Subjects of the One True King

Homily: 34^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe

In anticipation of our celebration of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe this weekend, I took the opportunity to speak about this feast with our second and third graders here at Saint Mary’s School during my weekly visit.  I used that to lead into a presentation of various royal saints—that is, men and women royalty (kings and queens) who lived holy lives after the manner of Jesus Christ, the King of the Universe.  The kiddos always have a lot of questions (notice that I didn’t say great questions, because they aren’t always great questions, but they do always have a lot of them!).  I am usually equipped to answer them, but sometimes they’ll stump me, and this was one of those times.  In one of the third-grade classes, a student asked, “How does someone become a king/queen?”  We all knew part of the answer, of course, which is that the person is the son/daughter of a king/queen and so inherits the throne, but we quickly came to the conclusion that we didn’t know how the first person in that heritage becomes royalty.  Much to my credit, I didn’t immediately consult Google.  Much to my discredit, however, I threw their teachers under the bus and said that they can look that up for them and let them know. 😀

I did think about that question over these last few days and realized that, in general, there are two basic ways that one becomes a king/queen: by inheritance (as I’ve already mentioned) and by merit.  Inheritance, of course, we know very well: So-and-so is the son/daughter of King/Queen so-and-so and so will inherit the throne when the king/queen dies.  While the lines of succession can get somewhat complicated, especially when there are many generations of inheritance, this way of becoming a king/queen is still pretty straightforward.  The way of merit to become king/queen is also pretty straightforward: more so, perhaps, than we might initially think.  In this way, someone leads a grouping of people through some great challenge (overcoming and enemy, fighting through a hardship, etc.) so as to establish that people as a people of their own.  The people then turn to make that person the leader—the king/queen—of this newly established people.  This can also happen even if the people already have a king/queen as another may prove him/herself even more worthy than the current ruler.  This latter case is the example we see in our readings today.

In our first reading, we hear of the people choosing David as their king.  For many years after entering the Promised Land, the Israelites did not have a king, but rather managed their lives through recognized elders and the adjudication of priests and prophets.  At one point, however, they became jealous of other nations that had kings and so they demanded a king for their own.  The prophet Samuel was aghast at the idea, since he knew well that it was God who had established this people and so that it was God who was already their king.  The people insisted, however, and, by God’s prompting, Samuel anointed Saul—a great warrior—to be their first king.

Saul displeased God, however, and so was cut down in battle.  His direct heir, Jonathan, was also killed in battle.  That left the Israelites without a direct heir to succeed Saul.  This is when they turned to David.  David was an indirect heir to Saul, as he was married to Saul’s daughter.  Nonetheless, as we heard in today's reading, it wasn’t because of this connection that they asked David to be their king.  Rather, it was because of his merit.  “You led the Israelites out [in battle] and brought them back”, the leaders of the Israelites declared, and so they agreed with David that he would be their king.  In other words, he proved his ability to lead them and so they chose him to be their king.

This, of course, leads us right to Jesus.  Jesus, as we see, is king both by inheritance and by merit.  By inheritance because he is of the lineage of king David (you can go back to the beginning of Matthew’s gospel to read the genealogy of how Jesus came from David’s line).  Still more, Jesus is king because he is the Son of God, the Second Person of the Holy Trinity.  This inheritance is a stronger one than the first, since it was truly God the Father who was king of the Israelites all along.  Nonetheless, Jesus also earned the kingship for himself by engaging in the battle against sin and death and overcoming them.  In our Gospel reading today, we hear again the familiar story of the criminal crucified with Jesus acknowledging him as king, in spite of the others there who did nothing but mock him.  This man did not recognize Jesus’ heritage, but rather his merit.  And, in recognizing his merit, the criminal submitted himself to Jesus’ authority and asked that he would be remembered in Jesus’ kingdom.  Jesus not only promised to remember him, but rather to give him a place in that kingdom.

Friends, Jesus is the true king of the universe and we must acknowledge him as such, both because of his inheritance and because of his merit.  As Saint Paul says, “[God the Father] delivered us from the power of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.”  Jesus is King because he is the Son of the King, God the Father, who has given his Son the kingdom and made us members of it.  He is not just a spiritual king, however, but rather a human one, which can make it so much easier for us to acknowledge him as our king.  The Israelites, when they came to David to anoint him king, said, “Here we are, your bone and your flesh.”  In a similar way, we can say the same to Jesus: “Here we are, of the same bone and flesh that, in your divinity, you took on to save us.  And you did save us!  Now we implore you, rule over us: for you know us and have shown us to be worthy of the honor.”  And we must acknowledge and honor him as king if we hope, like the criminal crucified with him, to dwell in his eternal kingdom.

And so, how do we do this?  By submitting ourselves completely to his authority.  This means submitting our minds, wills, and bodies to his will.  This means that, as subjects of our King, we don’t get to pick and choose which teachings of Jesus that we will follow.  Rather, we submit to the reality that, if Jesus has revealed it and if the Church that he established teaches it, then we must submit to it and uphold it.  This means everything!  Especially the teachings on the sanctity of life, marriage, human sexuality, service to and solidarity with the poor, care for the environment, etc.  Simply stated, if Jesus is king, then he must be king of EVERY ASPECT of my life!  To live otherwise is to be a hypocrite.

Friends, as we know from elsewhere in the Gospels, Jesus ain’t got no love for hypocrites.  Let us, therefore, examine ourselves to see if there is any area in our lives in which we do not acknowledge Jesus as Lord and King.  Regardless of what we find, let us turn back to him and submit ourselves to him—particularly through the sacrament of confession.  Only Christ has saved us, and only Christ can save us now.  Therefore, let us boldly acclaim him as king in all that we think, say, and do, and thus make our hearts and this place ready to acclaim him when he comes again.  Long live Christ the King!

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – November 23^rd & 24^th, 2019

Are you tired? Let go!

Homily: 1st Sunday of Advent – Cycle C

I don’t know about all of you, but I am pretty tired.  I’ve been here for five months now and have found that pastoring a parish of this size—one that is also the Cathedral, and all of the trappings that come with that—is a lot of work.  And I mean that in the very literal, scientific sense: for work is energy expended over time and I know that I have been expending a lot of energy over extended periods of time in the last five months.

I would guess that it’s pretty safe to say, however, that I’m not the only one who is feeling this way.  Let me ask, how many here have a new baby?  How many of you have more than one kid under 7 years old at home?  How many have moved sometime this year?  How many have either lost or switched jobs?    And how many of you are working and going to school at the same time?  How many of you have lost a loved one recently?  How many of us are dealing with emotional turmoil from the scandals in the Church?  I’m guessing that this covers most everyone here.  But, even if I didn’t mention part of your situation, I suspect that all of us could identify some things in our lives that are causing us to expend a great deal of energy: either just to keep up with our lives or, perhaps, to cope with the stress of transitioning into something new in our lives.  Regardless of what it is, all of us can probably admit that we are feeling a bit worn down by it all: that we, too, are tired.

As a result, I think that a lot of us hope that we could come here and hear a word of comfort.  Perhaps we’ve come here hoping that the Gospel reading for the day would be something like: “Well done, good and faithful servant, come share in your master’s joy.”  Instead, we walk into this season of Advent and are greeted with an exhortation from Saint Paul saying, “The good that you’ve already been doing, you should do more!”  Then, on top of that, Christ tells us to “be vigilant at all times,” that is, not to take a break.  And, as if that wasn’t enough, he prefaces that statement by saying, “You know, everything is actually going to get a lot worse before it gets better!”  Thus, when we hear Christ’s instruction to us—“Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy…”—it really doesn’t seem all that helpful.  And what we come to realize is that our hearts, indeed, have become drowsy.

In many ways, however, we are not unlike the ancient Israelites.  For centuries, they waited for the Messiah—the one promised them by God who would redeem them and free them from all of their oppressors.  Yet, their hearts had become drowsy from waiting as they endured exile away from their homeland, and then occupation of their homeland by foreign invaders after their return.  And so, even though God had sent them prophets throughout these times to remind them of his promises—like the prophet Jeremiah, from who we heard in the first reading today—many of the Israelites still failed to see in Jesus the coming of the One for whom they had longed ///

Perhaps to us it seems as if Christ’s return is also long delayed.  And perhaps, therefore, we’ve allowed our focus to drift away from our eternal destiny, our anticipation of his coming to become dulled, and our discipline in prayer and good works to lapse.  In other words, perhaps we, too, have allowed our hearts to become drowsy from the anxieties, the worries, the stresses of our daily lives.  We’ve lost sight of the goal, it seems, and, thus, feel a bit lost.

At the end of each calendar year, we all somewhat instinctively assess where we’ve been throughout the year.  For some, this is a time of great anxiety as we look back at what we desired to accomplish in the last year and see what remains undone.  For others, the stress comes from seeing how, though great efforts were made, circumstances meant that there was little to show for it.  Still for others, it is a time of despair when we see that, through fear or lack of self-confidence, another year has passed and we have not made any moves to improve a difficult situation in our lives.

This is why the Church, in her wisdom, guided by the Holy Spirit, gives us this season of Advent at the end of the calendar year.  She knows how easy it is to get bogged down by the work of daily living and so She offers us this season as a “wake-up call” and a reminder to us that the promise of Christ’s second coming—the promise that there is something greater yet to come—is still before us.  Advent, therefore, is the great season of detachment: of letting go of those things that tie us to this world and its anxieties, lest we be caught off-guard, cowering in fear after the days of tribulation, when Christ will come.  It is also the season of remembering that we can never accomplish our fulfillment alone: for Christ came to us specifically because we could not effect our salvation on our own.  Rather, we needed the help of Another—who is God made man, born in a cave outside of Jerusalem.

Brothers and sisters, our Christian faith tells us that we have been made for greatness and that our work in this life is to strive for that greatness always.  It also reminds us, however, that our ability to reach the heights of that greatness is limited and that we can never achieve it on our own.  Advent is the season in which we are reminded to rejoice, regardless; because in Advent—which, literally translated, means “the arrival”—we remember that God himself has come, in our human nature, in order to overcome our weaknesses, and that God himself will come again to fulfill his promise to end our anxieties and to draw us into himself: the place of our eternal rest.

And so, my brothers and sisters, if your hearts have become drowsy, then let this be your wake-up call.  Because our hope, Jesus Christ our Savior, is coming—and has already come—to relieve us and to lead us home.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – December 1^st & 2^nd, 2018

Communion with Christ brings us true comfort

Homily: 20th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B

In my six-plus years as a priest, I’ve celebrated a good number of funerals.  It is a graced experience to walk with families who have lost loved ones and to help them say “goodbye” in a sacred way.  There is one thing, in particular, about celebrating funerals that has stood out to me as interesting: that as we mourn the death of a loved one and after we celebrate his or her life in the funeral liturgy, we gather to share a meal; and that this is somehow comforting to us.

Of course, there’s a perfectly good scientific explanation for this.  The death of a loved one is often stressful and full of negative feelings of loss and separation.  When we eat—especially when we eat warm food that we enjoy to eat—our body releases chemicals, called endorphins, that help relieve the stress our bodies have been under and help us to relax and so give us a feeling of comfort.  Yet, we are more than just bodily creatures.  Rather, we are also spiritual.  And so there has to be something more than just the biological to explain why eating provides comfort.  Indeed, there is.

Sharing a meal with others creates or renews spiritual bonds that last long after the food and the endorphins disappear.  Those feelings of comfort caused by eating become associated in our hearts with the presence of those with who shared the meal, and a bond, a relationship, perhaps we could even say a communion is formed.  And it is this sense of communion, I would argue, that causes our true comfort. ///

As we continue to reflect on the “Bread of Life” discourse in John’s Gospel, we come to face the notion that the Eucharist is a Sacred Meal.  Beyond—or, better yet, in tension with—the notion that the Eucharist is Sacrifice, Anamnesis, and Epiclesis, we must also hold that the Eucharist is a meal: a sacred meal in which the bonds of relationship are either forged or strengthened.

Every week, we gather around this object that is both the altar of sacrifice and the table of communion.  And every week, as we gather as a people set apart by God, we renew our relationship to one another as the People of God when we share in the meal we receive from this altar.  But this is not only a renewal of our relationships with each other.  For when we receive the meal offered on this table, we receive also Christ, who makes of himself the meal that we share, and so renew our relationship—our communion—with him, too.

The Church teaches us that this renewal of communion is actually the sole purpose of our gathering.  In the Catechism of the Catholic Church it says that “the celebration of the Eucharistic sacrifice is wholly directed toward the intimate union of the faithful with Christ through communion” (CCC 1382).  What this reveals is that the communion we receive in the Eucharist is first and foremost communion with Christ, and that it is through our communion with him that we experience communion with all those who likewise receive him. ///

As I mentioned last week, most of us struggle, to some degree or another, with believing that the bread and wine that we offer on this altar truly becomes the Body and Blood of Christ that we then receive in communion.  I also said that, if we have doubts, our responsibility is to bring those doubts to God in prayer and to ask him to reveal the truth about the Eucharist to us.  For those of you who heard my homily last week, hopefully you’ve been practicing that prayer.  If you didn’t (or if you haven’t been practicing it) our readings today invite you again to see the truth about what we receive from this altar

In the first reading, the author of the book of Proverbs describes a scene in which “Wisdom”-- who is the personification of the creative force of God by which he designed and ordered the world rightly (and who could be referred to equally as “Logos” or “The Word”, as in “The Word was made flesh and dwelt among us...” in other words, an image of Jesus)--sets her table in order to invite those who are simple to come and receive from her the riches of wisdom.  “Come,” she says, “and partake at my table that we might be in communion with one another.”  For the ancient Jews who lived before Christ, “wisdom” was sought and valued as the way to live in communion with God.  To feast at Wisdom’s table, and, thus, to be in communion with her, was, therefore, to enter into that desired for communion with God.

In the Gospel reading we should immediately hear the connection: Jesus has set the table of his Flesh and Blood so that those who partake of it can be in communion with him: and, through him, with the Father in heaven with who he is eternally in communion.  “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him.  Just as the living Father sent me and I have life because of the Father, so also the one who feeds on me will have life because of me.”  In the Last Supper narratives Jesus will show us how he will give us his flesh to eat and blood to drink when he takes the bread and says “This is my Body, take and eat...” and the wine and says “This is my Blood, take and drink...”

My brothers and sisters, Jesus Christ presents us with this same offer today.  He desires greatly to be in communion with us and so he invites us to this table to partake of this “living bread that came down from heaven”: his Body and Blood.  And so, we should not be afraid to step forward even if we have some doubts.  Rather, we should let our “Amen” be shorthand for “Lord, I believe, please help my unbelief.”  If we can say even that much, then we can feel confident that we have the faith that we need to receive the communion that Christ so deeply desires to have with us. ///

Friends, in our grief over the scandals that continue to plague the Church we gather here in this sacred meal called the Eucharist to seek comfort in our pain.  May our communion with Christ and, through Christ, with one another provide us with the humility, courage, and fortitude to remain hopeful in the midst of darkness; and so continue to proclaim the Good News: that life beyond this life of suffering and pain is possible through Christ, the true Bread of Life.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral Parish: Lafayette, IN

August 18^th & 19th, 2018