision, we see a great multitude of people, too many to count, who are identified as “the ones who have survived the time of great distress; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb”.  This description is “New Testament speak” for the martyrs: those who have shed their blood for Christ.  And what does “having survived the time of great distress” mean, except that they “remained faithful to the grace of God”?  These who are identified as martyrs—and who, therefore, stand before the throne of God (that is, who stand in heaven)—are the ones who have remained faithful to the grace of God and, therefore, enjoy the reward for their faithfulness.

In the Gospel reading, we hear Jesus say, “My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me.  I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish”.  He continues to say, “No one can take them out of my hand.”  This is a beautiful truth about Jesus as the true Good Shepherd.  What isn’t revealed here, however, is that, while no one can take one of Jesus’ sheep from him, his sheep, nonetheless, can wander away on their own.  Jesus’ promise is amazing and should give hope to everyone who comes to him; but it should also stir in us a desire to “remain faithful to the grace of God”, so that, having become a member of Jesus’ flock, we don’t find ourselves having drifted away from him and no longer able to hear his voice.  For when we can no longer hear his voice—that is, when we have failed to remain faithful to God’s grace—then we are no longer protected by his promise.

Friends, this really is the ongoing message of this Easter season.  Having feasted on the joy of Jesus’ resurrection, we perhaps find ourselves like those first followers of Paul and Barnabas in Antioch: excited but not quite sure what to do next.  To us the same instruction is given: “remain faithful to the grace of God”.  What does this mean for us?  Surely it means “Do not return to your life of sin”.  Sin is incompatible with the grace of God and so for us to return to the sin that we strove to leave behind during Lent would be an infidelity to the grace given to us by God (which, in point of fact, helped us to break free from that sin in the first place).  I would say that it also means to be docile to the Holy Spirit.  The grace of God, which we received at baptism, is the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.  This Spirit dwells in us to guide us and point us to God’s will for our lives.  He is not forceful, however.  We may choose not to listen to the promptings of the Holy Spirit, but rather choose to follow our own will: in which case we stray from Jesus, the Good Shepherd, and make ourselves vulnerable to being overcome by the Evil One who seeks to separate us eternally from God.  If we make ourselves docile to the Spirit, however, we remain faithful to the grace of God and, thus, close to the protecting hand of Jesus.  Thus, enabling us to walk more confidently: ready to share the Good News of Jesus Christ to anyone who will listen.

Finally, I might also add, on this World Day for Vocations, that “remaining faithful to the grace of God” is also the way that we come to know and follow our vocation: whether that be to the priesthood or the diaconate, to the consecrated religious life, to marriage, or to the consecrated single life.  We cannot expect to know God’s will, which is made known to us through grace, unless we remain faithful to God’s grace throughout our lives.  Oh, and by the way, holy vocations foster other holy vocations!  Therefore, if you want to promote vocations to the priesthood, then remain faithful to the grace of God in your own vocation!  When young people see others leading joy-filled lives while following God’s will, it will inspire in them a desire to know that same joy in their own lives and they, too, will begin to discern God’s call.

Therefore, friends, let us spend some time this week reflecting on whether or not we have “remained faithful to the grace of God”; and, if we haven’t, to turn back to our commitment to do so.  In this way, we will stay attuned to the voice of Jesus, our Good Shepherd who leads us to eternal life, and we will also be great witnesses—that is, martyrs—to the joy of a life united to Christ, which will lead others to him, so that there may truly be “one flock” and “one shepherd” throughout the world.  May God bless us all in this good work.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – May 12^th, 2019

Receive mercy, give mercy.

Homily: 5^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          In March of 2003, I was an engineer who had set himself on a path towards a career in the automotive industry.  I was at a point in my life when I knew that there were some things that would have to change—not so that I could be successful, but rather so that I could be happy—but I never thought that those changes would take me too far from engineering.  Nevertheless, after participating in a parish mission, I realized that my life might soon be radically different.

          You see, during that parish mission I had encountered Jesus in a very personal way; and when I encountered him I was suddenly deeply aware of my sinfulness (and of how broken I was because of my sinfulness).  There I went to confession for the first time in what had been over 12 years and I experienced in a profound way the depths of God’s mercy.  I left from that week knowing that my life had changed forever—that is, that God would be sending me in a different direction—even though I wouldn’t know what that direction would look like until some time later

          One of the things that I did quickly realize, however, was that my life would now have to be focused on others.  In other words, I knew that, because I had received God’s mercy, God wanted me to be an instrument of his mercy to others.  Thus, even while I prayed to discern God’s vocation for my life, I began to involve myself in the various outreach ministries in my parish.  Of course, (as Paul Harvey was wont to say) we all know the rest of the story: that the specific way that God was calling me to be an instrument of his mercy was to be a priest in his Church.

          The prophet Isaiah was a minister in the Temple of Jerusalem.  One day, while performing his liturgical duties in the Temple, Isaiah was given a vision of the glory of heaven and of the presence of God.  In spite of the splendor of this vision, Isaiah turns away from it because, in the presence of God, he is acutely aware of his sinfulness—and, thus, his unworthiness to stand in God’s presence.  Just then an angel carries an ember from the altar and “purifies” him by touching it to his lips so that he no longer has to fear being in the presence of God.  Isaiah was mercifully cleansed from his sinfulness.  In response, when the voice of the Lord calls out for someone to send on a mission, Isaiah promptly replies, “Here I am; send me!”  Although he was already ministering to the Lord in the Temple, his experience of God’s mercy inspired him to volunteer to be sent forth on a mission to be the voice of God’s mercy to others.

          Peter was a fisherman in Galilee.  He must not have been a bad fisherman, either, because the Gospel tells us that Jesus got into the boat “belonging to Simon” and only those who had been successful could afford to own their own boat.  After Jesus had instructed him to put out into deep water and lower his nets for a catch—at a time of day in which no one would catch anything, and after having spent the night (that is, the good time for catching fish) lowering his nets and catching nothing—Peter was astounded at the catch that was made and knew that he was in the presence of someone powerful.  This realization was immediately followed by an acute awareness of his own sinfulness; and so Peter bows down before Jesus and acknowledges as much before him.  Jesus, however, shows him mercy and gives him a commission to draw others to experience his mercy, too, when he says: “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching men.”

          And although it wasn’t recounted for us in our reading today, Paul’s career as an Apostle is a direct result of the same pattern.  On the road to Damascus—when he was still persecuting the first Christians—Paul encountered the Risen Jesus.  After that appearance, Paul was acutely aware of his sinfulness.  God showed him his mercy, however, and then sent him out to proclaim the Good News of his mercy to the nations.  Paul, in his letter to the Corinthians, does acknowledge this for us when he says “For I am the least of the apostles, not fit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.  But by the grace of God [that is, the mercy of God] I am what I am, and his grace to me has not been ineffective.”

          This pattern, I think, can be summed up in a simple phrase: Receive mercy, give mercy.  In each of these examples that I’ve recounted—in spite of the very different circumstances in which each occurred—the person became aware that he was in the presence of God and, thus, became acutely aware of his sinfulness.  Acknowledging his sinfulness before God, however, God showed him his mercy.  Having received God’s mercy, he then turned to become an instrument of God’s mercy in the world.  In other words, first he received mercy and then he gave it.  And although this might seem to be something that only “exalted” figures in the church can experience—figures such as prophets, apostles, or priests—this is not an experience only for the “chosen few”.  Rather, it is something that all of us can experience.

          In order to receive mercy, one must first acknowledge his or her sinfulness before God.  We are all sinners and so to acknowledge this openly before God invites him to show us his mercy.  Then, having received his mercy, our lives our changed and we go forth, not to return to our sinful way of life, but rather to live our lives for him and to be instruments of his mercy in the unique vocation that he has given to each of us.  Pope Francis, in a message for Lent a few years ago, said that “God’s mercy transforms human hearts; it enables us, through the experience of a faithful love, to become merciful in turn.”  In other words, when we receive God’s mercy we are transformed and, thus, enabled to give mercy to others.

          Lent is still a little less than a month away, however, and for this I am grateful.  I’m grateful because this is a message that we need to receive in the midst of Ordinary Time: the time in which we focus on our discipleship and the day-to-day living out of our Christian vocations.  This simple formula—receive mercy, give mercy—is the story of salvation in a nutshell; and it is the story that must be on our lips and in our actions when we interact with others.

          If you heard my homily last weekend (or if you pre-read my bulletin column this weekend), you’ll know that I exhorted us to reclaim the Church’s rightful title by becoming evangelical again.  To do so, I identified three tasks of evangelization that we must take up: witness, invitation, and service.  Witness: telling others about the mercy we have received.  Invitation: inviting others to receive that same mercy.  Service: mercy shared with others as a sign of the mercy that has been given to us.  People today are starving to know that there is mercy for them and to experience it.  We are in contact with the fountainhead of mercy, itself; and so we must be ready to help everyone find and experience it.

          Nevertheless, we ourselves must regularly return to the fount of mercy to renew our experience of receiving mercy so that we can be renewed in our efforts to give it.  This is where the Sacrament of Reconciliation comes in.  When we regularly return to this sacrament, we renew that original encounter, in which we acknowledge that we are in the presence of God (and our unworthiness to be there) and then receive from him the mercy of his forgiveness.  Having received God’s mercy we are told to “go in peace”: that is, to go and give witness to the mercy we have received in our words and actions.  Without this regular renewal, our efforts at evangelization will fall short and the Church will continue to shrink.

          Strengthened by our confessions—and, as always, by this Eucharist that we celebrate—we can become great instruments of God’s mercy and, thus, renew God’s Church.  Our Mother Mary, received such great mercy when she agreed to give birth to God’s Son.  She then turned and gave (and continues to give) such great mercy to others.  May she intercede for us so that our efforts will be fruitful; and so that God’s kingdom of mercy may flourish among us.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – February 9^th & 10^th, 2019

Saying "yes" to God's voice

Homily: 2^nd Sunday in Lent – Cycle B

          Michigan mega-church pastor Rob Bell has produced a series of videos that take a simple, straight-forward approach to demonstrating how the Gospel applies to everyday life.  In one of the videos that I’ve seen, Mr. Bell speaks about the importance of saying “yes” to something.  In doing so, he emphasizes, we can then come to know what it is that we need to say “no” to in our lives.  He uses Jesus as an example to illustrate his point, stating that because Jesus said “yes” to do the Father’s will, announcing the Good News and redeeming God’s people, he could say “no” to many other things (like when Jesus turned away when he knew the crowd was going to make him their king).

          This is a video (a short film, really) and so of course there is a visual component to his speaking.  In the film, the whole time that he is talking he’s walking, seemingly from one side of a city to another.  At first his surroundings just seem like normal busy streets, but if you’re paying attention you begin to notice that the surroundings are part of the point.  The visual noises are distractions that surround him as he walks.  At a couple of points, a person actually walks in between Mr. Bell and the camera as he’s walking, but he never loses his stride until he arrives at his destination (which happens to be a school where he meets a young boy that we are to assume is his son).  The well-made point of both his words and the visual presentation is to emphasize how knowing to what it is that we have said “yes” keeps us focused (i.e. able to say “no”) in the midst of the world’s distractions.

          Our scriptures today lead us to think about how God’s voice gets into the middle of people’s lives.  In our first reading, Abraham hears God’s voice, who commands him to do something horrific: to take his son Isaac (that is, the son that God had promised to him as the first of the innumerable descendants that Abraham would have) and how Abraham followed what God had asked him to do.  This, of course, was not the first time that Abraham had said “yes” to God.  In fact, it was many years before, when Abraham was still “Abram”, that God first called Abraham and directed him to leave the land of his fathers to travel to a land which he would show him.  That was when Abraham first said his “yes” to God.  In the many years that followed, Abraham maintained that “yes” to God; and so, when God asked Abraham to give his son Isaac back to him, Abraham could say “yes” once again. /// Because he was clear about to what he had said “yes”, Abraham could say “no” to everything else.

          In the Gospel, Jesus takes Peter, James, and John on a hike up to a high place.  Knowing that Jesus often did this to have a quiet place where he could teach or pray, I’m guessing that the three were anticipating a quiet afternoon.  But then, the Transfiguration…  Moses and Elijah…  And, to top it all off, the voice of God booms out from the thick cloud that had descended upon them.  They had already said “yes” to Jesus when they responded to his call to leave their nets and follow him.  Now their “yes” had to go deeper (like Abraham’s had to go deeper).  In commanding these three to “listen to him”, the Father was, in essence, saying, “Obey him completely”.  And how soon would this be tested?  As soon as they started down from the high place: The Gospel says that “…[Jesus] charged them not to relate what they had seen to anyone, except when the Son of Man had risen from the dead.” /// Because they had seen the full glory of that to which they had said “yes”, Peter, James, and John could then say “no” to everything else.

          And so, the question comes to us: “To whom (or to what) have I said ‘yes’?”  To answer this question, we need to take a look at to whose voice we listen and to whose we don’t.  This is an examination of conscience.  Is it God’s voice to which you listen?  Or is it to one (or more) of the many other voices that fill your day?  The ones, perhaps, who are closest to you and whose opinions and good graces you value highly?  If the voice to which you listen—that is, the voice to which you have said “yes”—isn’t God’s, then Lent is the time to “re-orient your hearing”, so to speak.

          In our second reading, Saint Paul reminds us powerfully that we should be listening—that is, giving our “yes”—to God.  In it, Paul is asking: "Who has done more for us besides God?"  God, who has given up his only son for us (and, in this context, we can add even when he didn't make Abraham do so).  If he has given us that much, Paul continues, how will he not give us everything else we need in this world, which is clearly much less valuable?  Then he asks, "If God has done this for us, then who should we fear in this world?"  For no one has more power than God and He has proven that he is "for" us (that is, “on our side”).  Thus, who (or what) have we to fear?  If it is God who ultimately decides our fate, then we must fear (that is, listen to) him alone.

          Okay, so how do I hear God’s voice and, thus, demonstrate my "yes" to God?  Well, first and foremost, follow his commandments.  Maybe you’re not hearing the voice of God speaking into your ear like Abraham did, but Abraham didn’t have the commandments: we do.  The commandments (and the moral teachings of Holy Mother Church which stem from them) are the voice of God for each of us.  If we are not following those, then we are certainly not giving our full “yes” to God.  Examine your conscience, then, and see if you are following his commandments.  If not, repent.  Seek forgiveness through the sacrament of Reconciliation and resolve to follow them from this point forward.

          Second, fulfill your vocation.  Whatever calling God has given to you (marriage, parenthood, the single life…), learn what it looks like to live this virtuously and then live it.  The Church Fathers tell us that every creature gives great glory to God by simply being fully what it is that God made it to be.  The same goes for us.  If you are a husband or wife, be the best husband or wife you can be.  If you are a parent, be the best parent you can be.  If you are single, be the best servant of others that you can be.  (Each of which are measured by the Christian law of charity, of course.)  If we’re falling short, then, again, we need to repent and resolve to become the best, according to our abilities.  And why these?  Because then you'll be on the same wavelength as God and you will be able to hear other, specific ways in which he wants you to act.

          My friends, Lent is about restoring our "yes" to God and to his voice.  Our Lenten practices of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving ought to have as their goal helping us to restore it.  And this, so that, through obedience, we would receive the blessings promised to Abraham, because of his obedience.  And, still further, so that God's kingdom—which is nothing short than seeing the Glorious Face of Jesus—would be made known among us.  May our Blessed Mother Mary, whose “yes” brought Christ our Savior to us, be for us a model; and may her prayers lead us to this glory that each of our hearts seeks.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – February 24^th & 25^th, 2018

Toward the age of glory

Homily: 3^rd Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle B

          Today in our Gospel reading, we hear the first words that Jesus utters, according to the Gospel writer Mark; and they are rather mysterious ones.  “Repent and believe in the Gospel” is often touted as being his first words, but they aren’t.  Rather, his first words are: "This is the time of fulfillment."  “Huh?  What does this mean?”  It means that, when Jesus Christ came onto the scene, it was a turning point in the history of the world.  From this we have come to understand that, with Jesus, the third age of human history has been inaugurated.

          The first age was the era of creation.  During this period, mankind lived in the fullness of communion with God.  It was when Adam and Eve lived in paradise: in unspoiled friendship with God.  This, of course, ended when our first parents committed the first sin and, subsequently, fell from grace, allowing evil to enter into the world.

          From this, the second age began: the age of the Promise.  As we read in the book of Genesis, soon after the first sin, God promised Adam and Eve that he would send a Savior to free the human family from domination by the devil.  In this second age God gradually prepared the world, through the education of his chosen people, Israel, for the arrival of Jesus Christ.  This is the age of history encapsulated by the Old Testament in the Bible.

          With the coming of Jesus, the third age began: the "time of fulfillment," by which we mean, “the fulfillment of the promise of salvation.”  In this age, the Christian age, God actually entered into time and space in order to rescue it from sin and destruction.  He did so, at first, through the Incarnation, and he continues to do so through the activity of the Church, which is gradually expanding into every corner of the globe.  At the end of this third age, Christ will come again, ushering in the fourth and final age: the age of glory, when evil, death, and sorrow will be banished from his Kingdom forever.

          This is weird, of course, because we’re used to thinking of history in terms of secular “ages”: the “stone” age, the “bronze” age, the “iron” age, etc., none of which hinge on the life of Christ.  But if we see things from the perspective of these four “Christian” stages of history, things begin to make more sense: history seems to have a purpose and an end to which it is moving, which has the effect of filling us with wisdom, interior peace, and a sense of purpose.  Even still, I think that we have to ask ourselves: “Do we actually look at things this way?”

          You know, the advances of modern science and technology tend to make us forget about this.  Pleasures and power are so easy to find in our modern world that we can subconsciously start thinking that maybe we can create heaven on earth by ourselves, skipping over God's plan for history.  We forget what St. Paul always remembered—and what he explained in today's Second Reading—that "the world in its present form is passing away."  In forgetting this, we fail realize that our attempts to bypass God's plan for human history and to create heaven on earth was at the root of the most hideous crimes of the twentieth century.

          When Nazi fascism rejected Christ as the Lord of history and tried to put nationalism in his place, it led to a World War, the Holocaust, and the atomic bomb.  When Marxist Communism rejected Christ as the Lord of history and tried to put human work in his place, it led to a multi-national Soviet empire of state oppression, the mass starvation of 20 million peasants under Stalinist Russia, and the death of another 20 million under Mao Zedung's "Great Leap Forward" in China.  And, in our current age, secular humanism has rejected Christ as the Lord of history and is trying to put radical individualism in his place.  This has led to a moral recession that has fed the world's economic recession.  And it has already led to a global resurgence of child slavery and human trafficking, not to mention the death of more than 60 million unborn babies through legalized abortion.  You know, when we consider all these horrors—especially how wide-spread they are in today’s world—it’s not surprising that even the most fervent Christians can feel discouraged.

          But discouragement is a lie, because, as Saint Paul has already assured us, "the world in its present form is passing away."  Friends, Christ is building his Kingdom even in the midst of the world's evils.  He is giving meaning and hope to the drama of human history.  And when we put our trust in him and follow him, we become part of the everlasting solution, not the passing problem.

          You know, the most exciting aspect of the Christian view of history is that Christ is constantly inviting us to take part in it.  What happened in today's Gospel passage happens to each one of us throughout our lives.  Peter, Andrew, James, and John were all living their normal lives, working to keep food on the table.  By all external signs, they were indistinguishable from any of their contemporaries.

          But then one day Jesus Christ walked into their lives and called them each by name.  Jesus didn't see them as average people: that is, generic fishermen.  Jesus saw each one in the revealing light of God's love.  He knew that he had created them for an active role in his plan to redeem the human race and to conquer the forces of sin and evil.  And just as he invited each one of them to join him and to share his mission, so Jesus does with each of us.

          Some of us he calls to leave behind our nets, boats, and even our families, so that we can serve the Church full-time as “special agents”, if you will: that is, as priests, religious, and missionaries.  Others—the majority of us—he calls to be his ambassadors in the middle of our normal family and work life: bringing his redeeming power to the world from within, like leaven in a batch of dough.  Regardless of the end to which he calls us, he, nonetheless, calls each one of us.  And today he will renew his call when he offers himself to us, once again, here in the Eucharist.

          My brothers and sisters, by reminding us today of the true course of human history, Jesus has motivated us to renew our response to his call in our hearts: to let our friendship with him become the most important thing for us once again—more important than our plans, our pleasures, our hopes, and our comfort—because all those things are just part of the "world in its present form," which is "passing away."  Let us, then, renew our response to him today so as to conquer this age in which secular humanism tries to destroy all that is human (especially the most vulnerable among us) and, thus, usher in the age of glory in which we are restored to that perfect communion with God that we enjoyed in the age of creation, and in which Christ, our Savior, rules over all.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – January 21, 2018

The end IS nigh!

Homily: 25^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          Well, we’re all still here, so apparently the prediction wasn’t accurate.  Have you guys heard about this?  The story about David Meade, the biblical numerologist, who claimed that the end of the world was to begin yesterday, September 23^rd?  His proposition was based on the biblical significance of the number 33 (namely, that Jesus lived for 33 years here on earth), the fact that the total solar eclipse was exactly 33 days from September 23^rd, and that, on that same day, a planet, named “Planet X”, was supposed to pass by earth at close proximity and cause numerous natural disasters to occur at the same time: volcanic eruptions, tsunamis, earthquakes, etc.  I’m not sure how Mr. Meade got around the fact that NASA has repeatedly stated that “Planet X” doesn’t exist and that, regardless, there is no planet whose trajectory would take it anywhere near earth anytime in the foreseeable future, but, thanks be to God, it appears that his prediction isn’t accurate and so it doesn’t really matter.

          Or is it?  I mean, maybe he isn’t right on about the “how” and the “when”, but he might still be on to something.  With Western Society seemingly trying to consume itself into oblivion and with the great slew of natural disasters currently occurring (say nothing of the saber rattling going on between President Trump and Kim Jong-un), Mr. Meade might, actually, be on to something.  In fact, as Catholics, I think that we have to say that he is right: doomsday approaches… the end is nigh!  Why do we need to say this?  Well, because we’ve been saying it for nearly 2000 years.

          You see, the first Christians took seriously Jesus’ words to his disciples before he ascended into heaven when he said, “This generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place.”  “These things…” to which Jesus was referring were the signs of the apocalypse, namely that “the sun will be darkened and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will fall from the sky, and the powers of the heavens will be shaken.”  And so, the first Christians made haste—and none hastier than Saint Paul—to try to preach the Gospel to the whole world before these “things” would took place.  Saint Paul was always ready to leave this world at a moment’s notice—as is evidenced by his words to the Philippians in the second reading and which demonstrates his conviction that the end was nigh—but, nonetheless, he was content to continue working in this world for the benefit of those to whom he preached until the Lord returned.

          Eventually, of course, that generation began to die off, thus prompting some Christians to begin to question whether or not the “end” was truly “nigh”.  That’s why, in later writings of the New Testament, we see the authors beginning to try to explain how this makes sense.  They found hope in Jesus’ words that, when he returned, those who were in the graves would be raised up: that none of them would be lost.  This didn’t diminish, however, the urgency with which they continued to proclaim the Gospel.  They refused to believe that, what seemed to them as a delay, meant that Jesus had given up all-together.  Thus, they continued to preach that “the end is nigh” so that no one would be caught off-guard.

          Nearly two-thousand years later, we’ve softened the “the end is nigh” rhetoric, a bit, but it nonetheless is a core teaching of our message.  This is, in part, why we still read passages in our liturgies like the passage that we read from the prophet Isaiah in our first reading today.  “Seek the Lord while he may be found, call him while he is near” the prophet said.  The prophet was implying, of course that there may be a time—in the near future, even—in which the Lord may not be found and in which he may not be near.  We read this again today to wake us up to the same reality: it will not always be possible to find God when we seek him nor will God always be near to us when we call.  The end is nigh.  Thus, we are reminded of the urgency with which we must continually seek the Lord while he may be found and call on him while he is near.

          Even the parable that Jesus gives us in the Gospel reading today tells us something of the urgency that should still motivate us.  There, the landowner shows himself going out repeatedly during the day to seek workers for his vineyard.  We see that, even up to the last hour of the work day, if he finds workers who have not been hired for the day, he will hire them and send them out to his vineyard to earn a day’s wage.  Although it is easy to focus on what seems to be an injustice to the workers who worked all day long, I want to draw your attention to something that might be easy to overlook: that, ultimately, the day ended and, thus, that the landowner no longer went out to look for any more workers.  Seek the Lord while he may be found…

          My brothers and sisters, Planet X may not have passed close to the earth yesterday, thus sparing us from the horrible consequences that might have occurred, but that does not mean that the end is not nigh.  As our Lord has told us, we know “neither the day, nor the hour” of our Lord’s return, meaning that it could still be something that is close at hand.  And so our job is not to “seek to know the day and the hour”, but rather it is to “seek the Lord while he may be found” and to help others to do the same.  We seek him when we seek him in our daily personal prayer, in the sacraments, celebrated in a worshiping community, and in the poor, whom we serve with generous hearts; and we help others to do so when we invite them to seek the Lord with us.

          And so, as we approach this altar on which we encounter the Lord who is still near to us, let us call to him and ask him to strengthen us on our journey: so that, whether the end of the world comes today or another 2000 years’ worth of todays from now, we will be ready to run to him when he comes in glory.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – September 24^th, 2017

Pagans, Saints, and the Cross of Christ

Homily: 22^nd Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          As we know, Saint Paul lived in the first century AD, when the dominant religions were all pagan.  Pagan religions were based on a belief that gods were fickle beings who, while wielding great power, could, nonetheless, be swayed to use that power for a person’s benefit if they made a pleasing offering to them.  Thus, these pagan religions emphasized and relied on the power of external rituals.  These rituals sometimes consisted of sacrifices in which animals were slaughtered, grain was burned, or wine was poured out.  They also sometimes consisted of ritual dances, prayers, songs, or similar actions.  In every case, however, the power of the worship, and its (supposed) ability to convince the false god to send blessings on the worshipper, depended on the exact performance of the ritual.  It was kind of like a gymnastics routine in the Olympics: if the ritual wasn't performed with perfect precision, the worshipper would get a bad score, and the gods would either ignore the prayer or, worse, get angry.

          This pagan focus on external rituals had also seeped into Jewish practices at the time.  Throughout his writings, therefore, Saint Paul is constantly warning the early Christians against falling into an excessive focus on the externals, or, what we might call, ritualism.  Paul sought to train the early Church to have a close personal relationship with God: not a cold, distant one, made up entirely with empty formalities.  This is why he writes to the Romans, as we just heard, "offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God, your spiritual worship."  In other words, he was teaching them that the Christian's relationship with God isn't reducible to a few rituals and prayers; rather, everything he/she does is meant to be worship.  One’s actions, words, and decisions—the way one lives his/her daily life—all these things are ways for one to show that he/she loves Christ and wants to follow him.  This was a radical new concept of religion—a religion built on a personal friendship with the one true God who became man in Jesus Christ—and it required, as Saint Paul wrote, that Christians "be transformed by the renewal of their mind."

          This “new-at-the-time” concept of religion helps us to understand so much of our religious tradition.  In particular, it helps explain one of our Catholic traditions that a lot of non-Catholic Christians have trouble understanding: namely, our devotion to the saints.  You see, some non-Catholics think that the statues of saints in our churches are there because we worship them, as pagans used to do, who would worship a sacred statue (like that of an animal) or an image of an ancestor as if they (the animal or the ancestor) were divine.  Devotion to the saints, however, is different.  We use images of saints for the same reason that we use family photographs: to remind us of some of the great members of our Christian family who have gone before us.  The example of their faith, courage, and holiness, of which the image reminds us, is meant to inspire us to strive for holiness, too.  So, no, we don't worship statues; and, no, we don't worship the saints either.

          We know the saints; and we know that they were normal, everyday people just like us, and that they aren’t gods.  They had personality flaws, family problems, and plenty of headaches, but they allowed God's grace to touch those things, and to sanctify them.  They recognized that God's offer of friendship in Christ was able to make them not only better church-goers and pray-ers, but also better husbands and wives, generals and lawyers, carpenters and nurses, scholars and artists.  These men and women followed Saint Paul's advice, trying to make every activity of their day—whether folding laundry or writing theological treatises—into a "living sacrifice" of "spiritual worship."  That's why we have named patron saints for almost everything and everyone, like Saint Barbara, the patron saint of mathematicians, and Saint Brigid, the patron saint of midwives, and Saint Wolfgang, the patron saint of those suffering from paralysis, and Saint Martin de Porres, the patron saint of public schools.  For those connected to any one of those situations, these saints provide an example of how to make their lives into a “living sacrifice” of “spiritual worship”.

          Friends, we aren't superstitious, nor do we believe in good luck charms, but we do recognize that, when God comes into a life, he has the power to fill every little nook and cranny of it with everlasting meaning, if we let him; and our devotion to the saints helps to remind us of this by reminding us of how he has already done this in the lives of countless men and women before us.

          No, my brothers and sisters, we do not worship our ancestors or pray to multiple gods for multiple many things—and our relationship with the one God who we worship is not based on external rituals alone—rather, it's based on an internal identity, often expressed externally.  I believe that this truth can help us to understand one of life's great mysteries: that is, the mystery of suffering and the cross.

          In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus said to his disciples (and, so, he says to us): "Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me."  Jesus doesn’t promise that following him will lead to a problem-free life, even though that's what all the pagan religions claimed to offer.  We know that such a promise is empty, because we know that, in this fallen world, no one can avoid suffering and loss.  What Jesus does promise is that, at the end of history, he will "wipe away every tear" and put an end to evil, suffering, and death for those who have endured such things patiently on account of him.  He demands this of his disciples not because he is some fickle god, looking for external proofs of their commitment to him, but rather because he knows of suffering’s redemptive power: power that he activated when he, himself, took up the cross.

          Just before telling his apostles “whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me”, we hear that Jesus showed his disciples that “he must go to Jerusalem and suffer greatly … and be killed and on the third day be raised”.  Jesus did not make himself immune to what his disciples would suffer; but rather embraced it, in obedience to the Father’s will, as the means of salvation for humanity.  And so, when we unite our inevitable sufferings to his through faith and prayer, we tap into this means of salvation.  This gives our crosses internal meaning, even though externally they remain painful.  Our crosses then become part of the "living sacrifice" and "spiritual worship" that please God, reverse sin, and spread God's grace.

          My brothers and sisters, Jesus has redeemed the world and has turned our sorrows into paths of salvation, just as in a few minutes he will turn our offerings of bread and wine into his own grace-filled body and blood.  If we are at all feeling down and defeated because of the crosses that being a Christian demands that we bear, let’s look to our friends, the saints, for inspiration to persevere in carrying them, and to this Eucharist—which re-presents to us the saving sacrifice of Jesus on the cross—to find the strength we need to bear their weight until our Lord returns in glory.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – September 2^nd & 3^rd, 2017

Silence strengthens us for the storms

Homily: 19^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          For many, it seems, that just when God seems to be closest, he allows great trials to befall his closest friends.  Our readings today touch on this theme.  The prophet Elijah, who at the time appeared to be the only person faithful to God after the northern kingdom of Israel abandoned their faithfulness to him, finds himself hunted down as a heinous criminal after having proven that Yahweh, the God of the Israelite people, is the true God and that the gods that the people of the northern kingdom had been worshiping (the baals) were false and powerless.  Because of this, Elijah fell into despair.  He had called down fire from God when the over 400 prophets of baal could do no such thing; and, instead of finding a people who turned to God (and thus, who might stand with him, instead of against him), he found a people ever more anxious to destroy him.  This was a great trial for Elijah, known as the man of God.

          Saint Paul, after his conversion on the road to Damascus, began a very fruitful mission of bringing the Gospel to the Gentiles: the people from any nation that wasn’t a descendent of the ancient Israelite nation.  Nonetheless, he was tormented constantly because the people of his own heritage, the Israelites, with whom God had established his covenant, had rejected his message and had failed to accept Jesus as the Christ, the Messiah whom God had sent.  He was so bothered by this that, in his letter to the Romans, he wrote that he would readily give himself up to condemnation (that is, to eternal separation from God) if it would mean that his people would accept Jesus as the Christ and thus see the covenant come to fulfillment.  This was a great trial for Paul, known as the Apostle to the Gentiles.

          In our Gospel, we read how, after the miraculous feeding of the 5000, Jesus sent his disciples across the sea in a boat through the night.  During the night, a storm arose, filling the disciples with fear for their lives.  So much so, that when Jesus came towards them, walking on the water (!), they thought it was a ghost and, thus, a sign of their impending death.  This, too, was a great trial for those known as first followers of Jesus.

          Saint Teresa of Avila famously summed up this experience of frustration and despair that can befall many who follow God closely and have experienced his powerful intervention in their lives.  She lived in the late 1500’s and worked strenuously to reform the Carmelite order.  To do so she travelled much.  As you can imagine, travel over long distances in the 1500’s was difficult, even when the weather was good.  Nonetheless, Teresa continued to travel and God continued to prove that he was in her work by the fact that she could overcome what seemed to be impossible obstacles to reform monasteries and to establish new ones.

          Her travels weren’t without their trials, however.  Famously, in one of her last journeys, Teresa and her companions found themselves in the midst of a horrific storm: one that completely flooded the road on which her carriage was traveling.  Undeterred, she encouraged her companions to go forward on foot.  When she had been just a little way, the water rushing around her almost swept her away.  At this, she looked up and cried out “Oh Lord, when will you cease from scattering obstacles in my path?”  “Do not complain, daughter,” the Lord reportedly answered, “for this is the way that I treat my friends.”  “Ah, Lord,” Teresa replied, “it is also because of this that you have so few!”

          One of the things that anyone who has accepted their vocation from God must face is the frustration and despair that can come when God seems to take his favor away from us, leaving us victim to the tumultuous forces of the world, even after he may have intervened in a powerful way in our lives.  In any one of these three episodes today we can probably find something of our own experiences.  Perhaps some of you have spoken up boldly against some wrong—maybe at work or in the community—only to find that those whom you expected to support you have turned against you and you begin to suffer more than if you had never spoken.  Or perhaps you made great sacrifices in your family—maybe even submitting yourself to great embarrassment among them—so that your children or grandchildren might grow in the Catholic faith, only to suffer as time and again they ignore and even reject your efforts.  Or maybe you’ve given of yourself and made sacrifices of both your time and your money to do the work of God to relieve some suffering for the poor, only to find that your own security is swept out from under you by the loss of a job or the support of a benefactor.

          While none of these things may ever destroy our belief in God, each one of them can, and often does, damage our trust in him.  As God has proven throughout history, however—in the Scriptures, in the lives of the saints, and in our own lives—he is never far from us when we find ourselves in the midst of these trials.  For Elijah, God allowed himself to be encountered in the “tiny whispering sound” in order to remind him that, in the midst of the clamor of the world seemingly fighting against him, God was close to him in the most silent recesses of his heart.  For Peter and the disciples, it was Jesus’ appearance in the midst of the storm, while unaffected by it, that could calm their fear and embolden them to step headlong into it (as evidenced by Peter’s trust in the Lord’s command to step out of the boat).  For Paul, it was the constant witness of the Scriptures that assured him that God’s promise to his people had not been revoked that motivated him to continue to proclaim the good news to the Gentiles: even to the point that he came to hope that it would be through the Gentiles that his people would eventually accept Jesus as the Christ.

          So it is for all of us, brothers and sisters.  We should in no way consider ourselves immune from this type of trial.  Rather, in the midst of these trials, we must give ourselves back over to God in trust: knowing that he, who did not abandon the great saints and prophets before us, will not abandon any of us, either.  In order to cultivate this trust, however, we have to do something that is increasingly difficult—nay, seemingly impossible—in today’s culture: we need to cultivate silence in our lives.  To do this, we must first turn off the external noise: the television, the internet, and our smart phones.  Then, comes the difficult work: for we must then confront our internal noise—our passions, anxieties, and frustrations—and seek to silence it as well by offering it all to God with acts of trust in his power to satisfy our every true desire and to save us from every trial.  Only then will we truly begin to hear the “tiny whispering sound” that is God’s assuring presence with us; and, thus, find the strength to persevere.  My brothers and sisters, we must take up this good work of seeking silence: for our lives of faith, literally, depend upon it!

          May God’s abiding presence in this Holy Eucharist fill us with peace to overcome every fear and to remain faithful to him until he comes again in glory.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – August 13^th, 2017

Consider your own calling...

Homily: 4^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          There once was a famous preacher who, taking his cue from a famous journalist, would teach his students of the importance of including real names of persons in their sermons.  (It's ironic that I would begin my preaching with this, because I cannot remember the names of either the preacher or the journalist!)  The journalist famously once quipped: “If I printed names out of the phone book, people would read it just to see if they, or if someone they knew, was included.”  Using personal names in a sermon, this preacher taught, will catch people’s attention as they listen for whether or not they’ll either hear their own name, or the name of someone whom they know.

          Jesus begins his famous teaching, the Sermon on the Mount, utilizing this same principle.  Although he doesn’t use personal names, he nonetheless names many of those who were following him as he names many of the situations in which they were living.  “Blessed are the poor in spirit… Blessed are the meek…”  I can see many a poor tradesman and many a homemaker in the crowd look up and say “Hey, that’s me!”  “Blessed are they who mourn…”  I can see a woman, newly widowed, perhaps, look up and say “Hey, that’s me!”  “Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness…”  I can see a zealot who wants nothing more than to see the Roman occupiers expelled from Jerusalem look up and say “Hey, that’s me!”  And so on… Jesus knows to whom he is reaching out and he wants them to know that the kingdom of God is for them.  And so, he calls them out “by name” and shares how they, too, will be included in God’s plan.

          Saint Paul didn’t have the Beatitudes written down for him when he was on his missionary journeys.  Nonetheless, when he wrote to the Church in Corinth, he cited this Gospel principle.  The Corinthians, it seems, were beginning to think a bit much of themselves and so Paul deems it necessary to remind them from where they came.  “Consider your own calling,” he wrote.  “Not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth.”  “Remember”, in other words, “that God did not call you because you were a ‘mover and a shaker’.  He called you because you were humble and lowly.”  Catching their attention in this way, he can then remind them: “Blessed will you be if you remain meek and humble, boasting only in the Lord, for the kingdom promised to you will be yours.”

          This, of course, has been God’s “M.O.” for the longest time.  The prophet Zephaniah is calling out the ancient Israelites for the same thing.  In the passage that we read today, the prophet is announcing a pending tribulation for the people because of their disobedience to God.  He’s calling the “humble of the earth, who have observed [God’s] law” to “seek the Lord”, in the hope that the Lord, when the tribulation comes, will shield them from the suffering that will befall this people.  “Don’t be arrogant”, he seems to be saying, “but rather seek justice, seek humility, and perhaps the Lord, looking on your lowliness, will shelter you on the day of his anger.”  Alerting the people in this way, he then reveals God’s promise: that God will not wipe out his people completely, but rather that he will leave a remnant from them: “a people humble and lowly, who shall take refuge in the name of the Lord…”

          This warning—"Seek the Lord"—comes to us today and should be received as a warning for our time.  I know that we have set ourselves on the course to "make America great again", but we should remember that prosperity is not to be pursued over righteousness before God.  "Seek the Lord", as we read it in today’s reading, is equated with "seek justice" and "seek humility".  These, therefore, are the things that we ought to be seeking; because these will make America truly great again.

          My brothers and sisters, we must not allow ourselves to be lured into presumption: that by our merits we are "okay" with God.  Rather, we must continue to humble ourselves before Him: recognizing that all that we have that is good has come from Him.  In doing so, we will keep from boasting in our own achievements and always give credit where credit is due: to God, from whom all good things come.  Providentially, this is a great point of evangelization; because when we demonstrate what God has accomplished in us—not boasting in ourselves, but in what God has done in spite of ourselves—we show to others that they don’t have to have their lives completely together in order to be chosen by God.  Rather, they simply need to humble themselves before Him, so that He can make them, too, into something great.  Just like it was for Jesus when he began to teach the crowds in the Sermon on the Mount, and just like it was for Paul when he was first proclaimed the Gospel to the people in Corinth, this teaching can be very attractive for people who are struggling in life, thinking that they have to earn God’s love before they can come to him.

          My brothers and sisters, the Beatitudes are commentaries on the reality of the human condition.  If we cannot see that, it is because we are blinded by the pride that says that we have to be successful, powerful, and influential in life.  Jesus’ teaching is meant to contradict this pride: teaching us that by accepting this reality (and the sufferings that inevitably come with it) we will be living the human condition well, in humility and lowliness, and, therefore, that we will have a reward of great joy in the life that is to come.

          Thus, our task this week is to step back and to ask ourselves: “Do I identify with any of these beatitudes?”  In other words, at any point in the readings did I look up and say “Hey, that’s me!”  If yes, then great!  Continue to seek the Lord by seeking justice and humility and giving all credit to the Lord for any good that you have done and will do.  If no, then perhaps it’s time to heed Saint Paul’s admonition to “consider your own calling” and to remember that, if you have been called by God, it is because he saw you in your lowliness and desired to raise you up so as to show the world that he doesn’t need the powerful to accomplish his will.  Thus, you can recommit yourself to humble obedience, boasting that God has accomplished great things through you.

          My brothers and sisters, Jesus, himself, became poor in spirit so that we might receive the kingdom of God.  As we offer this sacrifice of thanksgiving for so great a gift, let us open our hearts to that same poverty of spirit so that we might experience the fullness of that kingdom: both here, under sacramental signs, and in the life to come.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – January 28^th & 29^th, 2017

The garden that flourishes

          Friends, please pray with me tomorrow for a greater respect for life: especially that our nation will become a place where every life, from conception to natural death, is protected and respected.

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Homily: 3^rd Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          If there is anything that last year’s election and this past Friday’s presidential inauguration has demonstrated for us, it is that our country remains woefully divided.  This is sad, because ultimately we should be celebrating our democracy and looking forward to the future; but instead we are bickering like overly-emotional twelve year olds trying to make mom or dad pick a side and declare a winner.

          And while I wish that I could say that this is a secular problem that doesn’t affect the Church, simple observation will show that it is a human problem; and since the Church is as much a human institution as it is a divine one, our human capacity to bicker like twelve year olds finds its own place among us.  The history of the Church, in fact, is a history of one crisis after another.  This is because, as I’ve already mentioned, of our fallen human nature, but also because, from the time of Christ's Ascension into heaven until the day of his Second Coming, the Church has been and will continue to be engaged in a spiritual war, in which Satan attacks our fallen humanity and constantly seeks to divide us. 

          This very fact is on display even in the first generation of Christians.  If you read through Saint Paul's letters, you’ll find that many of them were, in fact, exercises in crisis management, written in response to crises of faith, morals, or church discipline.  The passage we heard today from Saint Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians is a good example of this.

          Paul had founded the Christian community in Corinth during his second missionary journey.  As he usually did, he spent months gathering and instructing believers after which he appointed local leaders—the first priests and bishops—to continue his work, while he moved on to another place to repeat the same work.  Now, however, he has received news that the community he established in Corinth is becoming divided.  Strife has broken out among different cliques of believers, who had declared allegiances to different early Church leaders, thus breaking up the family of Christians.  And so Saint Paul wrote to them to remind them that it's not the person who preaches that matters, but rather the person who is preached: that is, Jesus Christ, and that all Christians are called to be united in Christ, the one Lord, not divided into camps of “I’m with her” or “I’m with him”.  He strongly exhorts them to "be united in the same mind and in the same purpose", because Christ is of one mind and of one purpose. 

          This same problem has come up many times in the history of the Church.  For example, in the thirteenth century, when the Franciscans and the Dominicans were founded, many Catholics began to be divided: praising one group while criticizing the other.  This, of course, was a division that neither Francis nor Dominic intended and which, like Saint Paul, they worked diligently to eliminate.

          Today, of course, we face the same temptation.  In recent years, God has raised up a variety of new movements, religious orders, apostolates, and lay associations.  He has done this in order to open up new channels of grace, arming and supporting the Church in a new period of history.  Unfortunately, this flowering of new spiritualties has also caused rivalries and divisions.  “Unfortunately”, because we all know that a garden is often most beautiful and most flourishing when there are a wide variety of blossoms within it.  And so why would any of us in the garden criticize the roses because they don’t look like daffodils, or criticize the daffodils because they don’t smell like lilies?  My brothers and sisters, as Saint Paul urges us, we must put to rest all un-Christian rivalries, we must silence all of our destructive criticism, and we must be of one mind and of one purpose if we hope to fulfill God’s one purpose for us: that is, that all peoples would be united to him in the Catholic Church.

          So why haven’t we done this yet?  Because, as I’ve mentioned earlier, we are fallen human beings and we are full of selfish tendencies.  Thanks be to God, therefore, that Christ is always at work in us to counteract our fallen nature.  Through prayer and the sacraments, his grace penetrates our minds and hearts, transforming us into mature, wise, and fruitful Christians.  But God's grace doesn't do all the work for us; rather, he gives it freely and then leaves it up to us to put it to good use.  And while there are many practical things that we can do to activate God's grace and become agents of unity, instead of division, today I’ll highlight just two (this is your homework).

          First, we must develop self-discipline in what we say.  Words, as we all know, can be powerful weapons for both good and evil.  In today's culture, lack of respect for words has become rampant (just spend five minutes on social media and you’ll see).  Sadly, it has become normal and acceptable to use words like knives, cutting people up.  A Christian, however, should use words like keys: opening hearts and minds, encouraging others, building communion, speaking well of one's neighbors, or not speaking at all.  If we hope to be agents of unity, instead of division, my brothers and sisters, then this is a skill that we all must practice constantly.

          Second, we must develop self-control in the area of our emotions.  How many times have we regretted words spoken in anger, emails or texts written in frustration, and decisions made in the midst of passion?  When waves of strong emotions break over us like a storm, they can cause us to lose our self-discipline in what we say and quickly lead us to use words destructively.  Therefore, even if our emotions seem righteous, we should practice the discipline of walking away from any important decisions, conversations, or correspondence until our emotions have subsided and we can think clearly again.  Then we will be ready to use our words constructively and thus contribute to building up the Church and our community, instead of tearing it down.

          Of course all this disunity and division will not disappear overnight; but it will disappear if we begin to work diligently towards building up unity by being “united in the same mind and in the same purpose”, which is Christ.  And so, today, as Christ renews his commitment to us in this Mass, let's ask him for the grace that we will need to heal the divisions that plague us, and let us promise to do our part to always be "united in mind and purpose" with him and with his Church.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – January 22^nd, 2017

The Glorious Body of Christ

Homily: Feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica – Cycle A

          You know, I must not have been paying attention much over the years, because I don’t ever remember a year in which so many feast days that, when they fall on Sunday, replace the Sunday solemnity.  Surely a year in which the feasts of Saints Peter and Paul, the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, All Souls Day, and the Dedication of St. John Lateran all fall on Sunday has happened at least one other time in the nearly 37 years of my life, but for some reason I don’t remember it.  Of course it only happens “once in a blue moon”, which makes it special for us; and this is good, because it helps to shake us out of our routine in order to consider other aspects of the rich tradition of the Catholic Church.

          This feast, in particular, however—the feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica—may seem a little strange to us.  Celebrating the saints?  Sure, we get that.  Celebrating the dedication of a church building?  And one that most of us have never laid eyes on?  That one’s not as easy to understand.  In order to understand why, let’s first consider a little history.

          Not long after the emperor Constantine ended the persecution of Christians in the fourth century and made Christianity the official religion of the empire, he gave the pope land in Rome once belonging to the Laterani family; and the palace that was already erected there became the Pope’s residence.  The Pope built a church there and on November 9^th, in the year 324, Pope St. Sylvester I dedicated the church to be his Cathedral—the place where his cathedra, that is, the chair from which he governs the Church, resides.  In spite of the fact that the residence of the pope moved from the Lateran palace to the Vatican Hill in the 14^th century, the Lateran Basilica has always remained to be the Cathedral church of the Diocese of Rome.

          The church building itself has gone through many renovations through the years, even to the point of being completely demolished and rebuilt in the 17^th century.  With the façade that was added in the 18^th century, the church building took on the look that we know it to have today.  It is a huge structure (square-footage wise we could probably fit 10-plus copies of this church within it) and the high-renaissance art and architectural detail within it completely blows away both the expert art critic/historian and the everyday pilgrim alike.  By every right it holds a position as one of the most visually powerful buildings on this earth.  But this is not why we honor the dedication of this church today.

          No, there are many other buildings that rival St. John Lateran both in size and beauty (St. Peter’s in Rome, for example, is both bigger and more elaborate), but none of them contain the cathedra, the chair of the Bishop of Rome.  From that chair, the Pope presides over the universal Church.  And so, in a very real way, that chair—with the Pope sitting on it—represents the unity and continuity of the Catholic Church.

          But why such an elaborate church?  I mean, with all of the people suffering in poverty throughout the world, why build such an ostentatious structure?  Couldn’t the money used to build that church—along with the money needed to maintain such a church—be used to fund missionaries to bring relief to the world’s poorest people?  Yes, it could, but there’s more to this than the Pope having the biggest, fanciest church in the world as his cathedral.  This big, fancy church—and our celebration of its dedication today—says something about us, the People of God, and so this church has a deeper, sacramental meaning.

          In Saint Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, we heard him say that “You are God’s building.”  (The “You” in this sentence referring to the whole body of believers in the city of Corinth.)  Later in this same passage we heard him ask, “Do you not know that you are the temple of God?”  (Again, “you” referring to all of the Christians in Corinth.)  What is Paul saying here?  Well, he’s saying what the Christian community knew from a very early time after Christ’s Ascension into heaven: that the “temple” that Jesus spoke about that would be destroyed and raised up in three days was his body; and that his body was not just his human body, which was physically raised from the dead after three days, but that it was also the body of believers, of which Jesus himself is the head.  Therefore, this body of believers is God’s temple, the dwelling place of the Holy Spirit.

          Now, we believe that Jesus’ human body has been glorified: that is, that when Jesus’ human body was raised from the dead, it was transformed into a glorious body—one no longer restricted by the limitations of a non-glorified human body.  (Remember Easter Sunday?  He passed through locked doors to enter rooms.)  And so if Jesus’ body is a glorified body, and we, the body of believers are also his body, then we, too—as a body—must be glorious.

          Take a look at the folks sitting around you.  Does this look like a body sufficiently glorious so as to proclaim to the world “we are the Body of Christ, the glorious temple of the Holy Spirit”?  Now imagine what it was like 1000, 1500, or even 1700 years ago.  There were probably only a few people who would have even bathed before coming to Mass at the newly dedicated Lateran basilica.  My guess is that they weren’t looking much like a glorious temple of the Lord.  But when they walked into that basilica and took in all of the light, the gilded ceiling and altar, the statues and the even the floors, they probably thought to themselves, “Yeah, we are something special; something other worldly; something… glorious.”

          My brothers and sisters, this is why we build spectacular, beautiful, grandiose churches all over the world.  Not because we’re trying to show-off and proclaim ourselves better than anyone else; but rather to remind ourselves of who we are: the glorious temple of God on earth.  A splendid church is a visible reminder of an invisible reality: in other words, a sacrament.  And when we celebrate a particular church—whether that be the Pope’s cathedral in Rome or our own bishop’s cathedral in Lafayette—what we are celebrating is the universality of Christ’s glorious body by celebrating where this universality is most profoundly experienced: the place where the sheep and the shepherd unite to worship God in all His splendor.

          My brothers and sisters, the world needs to see the beauty and splendor of Christ’s glorious body here on earth.  Thus, as we experience this splendor when we come to this beautiful place to be most intimately united with Christ our head, who offers himself to us from this altar, we must then carry forward this splendor into the world, like the water in Ezekiel’s vision that flowed from the ruins of the ancient Temple in Jerusalem and brought fruitful life to the arid desert and made fresh the salt waters of the Dead Sea.  For when we do, the glory of Christ’s body will begin to be reflected outside of these walls and we will be ready to know Christ’s true glory when he comes again.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – November 9^th, 2014