A foretaste of heaven in a messy world

Homily: 21st Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B

          A few years ago, I made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.  Of all of the amazing things that I saw and was able to experience, one of the highlights was my visit to the Basilica of the Annunciation in Nazareth, which was built over the site of Mary’s childhood home and was the place in which she received the message from the archangel Gabriel, announcing that she would become the mother of God’s Son.  I remember reflecting about my experience there.  “In that place,” I said to myself, “the God who created everything, and whose existence cannot be contained even in the vast universe, somehow encapsulated himself in human flesh.”  For me, among all of the other experiences on that trip, standing in the place where the “Word became flesh and dwelt among us” was an awe-inspiring moment.

          I remember reflecting on the absurdity of it all: that God, who is limitless, would subject himself to the limits of his creation simply out of love for what he had created.  Nonetheless, as we’ve been reading in the sixth chapter of John’s Gospel, I’m often struck that this same Son of God then took the absurdity even further by claiming that for anyone to have life within them they had to eat his flesh and drink his blood.  On the surface, it’s a crazy statement, right?  I mean, Jesus is asking his followers to be cannibals: to eat human flesh and drink human blood!  Although our familiarity with it may mean that it no longer strikes us as odd, we need to grapple with the fact that this statement from Jesus is polarizing: either he is who he says he is (that is, the Son of God) and, thus, we have to give credence to what he says, or he’s not (and, therefore, he’s a madman) and we should run away immediately.

          Perhaps not many of us have thought about it in these terms, but this is one of those things about which, as Christians, we cannot be neutral: rather, we need to decide on which side we are.  If you need some help deciding on which side you are, I will offer this criteria: that if Jesus is crazy about one thing then he’s crazy about everything; but if he’s not crazy about everything, then he’s not crazy about anything.  I think that it’s safe for me to say that we don’t think that he’s crazy about everything.  Therefore, he must not be crazy about this one thing, and so we have to give it credence, no matter how crazy it sounds.

          And so, when Jesus says, “I am the living bread” and “the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world” we have to strive to believe that he is talking about the Eucharist: for the bread that we present is not “living” bread: that is, bread that is alive, as if it were something out of some B-rated horror film.  No, it is not “living” bread until it is given life when, through the words of consecration at the altar, its very substance changes and it becomes the Body and Blood of Jesus.  Although it still appears to be lifeless bread, it is in reality the flesh of Jesus, who lives; thus, it becomes “bread that lives” and makes it possible for us to eat his flesh without becoming cannibals.

          On the surface, of course, this is still incredible and, frankly, it cannot be accepted outright.  If any otherwise rational person came to you and said, “I promise you that you will live forever if you eat my flesh and drink my blood; and, by the way, you’ll be able to do that if you eat this thing that looks like bread and drink this cup filled with what looks like wine,” you’d immediately doubt all that you knew about that person.  Accepting something like this—something that pushes you beyond the bounds of understanding—comes only after a bridge of trust has been built with the person who is making this claim.  Just look at our Gospel reading today: “Many of Jesus’ disciples who were listening said, ‘This saying is hard; who can accept it?’” it says.  And later it goes on to say “as a result of this, many of his disciples returned to their former way of life and no longer accompanied him.”  These disciples had been only loosely connected with Jesus and had not yet built a “bridge of trust” with him.  Therefore, when he made this seemingly absurd claim, their fragile faith in him was shaken and fell apart.  They concluded that he must be crazy and so they turned away from him.

          The twelve Apostles, on the other hand, stayed with Jesus.  They had experienced so much more from him and, therefore, had built a bridge of trust that supported their faith.  And so, even if they didn’t understand what it was about which he was talking, they refused to write him off as a madman, but instead recommitted themselves to him: “Master, to whom shall we go?  You have the words of eternal life.  We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God.”

          So where do we go from here?  You know, I am convinced that those who leave the Church must not be persons who believe in the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist.  Otherwise, how could they walk away from it?  Peter and the other Apostles believed that Jesus was the Holy One of God and so could not be swayed to abandon him, even when he taught such incredible things.  In the same way, it does not seem possible that someone would acknowledge the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist and yet still feel as if he or she could go somewhere where it is not.

          Nonetheless, many have walked away; and the great tragedy is that many of those have walked away because of the sins committed against them by leaders in the Church: men who they called “Father”.  This is an enormous tragedy: first, because it discredits the Gospel, but second because it turns people away from the Eucharist: the Eucharist, which is the event in which we literally commune with God, offering him our sacrifice of thanksgiving and praise, remembering the great work he has done to bring us to salvation, calling down the Holy Spirit to strengthen us for our mission on earth, and partaking in a sacred meal, which is a foretaste of the eternal banquet in heaven.

          My brothers and sisters, I get it if some of you (or some people that you may know who are not here) find it hard to look at the failures of bishops and priests and not think “Can we really trust these men who have failed us so horrendously, and, therefore Christ and his Church?”  I urge you, however, to remember Christ’s words: that “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his Blood, you do not have life within you” and, thus, to hold in tension the sacred actions of the priest, in which he stands in the person of Christ so that his Body and Blood and his healing mercy is made present to us, with the worldly actions of the man, weak and fallible as he is and subject to the attacks of the evil one: holding him accountable for his failures while supporting him in his efforts to grow in holiness.  This so that not one more of us would be separated from this foretaste of the eternal banquet, which strengthens us and preserves us for eternal life.

          I pray, therefore, my friends, that we would make it our task to seek out our brothers and sisters who need this grace from the Father to believe that Jesus is truly present in the Eucharist, in spite of the sometimes serious failures of the men through whom it is provided; and to help them, with our prayers and companionship, to open their hearts to this grace, so that we all might be joined together at this Holy Table, the foretaste of the eternal banquet prepared for us in heaven, to feast on the Bread of Life: Our Lord Jesus Christ.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – August 26, 2015

Heeding the Lord and being satisfied

          Well, I made it back from vacation in one piece and I had a great time.  I was off in Oregon and spent a lot of time in the woods (notice, I didn't say wilderness, because these were all pretty well trafficked parks), a great time with my friend Debbie, and I was able to see the ocean (well, a little bit).  Bookend that with visits to my family in Illinois and I have to say that it was a pretty fruitful vacation.  Thanks to Fr. Mike for taking on the extra load at the parish so I could get away.

I know.  Total postcard, right?  Snapped this with my phone.

So, there's the pacific ocean, covered, as it mostly was, by fog.

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Homily: 18^th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          I recently returned from a trip to Oregon where I was visiting a friend and taking some time to rest and to enjoy a part of our country that I haven’t had the opportunity to visit before: the Pacific Northwest.  While I was there I visited Crater Lake.  Crater Lake is a geological anomaly, as it was formed by the collapse of Mount Mazama: a volcanic mountain over 400,000 years old.  About 7,700 years ago a huge eruption from the upper part of the mountain followed by a “ring” eruption around the center of the mountain caused it to collapse in on itself, forming the “crater” (or caldera, as geologists know it) that now holds the water known as “Crater Lake”.  At its deepest point it is 1,949 feet deep, making it the deepest lake in North America.  Its fresh water is deep blue in color, which provides a striking contrast to the steep, pumice rock slopes that surround it on all sides.  It is truly an incredible thing of nature to see.

          The land that surrounds it is relatively untouched.  This is in part because of protection by the National Parks Service, but it is also because it appears to be a pretty harsh land.  Driving up to the lake (whose outer ring sits about 6,900 feet above sea level), I was struck by how arid the land around the lake seemed to be.  Vegetation was scarce and the trees that were green and appeared to be growing were interspersed with trees that haven’t survived the extremely harsh winters that this area experiences (the lake averages over 530 inches of snow each year and there was still some patches of snow on the ground when I was there).  These trees that hadn’t survived were a mangled mess; their trunks twisted and bent around in ways that give evidence to how they had been subject, year after year, to the crushing weight of 40 plus feet of snowfall and the harsh winds that constantly beat the sides of the mountain.  These trees, it seems, just ran out of the life force necessary to overcome these harsh conditions.

          I think that our lives can sometimes feel like life on the side of that mountain.  Perhaps we’ve had it hard from the start.  Maybe our seed fell in pretty rocky ground and so we didn’t have much chance to set down a good root.  Maybe our parents or grandparents struggled after the Depression and our family never recovered to enjoy a level of economic security that could provide good opportunities for us, such as a college education or vocational training.  Perhaps we’ve had to struggle to provide for our own families: always on the edge—and sometimes over the edge—of failing to make ends meet.  Year after year, season after season, the weight of the world lays heavy on our shoulders.  After many years, we begin to look like those trees that hadn’t survived: twisted and bent in unnatural ways that give evidence to the harsh environment that we grew up in.

          Even if we did fall into more favorable soil and were able to put down a good root, the harshness of the world is still something to contend with.  Perhaps a sudden severe illness or an accident snatched away the life of a close family member or friend.  Maybe a sudden job loss causes a life-long dream to crumble.  Or maybe we’ve experienced an irreconcilable betrayal by one we’ve committed our lives to.  Whatever it is, this world, it seems, has a way of placing a crushing weight on our shoulders and of beating us relentlessly with a cold, dry wind; so much so that we often feel like we have nothing left to give: as if all of life force within us has been spent.

          For folks who have experienced the harshness of the world, the demands of the Christian life can seem to be too much to handle.  “Turn the other cheek… Go two miles with the one who forces you into service for one… Give also your tunic to one who demands your cloak…  These and many other demands that Jesus makes of his followers throughout the Gospels can be very challenging and, for those of us weighed down by the harshness of the world, they can seem to ask for much more than we have to give.  If so, then the Scriptures that we’ve heard today have Good News for us.

          In the reading from the prophet Isaiah, we heard the Lord declare to the Israelites, who had been oppressed by the harshness of exile, “All you who thirst, come to the water! You who have no money, come, receive grain and eat; come without paying and without cost, drink wine and milk!”  For a people oppressed by the harshness of exile, this was welcome news; and for us, who still find ourselves oppressed by the world’s harshness, this word comes to us as a message of hope.  Because if we feel like we have nothing left to give, it’s OK.  The Lord asks nothing of us but that we heed him—that is, that we place ourselves under his care so that he may provide for us.  This is a promise that only God can make, for only he can promise relief without cost.  For the ancient Israelites, this promise found fulfillment when they returned to their homeland from exile.  Yet, this, too, was just a foreshadowing of the ultimate fulfillment that God would complete when he sent his Son, Jesus, to save humanity from its exile from heaven.

          In the Gospel reading today, we find that Jesus truly is the ultimate fulfillment of this prophecy.  Jesus, weary and saddened by the news of the death of his cousin John the Baptist, seeks out a deserted place to mourn this loss.  Yet when he arrives he finds that the crowds who had been following him were waiting for him there.  “His heart,” already heavy with the news of the death of his cousin John, was nonetheless “moved with pity for them.”  He saw that they were a people weighed down by the harshness of this world and so, in spite of his own sorrow, he ministered to them, curing their sick and teaching them.  And when evening came, instead of sending them away to find their own food, he miraculously provided food enough to fill all who were present.  The crowd had come heedfully to Jesus and, without paying and without cost, they ate their fill.

          My brothers and sisters, this is the same banquet that God is calling us to today.  We who have been beaten down by the harshness of the world and who feel like we have nothing left to give to him come here today and are offered, not an abundance of physical food, but a banquet of spiritual nourishment; enough to satisfy our hungry hearts and to strengthen our spirits to persevere through the harshness of the world.  If we come heedfully—that is, placing ourselves completely under God’s providential care—we too will find that Jesus, although burdened with the weight of the world, nonetheless still cares for us and does not leave us to go away hungry seeking to satisfy our weary hearts.  Thus we gather today to give thanks.  Just as life still finds a way to persevere in spite of the harsh conditions that surround Crater Lake, so too the life force within us—strengthened by this word and by this sacrament—will always find a way to persevere.  And so, my brothers and sisters, come—without paying and without cost—to this banquet prepared for us by our Lord.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – August 2^nd & 3^rd, 2014