Make straight the way of God within...

Homily: 2^nd Sunday of Advent – Cycle C

          Having grown up in a suburban area southwest of Chicago, I’ve come to appreciate much of the wide open spaces that I’ve often encountered since living here in Indiana.  I mean, we had parks and other open spaces where I grew up, but nothing like the expansive farms of corn, wheat, and soybeans like we enjoy here in north-central Indiana.  And, as I drive through different areas of the state, I enjoy taking in these great open spaces that go on for as far as I can see and which often make me wonder about just how much more there is that I don’t see.

          Having grown up here in the Midwest, however, where the land is mostly flat, I am unable to appreciate what it means to live in the midst of mountains and valleys.  Only by way of vacations or other short trips have I experienced what it means to have to drive over or around a mountain to get to the next town or city or to have to climb down into the valley in order to find the road that will take you to the market.  As a result, I am unable to truly appreciate the difficulties associated with living in areas like these.  A Haitian proverb, speaking about the reality of the terrain in Haiti, but also about the difficulties they experience in their lives, says this: “Beyond the mountains, there are more mountains.”  Perhaps many of you are in the same boat as me and unable to appreciate the difficulties of living in such areas.  Thus, our ability to appreciate what the prophets speak about in today’s readings is, perhaps, somewhat limited as well.

          In the first reading, from the prophet Baruch, we find the people of Jerusalem in mourning for their children who have been exiled by foreign invaders.  As such, they have clothed themselves in the traditional garb of mourners.  The prophet has come to announce that, by God’s mercy, the children of Jerusalem are about to return and so he joyfully announces that the inhabitants of Jerusalem are to throw off their garments of mourning and are to put on festival clothing.  Then, they are to go to the highest place and look off in the distance.  What they will find is that every mountain has been flattened and every valley has been filled in in order to make a straight and wide way for the triumphant return of their children, thus signaling a bright future for their nation.

          For those of you who may have lived among mountains, I suspect that this image of mountains that have been flattened and valleys that have been filled in would seem to be very vivid as you imagine what life could have been like had the same happened in the area in which you lived.  Those of us who have spent most of our lives in Indiana, however, are probably more apt to focus on that image of a wide, flat space, and what that would look like from a high place (though it wouldn’t have to be too high around here).  Imagine how incredible it would be to see a whole nation of people traversing some of these expansive farmlands as if they were returning to their homeland.  Well, perhaps you’re not impressed, but nevertheless it is exactly these Scriptural images that the Church gives us this week in order to help us understand what God is calling us to do during this Advent.

          What we see in that first reading is that the prophet is calling for two movements: one, that the people must first prepare themselves, removing their garments of mourning and putting on festival garments, and two, that the way must be prepared for the one who is coming, making it level and smooth.

          Then, in the Gospel reading, John the Baptist turns this call inward as he calls the people to a “baptism of repentance.”  As the herald of Jesus, the Messiah who was about to reveal himself, John was calling the people to prepare not only by outward appearances, but also by inward dispositions as well: thus making their hearts ready to receive the Messiah for whom they had long waited.

          A line from one of my favorite Advent hymns states: “make straight the way of God within.”  John was calling the people to prepare the way for the Messiah to enter into their hearts.  Thus, it was not enough to cleanse their hearts from sin by a baptism in the Jordan River, but rather they also needed to prepare a way for the Messiah to enter into their hearts by true repentance: that is, by truly changing their lives and leaving behind their sinful ways.

          My brothers and sisters, we recall John the Baptist’s words today in order to remind us that God calls each of us to prepare our hearts to receive him.  God wants to come to us and to dwell in us and to lead us to our heavenly homeland, and, although we have already been baptized by water and the Spirit in the Sacrament of Baptism, we are still constantly in need of a “baptism of repentance” like the one John called for in the Gospel reading: for when we examine our hearts we discover that the way into them is neither straight nor smooth; rather it is obstructed by ‘mountains of sin’ and ‘valleys of despair’ and self-pity.  Far from being straight and wide, the way into our hearts is narrow as it twists and turns around these mountains and valleys: a result of rationalizing our behavior instead of correcting it.

          Our Advent task, therefore, is to knock down the mountains of sin and fill in the valleys of despair and self-pity, thus straightening the way for God into our hearts.  The best way that we can do this is to return to the Sacrament of Reconciliation, for it is there that we can face the mountains that our sins have erected between ourselves and God as well as the ever-widening valleys of despair caused by our broken relationships with those around us.  And then we can watch as the power of God’s grace flattens the mountains and fills in the valleys, thus making the way between us smooth and easy to pass.  (Hmm, what a Christmas gift that would be: reconciliation with God and one another…)

          You know, it’s a shame for us that we are unable to celebrate the feast day of St. Juan Diego this year, since today, his feast day, falls on a Sunday.  It’s a shame for us because he can be for us a great example of one who, with the help of God’s grace, was able to flatten the mountains of doubt and fill in the valleys of fear in order to bring Our Lady’s message to the Bishop in Tenochtitlan, thus making the way smooth for Christ to enter the hearts of millions of people in Mexico and beyond.  Perhaps, in that same spirit, we, too, could “make straight the way of God within” and do the same right here in Indiana.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette IN – December 8^th & 9^th, 2018

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

It's not a tragedy, it's a triumph

          You really should read the Passion Narrative according to Mark before hearing this brief homily.  More than normal weeks, it depends on hearing/reading it.  Go here to read the readings for the Mass.  In the column to the right, click on "Daily Readings - Audio" and find this Sunday's date to hear the readings read aloud.

Homily: Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord – Cycle B

          You know, it can be pretty hard for us to imagine what it was like to be a first century Jew.  Here was a people who, ever since the Babylonian exile, were awaiting a new Davidic king—a king who would sit on the throne of King David—and would restore completely the covenant with Yahweh.  The sign for that restoration would be the when the shekinah—that is, the glory of the Lord (meaning, God’s presence among them)—would once again appear in the Temple.  For hundreds of years they waited: many of them wondering if God had forgotten them, altogether.

          Imagine what it is like when your spouse, your child, your parents (if you are younger), or your best friend is away for an extended period of time.  Imagine also that you can’t call, text, or video chat with them.  Imagine what the waiting would feel like.  Take that longing that you would feel for their return and multiply it exponentially and you’ll begin to understand what those first century Jews felt waiting for the Messiah—God’s anointed one—who would sit on David’s throne and would restore the covenant with Yahweh so that his presence might dwell among them once again.

          The prophet Ezekiel documents for us in a vision that, when the Lord’s glory left the Temple at the time of the Babylonian Exile, it left towards the east and that from the east it would return.  Therefore, the ancient Jews looked towards the east, hoping to see the glory of the Lord returning to them.  It is no accident, then, that we read that Jesus, on his triumphal entry into Jerusalem, came by way of Bethphage and Bethany at the Mount of Olives, which was directly east of Jerusalem.  God Incarnate was returning to restore the covenant with his people in Jerusalem and he enters the city from the east to fulfill Ezekiel’s prophecy.

          Many people recognized this and so hailed Jesus as the king who would sit on David’s throne and restore God’s kingdom.  They thought him to be a worldly king, however, and so forgot that God’s servant—as prophesied by Isaiah—would suffer for the restoration of his people.  Jesus, however, knew that this must be the case and so freely handed himself over to torture and to death.  In Isaiah’s words: “I gave my back to those who beat me, my cheeks to those who plucked my beard; my face I did not shield from buffets and spitting.”  This is why we read the account of Christ’s Passion on Palm Sunday: because the crucifixion is his triumphant victory and the restoration of the covenant between Yahweh and his people.

          Friends, as we enter into this Holy Week, let this be the “tone” that is set over the whole week: that the Passion and Death of Jesus was not a tragedy that could have been avoided, but luckily was overcome by the resurrection, but rather that the Passion and Death of Jesus is the fulfillment of God’s love for us: Him suffering death on our behalf so that our union with him could be restored in his rising to new life.  Let us, therefore, walk with Jesus as his disciples this week—both in our personal prayer and in our liturgies—so that we, too, might feel the ecstatic joy of Christ’s victory on Easter Sunday: the victory that we celebrate even now, here in this Eucharist.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 24^th & 25^th, 2018

The Paradox of Palm Sunday

Homily: Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion – Cycle C

          Today we stand in the midst of a paradox.  We celebrate both the triumphal entry of Jesus to Jerusalem—and the acknowledgement of God’s people that he is the Messiah, the one they had been waiting for—and, minutes later, we are celebrating his sorrowful passion and death on the Cross.  Both joy and suffering mix together in today’s liturgy and I suspect, that is, if we are paying attention, that we could be feeling somewhat confused.  Why, on Palm Sunday, would we also read the account of Our Lord’s Passion?  I mean, why can’t we just celebrate Jesus’ triumphal entry to Jerusalem?

          I think that the Church gives us the answer in setting this liturgy up the way it has.  You see, in celebrating the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem as well as his passion and death, the Church is reminding us that Jesus’ triumph cannot be separated from the Cross.  In other words, we don’t get the triumph without the trial.

          Most of us, however, could probably agree with that.  “No cross, no crown” Saint Augustine has said.  So, why the triumphal entry and then the cross?  Isn’t that backwards?  Logically, yes it is backwards.  Theologically, however, I think that it makes sense.  You see, when Jesus entered into Jerusalem that final time and was hailed as Messiah a very clear message was sent: no longer could you just “sign-off” this itinerant preacher from Galilee, but rather you either had to accept him as the Messiah or condemn him as a blasphemer.  The religious authorities decided to condemn him, thus setting into motion the events that would confirm who Jesus was: the king who has come to save God’s people, even if they weren’t expecting that their salvation would be won by his death on the Cross.  This is the true Messianic fulfillment: the king who made himself the sacrifice to expiate the sins of his people.

          Thus, as we enter into this most holy week of the year—especially this year as we celebrate this Jubilee Year of Mercy—let us take time this week to meditate on the Passion of our Lord, recognizing in it the incredible mercy that God has poured out upon us; and may it form us to then go forth and pour out mercy on others.  Because, when we enter into Christ’s passion in this way—emptying ourselves for others like he did on the cross—we open ourselves to being exalted as he was.  More than that, however, when we empty ourselves like Christ did, we also open ourselves to discover him: Jesus Christ our king, who laid down his life so that we might live.  Thus emptied of ourselves, we become truly ready to experience the joy that comes after suffering: the joy of the Resurrection that awaits us on Easter Sunday.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 19th & 20th, 2016

All Hail our Alma Mater!

          I had a wonderful 4th of July at home with my family, celebrating my nephew's fourth birthday (his birthday is actually on the 16th, but we celebrated it on the 4th).  I couldn't have asked for better weather for it all.

          This weekend also marks the completion of my first full year at All Saints Parish.  What a crazy year full of blessings and challenges!  Now that I have for sure experienced a whole year's worth of liturgies, events, and meetings that I can begin to settle in :)  I'm looking forward to another great year!

Here's my homily from this weekend.  Enjoy!

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Homily: 14^th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          One of the promises that priests make at their ordination is to pray daily for the Church.  We fulfill this obligation by praying what is called the Liturgy of the Hours.  The Liturgy of the Hours are prayers structured around the Book of Psalms from the Bible.  Over a four-week period, at five different “hours” each day, every priest and religious prays through the Book of Psalms.  These hours also include various “canticles” – which are songs from the both the Old and New Testaments.  One of these canticles is the one that we heard in our first reading today and appears in Morning Prayer of Thursday in the first week of the four-week cycle.

          As seminarians, we pray Morning Prayer and Evening Prayer – which are the “core hours” of the Liturgy of the Hours – together as a community in the chapel.  When we pray, we recite the psalms or canticles alternating stanzas from one side of the main aisle to the other.  And so, certain parts of each psalm or canticle always end up on one side of the aisle.  Now, as you may be able to imagine, gathering a hundred or so young men together in a chapel to proclaim the words “Oh, that you may suck fully of the milk of her comfort, that you may nurse with delight at her abundant breasts” could create some embarrassment for some (and I can admit to feeling a bit uncomfortable saying it at first, myself).  In my first year in the seminary, I heard one of the seminarians express this outright when on one Wednesday evening, as we were about to retire for the night, he said: “Well, tomorrow is Thursday of week one; which means I have to sit on the right side of the chapel.”  In other words, he was saying that he was embarrassed to proclaim these words and so he was going to be sure to sit on the side of the chapel that wouldn’t have to say them out loud.

          While certainly there’s a level of maturity that all seminarians need to obtain in order to overcome our embarrassment at speaking these words, I think that there is another part of this that we can ascribe to how our oversexualized culture has distorted the way that we look at women, because the image of a woman that we are given in the first reading today is that of a “nourshing mother”, which contradicts the way our culture invites us to think of women and their bodies.  If you think that this image is strange, however, let me just ask if any of you have ever called the college or high school that you graduated from your “alma mater”?  If you have, then you are already invoking this image.  That’s because alma mater is actually a Latin phrase meaning “nourishing mother”.  And why do we call our schools alma maters?  Well, because they are places where we find nourishment: not only intellectually, but also emotionally, as we form friendships that will last well into the future and are cared for by teachers and staff who help form us to be good persons once we are “sent out” into the world.

          For the Israelites, Jerusalem was this “nourishing mother”.  The canticle from the first reading today was written during their exile in Babylon and it is a song of hope proclaiming that the Lord will return prosperity to Jerusalem and that all of the Israelites will return to enjoy the nourishment and comfort that will be found in her: the milk that will flow from her abundant breasts and the arms that will comfort them like a mother comforts her little child.  In the minds and hearts of the Israelites it would also be the place where they would find strength as a nation to stand strong and faithful to the commandments of God, no matter where life’s journey would take them or what challenges they might face.  Thus, the Israelites longed for this while they were in exile and through Isaiah the prophet they heard this hopeful proclamation that God would indeed restore Jerusalem so they could again enjoy it.

          For us Christians, God has given us the Church to be our “alma mater”, that is, our “nourishing mother”.  She is the “New Jerusalem” that God has established through Jesus to be our place to find nourishment and comfort and, thus, the strength to go out into the world.  It is here that we come when we are weary from the difficulties that we suffer in the world and it is here that we find the strength to go back out into the world and to be faithful to all that God has commanded us and to be witnesses to his love for all of mankind.  Thus, if we consider our schools “alma maters” because they have been places of nourishment and strengthening so that we can go out to successfully complete some work in the world, then so, too, must we recognize how the Church is our alma mater par excellance, in whom we find nourishment and strength to go out and complete our mission from God.  And the Church, my brothers and sisters, is nothing less than Jesus himself.

          In our Gospel reading today, Jesus sends his disciples out to reap the Lord’s harvest.  Up to this point, Jesus had been nourishing his disciples with his word and his fellowship and he strengthened them by giving them his power and authority to work mighty deeds.  Then he sent them out to bring the Good News to all of the cities and towns that he wished to enter.  The disciples went out and did, indeed, do mighty works in Jesus’ name and, thus, brought many to believe in Jesus.  Then they returned to him to celebrate what had been done and to be nourished and strengthened once again so as to continue this work in Jesus’ name.

          But just as Jesus was, in a sense, that “nourishing mother” for his disciples, who strengthened them with his word and gave them his power and authority to go out and do mighty deeds in his name so that the nations would come to know that he had come to save us, so, too, did Jesus establish the Church to be our “nourishing mother” to do the same for us.  And so, just like those first disciples who went out to the towns and villages that Jesus wanted to enter, so we, too, must go out to the towns and villages that surround us – to the people who have not yet received the “light of faith” – to show them the mighty power of God: that is, the faith that has the power to transform their lives in positive ways.  Then we must return, like the first disciples did, to share and celebrate our successes and to be nourished to go out and do it all again.

          And this is radical, isn’t it?  Radical because it requires us to give up some of the things that we want to do in our lives, so as to be about the work of bringing forth God’s Kingdom.  But this, nonetheless, is what we are being called to do and, quite frankly, if we wish to call ourselves Christians, we must do it.

          “The harvest is abundant, but the laborers are few,” Jesus told his disciples.  My brothers and sisters, the same is still true for us.  One of the shocking statistics of our diocese is that it is only about 8% Catholic.  That means that only 8% of the people who live in the 24 counties that make up our diocese are Catholic.  Perhaps an even more shocking statistic is that nearly half of our dioceses’ population is completely unchurched!  (And I would guess that those same percentages apply to us here in Cass County.)  Thus, the harvest is, indeed, abundant and, sadly, it appears that the workers have been far too few.

          First, however, we must be nourished: we must bask in the “light of faith” ourselves.  In other words, we must first find nourishment in our alma mater, the Church, by dwelling in the Word, which she safeguards, and by being fed from this Eucharistic table, which she never fails to prepare for us.  And this is exactly what we do in the Mass each and every week.  We come together to give thanks to God for all of the blessings that he has bestowed on us throughout the past week.  In the Mass we are nourished with God’s Word and receive spiritual strength when we receive Christ’s Body and Blood from this table.  Then we are sent out to do it all again when, at the end of Mass, the priest says “Go and announce the Gospel of the Lord.”

          My brothers and sisters, if you are struggling to find that nourishment and strength here in the Church, then please ask for help.  That is what we are all here for, to help each other and strengthen each other in faith and discipleship.  If you are apathetic about it all, then please pray to God for the light of faith.  I promise you that it will not be time wasted, because God will never fail to respond to that prayer.  Whatever you do, do something and the light of faith will be given to you and God’s power will shine through you, like it did through those first disciples.

          Let us, then, be renewed today by our “alma mater”, the Church, and be strengthened by the food she provides, and thus go forth to reap an abundant harvest for the Lord.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – July 6^th & 7^th, 2013