Don't give up on Lent!

4^th Sunday of Lent – Cycle A

Friends, we all know that Lent is a time of penance and preparation.  Hopefully, we all know that the penance part has a purpose: that is, for preparation.  Preparation to celebrate the great solemnity commemorating the Resurrection of our Lord (otherwise known as Easter) and for us to meet our Lord when he either calls us home to himself or returns to usher in the “end of the ages”.  To that end, one of the things that we do during this time is to take a hard look at our lives to identify in what ways we are still in need of conversion: that is, of turning back to the Lord.  Then, having identified those ways, we set ourselves to that work of conversion.

I think, however, that it is safe to say that there are only a handful of us who are truly heroic in embracing this work: that is, persons who let nothing get in the way of doing this work of conversion.  Most of us are rather weak-willed (“stiff-necked” is how the Bible often describes us) and so it is hard for us to be both self-convicting and energetic in conversion.  We are either very hard on ourselves, but then do very little to produce change, or we are soft on ourselves, but very energetic trying to stamp out a little fault (all the while ignoring some larger, more serious faults).

This year, however, God is challenging us to something more.  The coronavirus pandemic has upended our lives and is forcing us to confront ourselves in ways that, for many of us, may be—to put it lightly—uncomfortable.  Let me say clearly that I don’t believe that God is allowing this pandemic because he wants anyone to be hurt.  But he has allowed it and, if he has allowed it, he must be allowing it so that good could come from it.  I can see two goods right off the bat: a sense of solidarity with those who are suffering and with those who are on the front lines of battling this pandemic and, as I have already mentioned, to provide us with an opportunity to look more sharply at ourselves and to see our ongoing need for conversion, both as individuals and as a society.  Nevertheless, the question still holds, “Why is this happening?”, and our Gospel reading gives us light into the answer.

There, Jesus and his disciples encounter a man who was born blind.  The detail here is important.  The man was born blind: he didn’t become blind at some point, but rather he had always been blind.  Nonetheless, the prevailing thought of the time was that any deformity (like blindness) was a punishment due to sin, either the individual’s sin or the sin of his parents, that was being inflicted on him.  And so, when Jesus and his disciples encounter this “man born blind”, Jesus’ disciples ask him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”  Jesus answers with an enigmatic answer, saying that this isn’t because of sin, but rather so that God’s glory and power can be made manifest.  It’s a reminder that we are not often directly punished for our sins or another’s sins, but rather often suffer because of an indirect effect of sin being in the world.  Even still, Jesus is reminding us, this suffering is intended to be an opportunity to manifest God’s glory and power.

In this case, the man born blind is given sight and, thus, led to recognize Jesus as the Christ.  His blindness from birth humbled him and made it so that he could see the truth in the reality of things.  Thus, when he was cured, he did not look to explain it away, but rather marveled at what had happened and held in great esteem the one through whom it was made possible.  The Pharisees, on the other hand, who had never had a problem with physical sight, were, nonetheless, unable to recognize the truth that was manifest in front of them.  Thus, the man born blind could recognize Jesus as the Christ, while the Pharisees, worried as they were to protect the way they had constructed things, could not recognize Jesus as the Christ and so fought to explain away what he had done.

Friends, as I said at the beginning, this time has been given to us so as to guide us into the light of Christ.  We need to be open to seeing the ways in which we are still in need of conversion: that is, the ways in which we still cling to our own ideas of how things should be.  We need to look at the reality of things and respond to them, like the man born blind did: “If he is a sinner, I don’t know.  One thing I do know is that I was blind and now I see.”  There’s no speculation there.  Just a clear vision of the reality of things that provides him with a way to respond.  We, too, need to allow the reality of things to point us to the one in whom all reality finds its end: Jesus Christ.  And we need to rejoice that, through the grace of baptism, we have been united to him; and, thus, to rejoice that it is possible to find our end in him.

Friends, I’ve said to a few others already, that I can see one of two ends to this crisis: First, that we will one day in the relatively near future return to our churches for Mass and the sacraments; or second, (and I don’t mean this flippantly) that the virus will wipe us all out.  My opinion, looking at the reality of things, is that the latter is not at all likely.  So, let's use this time courageously to seek the reality of things—especially our need for ongoing conversion—and, seeing the Lord with eyes made new, let us worship him and build his kingdom here on earth.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – March 21^st and 22^nd, 2020

Being Bartimeus and Jesus

Homily: 30^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle B

Friends, in our first reading today, the prophet Jeremiah talks about the Israelite exiles returning from their dispersion to Jerusalem—God's holy city.  His message from the Lord contains beautiful language that, for the exiled Israelite, would have been the best news that he/she had heard in a very long time.  Here Jeremiah takes on roles beyond that of prophet: the role of “angel”, or “God’s messenger”, as well as “evangelist”, that is, someone who brings “good news”.  The message is beautiful because it names the anawim, that is, the poor ones, who might not otherwise be included in a large traveling group—the blind, the lame, mothers with children, etc.—and declares that they, too, will be included in this return to Jerusalem.  Still further, the news declares that this will be a triumphant return: in which the roads by which they will return will be smooth—in order to make the travel easier—and that there will be abundant water along the way, so that no one loses strength.  Those Israelites would have heard in this message the contrast to the other great return from exile—the Exodus from Egypt—in which their ancient forefathers traveled over rough roads and were often without water on their journey to the land which God had promised them.  This contrast would have increased their joy at this good news.

As I reflected on this passage, images of the migrant caravan making its way from Honduras, through Mexico, and towards the United States came to mind.  Please allow me to say, up front, that I am not equating this caravan of migrants and the ancient Israelites.  There are obvious differences: the migrants are leaving their homeland, not returning to it, and, as far as I have heard, this isn’t a migration foretold by God.  Nonetheless, there are similarities: those in the caravan are fleeing what, for them, feels like a desperate situation in their homeland; thus, the news of a caravan going to a land in which they have hope for a better future for themselves and their families inspired them to begin the journey.  The images of women with children and other seemingly weak persons taking part in this caravan also resonate with me as I reflect on this passage.  Now, I don’t claim to know what the right thing to do will be when they arrive at our border, but I hope that we will hear their hopes and respond gracefully.

Going back to the scriptures: in the Gospel we see Jesus enacting a fulfillment of this prophecy from Jeremiah.  If you’ve been following along over the past few weeks, Jesus has been on his way to Jerusalem: his final trip to Jerusalem.  Over the past few years, he had been teaching and quite a large group of disciples had begun to follow him.  On this last trip to Jerusalem, going up for the great feast of Passover, this large group of disciples were following him: giving us an image of the exiled Israelites being led back to God’s holy city.  Leaving Jericho (itself a city of symbolism: as it was the city at the lowest point—geographically—on the journey to Jerusalem from which one truly began his/her “ascent” to God in Jerusalem), the blind man Bartimeus calls out to Jesus and asks for “mercy”.  He uses the messianic term—”Son of David”—to address Jesus, thus also indicating that Jesus is doing something bigger than just “going up for the feast”.  Jesus stops, calls the man to him and grants him his desire to see.  Although Jesus dismisses the man to his own way, Bartimeus begins to follow Jesus to Jerusalem: the blind now joining in this “return from exile”.  While this, in itself, is an important connection to make, I think that there is more for us to take away this Sunday.

One image that came to mind while I was reflecting on this Gospel passage was the “running scene” in the film Forrest Gump.  Forrest is in middle age and has accomplished amazing things in his life.  He’s lost his mom and some close friends and in a moment of reflection, he decides to get up and start running.  Although he didn’t intend to go far at first, as he reached each “boundary” (the street, the town, the county, the state), he just decided to keep running.  He ran to the Pacific Ocean and then turned around and ran to the Atlantic Ocean.  Then, he turned around and ran back to the Pacific Ocean: all, by his own account, “for no particular reason”.  Soon the media finds out that this guy is running coast to coast continuously and people start to take interest.  People are intrigued and think that he must be some sort of “spiritual or political guru” to do something so radical and yet to be so quiet about it and so begin to follow him.  They think that he must be going somewhere and want to follow him there.  Ultimately, however, Forrest wasn’t going anywhere: he “just felt like running”.  And so, when he stopped feeling that way, he stopped running and went home: leaving his “followers”, stunned and speechless, in the middle of a desert highway.

I thought of this because of the contrast to Jesus in the Gospel.  There, Jesus is going somewhere: he’s leading people to the fulfillment of the promise; he’s leading people to Jerusalem, where he will be crucified.  Those who are following him, are following him to the cross.  The healing of the blind man Bartimeus shows us that Jesus came “to make all things new”; and his leading people to Jerusalem where he will be crucified shows us that it is through the cross that he will accomplish it.  Still more, the healing of Bartimeus and his subsequent following of Jesus shows us that Jesus desires that no one be left behind: if only they would cry out to him for mercy and respond to him when he calls.  For us who have been called and responded, it is a reminder that Jesus is not leading us to nowhere, but rather from our exile to the “new Jerusalem”: which is eternal life in God’s heavenly kingdom.

My brothers and sisters, one thing we should take from these readings today is this: that we are both Bartimeus and Jesus.  Bartimeus because we all have spiritual (and perhaps physical) blindnesses that only Jesus can heal; and that we have to cry out to him, asking for his mercy.  Jesus because he chooses to work through us so that others might come to experience his mercy, too.  We, therefore, must both cry out to him for his mercy and call out to the blind who are on the side of the road to come to him.  To put it, perhaps, more distinctly: here in the Mass we are Bartimeus; then, at the end of Mass, we are sent out to be Jesus.

Friends, here we are: in exile in this world!  But God knows that he made us to be with him in the eternal holy city that he has prepared for us.  We are following Jesus, who desires to lead all who willingly come to him into that eternal city and his death, resurrection from the dead, and ascension into heaven is our proof that he isn’t leading us to nowhere, but to that place to which, deep within us, we desperately long to return.  Let us, therefore, cry out to him today for his mercy (and for mercy on all those torn by violence in this world!) and receive from him—from this altar—what we most desire: union with him.  Then, armed with this euangelium—this good news—let us go back into the world to proclaim it with our lives.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – October 28^th, 2018

Living as children of light

Homily: 4^th Sunday in Lent – Cycle A

          On this morning in Lent we see before our eyes the mystery of the battle between light and darkness.  Christ is “the Light that enlightens every man” and this story about the man blind from birth brings to mind our own condition as baptized Christians.

          The first question that we need to ask ourselves, however, is this: “Is this gospel reading all about a miracle?”  The answer, is “No.”  You see, out of the 41 verses that make up this passage, only a few are about the miracle, itself.  And so what is this gospel passage about?  What John really wants to describe, it seems, is the process of faith.  You see, in the beginning of the story, all are blind—even those who think they can see.  In the end, however, only one is cured and the rest remain in their blindness.  The blind man, after having been given sight and after having been interrogated about how he could now see, steps fully into the light when he confesses his faith: “I do believe, Lord!”  On the other hand, the Jews remain in darkness when they ignore this miraculous cure and, instead, condemn the Lord for having performed this work on the Sabbath, saying: “We know that this man is a sinner!”  

          One thing that this demonstrates for us is just how hard it is for those who do not wish to see.  How hard it is for those who think they can already see, those who want no other light but their own, those who don’t know how to doubt or question their preconceived notions!  They cannot see and, deep inside, they do not want to see; and so they do not allow themselves to see.  How, therefore, can they be enlightened by the Light of the world?  The answer, sadly, is that they cannot: at least not as long as they persist in their blindness.

          Just the other day I was talking with our seminarian, Will, and we were discussing how to begin catechizing the uncatechized.  We talked a lot about the content of what we would share with them: starting with “who God is” and “who I am” and “what my relationship with God is”, but then I stepped back and reminded him that the first step of it all has to be to help each person realize that, as Pope Francis has often said of himself, he or she is a “sinner who has been mercifully treated.”  In doing this, we help the person to acknowledge that he or she has been blind and that he or she needs Christ, who is “the Light that enlightens every man”, in order to see.  Remember what Jesus said to the Pharisees: “If you were blind, you would not have sin; but since you say, ‘we see’, then your sin [that is, your true blindness] remains.”  We must first acknowledge our blindness and our inability to overcome it on our own.  Then Christ will enlighten us, little by little, until we reach the fullness of day in His divine presence.

          This “little by little” is actually the long road of purification.  After we acknowledge our blindness and our need for Christ, we must then allow him to shine light on all the dark places within us and we must choose to allow him to “clear out” the darkness through the effusion of his light.  The Elect, those who are preparing to be baptized this Easter, are on this journey.  They, like all of us, have been born blind; but, through an encounter with Christ in prayer, in his Word, and through the witness of this community, they have had their eyes opened to the truth of his love and now stand before us to ask for our prayers as they make their final preparations for their Baptism.  They ask for our prayers so that they may be cured of every spiritual blindness and so become like us, “children of light.”

          Nevertheless, in our own selves we still experience this battle between these two forces: Light and darkness. While the ultimate victory of Light over darkness has already been won by Christ, the victory in each one of us is still being fought.  Yes, we have been won for Christ in baptism, but we can still be lost.  This is why Saint Paul wrote to the Ephesians to remind them that, since they have become light, they must now be light in the world and, therefore, that they must avoid all contact with the “works of darkness”, lest they be lost to darkness once again.   Those of us who are striving to live our discipleship intentionally will testify of just how conscious we are of this battle.  If you are not conscious of it, then perhaps you might ask yourself whether or not you have become blind once again.

          My brothers and sisters, Christ is the Light that overcomes all darkness, He conquers death, He guides and directs us, He communicates the truth, and He leads us to salvation and joy. This is what we celebrate at Easter.  If we wish to experience the fullness of joy that is available to us in this celebration, then we must continue our work to acknowledge our blindness and allow Christ the Light to destroy any darkness—that is, any sin—that is within us.  Therefore, let us hear Saint Paul’s admonition to the Ephesians as if he was admonishing us: “Live as children of light … Try to learn what is pleasing to the Lord.  Take no part in the fruitless works of darkness; rather expose them … for everything that becomes visible is light.”

          My friends, the grace to live as children of light is available to us here in this Eucharist.  May it strengthen us to fulfill this good work of Lent that God has begun in us.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 26^th, 2017

Let there be (children of the) light.

          Another great weekend!  My parents visited from Illinois and a lot of folks from All Saints were able to meet and greet them (good both for my parents and our parishioners!).  If any of you remember my old (original) blog, it was titled "Searching for Blindness", which was a play off of today's Gospel reading.  Jesus says that "if you were blind, then you would have no sin."  I didn't want to have sin, so I thought I should be "searching for blindness".  Anyway, it is a powerful story of what happens when we allow our self-righteousness (Pharisees) get ahead of seeking an authentic relationship with Jesus.  We're halfway through Lent!  Time to double-up our efforts!  Verso l'alto!

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Homily: 4^th Sunday of Lent – Cycle A

          As many of you know I grew up in a Catholic household.  My parents practiced their faith and taught their children to do so also.  My siblings and I all spent eight years in Catholic grade school (well, nine, I guess, if you count Kindergarten) and three of the four of us spent an additional four years in Catholic high school (it was still segregated between boys and girls when my oldest brother went, which didn’t sit well with him, so he went to the public high school).  Thus, when I went off to college I felt pretty confident that I knew what it meant to be Catholic: Go to church, don’t eat meat on Fridays, be kind and generous to people.  This is what I did.  I followed all of the rules (well, most of them, anyway) and otherwise I pretty much did whatever I wanted to do.

          A couple of years after I graduated from college, this system fell apart on me.  I wasn’t happy with my job or my decision to move to Indiana, my relationship with my girlfriend of nearly three years ended disastrously, and those thirteen years of Catholic schooling didn’t seem to leave me any answers for why I ended up so unhappy.  It was then, of course, that I had an encounter with Jesus.

          In this spiritual encounter that I had with Jesus he showed me how blind I had become to my sin (that is, how blind I had become because of my own self-righteousness).  “I’m a good person”, I used to say.  “I’ve never really hurt anyone intentionally, so I’m ok.”  While this latter part was somewhat true, Jesus opened my eyes to see how I had actually hurt many people through my selfishness and self-righteousness.  Although he didn’t directly command me to do so, I knew what I had to do next: I had to go and wash in the “pool of reconciliation” by making a good confession.

          From there I began a journey, not unlike the blind man who was given sight in today’s Gospel reading.  At first, all I could do was say “Jesus healed me.”  When others would ask me, “Who is this Jesus? point him out to us”, I couldn’t.  I had encountered him, but I was still getting to know him.  As I more intentionally engaged all of the practices that I had before—going to Mass, giving up meat on Fridays, being kind and generous to people—as well as taking up new practices—giving time to daily prayer, studying the Bible, and volunteering in my parish and the community—the answer to the question “Who is Jesus?” started to become clearer for me until the point that I could see him clearly and, thus, worship him in truth.

          Of course, the man in the Gospel reading today had a much more profound experience.  In many ways, his story is a baptism story: one that highlights the “re-creation” aspect of the sacrament that we celebrate.  This man was born without sight.  In other words, he was born broken: “damaged goods” if you will.  Jesus confirms for his disciples that this was not caused by any particular sin either by the man himself or by his parents.  Thus, in a sense, his blindness is a result of a legacy of brokenness that man has inherited.  Does that sound like a description “Original Sin” to anyone?  Well, it should!

          What Jesus does next is very symbolic.  He makes clay using his saliva.  (I know, it sounds gross, but back then they believed that saliva had healing properties.)  Think for a moment about some other time that God used the dirt of the ground to do something important…  In the book of Genesis, right?  “Then the LORD God formed the man out of the dust of the ground…”  So Jesus uses the dust of the ground to make clay and places it on the man where there should be sight, although there never was…  Interesting.  Then he tells the man to do what?  To go wash in the pool of water!  And what does that remind us of?  Baptism! of course!  So the man is baptized and washes the stuff of creation off of his eyes and, voila!¸ the sight has been created in the man.  (Suddenly this doesn’t look like the same old story anymore, does it?)

          Thus, this man’s faith journey begins.  At first he doesn’t have much to say about this Jesus that gave him sight.  He knows the name of the man who gave him sight and, because of what he did, that this man must, therefore, be a prophet and a man of God, but he didn’t know much else about him.  When he then sees Jesus for the first time, he is open and ready to make a profession of faith.  “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” Jesus asks him.  “Sure!  Just tell me who he is, that I may believe in him”, replied the man.  He trusted Jesus so completely—because of what Jesus did for him—that he put his complete confidence in whomever it would be that Jesus would identify.  When Jesus reveals himself to the man—“the one speaking with you is he”—the man then professes his faith in Jesus and bows down in worship before him.

          In many ways, the Elect—those who will be baptized at the Easter Vigil—are having this same experience.  This Sunday we will scrutinize them again and call them to acknowledge their blindness because of sin; and, in a way, to imagine Jesus putting the healing, creating clay on their eyes.  We will then send them forward towards Easter to be washed in the pool of Baptism, where their blindness caused by sin will be washed away; and, re-created, they will walk as “children of the light”.  As their brothers and sisters in light, we walk with them on their journey towards re-creation.  Thus, Lent is also our call to scrutinize our own lives and to identify how sin has increasingly made us blind to our selfishness and self-righteousness; and, thus, to the needs of the poor and those living on the margins around us that we have been ignoring.

          My brothers and sisters, Jesus wants to meet us there, in our acknowledgement of our blindness, and he wants to place the healing clay on our eyes.  He will then send us to the pool to wash—that is, the sacrament of reconciliation—so that we too can have our sight restored.  In this time of preparation for the great celebration of Easter, let us not be afraid to approach him in this sacrament and to let him do this great work for us.  For when we do, we will truly know what it is to worship him; just as that man in the Gospel did; and just as we are invited to do every Sunday here at this altar.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 29^th & 30^th, 2014

Searching for blindness

Just returned from another week at Saint Meinrad beginning the "Good Leaders, Good Shepherds" program.  What an awesome program!  Super well-researched and put together and the leaders were incredibly knowledgeable and prepared for the program.  One of the best all-around programs that I've every experienced... and this was just the opening module!

I have a busy couple of weeks ahead leading up to Holy Week.  Nevertheless, you know that I'll be watching closely to hear from our new Pope (whenever he's elected)!  Please keep praying for the Cardinal Electors!

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Homily: 4th Sunday of Lent – Cycle A (Scrutinies)

Some of you may be familiar with the story of Alice and Mark.  Alice, as the story goes, was blind, and she hated everyone.  Being blind, as we can all imagine, is a pretty heavy cross to carry and for Alice, that took its toll on her relationships with others.  Mark, however, was a patient man and he loved Alice deeply.  He was always there for her and she felt that he was someone that she could rely on.  One day she told Mark, “If I could see, I would marry you.”

Not long after that, Alice was notified that someone had donated a pair of eyes to her.  So she had the surgery and, after a week or so of recovery, when the bandages came off, she was able to see Mark for the first time.  Almost immediately, Mark smiled at her and asked her: “Now that you can see, will you marry me?”  Alice, however, was speechless.  You see, Mark was blind.  Immediately she knew that looking at his closed eyes would be a constant reminder of the blindness that she so longed to leave in her past and she wanted so badly to leave that memory in the past that she refused his proposal.  Alice’s blindness, it seems, went much deeper than physical sight.

In our Gospel reading today, the Pharisees are suffering from a similar type of blindness.  As we hear in the Gospels over and over again, these religious leaders were intensely focused on preserving the Mosaic Law and on ensuring that it was carefully observed by all Jews.  Being so “in tune” with the Law that God had given them, they were certain that they also knew what the Messiah, whom God had promised to send them, would look like.  He would emerge from an important family of obvious heritage to their great king, King David.  Jesus, however, didn’t fit that mold.  Remember that the history of Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem, and the great signs that accompanied it, was unknown to the general public while Jesus was still walking on earth.  Rather, all that people knew about him was that he was a carpenter’s son from Nazareth, who was generating a lot of buzz with his teaching and through his works.

No, Jesus’ heritage didn’t jive with what the Pharisees were looking from the Messiah.  Thus, although he was performing the works of God—healing the sick, raising the dead, driving out demons (and, in this case, curing the blind)—the Pharisees were blinded by their preconceived notions of the Messiah and couldn’t see him for who he was.  Like Alice, whose preconceived notion of what Mark would look like prevented her from seeing the Mark that she knew—the patient, caring man who had been with her all this time, the Pharisees’ preconceived notion of what the Messiah would look like prevented them from seeing that the Messiah was actually right there in their midst.

The man who was cured of his blindness, however, had none of these preconceived notions.  So much so that when the Pharisees question him his only response was to say “I know nothing about this man.  I just know that I was blind and now I can see.”  And when pressed by the Pharisees to make a judgment about Jesus, he doesn’t call him the Messiah, but rather a prophet.  What he is doing is speaking from the truth of his experience.  “I was blind, but now I see, which is a good thing.  And if it is a good thing, then it must be from God.  Therefore, this man must be from God.  And so the best that I can say about him is that he seems to me to be a prophet.”  Notice that he doesn’t try to push Jesus into being what he wants him to be, but simply speaks of him according to the truth of his experience of him.

The Elect, those who are preparing to be baptized this Easter, are kind of like this man.  They, like all of us, have been born blind, but, through an encounter with Christ in prayer, in his Word, and through the witness of this community, they have had their eyes opened to the truth of his love and now stand before us to ask for our prayers as they make their final preparations for their Baptism.  They ask for our prayers so that they may be cured of every spiritual blindness and so become like us, “children of light.”

And so to the Elect I have this to offer: the foundation of our faith is acknowledging the truth about our encounters with Christ.  Just like the man born blind—and the Samaritan woman from last week’s Gospel reading—we are called first and foremost to witness to the truth of our encounter with him.  “I can’t tell you if he is a sinner,” the man born blind states, “All I know is that I was blind and now I can see.”  “Come, see the man who told me everything about myself,” the Samaritan woman exclaims, “Could he be the Messiah?”  The scrutinies that the Elect are undergoing are about getting clear.  Just like Lent, for the rest of us, is about getting clear.  In other words, it is about eliminating all of our preconceived notions about God, religion, and what Church ought to be, and getting clear about our experience of Jesus, so that we, too, can worship him, like that man in the reading today, when we see him in his truest, glorified self—his resurrected self—on Easter Sunday.

After Alice’s rejection, Mark left feeling completely destroyed.  A few days later, she received a note from him that said simply, “Take good care of your eyes, my friend, because before they were yours, they were mine.”  Alice could finally see, but then sin—her desire for worldly satisfaction through her eyes—blinded her heart and she rejected Mark’s Christ-like love.  Mark, on the other hand, through making himself blind, truly died to his self and thus to sin.  As a result, he was able to see the sad truth about Alice.  May our Lenten observances blind us to the world—and, thus, to sin—so that we can truly see the love that Christ offers each one of us.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 9th & 10th, 2013