Rejoice! God makes the ordinary extraordinary.

Homily: 3rd Sunday of Advent – Cycle C

St Peter’s Basilica in Rome is arguably the most famous church in the world.  And it’s enormous.  Inside it’s 614 feet long.  In fact, when you enter the doors and stand at the end of its full length and look at the floor, you’ll see that there are markings there indicating its size in comparison to other major churches throughout the world, verifying that quite possibly it is the largest church in the world.  The ceiling of the main nave is 145 feet high, and the inside of the dome itself soars to 385 feet.  It’s built in the form of a cross and, just to give you a better idea of its size, I would bet that our church—which is not small, by any means—would fit multiple times in one of the side naves of St. Peter’s.  Like I said, it’s enormous.

Of course, it is adorned with everything that high Renaissance art could throw at it, which you might think would be overwhelming when you first walk in there.  On the contrary, though, there is an incredible sense of balance and proportionality to it all.  As I walked through there for the first time I just tried to take it all in.  After spending some time in there, however, I started to approach different objects—certain statues, altars, side chapels, etc.—to take a closer look; and when I did I was amazed at the size of each thing.  Not only is the Basilica itself huge, everything in it is huge, too!

Standing in the midst of this extraordinariness, it’s easy to forget why it’s even there at all.  St. Peter’s Basilica was built over an ancient necropolis (a “city cemetery”) on Rome’s Vatican Hill.  This ancient burial ground was very close to one of the places where Romans held sporting events, gladiator fights, and where they sometimes executed criminals.  That Roman entertainment complex (which they called “circuses”) was where Saint Peter was crucified and that nearby necropolis was where Saint Peter was buried.  It’s amazing to think that such an extraordinary basilica was constructed because of someone so ordinary: a fisherman from Galilee, a remote outpost of the Roman Empire.  That’s like saying we were going to build a basilica to honor a line worker from Indiana Packers up in Delphi: on the surface, there doesn’t seem to be any merit for it.

The basilica wasn’t built because of Peter’s merit alone, however.  That would be a hard case to sell.  He often said the wrong thing, at the wrong time, and Jesus had to correct him.  He confessed that he would die with Jesus, but then fled when Jesus was arrested.  Worse yet, he denied knowing Jesus three times when he was threatened with arrest for knowing him.  No, the basilica wasn’t built over his grave because of his own merits.  He was an ordinary fisherman from Galilee through and through.  The basilica was built over his grave, rather, because of the extraordinary things that God accomplished through his ordinariness.  In other words, it was built to honor the ordinary that God had made extraordinary.  And so, we see that, with God, it all starts with the ordinary.

In the Gospel reading last week we heard how people were coming to John the Baptist, responding to his call for a “baptism of repentance” in which they would renounce their sins and then be ritually washed so as to be cleansed from the ritual impurity that their sins caused.  Today, we heard how many of these people, having turned away from their sins, sought advice from John about what they should do now that they had been cleansed.  Perhaps they thought that he would invite them to join him in his ascetic way of life, abandoning their work and wealth to live in extreme conditions.  Perhaps they thought that this kind of extraordinary act would be necessary to complete their cleansing.  What they heard, however, wasn’t very extraordinary at all.  John said to them: “Whatever you’re doing, do it right. And if you have the chance to help somebody in need, do it.”  These were very ordinary things.  Nevertheless, John knew that these things would prepare them for the extraordinary transformation that Christ would soon bring.

This transformation is much more dramatic than the words of the Gospel convey on the surface.  What John described was fantastical.  His baptism was an ordinary baptism: a cleansing with water.  Imagine having just experienced that kind of baptism and then to hear him say that the one who will come after him—the one who would be mightier than him—will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire!  It would have been shocking and incomprehensible to his hearers.   Yet what he was saying to them was, "Do these ordinary things and you'll be ready for this extraordinary experience.”

It’s not hard, sometimes, however, when we’re not sure what the next steps are, to think that we have to do extraordinary things.  For example: a couple of years ago my family decided to come to Logansport to visit me for Christmas.  I had never hosted my whole family before so I wasn’t sure how to prepare.  I started worrying that I would have to do all of these extraordinary things to prepare for their arrival.  I soon realized, however, that I had to start with ordinary things: I had to make sure that the house was clean and that it was neatly appointed with festive things.  After that, I just had to keep doing what I had been doing and wait for them to come.  In the end having them there was a great experience! Extraordinary in every way.

I worry that we sometimes act this way with God.  We think that we have to do extraordinary things to get his attention.  And that, if we don’t feel like we can do those things (or, perhaps, we’re just not motivated to do those things), we decide to do nothing at all.  Yet, as we see throughout the Scriptures and in the lives of the Saints, God wants to meet us in the ordinary: and then to make our ordinary extraordinary.

My brothers and sisters, the most extraordinary event in the history of the world was the birth of Jesus, the divine person who took on our ordinary human flesh in order to save us from sin and death forever.  He has already worked an extraordinary transformation in each of us through baptism; and he is coming again to complete our transformation to be like him in glory.  Thus, we don't need to be extraordinary ourselves. Rather, we can find joy in the ordinary—the work-a-day here and now—because of the extraordinary that God has promised to make with it.

So, what should we do?  Focus on the basics: Repent.  Seek the baptism of repentance by turning away from whatever sin in which you may be caught and be cleansed by making a good confession before Christmas.  Then, do the work you were given to do in justice and in truth.  In other words, pray, share your blessings with the poor, and do your daily work with integrity.  Finally, wait in joyful expectation of the one who has already come, who is still with us, and who will come to us again.  In these ways, my brothers and sisters—that is, in our faithful obedience to the ordinary—we will be prepared for that day when God will transform our ordinary to be unbelievably extraordinary.   Therefore, as Saint Paul exhorts us today, let us “rejoice in the Lord always.  I say it again: rejoice!”  For the Lord is truly near.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – December 16th, 2018

Seeking the authentic voice of Jesus

Homily: 4^th Sunday in Easter – Cycle A

          Friends, in this Gospel passage, Jesus uses imagery that would have been very familiar to the people to whom he was speaking in the Ancient Near East: images of sheep and shepherds.  Now, most of us probably have never raised a flock of sheep (and even if we had, we might not have done it the same way as they did back then).  Thus, it might be helpful to unpack these images that Jesus uses so that we can understand the message that Jesus is trying to convey.

          First, Jesus refers to a sheepfold.  In his time, villages were much smaller and compact and people didn't have large, separate properties in which to raise their flocks.  Therefore, usually, just outside the village, there would be a large pen—or sheepfold—in which several flocks of sheep were kept.  This sheepfold would have a large, lockable gate to secure it and a hired guard to watch over it.  The gatekeeper would know the shepherds who had brought in their flocks and so would not allow anyone other than them to enter.  Thus, those who are seeking either to harm the sheep or to steal them for their own purposes would have to climb over the wall of the sheepfold in order to get in.  Jesus contrasts this image of the “sheep stealer” with the shepherd who freely walks in through the gate to retrieve his sheep.  Not only is he known to the gatekeeper, but he is known also to his sheep.  Even though the flocks are intermixed, a shepherd would simply stand to one side after entering the sheepfold and call out to his own.  His own, who would have grown accustomed to his voice, would then respond, drawing near to him.  They would not recognize the voice of a stranger, however, so, should a stranger call out to them, they would avoid him.

          Something analogous of this to our own situations might be a Neighborhood Watch team.  The Neighborhood Watch is a team of residents in a particular neighborhood that organizes itself in order to keep watch over the neighborhood so as to keep it safe.  The first goal of the team is to ensure that everyone in the neighborhood knows everyone else so that they will recognize strangers when they come.  The next goal of the team is to be vigilant for one another: that is, to watch out for one another’s safety and security.  Strangers that enter the neighborhood, but then enter someone's house by the front door are probably known to that person; and so, no alarm is necessary.  Strangers that enter the neighborhood and try to enter a home through a window or by climbing over a fence, however, are probably thieves and robbers and, thus, need to be stopped.  Basically, it's an understanding that the neighborhood is like a sheepfold and the residents are like gatekeepers.  Those with good intentions enter through the gate.  Those with harmful intentions try to sneak in through other ways.  Jesus, in describing all of these things, is contrasting himself, as the shepherd, with the false messiahs who had come before him, whom he is portraying as thieves and robbers.

          The chosen people of God were in the sheepfold and the Messiah was the shepherd who would call them out and lead them into pasture.  In fact, the Messiah—the shepherd—knows the sheep so intimately that he calls them each by name.  The false messiahs, Jesus implies, entered the sheepfold like thieves and robbers and have tried to lead the sheep astray.  By using this image, Jesus is trying to lead the Pharisees to realize that he is the true Messiah, and, thus, to accept him; and to teach his disciples about how to recognize authentic authority: authority that will lead them in God’s way, towards eternal life.  Thus, this is the message that Jesus is also trying to convey to us: for he is trying to teach us about recognizing and following authentic authority.

          My brothers and sisters, there are many voices trying to lead us in different directions in this world.  The one who wields authentic authority is the one to whom we should pay attention.  We know that Jesus is the one who wields authentic authority; but the question remains: how do we hear his voice?  In the Holy Scriptures, of course; but also through his bishops, priests, and deacons.

          And so, if this is true, then why are so many people being drawn to places of purported revelation?  I think that it is because they’re hungry for authentic authority and they don't see it in their churches.  Therefore, if Jesus speaks to us through the authentic authority of his bishops, priests, and deacons—and if people are hungry for authentic authority—then it must be that there is not enough bishops, priests, and deacons to satisfy the needs of the people; and so they are flocking to places of purported revelations seeking to satisfy their need for someone to wield authentic authority in their lives: that is, for someone to shepherd them in the name of Jesus.

          My brothers and sisters, this is why we pray for vocations on this Sunday, which is commonly known as Good Shepherd Sunday, so that there might be an increase in the number of priests and religious in the Church who can interpret for us Jesus’ authentic voice in our lives.  And while prayer is always very necessary, so is action in the world.  Thus, I have homework for you: If you know a young man in your life who you think might make a good priest someday (or even if you don't know what his vocation might be), invite him to consider the priesthood.  Most priests will tell you that they began considering the call to the priesthood because someone invited them to consider it.  Your invitation could open a young man's heart to this call from God.  And so, please make a resolution today to make it a habit in your life to invite young men to consider the priesthood.

          Then, pray for them every day.  This doesn’t have to be complicated.  You could simply pray a Hail Mary during your morning or evening prayers, or at any other time that you think about it throughout the day.  You could also come and offer prayers to Jesus here in the Church before the Blessed Sacrament.  Any and all of these little sacrifices of prayer win grace for the young person so that he might discern well God’s voice in the midst of the thousands of voices that call out to him each and every day.

          St. John Vianney, the patron of parish priests, once said that "The priesthood is the love of the heart of Jesus."  As we offer to God this Eucharist today, which is made possible for us only because of the priesthood, let's pray in a special way for the young men in our parish that God is calling to be priests: that they would be kept safe from all temptation that would lead them away from this noble calling and that they would respond generously to his call.  And let us pray also for the grace to rely on the authentic authority that he has already placed in our midst—and to trust in the fullness of spiritual revelation that he has already given us by His presence, both in the Scriptures and in His real presence here in the Blessed Sacrament—so that we might always be anticipating the fullness of his presence among us when he, the Good Shepherd, returns to call us each of us, by name, back unto himself.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – May 7^th, 2017

Sometimes forgotten sins of omission

Homily: 26^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          One of the blessed parts of the ministry with which I have been entrusted here is to hear confessions.  Blessed because I get to be God’s instrument of healing for your souls when, because of sin, they have been hurt.  It’s not always the most pleasant experience, however.  In fact, sometimes it can be downright frustrating!  One of the frustrating things that happens more than it should is when a person comes in and forgets whose sins it is that he or she is supposed to be confessing.  If you’re one of those people, please let me make it clear for you now: when you come to confession, you are to confess only YOUR sins, not somebody else’s!  Generally speaking, however, folks do focus on their own sins: those things that they have done which they acknowledge have offended God and hurt their neighbor in some way.

          Nonetheless, in recent months, I've begun to notice that there seems to be something missing in the majority of confessions that I hear.  You see, most of the sins that people confess to me are for things that they have done: that is, for offenses that they have committed.  What I’ve noticed, however, is that I rarely hear people confess the sin of not doing something that they should have done.  In other words, not a lot of people are confessing sins of omission.

          Sins of omission are good things that we fail to do when it was in our power to do them.  If we take a look at our world, we quickly realize that, yes, there are a lot of people committing grave sins every day.  Certainly, however, we can also acknowledge that there are a lot of people failing to do the good that they are capable of doing.  This, I would argue, creates a vacuum—an empty space—in which more sinful acts can be committed.  Thus, the fact that I rarely hear people confessing sins of omission means that there isn't a strong awareness among people that these are, in fact, sins (or offenses against God) and , thus, that these are "confessional material".

          Our scriptures today remind us, however, that it isn't enough simply to avoid evil, but rather that we also must actively pursue the good.  In the first reading from the prophet Amos, we hear him declare “woe to the complacent in Zion”, meaning that very dreadful things were about to take place for the people of the southern kingdom of Judah because of the extravagance with which they dine at their banquets, even while their kinsmen (the people of the northern kingdom of Israel) are suffering from the disintegration of their society.  He tells them that, because they have ignored their kinsmen in need, even though they had the resources to do something, they, in fact, will be the first to suffer when the king of Babylon comes to force them into exile.

          Then in the Gospel Jesus tells a parable that describes a similar situation, only in more concrete detail.  A rich man dresses extravagantly and dines sumptuously every day, while a poor man, Lazarus, suffers at his gate, hoping that the rich man will have enough kindness to give him some of the leftovers from his meal.  After both of their deaths their roles will be reversed and the rich man will be the one who suffers.  Nevertheless, this man’s ignorance is further on display when he asks Abraham to send Lazarus to help relieve his suffering.  Can you imagine?  He ignored Lazarus in his need and now he expects Lazarus to help him in his suffering?  How conceited!

          Notice, however, that neither Amos nor Jesus condemn the sin of overindulgence in food and drink (i.e. gluttony)—even though they certainly could have condemned them for it.  Rather, both condemn overindulgence at the expense of the poor one in their midst—the sin of omission in which they failed to act for the good of the suffering ones among them, even though (and especially though) it was in their power to do so.

          Because she was recently canonized, Saint Teresa of Calcutta has gotten a lot of press lately.  Because of this I have been able to learn a little more about this saint and her work.  One of the new insights that I have gained about her life is that she was as much a prophet as she was a charity worker.  Of course we all know her for her dedication to the “poorest of the poor” in the streets of Calcutta, India.  These works of charity that she and the religious order that she started performed brought plenty of attention to her.  She never desired that kind of attention, however.  Nonetheless, she accepted it, because of the opportunity that it gave her to bring the plight of the poor to the attention of those who had the resources do something about it.  In other words, when the spotlight came to her, she used it to help people who were rich to see the poor and, thus, to invite the rich to help them.  In this way, she was much more than a charity worker: she was a prophet.  A prophet who called out the rich and powerful in the world for their sins of omission against the poor.  A prophet whose words are still very relevant today.

          The famous Irish statesman, Edmund Burke, once said that “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”  My brothers and sisters, our inaction in the face of poverty and need is a sin of omission of the same order that our scriptures speak of today.  And so, what do we do?  First, we need to pray.  We need to learn how to examine our consciousness and our consciences so as to see the poor in our midst and to acknowledge when we have failed to respond to them.  Then, we need to act.  Once we see where we have failed to act, we must begin to fill the void that was created by our inaction with the acts that we have failed to do.  In other words, we need to be good men who do something so that evil will not triumph in the world; and (perhaps, more importantly) so that we won’t suffer the same fate as the rich man in Jesus’ parable.  Finally, we need to repeat the first two steps constantly.  Elsewhere in the Gospel, Jesus said that the poor will always be with us.  Therefore, once we've acted to fill one void, then we must begin again and pray to discern the next void that God is calling us to fill and then act to fill it.

          Saint Mother Teresa never thought that she could eliminate poverty by herself.  She was simply trying to do her part by loving Jesus whom she encountered most profoundly in the poor.  If each of us would do the same, that is, if each of us would acknowledge the concrete way that God is calling us to act and then commit ourselves to acting out of love for Jesus, then our world would definitely begin to change for the better.  My brothers and sisters, as we approach this altar to give thanks to God for all of the good that he has given to us, especially for the strength that we receive when we receive the very life of God in Holy Communion, let us commit ourselves to this good work so that God’s kingdom may truly be realized in our midst.

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

The race to Jesus' coming

Homily: 1^st Sunday of Advent – Cycle C

          Racing, in any form, requires not only speed and stamina, but also intelligence and good timing.  Every competitive race has a defined distance or time which the racers use to plan how they are going to run the race so as to finish in front of everyone else.  While each individual racer’s strategy might differ (some will go strong out of the gate to build a lead, others will hold back to save energy for the final push), the goal, of course, is the same: to win the race by being up front at the end.

          Some of the most exciting races happen when the race seems to be dominated by one racer who is then overcome by a racer who didn’t seem to have the right stuff to win until the end.  Horse racing is famous for this, am I right?  Arguably the most famous horse race in America is the Kentucky Derby; and the most famous horse to race the Kentucky Derby is Secretariat.  Why is Secretariat the most famous?  Because in 1973 he made an incredible come-from-behind victory in the Kentucky Derby and set the record for the fastest time ever in the Derby, a record which still stands today.

          Imagine, however, if, as the racers approached the finish line, the organizers said “Keep going, we decided to extend the race” or if, only halfway through the race, they said “Surprise!  The race ends here!”  In other words, imagine if there was a race in which the distance or time was not defined.  That would change everyone’s strategy, wouldn’t it?  Basically, you would have to do everything in your power to get to the front and stay up front, so that when the arbitrary end of the race was announced, you’d have a shot at being the winner.  And it doesn’t sound like a very fun or exciting race either, does it?

          Yet, in our Gospel reading today, as we open the new liturgical year this first Sunday of Advent, Jesus is basically telling us that this is what we are doing: running a race in which we do not know when or where the end will occur.  First he describes what the end will look like: signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars… roaring of the seas and its waves.  Then he exhorts his disciples: “People and nations will be in dismay, thinking it the end of the world (because that’s what it will be).  But it should not be so with you!  Be ready!  You won’t know when that day will come, so don’t get caught taking a rest or, worse yet, running a different, worldly race altogether!”  The implication he is making is this: It doesn’t matter how well you had been running the race; if you aren’t ready when the end of the race comes, you’ll lose.  And so he warns them: “Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy…”

          Yet, if we take a look at our lives, perhaps we’ll see that our hearts, indeed, have become drowsy “from carousing and drunkenness and the anxieties of daily life.”  Just take a look at the madness that happens in the “black Friday” sales.  Anyone who tackles another person to get a discounted TV has lost every sense that life is a journey towards something beyond this world.  These are the ones who will be caught off-guard on the day that the Lord comes, because their love is for this world, and not for the Lord of the world.  These will be the ones who will be filled with dismay on the day that the Lord comes.

          This, of course, is nothing new.  Saint Cyprian, a 3^rd century bishop in North Africa, warned his people about this same thing.  In one of his sermons, he said:

“How unreasonable it is to pray that God’s will be done, and then not promptly to obey it when he calls us from this world!  Instead we struggle and resist like self-willed slaves and are brought into the Lord’s presence with sorrow and lamentation, not freely consenting to our departure, but constrained by necessity.  And yet we expect to be rewarded with heavenly honors by him to who we come against our will!  Why then do we pray for the kingdom of heaven to come if this earthly bondage pleases us?  What is the point of praying so often for its early arrival if we would rather serve the devil here than reign with Christ?”

What he is speaking about is how we allow our affection for the Lord to be extinguished by giving our affection to the things of this world; so much so that when the Lord calls us to him, we go only kicking and screaming, not realizing that this (going to the Lord) was what we should have been longing for all along.  Then, facing the Lord, we will sheepishly plead for the winner’s prize, even though we gave up on the race.

          It is because of this that the Church gives us this season of Advent.  It is a season meant to help “wake-up” our hearts and remind us of the goal of our running in the race: to be ready for the coming of Jesus—both the celebration of his first coming, but also his imminent second coming.  Although not specifically prescribed by the Church, we should consider Advent to be a time of sacrifices, in which we detach ourselves from the things of this world so that we are not dismayed when the signs appear in the sun, the moon, and the stars; but rather stand erect with our heads raised because our redemption will be at hand.

          It’s touching, isn’t it, when we see those images of service men and women returning home and seeing their families for the first time in a long time.  Whether it is in an airport, a bus station, or in front of their home, the sense of anticipation is tangible as you watch the family members looking eagerly ahead, waiting to see their loved one.  And when they do, the run towards them and embrace them with abandon; for the one that they longed for has returned to them.  They remained steady in the race until the day, perhaps unknown to them, that the race ended and so they received the hoped-for reward.  The question that Advent puts before each of us is, “Am I ready to do the same when Jesus comes again?”

          My brothers and sisters, Advent is our time to get ready for that day, so that we are not drawn, kicking and screaming, before the Lord: sad because of what we must leave behind in order to receive the infinite joys that God wants to give us.  To do this we must pray; for in prayer we come to know and, thus, to love the Lord more deeply (and it is love that will send us running toward him on the day of his coming).  We must also fast; for in fasting we detach ourselves from the things of this world, so that there will be nothing holding us back when he comes.  And we must give alms; for nothing demonstrates our detachment from the things of this world then when we freely give of them to those in need.  (Sound a lot like Lent, doesn’t it?...)

          Friends, the saddest come-from-behind stories are the ones that never happen.  If you have become drowsy on this race towards the day of Jesus’ coming, then please take this opportunity to wake-up and start running again.  The Eucharist—Jesus’ ongoing presence with us—is the life-giving bread that gives us strength to keep us running.  May our communion with him propel us forward to the day of redemption, when he will come again to bring us home.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – November 28^th & 29^th, 2015

Lost in the landscape

          Don't let yourself fall into the same old habits this Lent!  Let Jesus turn over the tables of the familiar in your hearts!  Pray, Listen, Act, and Repeat, and you'll have the best Lent ever because you'll be closer than ever to Jesus.

(Side note: I'll be making the Cursillo weekend this coming weekend, so I won't be posting a homily.  Perhaps, however, I'll think to post some reflections about my experience.  Please pray for me and the men making the Cursillo weekend with me!)

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Homily: 3^rd Sunday of Lent – Cycle B

          There’s a certain danger in the familiar.  Familiarity tends to lull us into complacency.  This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but complacency can leave us vulnerable to being caught off-guard by things.  Familiarity also leads to routine.  As humans, we are creatures of habit and we like when things are predictable.  Thus, we have a “morning routine” in which we repeat pretty much the same acts every morning so that we don’t have to think about what we need to do to get up and get on with our day.  The problem with this kind of familiarity is that the surrounding world quickly fades back into the landscape and no longer registers in our consciousness as something of which to take account.

          I’ve suffered from this myself.  When you travel to Saint Meinrad, where I went to seminary, there’s an approximately 8-mile strip of Indiana Route 62 that you must navigate after exiting Interstate 64 coming from the east.  In my first years at the seminary, this was one of the most enjoyable parts of the trip as I passed in close proximity to fields and farmhouses, some complete with hens pecking around in the front yard.  After six years, however, this strip of road became so familiar that I practically could navigate it with my eyes closed.  At times I experienced that I had passed some of the “milestones” along the way without having acknowledged that I had seen them.  Because I was so familiar with the road, the surrounding landscape no longer entered my consciousness.  I think most of us can recognize this experience in our own lives: in our commute to work, our schools and classrooms, our offices and office buildings, in our neighborhoods, and often too in our relationships things become familiar and thus fade out of our consciousness.

          In our 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 that drive down Route 62: as it goes on we might stop and think to ourselves, “Wait, did he/she say the 6^th one?  I don’t remember hearing it.”  For many of us, the Ten Commandments are perhaps so familiar that they’ve become “part of the landscape” and no longer impact our daily consciousness.

          The ancient Jews also fell into this trap of familiarity.  They had had the Law for many years and most people were very familiar with it and with its demands.  Thus, they no longer thought about the Law, but rather had worked their lives around it.  So much so that they turned the Temple Cult—that is, the sacrificial offerings that were prescribed by the Law—into a business for profit.

          Then Jesus breaks into the scene and disrupts the familiar.  He sees the way that Satan, the father of lies, had distorted the truth of what the Temple Cult was supposed to represent: man, in a special relationship with God, offering sacrifices both in worship and homage of the all-powerful creator of the universe and in atonement for offenses against Him.  Offerings, meant to restore and maintain that special relationship, had been distorted into cold demands and business transactions and that is what Jesus was driving out.  By turning over the tables of the familiar, Jesus was hoping to reawaken 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 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.  The difference between Jesus’ cleansing of the Temple and his cleansing of our hearts is that he cannot just burst into our hearts without permission—for that would violate our dignity.  Rather, he must wait for us to invite him in so as to shed light on anything that is untrue, that is unholy in our hearts and our lives.

          My brothers and sisters, if all we have done this Lent is take up our old familiar practices then we have little more to hope for when we arrive at Easter Sunday than a feeling of relief for not having to maintain that discipline any longer.  The challenge we have before us today is to make this Lent somehow different by allowing Christ into our hearts, by exposing to him all of those aspects of ourselves that we are not proud of—the ways, perhaps, that we have become complacent in following his commandments, most especially to worship him alone—and by cooperating with him in the hard work of driving out all that isn’t pure, that isn’t true from our lives.

          Now, Jesus knows that this isn’t easy for us.  He knows that the world is constantly going to pull us towards the comfort of familiarity.  And so he doesn’t expect us to do it all at once.  He simply asks that we begin.  A simple way to begin this work of conversion, that is, of opening our hearts more and more to Christ, is to follow these four steps: pray, listen, act, repeat.

          Pray:  First we must pray that God will help us to examine our consciences and identify those things that need to be driven out.  As he reveals them to us, we need to pray that he will reveal to us some way that we can act to overcome that disposition or attitude in our lives.  For example: perhaps we recognize that we struggle with selfishness.  And so we pray that God will reveal to us someone with whom we can practice being selfless in the coming week.

          Listen:  Once we’ve identified our vice and asked God to show us how we can overcome it, we need to listen—not just in the silence of our prayer time, but also as we go through our day—for God to reveal to us how, in the concrete circumstances of our day, we are to act to drive out this vice from our hearts.  In other words, we listen for that little voice saying to us “Wait! Don’t be selfish here!”

          Act:  If we are sincere in our prayer and attentive in our daily living, we will soon see how it is that God has asked us to give of ourselves in a way that overcomes our vice.  It will click like a light bulb going on.  When this happens we are called to respond.  It usually will be unexpected, but when we respond to these intentionally prayed-for promptings of the Holy Spirit, our hearts slowly change and we become more and more open to allowing Christ to dwell in us and to direct our daily lives.

          Repeat:  Once you’ve responded then the hard part truly begins because maintaining this practice over a lifetime, without allowing yourself to become complacent because of familiarity, is truly a challenging task.  It is a task, however, that will make you a saint.

          My brothers and sisters, we can only overcome bad habits by cultivating good ones and if we try to do it ourselves, we are bound to fail.  If we let Christ direct the way that we cultivate these good habits, however, then our efforts are not only going to be sustained but they’re going to bring joy to our lives as well.

          And so, if your Lent has gotten a slow start, don’t worry… because there’s an app for that: pray, listen, act, repeat.  My brothers and sisters, let Christ turn over the familiar in your hearts so that the joy of the Resurrection—the joy of true liberation from the mundane familiarity of the world—may be yours this Easter.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March, 7^th & 8^th, 2015

Be cold and weary and hungry...

          Lent invites us to share the experience of Jesus in the desert.  Be brave.  Go into the desert of this Lenten season and you'll know the true joy of celebrating Easter.

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Homily: 1^st Sunday of Lent – Cycle B

          Two weeks ago I was off making my canonical retreat (that is, my retreat that is required by canon law) down at Saint Meinrad, where I went to seminary.  It was good to be back down there as I was able to connect with a lot of the seminary staff and the monks whom I knew when I was a seminarian.  It was also good because I was able to spend time doing some hiking around the area, which was one of my favorite activities during my time there.

          Saint Meinrad is located in a very rural setting in southern Indiana, which is actually much more wooded and hilly than here in the “northern plains”.  Thus, a hike down any of the back roads around the seminary will provide you with a lot of solitude along with a challenging hike.  Long Johnnytown Road was one of my favorite roads to take and so I made it a point to hike that road once again.  The day that I went out the weather was less than favorable.  It had turned quite cold and the wind was blowing hard from the northwest.  Thankfully, the road is surrounded by woods, for the most part, and so, except for a few stretches of road, I didn’t have to face the wind.  It is a tough road to hike under any conditions, but that day’s conditions made it a degree or two more difficult (perhaps even more so because I’ve been living here in the flatlands for so long now).   It was so tough, in fact, that at times I wondered whether or not I was going to make it back.  I did of course and, although I was tired, I felt refreshed for having made it.  As I read and reflected on today’s Gospel reading, Jesus’ experience of being in the desert reminded me of this.

          In the Gospel we heard how Jesus was driven into the desert and that he remained there for forty days where he was tempted by Satan and dwelt among the wild beasts while angels, nonetheless, ministered to him.  As it is for us today, the desert is a harsh place: a place of solitude in which you are exposed to extreme conditions.  Jesus was driven into the harsh physical conditions of the desert and had to face harsh spiritual and emotional conditions as well: the temptations of Satan and the fear of being attacked by a wild animal.  Nonetheless, he went willingly, driven by the Spirit who had just anointed him after his baptism in the Jordan River.  He emerged from that time of testing more deeply conscious of the truth about himself and his mission.  We see this because the next thing that the Gospel tells us is that Jesus began his mission of preaching; literally taking up where John the Baptist left off by proclaiming “The kingdom of God is at hand.  Repent and believe in the gospel.”

          Lent, for us, is meant to mimic this desert experience of Jesus.  It calls us to leave off what we are comfortable with and to be “driven into the desert”, so to speak—the solitude inside of ourselves—in order to confront the demons and wild beasts within us—which are our sinful inclinations and untamed passions—so as to emerge more deeply conscious of the truth about ourselves and our mission.  And what is this, but a call to prayer: a call to confront the truth about ourselves before God and to allow him to show us the deeper truth of who we are in Him.

          Because we are bodily creatures, however, this “desert experience” must also include a physical aspect.  Thus, we create a physical “desert” for ourselves by fasting: by giving up certain comforts and pleasures so as to create the conditions in which we might confront our sinful inclinations and untamed passions more readily.  Ironically, all of this introspection is meant to lead us outside of ourselves: to encounter the real suffering of our brothers and sisters around us—our neighbors—and to work to relieve their suffering through the means that have been given to us.  Through almsgiving we enact our mission to proclaim that the kingdom of God is at hand, the kingdom in which the poor have the good news proclaimed to them.  Thus almsgiving, in a way, becomes the fruit of our Lenten desert experience.

          The American poet, Henry David Thoreau once advised “Take long walks in stormy weather or through deep snow in the fields and woods, if you would keep your spirits up.  Deal with brute nature.  Be cold and hungry and weary.”  I believe that this quote speaks to something very true: life is difficult and if we try to mask that fact by filling our lives with comforts and distractions then we’ll never truly live.  After that hike I took while on retreat I was “cold and hungry and weary”, but refreshed for having done it.  I dealt with “brute nature”, which caused me to confront some of the demons within myself, and I emerged with a spirit more deeply aware of the truth about myself and of the mission that I have been given.

          My brothers and sisters, Lent invites us to face the reality of ourselves—with all of its demons and wild beasts—as well as the truth of who we are—children of God and coheirs with Christ to His Kingdom—so as to renew us in baptismal faith that we might go forth to proclaim the greatest of all truths with renewed vigor: that Jesus Christ is risen and that the kingdom of God is truly at hand!  Therefore, let us not be afraid to go into the deserts within ourselves to confront the demons of our sinful inclinations and the wild beasts of our untamed passions; and there to call on the angels to minister to us; and let us not be afraid to then go out into the deserts in our community to encounter the marginalized: those who we are afraid to meet because of what they might demand of us.  For there, in these encounters, the truth about ourselves will become known and our mission will become clear.  Then, having done this, we will emerge to experience once again (or perhaps for the first time) the true joy that Easter brings: the joy that even now we are invited to experience here, in this Eucharist.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – February 21^st & 2^nd, 2015

It's not really about the fruit...

           I've decided to take a little more direct approach to preaching in Lent.  I realize that we need someone to name those things that have blinded us to the reality of sin in our lives (and what is sin but something that puts a barrier between us and God?).  I received a lot more positive feedback about this homily than I expected (and it wasn't from the "usual suspects" either).  I praise the Spirit that he used me to be an instrument of grace to others.  I'm certain that the Spirit has something to say to you, too.

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Homily: 1^st Sunday of Lent – Cycle A

          Well, you’ve already done it, haven’t you?  On Wednesday, it wasn’t so hard to walk past that jar of candy in the kitchen, but Thursday it wasn’t so easy, was it?  Or perhaps a co-worker brought in donuts to celebrate his birthday on Friday.  Or maybe it was that beer or glass of wine that you shared with a friend at dinner on Saturday.  I mean, Jesus himself said that “when you are fasting, don’t make a show of it”, didn’t he?  You certainly didn’t want to brag about what you were giving up during Lent so you decided to give in—just that one time—so as not to reveal what it was that you had given up.  How very noble…

          The enemy certainly doesn’t have to work very hard, does he?  He knows that within one of our greatest powers lies one of our greatest weaknesses.  Our ability to reason—that is, to think things out—is the uniquely human characteristic that makes us most like God.  It allows us to order, to create, and to exploit the characteristics of just about anything else in creation for our own use.  It also allows us to convince ourselves of just about anything if we think about it long enough.  This is the weakness that the enemy strives to exploit.  He knows that very often all he needs to do is to suggest something to us and that then, left to our own devices, it won’t be long before we’ve talked ourselves into doing it.

          Just look at Eve (poor thing, she didn’t even know what was coming).  She knew well the abundance that God had blessed her with and the instructions that God had given her.  The serpent (cunning as he was) came and simply suggested a lie, veiled in truth.  “You certainly won’t die”, he said.  “No, God knows that the moment you eat of it your eyes will be opened and you will be like gods who know what is good and what is evil.”  All true… to a point.  That was all Eve needed, it seems, to get her powers of rationalization going.  “[She] saw that the tree was good for food, pleasing to the eyes, and desirable for gaining wisdom.”  All very true and, thus, by all perceptions there was absolutely nothing about those fruits that would make them harmful to eat it… except that God had forbidden it.

          “So she took some of its fruit and ate it; and she also gave some to her husband, who was with her (by the way, what was he doing all this time?), and he ate it.”  And what do you know; everything that that cunning serpent said was true!  They didn’t die (at least, not immediately) and they did come to know what is good and what is evil (notice how they immediately recognized that they were naked: in other words, they felt shame; demonstrating that they did have knowledge of what was good and what was evil).  No, what the serpent said was true… except that it veiled a lie.  As it turns out, they would die; even though it wouldn’t be immediately.  And they were already like gods, because God has given them the power to reason.  Was the act of eating the fruit sinful in itself?  No.  Rather, their sin was that they chose to trust their own reason instead of the providential will of God.

          Contrast that now with Jesus.  After forty days of fasting in the desert, he’s hungry (which, in biblical terms, means that he’s weak: physically, mentally, spiritually) and the devil comes to tempt him.  And tempt him to do what?  To deny his humanity and to assert his divinity.  The devil knew that if Jesus denied his humanity and allowed his divinity to override it that his life would be useless to save us—for Jesus had to be completely obedient to the Father’s will using his human will alone in order to counteract the disobedience of our first parents—and so he tempts Jesus three times to manifest his divinity over his humanity.

          In each of those three temptations, what did Jesus do?  Did he try to reason his way into or out of them?  I mean, did he look at those stones and say, “Gee, it really would be good if I ate something.  I mean, my Father certainly doesn’t want me to die of starvation, does he?”  Or did he say “I better jump so as to prove to this devil that my Father’s promises are true”?  Or how about, “You know, if I was master of all of these kingdoms I could make sure that there was peace over the whole world; and that would be good, wouldn’t it?”  No, he didn’t say any of those things.  Rather, he chose to trust his Father’s will instead of his own reason and thus he overcame the tempter.  (Oh, and by the way, what was the result?  As soon as the devil left him, angels came to his aid, anyway!)

          My brothers and sisters, in our efforts to fulfill the good work that we’ve laid out before us—that is, our prayer, fasting and giving alms this Lent—how do we fight off the temptations that come to us daily, trying to thwart our efforts?  Do we try to rationalize our way into giving in, convincing ourselves that it’s “ok” to bend our rules?  Or do we rely, instead, on God’s Word to us and Jesus’ example for us: the promise that if we remain faithful to him that he will provide for all of our needs?  God has breathed the breath of eternal life into us at baptism and has placed us in the garden which is his Church.  The fruits of the garden are the sacraments—most prominent among them, the Eucharist—and we are free to feed from this abundance as long as we obey God by remaining faithful to his commandments.

          Yet, we’d rather be like gods, wouldn’t we; rationalizing our sins so much so that we’ve completely lost the one thing that we gained through sinning: our ability to know what is good and what is evil?  My brothers and sisters, we must regain a balanced, yet strong compunction for our sins (many of our not-as-young parishioners will “light-up” to hear that word being used in church again, but it is exactly what we need to hear).  To do this, we must first regain our sense that God is truly near to us; that he’s not some “divine watch-maker” who put the world together and wound it up and now sits back to watch it work, but rather that he is intimately involved with his creation and wants to lead and guide us along the way.

          With this sense of God’s intimacy with us, we’ll deepen our friendship with him.  And as our friendship deepens, so will our sense of compunction for any act that offends him.  Just as any of us would feel horrible for doing something that deeply offended a good friend, so will we feel horrible when we realize that we’ve offended God when we rationalize our way into giving in to temptations.  This kind of friendship doesn’t happen overnight, however.  It takes time.

          And in order to make time for God, we’re going to have to slow down our lives a little.  We’re going to have to fast from some of those things that we enjoy doing so that we can have time to be with God in prayer—both as individuals and as families—and to see him in need in our brothers and sisters.  And we’re going to have to come clean with him in confession (and trust me all of us have something that we need to come clean about with God).

          And when we do, my brothers and sisters, we’ll begin to see the power of God working in us to overcome our temptations: that is, the power of the love that we have for God which leads us to despise any temptation to choose ourselves over him.  With this power working within us, we will truly glory in celebration of the Lord’s resurrection on Easter Sunday: the joy of which we taste even now, here at this table.

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

The obedience of the star...

Here's my Epiphany homily.  I wish I would have read this quote before writing it, but I think that my homily goes along with it anyway:

"The obedience of the star calls us to imitate its humble service: to be servants, as best we can, of the grace that invites all men to find Christ."

~ Saint Leo the Great, pope

(from the Office of Readings for the Solemnity of the Epiphany)

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Homily: Solemnity of the Epiphany – Cycle C

You all know Fr. Mike, right?  Now, I know that you all will think that I am taking advantage of his not being here this week, but we’re going to talk about Fr. Mike a little.  One of the things that impressed me about Fr. Mike (well, I should say that it shocked me at first, but then I was impressed) was his lack of inhibition with talking to strangers about their religious lives.  During my first weeks here, Fr. Mike took me around to different places in order to get me orientated to business related stuff in the parish (you know, like putting my signature on file at banks and things like that).  At almost every stop, he would inquire into the religious life of the person who was helping us.

Being a newly ordained priest, I wasn’t yet used to the fact that walking around with a collar on basically gives you a free pass to talk to people about religion and so I was a little bit shocked when Fr. Mike would ask these strangers if they went to church and if so what church they went to.  Almost just as shocking, however, was that fact that multiple times the answer was “no, I’ve never gone to church.”  Did you hear that?  It wasn’t “oh, I was going to this church, but I stopped,” rather, it was “I’ve never gone to church.”  Talking about this later with Fr. Mike, he assured me that this was a rather typical response from people: that many people here in Cass County have been growing up completely “unchurched.”

The three wise men—a.k.a. the Magi—were also “unchurched,” (at least in the Judeo-Christian sense of the term).  These kings from the east were astronomers and probably practiced some sort of pagan religion (if they practiced any religion at all).  Thus, they knew little to nothing about a God who purportedly had chosen a specific people, living in the land of Canaan, to be his own people and that this God had promised to send them a Messiah, a king who would rule on the throne of one of their great forefathers.  What they did know, however, was that the appearance of a great star in the sky was an indication that a great king had been born.

Thus, when these three kings from the orient saw the great star appear in the west, they knew what it meant.  And even though they were pagans, they were good men and, thus, they knew that it would be right to make a journey to find this newborn king and to pay him homage, bringing him kingly gifts to honor him.

Here a couple of thousand years later, we find ourselves at a bit of a disadvantage to those kings.  We live in an age when rulers—that is, those who govern societies—are chosen from among the people whom they will rule.  In other words, we elect our government officials (like we did, for better or for worse, this past November).  This is what we are used to.  Back in the time of the Magi, however, great rulers were born—that is, destined from infancy to be royalty—and great natural signs were often cited as accompanying their births as a signal that the child’s destiny had been ordained by God.  We, as a people, however, have decided that it would be better if we relied more on our reason; choosing our government leaders based on what we perceive to be their merits, rather than on the interpretation of some natural sign.

As a result, we have generations of people who have stopped looking for signs.  In other words, we have generations of people who have stopped believing in God’s providential presence among us and have come to rely completely on themselves to make decisions in their lives.  Thus, there are many people—including many who live around us here in Cass County—who are fumbling in the dark, trying to make sense of life without the providential guidance of God, which is readily available to them!  The only thing that keeps them fumbling in the dark is that they haven’t seen a light bright enough to break into the darkness and lead them out of it.

In the first reading today, we heard the prophet Isaiah proclaim to the people, “See, darkness covers the earth, and thick clouds cover the peoples; but upon you the Lord shines, and over you appears his glory.  Nations shall walk by your light, and kings by your shining radiance.”  My brothers and sisters, this message applies to us today just as much as it did to the Israelites over two-thousand years ago.  We, the Church, are the New Jerusalem; the city on which God’s light shines.  Thus, we are called to be a light to the nations, to those stumbling in darkness around us.  Yet, for the most part, it seems, we are content to cover up that light as we walk out of this place so that those walking in darkness never see it.  We refuse to engage friends and neighbors—and often even our own family members—about faith, about what we believe, and about how what we believe makes a positive difference in our lives.  We refuse to pray in public, even if it is just a small prayer of blessing over a meal in a restaurant.  No, even though we receive life itself when we receive the Body and Blood of Jesus from this altar, we are content to let those walking in darkness to remain in darkness because we worry that they would be offended if we talked to them about it (or, worse yet, that they would start asking us about our faith).

My brothers and sisters, the world desperately needs another star, like the one those wise men saw nearly two-thousand years ago.  The world needs a new Epiphany!  Our task as those who profess Christ as Lord is to be that epiphany.   In other words, we are called to be that star, shining brighter than any other star, that catches the attention of those dwelling in darkness and leads them to an encounter with Christ: an encounter that will manifest the light of salvation for them so that they may live in the joy that comes from knowing him.

My brothers and sisters, this is the new evangelization that the Pope has called for, but it won’t happen overnight.  In order to be that star for others, we first need to renew and deepen our own faith.  This Year of Faith is the perfect opportunity to do that.  Our parish is offering many different opportunities for you each to learn more about our faith (like the Catholicism series and Theology on Tap) and there are a multitude of other resources out there that you can take advantage of (such as videos, books, websites… in short, whatever works best for you to learn).  By this intentional effort to renew and deepen our faith, we will grow in confidence in the truth of our faith.  When that confidence grows, so too will grow a desire to share our faith with others; in other words, our desire to be that star for others will grow.

Friends, we need a sense of urgency about this.  You know, we almost had the end of the world last month!  Praise God that we didn’t because just think of all of the people that would have been lost!  I mean, seriously: think of all of the people we know who would have been lost to the fires of hell because we refused to share Christ’s light with them.  I can name three right off the bat: my cousin Joe, my friend Jake, and my sister’s husband Jason.  My guess is that most of us can at least think of one.  If so, please pray for that person.  Pray also for God’s wisdom to know how he may be calling you to share his light with that person.  Then pray for the courage to do it.  My friends, I promise you, God will not fail to answer these prayers.

First things first, however.  First, we need to come to Christ ourselves to honor him as our King and the good news is that he will be appearing before us soon, here on this altar.  O come let us adore him, Christ the Lord.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – January 6, 2013

Solemnity of the Epiphany

The Race is on!

Hey... remember this post? http://dominicpetan.blogspot.com/2011/11/race-for-vocations.html

Well, let's just say that I received NO e-mails from anyone who signed up as a result of my wicked-awesome post.  (FAIL BLOG FOLLOWERS!!!)

No worries, that didn't stop me from training and preparing, praying for men and women to have the courage to discern God's call for their lives.  And now, the time has come.

Saturday is the 5th annual Race for Vocations and my second race.  Training was harder this year, but I think I am better prepared than last year.  I've been battling some soreness in the last few weeks and so I am going to need extra prayers to meet my goal of running in under two hours (taking nearly 12 minutes off of last year's pace or nearly one minute per mile).  Please pray for me and for all of the runners/walkers this Saturday and, if you can, please support me with a prayer pledge and post your pledges to the Race for Vocations blog http://raceforvocations.blogspot.com/.

Together, we will own Indy on Saturday!!!

Verso l'alto!
Bl. Pier Giorgio Frassati, pray for us!

Follow Jesus on Twitter - or what it would have been like :-)

A great video and a powerful way to enter into the mystery of Holy Week.  Watch and pray...