An encounter with mercy

"The Incredulity of Saint Thomas" by Caravaggio

Homily: 2^nd Sunday of Easter (Divine Mercy Sunday) – Cycle C

          Over the years as I have been striving to live this Christian life well I’ve found that I’ve come to appreciate more and more those persons that I’ve met or read about who have provided a “lived example” not only of achieving holiness in their lives but also of the struggle to arrive at faith and to maintain that faith throughout one’s life.  This is why I’m enjoying Pope Francis so much.  He has been providing us with a different perspective on the Christian life.  While Pope Benedict XVI invited us to know Christ in prayer, especially with the Scriptures, Pope Francis is inviting us to go out and find Christ in the poor, the marginalized, and the suffering.  With both of their lived examples, we are getting a fuller, more rounded, perspective of how to live the Christian life.

          This is why I also enjoy encountering persons like Saint Thomas in the Scriptures.  I think that it is easy for us to step back and say “Oh yeah, there’s that ‘Doubting Thomas’ again” and fall into the trap made by the Pharisee elsewhere in the Gospel who said: “I’m glad that I’m not like him, doubting the Lord’s Resurrection and all.”  It’s certainly easy for me to stand here and say, “Now don’t be ‘Doubting Thomases, but believe!” (and, if that’s all that I had to say, then I might as well just sit down, because you’ve heard all of that before).  I have a great sympathy, for Thomas, however, because there seems to be something going on with him that is deeper than just a stubborn resistance to believing that the Lord had risen.  I think that Thomas was really struggling with something deeper.

          For years, Thomas had been following Jesus closely.  He had gotten to know him and certainly he had bonded with him.  No one can be that close to Jesus—God… love incarnate—and not feel a sense of intimacy with him.  Thus, Thomas had made himself vulnerable both to him and for him: “Ok, Jesus, I believe that you are the Christ and so I am willing to proclaim this to others, even if that means that I will be ostracized and persecuted by family, friends and the people of my nation.”  Thomas was convinced that Jesus was the one for whom he had been waiting and he put all of his trust in him.  And so, when Jesus appeared to be defeated—when all seemed to be lost because Jesus had been put to death—that hurt Thomas deeply.  He loved Jesus—which was perhaps something difficult for him to admit—and Jesus seemingly let him down.  It wasn’t that he was resistant to believing, but rather that the wound was still fresh and demanded a personal encounter before it could begin to be healed.

          You know, I think that this is an experience that we see both in ourselves and in one another.  Not just the experience of being disappointed or let down by someone we’ve come to love and trust (though that experience is common enough), but also the experience of being disappointed and feeling let down by Jesus (or, at least, by his Church).  A few years ago, I shared a table at a wedding reception with a woman who had a lot of negative opinions of the Church.  I was still a seminarian at the time, and so the woman felt free to express her thoughts to me; and we had a lively, but respectful discussion.  I of course gave her (as best I could) all of the reasoned arguments about why the Church teaches this and why it can’t change that, but she didn’t seem to be buying much of it.  Finally, I realized that there was something else going on with her—that this wasn’t just a philosophical struggle with principles—and so I stopped and gently asked her: “You’ve been hurt by the Church, haven’t you?”  “Yes”, she replied.  She, like Thomas, wasn’t necessarily doubting Jesus, but she needed more than intellectual arguments and the testimony of witnesses to resolve the hurt that she was feeling inside of her.  She needed, rather, an encounter with the one who had hurt her, who had let her down, so as to reconcile that hurt before she could move forward.

          I would guess that many of us know somebody in a similar situation: somebody who has left the Church for reasons unbeknownst to us and who has strong feelings about why he or she refuses to return.  And I would guess that most of these persons have some sort of hurt or disappointment that they have experienced with the Church and that only a personal encounter with the one that has hurt them can resolve.

          In the Gospel today, Thomas receives that encounter.  Notice, however, that it wasn’t immediate.  Thomas had this news for a whole week before Christ would return to reveal himself to him.  And what a blessing it was that Christ gave him this chance to have that personal encounter that he needed to reconcile this hurt within him.  And what mercy Jesus showed him.  For he could have easily chided Thomas for his unbelief, but instead he tried to remove all barriers to his believing—to his reconciling himself to him: “Peace be with you… Come, touch my hands and put your finger into my side… do not be unbelieving, but believe.”

          My brothers and sisters, this is exactly the mercy that we commemorate today on Divine Mercy Sunday.  This is the eighth day of the Lord’s resurrection: the day when he mercifully appeared to Thomas so as to reconcile him to himself.  And so today we too are reminded that Christ offers us the same opportunity to encounter him and to reconcile our hurts with him.  He comes to us, immolated for us on this altar so as to say “Come, see my hands, touch my wounds—the wounds that I received for you—and do not be unbelieving, but believe.”  “Come,” in other words, “and be enfolded in my mercy.  I know that you’ve been hurt and I want you to be healed.  And so, whatever it is, just come.  Come and see my sorrow for your pain and let my mercy wash over you to bring you healing and peace.”

          And so, my brothers and sisters, how good it is that we are here to celebrate this great mercy.  May our hearts be open to his heart today so that we, too, may believe and, thus, may have life in his name: the life of the Resurrection… the life of mercy.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – April 28^th, 2019

God with us in our thirst

Homily: 3^rd Sunday of Lent – Cycle A

          In the summer of 2009 I was in Guatemala studying Spanish and immersing myself in Hispanic culture.  There were students from many walks of life studying Spanish alongside me at the school.  A couple of students were, literally, a couple: a husband and wife pair named Kris and DiDi.  Kris worked for Lipscomb University in Tennessee as a teacher in Engineering Technology and every year, he would arrange a trip for his students to Central America so that they could apply their studies to a practical problem: in this case, capturing fresh water from mountain springs and transporting it to villages so that the people would have clean water with which to drink and cook.

          Kris and DiDi were not on one of these trips that summer, but were studying Spanish to make it easier for Kris to make these trips in the future.  Nonetheless, Kris was taking the opportunity to explore potential project sites for the future.  I expressed an interest in visiting one of these sites with them and they were gracious enough to invite me along on one of their trips.  This particular trip was to the northcentral part of Guatemala, near the city of Coban.

          While there, our local guide, Gabriel, explained some of the challenges in securing project sites.  He said that there were a couple of potential springs that were on a property that we weren’t able to access.  We would have to pass through certain pieces of property and the owners wouldn’t give us permission to do so.  He said that there were often fights between the owners and the surrounding villagers as the owner would often cut-off access to the road by locking a gate and would hire an armed guard to keep people out.  I remember clearly how Gabriel remarked that, when faced with such adversity, people’s ugliest side tended to show.

          But it’s true, isn’t it?  That when we are most stressed (and what is more stressful than worrying about whether you will have food, shelter, or clean water to drink?) we tend to get very defensive and we begin to treat those around us more like our enemies than our neighbors.  All of our good upbringing can sometimes go out the window, it seems, when adversity sets in and our basic needs are threatened.

          This fact was on display in today’s first reading.  In spite of all that God had done for the Israelites—in spite of all of the powerful signs he had worked while they were slaves in Egypt and when he led them out of Egypt—as soon as they run out of a certain necessity on their way to the land in which God promised to settle them, they begin to grumble against God.  No, the powerful miracles that God worked did not solidify in them an unbreakable trust in God.  Rather, when faced with adversity, instead of trusting in God’s care and making acts of faith that God would provide for them in their need, they gave into their fear and began to verbally attack Moses, accusing him of leading them out into the desert to die.
          Moses, on his part, gives in to fear, as well.  Instead of assuring the people that God would provide and then turning and asking God for a sign, Moses immediately turns and cries out to God to be saved from their violent threats against him.  God, of course, provided a miraculous flow of water to satisfy their worldly thirst, but the damage had been done.  So much so that they named the place, not for the miraculous flow of water, but for the doubting and testing of God that took place there.  The Scriptures even record the question that was on their lips in this time of adversity: “Is the Lord in our midst or not?”  Adversity, it seems, caused them to forget even the most powerful works of God and in their fear, they turned against him.

          A few millennia later, we can look back and ask, “After all that God had done for them, how could they fall into fear like that?”  The reality is, however, that we often do the same.  Even though we enjoy so many advantages in our lives—advantages for which, perhaps, we regularly take time to give thanks to God—when adversity hits, we suddenly forget how God has provided for us and we assume, rather, that he has abandoned us.  Perhaps we lose our job (or maybe our house… or maybe both), or a relationship disintegrates, or a tragedy takes the life of one of our loved ones, or maybe even a combination of these things… All of these things threaten our most basic necessities and so cause us to experience great anxiety and stress.  And instead of turning to God and making acts of faith that the one who has always provided for us will continue to provide for us, we rather turn against God: perhaps even asking ourselves “Is the Lord in our midst or not?”  Adversity, it seems, causes us, too, to forget even the most powerful works of God.

          In our Gospel reading, however, God gives us a definitive answer to our question in adversity.  The Samaritan woman comes to the well.  Why?  Because she’s thirsty of course.  There, at an obscure time of the day when she didn’t think that she’d encounter anyone, she meets our Lord and he makes a simple request: “Give me a drink.”  Over the centuries many a scholar and many a preacher has taken these words of the Lord and interpreted them to mean that our Lord was really expressing his thirst for her salvation; and this is a beautiful interpretation that I wouldn’t dare deny to be true.  But today I want us to hear these words in the context of accompaniment—as an answer, that is, to our question in adversity: “Is the Lord in our midst or not?”  In this exchange with the Samaritan woman, our Lord reveals himself as the Christ; but he first reveals himself to her as one who thirsts with her.  In this way, when he reveals himself as the Christ, he then also reveals himself as Emmanuel—that is, God with us: thus, definitively answering the question “Is the Lord in our midst or not?” with “Yes.  Here I am.”  As we heard, from this revelation, the woman no longer sought to fill her jar, but rather left it to go tell all of her fellow townspeople this incredibly good news.

          In our own lives, how often do we overlook our Lord in our midst because, instead of looking for him in our adversity with us, we are trying to find him outside of it?  We’ve stumbled and fallen into a deep well and the whole time we are looking up and crying out “Lord, why aren’t you here to help me?”, when often all we need to do is look to our right or our left to see that he is right there at the bottom of the well with us.  We think that, because we fell in the well that he was not with us and we forget that he has always revealed himself to be Emmanuel—God with us.  We think, “He couldn’t possibly be here in this mess with me”, completely forgetting that this is exactly what he decided to do when he became one of us, in the flesh.

          My brothers and sisters, God does not stand far off from us while we are suffering adversity.  No, he is with us in our adversity and, perhaps, much to our chagrin, he is not always with us to take the adversity away!  Rather, he is with us to remind us that none of us have been abandoned by him, even when, by all appearances and according to worldly standards, it appears to be so.  This is because faith was never meant to be a force field to shield us from adversity, but rather an inner strength to trust that God—the all-powerful God who, in one word, could wipe the whole universe from existence—has come to us, is in our midst, and remains with us, and that, therefore, we have nothing to fear: not even the complete loss of our most basic necessities.

          Back in 2009, among the many things that struck me about the adversity with which the people in those small villages lived, I remember noticing that in every house into which I walked, there was a little altar to God: a reminder that, in their adversity, the Lord was in their midst.  By our presence and, I expect, by the work that Kris would eventually accomplish in their villages, I pray that they also knew that God’s merciful love was leading them through it.

          My brothers and sisters, as we continue this Lenten journey towards Easter, let us remember that, in so many ways, our Lord Jesus is truly in our midst—not only thirsting with us, but also longing to slake our thirst with the living waters that flow from his heart—so that, turning away from sin, we may be renewed and ready to rejoice whole-heartedly when Easter comes: a joy that we taste even now here in this Holy Eucharist.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 19^th, 2017

Advent's reassurances

Homily: 3^rd Sunday of Advent – Cycle A

          I can understand why John the Baptist might have doubted.  He spent his adult life calling others to repentance in order to prepare themselves for the manifestation of the Messiah.  And on that fateful day that Jesus came out to him, he acknowledge Jesus as that Messiah, the Lamb of God who would take away the sins of the world.  After he had baptized Jesus and saw the Holy Spirit descend upon him and remain with him, John continued to preach repentance.  Now, however, he would turn those who were coming to him towards Jesus.  But the tables had turned, it seemed.  John found himself imprisoned by the Israelite king, Herod (someone who should have been welcoming his message!), and none of those things that the Messiah was supposed to bring forward, about which Isaiah had prophesied, seemed to be coming to fruition.

          Although I’ve never been imprisoned, I imagine that it affords a person a lot of time to think.  And, with one’s freedom removed, I imagine that it’s probably hard to think positively about things.  I can only imagine what John might have been thinking while he was in Herod’s prison: “Was I doing the right thing?”  “What if I was wrong?”  “What is Herod going to do with me?”  “What if Jesus really isn’t the Messiah?”  Then, along come some of his disciples to tell him of these things that Jesus is doing: miracles of healing and preaching about the kingdom of God.  Perhaps John felt very confused and conflicted and so I understand why he may have doubted.  He doesn’t want to doubt, though, and so he decides to send his disciples back to Jesus with this question “Are you the one who is to come or should we look for another?”

          I also understand why Jesus might have covered for him.  I mean, John was his number one promoter.  John pointed Jesus out and called him exactly what he is—the Lamb of God—and he told his disciples to turn and follow him, instead.  And so, when John’s disciples come to him saying “John told us to ask you this question: ‘Are you the one who is to come?’”, Jesus defended him: telling everyone that John was a prophet greater than all prophets and even going so far as to say that no one ever born has been greater than John (presumably including even himself).  I imagine that Jesus might have thought “If John is doubting, what will keep the rest of these people from doubting?”  And so, I understand why Jesus might have covered for him.

          It’s easy to understand these things, perhaps, because we can relate.  And so we read these scripture passages and we think “Look, they’re human just like us after all.”  And this is true!  They are human!  The challenge for us, however, is to look at this passage and realize that John didn’t doubt and that Jesus wasn’t covering for him.

          John, as we know, was the great herald of the Messiah’s coming.  He was “the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord.’”  He preached repentance because he knew that the one who would bring judgment was coming.  He leaped for joy at the presence of Jesus in the womb of Mary while he was still in the womb of his mother, Elizabeth.  And after Jesus manifested himself publicly, he boldly pointed him out and taught his followers to follow him.  His whole life was about “I must decrease, he must increase”, and so it just doesn’t make sense that, after years of believing in and proclaiming his coming, John would all of a sudden doubt.  And so, if this is what the scriptures seem to say to us, perhaps we should take a closer look.

          First, they tell us that “When John the Baptist heard in prison the works of the Christ, he sent his disciples to Jesus with this question…”  He sent his disciples…  John still had disciples!  But John’s purpose was to turn his disciples to Jesus!  In other words, his job was to work himself out of a job!  And so, having heard of the miracles that Jesus was performing and that he had been preaching the kingdom of God, John sent his disciples to ask the question for themselves: “Are you the one who is to come or should we [like, us personally] look for another?”  Jesus perceived what John was doing in sending his disciples to him and so he not only told them “yes” or “no”, but he showed them the proof of his answer: “Go and tell John what you hear and see…” and he preached the kingdom and performed these miracles before their eyes.

          John’s disciples, presumably converted, went off to share this good news with John in prison.  Jesus, far from trying to cover for John, extolls his praises as one of God’s greatest and most faithful servants.  He uses this opportunity to teach them about who John was so as to shed more light on who he was, because, remember, his followers were still just starting to understand that he is the Messiah.  And so he tells them that John is the prophet greater than all prophets, because he was chosen to be the herald of the Messiah’s coming.  More than that, however, he tells them that John is the greatest of all men because of his extreme faithfulness to God: faithfulness that isn’t deterred by the suffering caused because of imprisonment.  Then he uses this to teach about how much greater the kingdom of heaven is by saying that even this great man is as nothing in that kingdom.  All in the kingdom are greater even than he.

          Okay, but what about us?  You know, it’s understandable if we feel a little bit imprisoned these days.  The world is an increasingly dark place and it is increasingly hostile to our faith.  I can understand if perhaps any of you might begin to think thoughts like, “What if I was wrong?” and “What if Jesus isn’t who he says he is?”  “The perfect world that Isaiah promised would come with the Messiah seems to be far away, and so what are we to do?”  Advent, my brothers and sisters, gives us the answer.

          In the second reading, Saint James wrote to the first generation of Christians and encouraged them to be patient and to be steadfast in their right conduct throughout these many seasons until the Lord returns.  He exhorts them in this way because he anticipates the Lord’s return: “Behold, the Judge is standing before the gates”, he wrote.  This same advice applies to us today and reminds us of why we are in this holy season.  Although we are anticipating our celebration of Christmas—Christ’s first coming among us—the main focus of Advent is to remind us of our need to anticipate Christ’s second coming, which is still to come.

          We have come to know Jesus, the one for whom our hearts long.  Our task is to remain steadfast in faith, even in the face of hostility from the world, and to work to make the kingdom of heaven known in anticipation of Christ’s imminent return.  Advent is this time of renewal in which we return to Jesus, like John sending his disciples to him, and see once again for ourselves the proof that he is, indeed, who he says he is.  Perhaps even in our own lives we have seen him perform miracles: maybe not curing the blind or deaf or making otherwise crippled persons walk upright, but maybe in healing a broken relationship or consoling a heart crippled by a loss.  These and many more things are signs that Jesus is, indeed, the one who was to come and so we have no need to look for another.  This very fact is cause enough for us to rejoice!

          Nonetheless, we still have an even greater sign that Jesus is the one who was to come: his coming to us here at this altar.  May our hearts open more deeply to receive him here today and so be strengthened in our faith that the Messiah has come, is here, and will come again; and thus go forth from here rejoicing to strengthen the hearts of those around us so that all might be ready to receive him when he comes.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – December 10^th & 11^th, 2016