A complete reversal

Homily: 6^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle B

          Friends, in these (what I’m calling) “intervening weeks” between the end of the Christmas season and the beginning of Lent this coming week, we have been presented with an image of Christ who is doing something new.  In the third Sunday in Ordinary Time, we heard Jesus proclaim that the “time of fulfillment” was at hand, meaning that the third Christian age, in which the promise that God made to our first parents after their first sin would finally be realized, had now begun.  Then, in the fourth Sunday, we heard Jesus teaching in the synagogue with his own authority and how he demonstrated his authority when he drove the unclean spirit out of the man in the synagogue.  The people were amazed at this “new teaching with authority” and perhaps began to see in Jesus the one of whom Moses spoke: “A prophet like me will God raise up for you…”  Then last week, the fifth Sunday, we heard how Jesus entered the home of Simon Peter and healed Simon Peter’s mother-in-law (and, subsequently, hundreds of others from that town).  Although the next morning all came looking for him, Jesus refused to become a spectacle (like many “wonder-workers” of the day) and chose, instead, to leave that place to preach in other towns.  He was truly a “new prophet” and could not be contained to any one place.

          This week, we read a story of reversal.  In our first reading, we listened to the words of the Book of Leviticus, detailing what someone with an ailment of the skin must do.  Here we see a microcosm, if you will, of the Fall.  In the Garden of Eden, our first parents sin and so are marked with death.  God, however, is life and death cannot dwell in the presence of God.  Therefore, Adam and Eve are driven from the Garden and cannot reenter until they have been cleansed from this “stain” of death.  Leprosy (which, in the Old Testament, was a “blanket” term for those with various skin ailments that included, but was not limited to, what we now call “Hansen’s disease”), to the people of ancient times, was an outward sign that death was touching a person.  Anyone marked in such a way could not enter the temple—the place of encounter with God—to offer worship.  Thus, the person also became a threat to anyone who wasn’t so marked and wanted to enter the temple to worship.  Thus, the leper had to stay separated and declare himself “unclean”, lest others be "infected" with death, too.  And, just like with Adam and Eve, who couldn’t cleanse themselves of the sin that caused death to touch them, so too the leper didn’t have any way to cleanse the skin ailment on his own.  He simply had to pray that it would clear up so that he could be restored to the worshiping community.  For a first century Jew, this was just the way the world worked.

          In the Gospel, we then hear the story of reversal.  First, the man approaches Jesus (a bold move for one who was supposed to keep himself at a distance!).  He pleads with Jesus and Jesus does the unthinkable: he touches him!  But, instead of the uncleanness coming out of the leper and going into Jesus, what happens?  Cleanness goes out from Jesus and into the leper: a complete reversal!  And how do we know?  Because, as the scripture says, “the leprosy left the man immediately, and he was made clean”.  After, Jesus tells the man not to make a big deal out of it—in other words, that he no longer has to “shout out” about himself—but what does the man do?  He immediately goes and tells everyone he meets.  No one went around shouting “I am clean”, because it wasn’t necessary.  But this man does so voluntarily, reversing his obligation to declare himself unclean.  Finally, while the man can now reenter the town and join the worshiping community, we see that Jesus cannot!  But is he really excluded?  No!  Because, instead of everyone staying away from the ones outside of town, they all come out to him!  The presence of Jesus causes each of them to recognize that they are "unclean", in some way, and that they have been unable to become "clean" through their own efforts.  Thus, they "separate" themselves from the town (and, thus, the worshiping community) so as to meet Jesus and to be made clean.  And so we see that Jesus takes our helpless story and he reverses it: proving once again that the “time of fulfillment” has, indeed, come.

          If we stop and pay attention for just a moment, we see that this is us!  So much hullabaloo is being made about "identity politics" and ending oppression of "marginalized groups" (based, for example, on race, gender (actual or otherwise), sexual attraction, socioeconomic status, etc.).  The fact of the matter is that we're all oppressed in some way: that is, we all have some kind of leprosy that alienates us in some way.  Take a hard look!  We're all messed up in a lot of ways!  And none of us is capable on our own making ourselves clean.  Thus, the good news that we hear today.  Look at what Jesus did to the leper!  He completely reversed everything that pushed him away.  And how?  By his own divine power, of course.  But what actuated that power?  The man embracing his leprosy and taking a bold step to overcome it.  This man saw his “oppressed” state, but refused to remain a victim and approached Jesus.  And through Jesus, his “oppression” was overcome.

          This, therefore, is the message for our day: stop acting like a victim and try to do something to make it better.  (This isn't a good bumper sticker slogan, I know, but it's darn practical!)  Recognize that you're a mess, yes.  Recognize that you're a mess because life is hard and full of suffering, yes; but also because you've given in to the victim mentality and haven't made good choices.  Then recognize that there is something that you can do about it and start to do it.  Come to Jesus and submit yourself to his will, like the leper from the Gospel reading: "If you will, you can make me clean".  Then ACT!  If there is anything disordered in your life (of which you are the cause), start to put it in order.  Most of us have a God-ordered path for our lives (marriage, parenthood, etc.).  If you don't, you're probably not here.  If you don't and you are here, then your first job is to get yourself on a God-ordered path.  But if you are on your God-ordered path, then look at what disrupts your journey on that path and start to get it out of your life.  For example: almost anything produced by Hollywood, social media (the source of gossip and narcissism!), 24-hour news programming, etc.  You won't fix everything—there's still suffering that just happens in the world—but at least you'll have mitigated a lot of the self-inflicted suffering, right?

          And why all of this?  Because there are real victims out there—that is, those whose suffering is severe and not self-inflicted—and they need real help.  But we help no one when we sit around wallowing in our own victimhood, saying "well, I can't because of x, y, and z."  Well, yes, maybe "x, y, and z", but you can do something.  Whatever that is, you need to do it.  Even if that's just to shout out about it.

          Friends, in Jesus, our long exile has been reversed.  Everything that kept us separate from God is flipped on its head and redeemed.  But if we don't act, we'll never fully realize it.  The first act is to believe: to believe in the power of Christ to flip it over.  And so today, as you approach the Eucharist (whether or not you are able to receive it), pray, before you receive it (or before you present yourself before it); "Jesus, if you will, you can make me clean"; because, I assure you, he does will it.  Receive, then, his healing; and go forth telling everyone how Jesus made you clean and put your life back in order so as to make life's sufferings a little more bearable for you and, thus, for those around you.  Then we will begin to see more clearly the truth that Jesus proclaimed: that this truly is the time of fulfillment.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – February 10^th & 11^th, 2018

Conversion to a life of thankfulness

Homily: 28^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          There’s one of those “make you think” quotes that runs around on the internet and in social media and which lands in front of me every once in a while.  It asks a very important question that is intended to inspire you to change your attitude for the better.  It asks this: “What if you woke up tomorrow with only the things that you were thankful for today?”  (REPEAT)

          Anyone who has lost a loved one suddenly to an accident or a sudden illness can probably tell you of the regret they sometimes feel that they didn’t appreciate more the time that they had with that person.  When a fire destroys a family’s house and all their personal possessions, they too start to realize what a gift it was to have what they had, even though they weren’t always very thankful for it.  None of us, if we are paying attention to the news, can imagine what it must be like for the people of southwestern Haiti as entire villages and towns and hundreds of lives were swept away by Hurricane Matthew.  In their grief is an inherent acknowledgement that all that they had and have now lost was a gift; and they are thankful for the very fact that they are still alive.

          The question, therefore, is inviting us to realize the truth that anyone who has experienced any of these things can tell us is true: that it is better to appreciate the things that you have, while you have them, because tomorrow they could all be taken away from you.

          Our scriptures today speak of the type of conversion to thankfulness that this internet question seeks to inspire.  Naaman, a high-ranking Syrian official (and, thus, who wasn’t a member of the Israelite people) has been afflicted with a type of skin disease that people in the Ancient Near East simply referred to as “leprosy”.  This was devastating to him as this meant that he would be ostracized from public society for fear of infecting others.  At the prompting of a young Jewish servant, Naaman seeks out the prophet Elisha, hoping to find a cure.

          Elisha instructs Naaman to wash seven times in the Jordan River.  Naaman resists, at first, thinking that if all he had to do was wash seven times in a river, that he could have done that from home.  Encouraged by his companions, however, Naaman agrees to Elisha’s plan: accepting that there is something special about washing in the Jordon River, specifically.

          Today we heard that Naaman, after washing in the Jordon, which cleansed him of his leprosy, returned to offer Elisha a gift of thanksgiving.  Naaman was a high-ranking official in another nation and in the culture of that time was not required to return and offer the prophet anything.  Because he had seemingly lost everything, however, he was much keener to be thankful for having something that was very important to him restored to him.  And when Elisha declined his generous gift, Naaman asked if he could take two big piles of dirt back with him to Syria so that he could offer continual thanks to Yahweh, the God of Israel, on the very same ground on which he first encountered him.  Having been saved from losing nearly everything, Naaman converted his life to thankfulness.

          In the Gospel, ten men who had been afflicted with leprosy cry out to Jesus to ask for healing.  Similar to Elisha, Jesus instructs them to do something very simple: “go show yourselves to the priests”.  In faith, they respond and, as they go to show themselves to the priests, they find that they have been healed.  Certainly every one of them was appreciative of the fact that their health had been restored to them.  Only one, however, returned to give thanks.  This one, a Samaritan (who were despised by the Jews because they were “half-breeds” of both Jewish and non-Jewish ancestry), recognized the great gift that he had received and returned to give thanks to the giver of the gift.  Acknowledging that he had been saved through no effort of his own, he converted his life to thankfulness.

          When we recognize something that we have as being a gift—that is, as something that we didn’t earn and were incapable of earning—then we are much more apt to be thankful for it.  When we’ve worked for something and have achieved or acquired it, we tend to look at it as our just due.  Thus, although we certainly enjoy what we have earned, we are much less likely to be grateful for having it.  When we lose such a thing, we tend to be angry, as if a great injustice has been committed against us.  In other words, our reaction is not a residual thankfulness for having been able to enjoy whatever it was, but rather anger bred from a greediness that only desires to enjoy it more.  Now, while we should never be content with injustice, conversion to a life of thankfulness means that, even when we’ve lost something unjustly, we acknowledge the gift that it was to have had it and so give thanks.

          As your pastor I feel like it is my duty to remind you of the reason that we come here week after week.  Many Catholics, I fear, would limit their reasoning for coming to Mass to a sense of duty: to fulfill their “Sunday Obligation”.  This, although noble in itself, is limited and, frankly, unsatisfying.  My reminder to you is that we don’t come here to celebrate the “Holy Satisfaction of our Obligation”, but rather we come here to celebrate the “Holy Eucharist”—that is, the Holy Thanksgiving.  In other words, we come here not to try to satisfy a vengeful God so that he won’t strike us down, but rather to offer him the ultimate sacrifice of thanksgiving for all of the blessings of life (including the blessing of life) that we have enjoyed in the past week.  In it we receive many things, of course, but the core reason we come is to offer God worship and praise in thanksgiving of all of the abundant gifts that he bestows upon us.

          And so, the question comes to us again: “What if you woke up tomorrow with only the things that you were thankful for today?”  My brothers and sisters, if you are worried that right now you wouldn’t wake up with much, then today is the day to take action.  Starting today, if we aren’t already doing it, let us commit ourselves to taking time to give thanks for every good thing that we’ve received in the world.  Then, each week, as we return here to give thanks to God for all of these gifts, we’ll be ready to drop in the collection basket all of the blessings (and even the struggles) for which we are thankful so as to unite them to the sacrifice of thanksgiving that we offer on the altar: the perfect sacrifice of Jesus that won for us the greatest gift ever, our salvation and the gift of eternal life.  In doing so, we will not only find greater satisfaction and joy in our lives, but we will also prepare ourselves for the fullness of joy that awaits us in heaven.  May God’s grace strengthen us as we commend ourselves to this good work.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – October 8^th & 9^th, 2016

The power of a human touch

          Sometimes the healing we need is not just physical, but emotional as well.  Only the loving touch of a fellow person can bring healing of the emotional pain that sometimes afflicts us.  As Lent approaches, may we allow Jesus' touch to bring us healing for all the ways that sin has hurt us.

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Homily: 6^th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B

          One of the most indispensible parts, it seems, of any intimate relationship is touch.  Parents touch their children regularly in order to show them their care and affection.  A husband and wife will hug and kiss each other when they are coming and going or when they get up in the morning or go to bed at night, and various other times in between.  Children who are best friends will walk side by side each other with an arm around the other’s shoulder (“they’re ‘joined at the hip’” is the common expression).  Grown men, sometimes less comfortable with more sensitive expressions of intimacy, will often slap their friends on the shoulder as a sign of camaraderie.  And for young couples, holding hands is often the first expression of a growing affection.  From the opposite standpoint, turning away from touch is often an indicator that intimacy has been broken or damaged, such as when a husband or a wife gives their spouse the “cold shoulder.”

          As a matter of fact, in the Catholic Church we know this very well.  We ritualize the intimacy of human touch in the sacraments, most poignantly in the sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick.  February 11, the feast of Our Lady of Lourdes, is designated in the Church as the “World Day for the Sick,” in which we remind ourselves of the special place that care for the sick and dying holds in the life of the Church.  And in the Church’s sacrament for the sick, which is meant to be a spiritual strengthening for “one who has begun to be in danger of death due to sickness or old age,” human touch plays a prominent role, in the laying on of hands and the anointing with oil.  And so again we see that, for humans, touch is important.

          In the first reading today, we heard the instructions given to Moses and Aaron regarding how to handle a person afflicted with leprosy inside of the community. The ancient Hebrews, like any closely knit community, were deeply concerned with maintaining the purity and health of their community.  And so, whenever someone in the community became afflicted with an exteriorly visible sickness—such as the sores that appear on the skin when one is afflicted with leprosy—this person was obligated to separate themselves from the community so as to avoid spreading the disease (because they didn’t understand how this person became afflicted with it and, thus, how it might be spread to another) and so maintain the purity of the community.  Thus, the segregation of lepers was intended to ensure that the rest of the community was kept safe from defilement through contact with them.  As a result, the physical suffering of the leprous person was compounded by an emotional suffering as he or she was literally cut off from all human touch, and, thus, intimacy, for fear of making others sick and “unclean”.

          One only needs to look at the crisis of the Ebola epidemic in western Africa to see a modern example of this.  In this case, we are all well aware of the highly communicable nature of the Ebola virus and thus impose strict segregation on those afflicted with it.  We can all perhaps imagine how depressing it would be not only to be afflicted with a life-threatening illness, but then to endure weeks in which your only human contact is through doctors and medical staff covered head to toe in protective garments for fear of making “flesh-to-flesh” contact with your body.  If you can imagine that, then you will have a sense of what it was like to be afflicted with leprosy among the ancient Hebrews.

          In today’s reading from the Gospel of Mark, we find a leper who was so moved by faith in Christ’s power to heal him that he completely disregarded the rules regarding the segregation of lepers and approached Jesus in order to beg him for healing.  Jesus knew well the purity laws and what he would have to go through if he touched this man (just think of the reports of what health care workers had to go through if they came into direct contact with an Ebola patient).  He also knew that he would not have to touch this man in order to heal him of his leprosy.  He knew that a simple word would affect the cure.  Yet, he saw more than a physical ailment in this man.  He saw the emotional suffering of shame and humiliation that comes from being cut off from one’s community and he knew that more than just a word was needed to make him whole again.  Thus, the Gospel tells us that Jesus was “moved with pity” and that he first touched the man before he pronounced his words of healing.  No, it wasn’t the touch that healed the man of his leprosy, Christ’s word alone was sufficient.  It was the touch, however, that made him feel human, connected again with the community that was his life.

          Of course it’s easy to see modern day examples of leprosy in our own society.  I’ve already mentioned the situation of those afflicted with Ebola and it doesn’t end there.  We simply need to look around at those who have been marginalized and pushed “outside the camp” of our daily living so as not to defile our efforts to live a “pure” life.  It also would be easy to remind ourselves of our duty to respond to these individuals as Jesus did by reaching out to them, touching them, helping them to find healing, and inviting them to join the community once again.  What is not so easy for us is to look inwardly, at ourselves, in order to discover the spiritual leprosy of sin that afflicts each of us.

          St. Bede, in commenting on this passage, has said: “This man prostrated himself on the ground, as a sign of humility and shame, to teach each of us to be ashamed of the stains of his [or her own] life.  But shame should not prevent us from confessing: the leper showed his wound and begged for healing.”  St. Terese of Liseux has said that shame for our sins should never prevent us from reaching out to Jesus.  In fact, she has said, our increasing awareness of and shame for our sins should make us reach out all the more desperately to him, because the more that we acknowledge our sinfulness, the more that we openly show our wounds to Jesus, the more, in a sense, attractive we are to him, to his mercy, and thus he is more moved to touch us and to heal us.

          My brothers and sisters, the trick to living the Christian life is not just in reaching out to the marginalized in our society, the modern-day lepers with “outward” afflictions, which we must do.  Rather, the trick is being able to first recognize our own afflictions, our own leprosy, and having the courage—or rather the faith—to throw ourselves down before God, before Jesus, and beg for his mercy.

          As his Body, the Church, Jesus wants us to be his hands in this world, bringing his healing touch to those who need it.  He wants his hands to be pure, however.  And so, as we seek to extend Christ’s ministry of mercy to those around us, let us acknowledge also our need for healing and thus seek out the sacrament of reconciliation, so that we might be truly open to share each other’s burdens.  And finally, my brothers and sisters, let us give thanks, as we do here today, for Christ’s saving mercy, so that we may go forth from this place making known the good things he has done for us.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – February 15, 2015

The grace to give thanks

          Thanksgiving is still more than a month away, but can we get on board with the idea of giving thanks everyday?  Here's to hoping that we can...

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Homily: 28^th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          Not long before I entered the seminary, just a few months before I would leave my job as an engineer, I was on a business trip in south Texas.  At that time, I was in the throes of discerning how God was leading me to follow his call to be a priest and so I was praying and fasting a lot, asking mostly that I would be humble enough to know what God was asking me to do and to be courageous enough to do it.  It happened to be the middle of March and I was about a thirty minute drive from South Padre Island, where hundreds of thousands of college students were celebrating their Spring Break.

          I was there over a weekend and didn’t have to work on Sunday, so I decided to head over to South Padre  to spend some time relaxing on the beach.  Now, before any of you get the idea that I was going there to party, remember that I had already discerned that God was calling me to be a priest and that I was trying to discern how he was leading me to follow that call.  Thus, I went with the idea that I might evangelize some of the Spring Breakers, not party with them.

          When I got to the beach, however, I quickly understood why Jesus sent his disciples out two-by-two.  Although the beach wasn’t crowded, I quickly felt overwhelmed by the task and, with no one to support me, I gave in to the idea that my impact on the beach that day would be minimal, at best.  And so, armed as I was with some pamphlets that invite people to consider God’s great love for them, I decided to enjoy the beach and pray, hoping that God would send someone my way who needed to be touched by his love.

          Not long after I took my bible out of my backpack and began to pray, I was approached by two men looking for some money for food.  One of them, the man who addressed me, was obviously inebriated.  As has become almost instinctual for us these days, I immediately said to myself “I’m not going to give him money, he’ll just spend it on alcohol.”  Even still, I did see this as an opportunity to share one of my pamphlets with someone and to pray with them, and so I offered this to them instead.  The inebriated man declined my offer, however, and the two of them moved on.

          As they walked away, I was immediately convicted that I should have offered them more.  “I should have offered to take them somewhere to eat”, I thought to myself.  Thus convicted, I sat back down and promised God with all sincerity in my heart that if I saw them again that day that I would offer to take them somewhere to eat.

          I spent a little longer on the beach praying and enjoying being near the water and then got up to return to my car.  As I was leaving the beach and heading towards the parking lot, there were these two men sitting on a bench.  When I recognized them I immediately thought “Thank you God for giving me a chance to make good on my promise.”  I walked towards them and asked them if they were still hungry.  They, of course, replied “yes” and I invited them to go get some food.

          The second man, who said nothing to me the first time we met, asked why it was that I had changed my mind.  When I explained how I felt after they left and the promise I made to God, he began to cry.  He explained that this was not the first time that God had intervened to help him.  He began to thank me profusely, even to the point of asking me not to do this kind gesture for him, so deeply he felt undeserving of my kindness.  The other man, it seemed, thanked me as a formality and was soon focused on getting back to the beach, perhaps to continue begging for money.  His companion, however, continued to thank me and asked if I would pray for him, which I did right there, and then they went on their way.

          These men were of obviously different ethnic backgrounds and the thankful man was definitely of a minority ethnic group.  I imagine that, coupled with being impoverished and needing to beg for food meant that he often felt ignored and unacknowledged.  Yet that day, by the grace of God, I saw him, acknowledged his need (both material and spiritual), and tried to meet it.  Perhaps that was the first time in a really long time that he felt acknowledged and for that he was moved to gratitude.

          In the Gospel reading today, ten lepers cry out to Jesus asking him for mercy.  They all had faith in Jesus’ power to heal, which moved them to cry out.  All of them responded to that faith by immediately following Jesus’ instructions, even though they weren’t immediately healed.  Yet only one returned to give thanks to the one through whom the healing had come.  That one was a Samaritan: a person of an ethnicity that was looked down upon by Jews.  He was not used to being acknowledged, but that day Jesus saw him and acknowledged his need (both physical and spiritual) and he met it.  And for that he was moved to gratitude.

          The question for us, my brothers and sisters, is not whether or not we can see and respond to the beggars and the lepers in our midst like Jesus did (although we are called to do that, of course).  Rather, the question for us is whether or not we can recognize that we ourselves are beggars and lepers in need of God’s mercy.  What would it be like if we wore our sin on our skin, like a leprosy that we couldn’t hide from anyone?  Would we, then, know rejection like the lepers did?  And do you think that Jesus would still acknowledge us?

          The truth, my brothers and sisters, is that when Jesus looks at us he sees our sin as clearly as if it were a skin disease.  Even so, he still acknowledges us when we call out to him for mercy.  He does not pass us by.  Rather, he says to us, “Go show yourselves to the priest.”  And what else can that mean except “Go to Confession.”  And in following his command we realize that we have already been forgiven; we have already been healed.  And thus who wouldn’t want to return to give thanks to the one who looked so lovingly on us, even in the ugliness of our sin?  Yes, the one who is truly grateful for having been seen by him returns, glorifying God for his mercy and giving thanks.  And how do we do that?  Well, we do that every time that we return here to celebrate this Holy Eucharist with joy and gratitude in our hearts.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – October 12^th & 13^th, 2013

¿Cuan grande es el amor de Dios?

Ok kids, time to fire up your translators!  Here is my homily for the 4th Sunday in Lent.  It was written and given in Spanish to the Hispanic community of St. Joseph's parish in Dale, IN.  Enjoy!

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            Hace una semana y media que la lectura de la misa diaria narraba la historia de un hombre rico y un hombre pobre.  En esa historia, no se menciona el nombre del rico, pero, sabemos que el nombre del pobre era Lázaro.  Lázaro se sentaba enfrente de la puerta del rico y esperaba por las sobras de la mesa del rico para comer.  Lázaro era un leproso y hasta los perros venían a lamerle las llagas.  Después de algunos años, el rico y Lázaro murieron el mismo día.  El rico fue al infierno y Lázaro al “seno de Abraham.”  (El no pudo ir al cielo porque Jesús  no había venido a abrir la puerta del cielo.)  El rico vio a Lázaro en el seno de Abraham y le pidió que mandara a Lázaro a llevarle agua.  Abraham le respondió que no podía  porque había “un abismo tremendo” entre ellos, “de tal manera que los que quieran cruzar no pueden hacerlo.”  Y por esto, los sufrimientos del rico aumentaron.

            De igual manera, la primera lectura de hoy nos cuenta del destierro de los israelitas, fruto de sus abominaciones contra Dios. El salmo recuerda del duro destierro que los israelitas sufrieron en Babilonia y que se convirtió en un “abismo tremendo” imposible de ser cruzado para poder llegar a su tierra, Jerusalén.

            Quizá algunos de ustedes se sienten extranjeros en este país: o más bien, desterrados como los israelitas que fueron desterrados de Jerusalén.  Yo imagino que, a veces, ustedes sienten que hay un abismo tremendo entre aquí, el sur de Indiana, y su propio país. Pero, ustedes no están solos.  En verdad, todos somos desterrados.  Por medio del pecado, nuestros primeros padres, Adam y Eva, fueron desterrados del jardín de Edén y, por eso, fueron excluidos de la comunión con Dios.  Del mismo modo, nosotros nos alejamos de Dios y nos convertimos en desterrados, excluidos de la comunión con Dios por culpa de nuestros pecados.  Algunas veces, si los pecados son pequeños, nos separan de Dios sólo un poco.  A estos pecados se les llama “veniales.”  Otros, sin embargo, son grandes y crean un abismo tremendo entre Dios y nosotros; y nos parecen tan grandes que parece imposible cruzar este abismo.

            Aún así, Dios nunca nos abandonaba.  Su amor es indescriptiblemente  grande y por eso, su amor es suficiente para cubrir el abismo que separa a sus hijos de Él.  Dios, por su gran amor y compasión por los israelitas desterrados, inspiró a Ciro, rey de Persia, a restaurar el templo en Jerusalén de Judá.  Reflexionemos, hermanos y hermanas, en ¡cuán grande es el amor de Dios que envió a Jesús, su Único Hijo, para restaurarnos y para restablecer la comunión perdida en el jardín de Edén a causa del pecado de desobediencia!

            La cuaresma es un destierro espiritual de cuarenta días que nos ayuda a recordar lo mucho que esta comunión nos hace falta en esta tierra y lo mucho que Dios nos ama.  Así pues, la cuaresma nos llama a alejarnos del pecado y reintegrarnos a una comunión con Dios.  Por eso, los invito a reflexionar sobre las situaciones en su vida que los empujan a experimentar un destierro en sus vidas.  Entonces, mediten sobre el salmo ciento treinta y siete. Este salmo describe los sentimientos de dolor de los desterrados y esto puede ayudarles a reflexionar acerca de lo que significa ser desterrado de la comunión con Dios.  Y finalmente, busquen liberarse del pecado para abrazar el amor de Dios en Jesús Cristo: ese gran amor que cubre toda separación. Recuerden que la separación de Dios puede ser restituida por medio del sacramento de reconciliación, y así podemos encontrar ese gran amor de Dios.  Si hacemos todo esto, y ayudados por la gracia de esta misa, estaremos listos para descubrir de nuevo el gozo de la Pascua.

~ Dada en la parroquia de San José, Dale, IN: el 18 de Marzo, 2012.

The importance of a touch

Here's my homily from this past weekend. Obviously, St. Terese has been working on my heart this week. There's a lot more that could be said about this, but I'll let the Holy Spirit fill all of that in for you.

By the way, I love it when you comment. Any feedback is always appreciated. May your week be blessed!

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~ Given at Sacred Heart and Saint Augustine Parishes, Jeffersonville, IN: February 11-12, 2012

One of the most indispensible parts, it seems, of any intimate relationship is touch. Parents touch their children regularly in order to show them their care and affection. A husband and wife will hug and kiss each other when they are coming and going or when they get up in the morning or go to bed at night, and various other times in between. Children who are best friends will walk side by side each with an arm around the other’s shoulder (“they’re ‘joined at the hip’” is the common expression). Grown men, sometimes less comfortable with more sensitive expressions of intimacy, will often slap their friends on the shoulder as a sign of camaraderie. And for young couples, holding hands is often the first expression of a growing affection. From the opposite standpoint, turning away from touch is often an indicator that intimacy has been broken or damaged, such as when a husband or a wife gives their spouse the “cold shoulder.”

As a matter of fact, in the Catholic Church we know this very well. We ritualize the intimacy of human touch in the sacraments, most poignantly in the sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick. February 11, the feast of Our Lady of Lourdes, is designated in the Church as the “World Day for the Sick,” in which we remind ourselves of the special place that care for the sick and dying holds in the life of the Church. And in the Church’s sacrament for the sick, which is meant to be a spiritual strengthening for “one who has begun to be in danger due to sickness or old age,” human touch plays a prominent role, in the laying on of hands and the anointing with oil. And so again we see that, for humans, touch is important.

In the first reading today, we heard the instructions given to Moses and Aaron regarding how to handle a person afflicted with leprosy inside of the community. The ancient Hebrews were deeply concerned with maintaining a status of “ritual purity” before God because they believed that to present an offering to God when one was “impure” would taint also one’s offering and thus render it displeasing to God. Thus, the segregation of lepers (who were considered to have been afflicted because of some impurity) was intended to ensure that the rest of the community was kept safe from defilement through contact with them. As a result, the physical suffering of the leprous person was compounded by an emotional suffering as he or she was literally cut off from all human touch, and, thus, intimacy, for fear of making others unclean.

In today’s reading from the Gospel of Mark, we find a leper who was so moved by faith in Christ’s power to heal him that he completely disregarded the rules regarding the segregation of lepers and approached Jesus in order to beg him for healing. Jesus knew well the purity laws and what he would have to go through if he touched this man. He also knew that he would not have to touch this man in order to heal him of his leprosy. He knew that a simple word would effect the cure. Yet, he saw more than a physical ailment in this man. He saw the emotional suffering of shame and humiliation that comes from being cut off from one’s community and knew that more than just a word was needed to make him whole again. Thus, the Gospel tells us that Jesus was“moved with pity” and that he first touched the man before he pronounced his words of healing. No, it wasn’t the touch that healed the man of his leprosy, Christ’s word alone was sufficient. It was the touch, however, that made him feel human, connected again with the community that was his life.

Of course it’s easy to see modern day examples of leprosy in our own society. We simply need to look at those who have been marginalized and pushed“outside the camp” of our daily living so as not to defile our efforts to live a pure life. It would also be easy to remind ourselves of our duty to respond to these individuals as Jesus did by reaching out to them, touching them, helping them to find healing and inviting them to join the community once again. What is not so easy for us is to look inwardly, at ourselves, in order to discover the spiritual leprosy of sin that afflicts each of us.

St. Bede, in commenting on this passage, has said: “This man prostrated himself on the ground, as a sign of humility and shame, to teach each of us to be ashamed of the stains of his [or her own] life. But shame should not prevent us from confessing: the leper showed his wound and begged for healing.” St. Terese of Liseux has said that shame for our sins should never prevent us from reaching out to Jesus. In fact, she has said, our increasing awareness of and shame for our sins should make us reach out all the more desperately to him, because the more we acknowledge our sinfulness, the more we openly show our wounds to Jesus, the more, in a sense, attractive we are to him, to his mercy, and thus he is more moved to touch us and to heal us.

My brothers and sisters, the trick to living the Christian life is not just in reaching out to the marginalized in our society, the modern-day lepers with “outward” afflictions. Rather, the trick is being able to first recognize our own afflictions, our own leprosy, and having the courage—or rather the faith—to throw ourselves down before God, before Jesus, and beg for his mercy.

As his Body, the Church, Jesus wants us to be his hands in this world, bringing his healing touch to those who need it. He wants his hands to be pure, however. And so, as we seek to extend Christ’s ministry of mercy to those around us, let us acknowledge also our need for healing, let us seek out the sacrament of reconciliation and open ourselves to each other so that we may share each other’s burdens. And let us give thanks, as we do here today, for Christ’s saving mercy, so that we may go forth from this place making known the good things he has done for us.

+Pax+