We are witnesses

Peace and joy in the Risen Christ to all of you!  He is Risen!  Alleluia!

Homily: Easter Sunday – Cycle A

          Praised be Jesus Christ, now and forever!  My brothers and sisters, He is Risen!  I hope that you are joining with me today in this joyful sense of relief that our Lenten fast has ended, that is, our preparation for the celebration of our Lord’s resurrection has been fulfilled, and that we can now feast on the splendor of this holy day.  It has been a long journey since Ash Wednesday to today; and especially in these last three days, recalling our Lord’s passion, we have witnessed many things.  In order to bolster our joy today, let’s take a quick look at what we’ve experienced.

          First, on Thursday night, we witnessed the Last Supper in which Jesus, knowing that he was about to die, instituted the Eucharist by giving to his twelve closest disciples his body to eat and blood to drink in the form of bread and wine.  At the same time, we witnessed how he instituted the priesthood that same night in order to ensure that this Eucharist would continue after he was gone.  And we witnessed how Jesus bent low to wash his disciples’ feet, giving them an example of how it is that they were to serve one another.  Finally, we witnessed how he went out to the garden to pray and was arrested after he was betrayed by Judas, one of his twelve closest disciples.

          Then, on Friday, we witnessed how Jesus was brought before Pontius Pilate and was condemned unjustly.  Perhaps we even felt the sting of guilt as we joined in with the crowds who shouted “Crucify him!  Crucify him!” and who demanded for the release of Barabbas the murderer instead of Jesus.  We witnessed how he carried his own cross and was crucified on Calvary.  Perhaps the sorrow for our sins moved us to venerate the cross that day: the cross on which Jesus suffered for our sins, but through which he set us free.  At the end, we watched as his dead body was taken down from the cross and laid in a tomb before nightfall that night.

          On Saturday, we witnessed that strange, eerie silence that always comes with Holy Saturday.  “There is a great silence on earth today, a great silence and stillness” an ancient Christian homilist wrote.  He continues, “The whole earth keeps silence because the King is asleep.”  We witnessed the closed tomb of our Lord and (hopefully) witnessed the Sabbath rest.  We sat and waited, not knowing if what Jesus had said about the resurrection was true and, if so, how and when it would come about.  We witnessed night fall and felt the anxiety of not knowing what the future would hold and the sadness in our hearts for having lost, it seemed, all that we had hoped for.

          Now this morning we come here and we are witnesses to the incredible news that has come to us from the women who went to the tomb: “They have taken the Lord from the tomb!” and we are witnesses of what Peter would tell us after he ran to the tomb and found it empty.  “Could it be that our Lord has risen?”  Yes, Peter, he is risen and of this we are witnesses.

          In its most basic definition, a witness is someone who sees an event take place.  Typically, we associate a witness with legal proceedings; and because of this, we all generally recognize that being a witness carries with it responsibilities, specifically the responsibility to recount what it is we have seen or experienced.  Here in the United States, one can only be demanded to “give witness” in a court of law.  Otherwise, we have the “right to remain silent.”  For Christians, however, this right doesn’t necessarily exist.  Certainly, our freedom to remain silent can never be taken from us.  Nevertheless, as Christians we believe that an encounter with the risen Christ demands a kerygmatic response.  It is in fact a response commissioned by Christ when he told his disciples, “You are witnesses….”

          Now I know many of you are probably looking at me and saying, “I was with you, Father, right up until that “K”-word.  Right, kerygmatic.  First let me tell you that it is not important that you know how to say this word and it is even less important that you know how to spell it (if it wasn’t for spell-check, I would get it wrong every time).  Now let me tell you what it means.  It’s a Greek word that means a convincing proclamation of what one has seen and heard.  For Christians, kerygma is a proclamation that the crucified and risen Jesus is God’s final and definitive act of salvation.  This is exactly the witness that Peter gives in our first reading today.

          In it he has been summoned to the house of a Roman Centurion, named Cornelius, who was experiencing conversion.  Peter, upon hearing all that God had done to prepare this man to receive the gift of faith, gave this kerygmatic witness.  Upon hearing it, they Holy Spirit came down upon Cornelius and all in the household and many of them spoke in tongues.  Cornelius and his entire household was baptized that day, demonstrating the power that the kerygma, the convincing witness to the faith, holds.

          My brothers and sisters, we are witnesses.  We have encountered the risen Christ.  In fact, we encounter him every Sunday, here at this altar. Peter and the other disciples knew that once they had encountered the risen Christ, they could not remain in the Upper Room, but had to go forth from there to proclaim what they had seen and heard.  And so it is with us.  As much as we can no longer claim ignorance of our sins, having seen the suffering that they caused our Lord on the cross, no longer can we stand idle, either, now that we have encountered the risen Christ.

          Every Sunday, and in a particularly powerful way on Easter Sunday, we participate anew in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ; we encounter again the risen Lord in Word and Sacrament.  My brothers and sisters, we are witnesses.  Therefore, the dismissal at Mass is never the end of our Christian obligation for the week, but rather it is just the beginning.  The “go” in the “go in peace” is not simply permission to leave, but rather it is a sending forth; and it is understood that this “sending forth” involves some sort of mission.

          My brothers and sisters, the privilege of being a witness—and it is a privilege—brings with it the responsibility to proclaim what we have seen and heard in every place where we live.  Saint Pope John Paul II reminded us of this when he said these words at the beginning of his pontificate, “Do not be afraid to go out into the streets and the public places—like the first apostles!—to preach Christ and the good news of salvation in the squares of cities.”  Friends, if we are to be authentic witnesses then we must take seriously this “sending forth” that we receive today and every Sunday.

          Since we are learning Greek vocabulary today, why don’t we try one more?  Does anyone know what the Greek word for “witness” is?  It’s martyr.  Martyr is the noble title give to Christianity’s most fervent witnesses: those whose unfailing proclamation of the risen Christ led them to be killed for their faith.  Brothers and sisters, may our kerygma, our witness, to the risen Christ whom we encounter here at this Mass earn for each one of us so noble a title.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – April 16^th, 2017

We are witnesses

Homily: Easter Sunday – Cycle C

          We are witnesses…  In its most basic definition, a witness is someone who sees an event take place.  Typically, we associate a witness with legal proceedings.  Because of this, we all generally recognize that being a witness carries with it responsibilities, specifically the responsibility to recount what it is we have seen or experienced.  Here in the United States, one can only be demanded to “give witness” in a court of law.  Otherwise, we have the “right to remain silent.”  For Christians, however, this right doesn’t necessarily exist.  Certainly, our freedom to remain silent can never be taken from us.  Nevertheless, as Christians we believe that an encounter with the risen Christ demands a kerygmatic response.  It is in fact a response commissioned by Christ when he told his disciples, “You are witnesses….”

          Now I know many of you are probably looking at me and saying, “I was with you right up until that “K”-word.  Right, kerygmatic.  First let me tell you that it is not important that you know how to say this word and it is even less important that you know how to spell it (if it wasn’t for spell-check, I would get it wrong every time).  Now let me tell you what it means.  It’s a Greek word that means a convincing proclamation of what one has seen and heard.  For Christians, kerygma is a proclamation that the crucified and risen Jesus is God’s final and definitive act of salvation.  Imagine for a moment that someone would stand up in this assembly and say: “Brothers and Sisters, you remember this man, Jesus of Nazareth, the prophet mighty in word and deed, who worked many signs and wonders in our midst and whom we lauded as our king as he entered this city; this man whom we then watched as he was condemned wrongfully and led off to be crucified.  I stand before you today and tell you that he has been raised to life and that I have seen him.  And not only me, but these other men, too.  We have seen him face to face.  We have heard him talk and have seen his hands and his feet.  We have even eaten with him and so are assured that it is no ghost that we have seen, but a living man.  Truly, I tell you, this Jesus, who was crucified, has been raised to life.”  You can imagine that this kind of a witness would be pretty powerful.  This is exactly the witness that Peter gives in our first reading today.

          Over these last few days, we have witnessed many things.  First, on Thursday night, we witnessed the Last Supper in which Jesus, knowing that he was about to die, instituted the Eucharist by giving to his twelve closest disciples his body to eat and blood to drink in the form of bread and wine.  At the same time, we witnessed how he instituted the priesthood that same night in order to ensure that this Eucharist would continue after he was gone.  And we witnessed how Jesus bent low to wash his disciples’ feet, giving them an example of how it is that they were to serve one another.  Finally, we witnessed how he went out to the garden to pray and was arrested after he was betrayed by Judas, one of his twelve closest disciples.

          Then, on Friday, we witnessed how Jesus was brought before Pontius Pilate and was condemned unjustly.  Perhaps we even felt the sting of guilt as we joined in with the crowds who shouted “Crucify him!  Crucify him!” and who demanded for the release of Barabbas the murderer instead of Jesus.  We witnessed how he carried his own cross and was crucified on Calvary.  Perhaps the sorrow for our sins moved us to venerate the cross that day: the cross on which Jesus suffered for our sins, but through which he set us free.  At the end, we watched as his dead body was taken down from the cross and laid in a tomb before nightfall that night.

          On Saturday, we witnessed that strange, eerie silence that always comes with Holy Saturday.  “There is a great silence on earth today, a great silence and stillness” an ancient Christian homilist wrote.  He continues, “The whole earth keeps silence because the King is asleep.”  We witnessed the closed tomb of our Lord and (hopefully) witnessed the Sabbath rest.  We sat and waited, not knowing if what Jesus had said about the resurrection was true and, if so, how and when it would come about.  We witnessed night fall and felt the anxiety of not knowing what the future would hold and the sadness in our hearts for having lost, it seemed, all that we had hoped for.

          Now this morning we come here and we are witnesses to the incredible news that has come to us from the women who went to the tomb: “They have taken the Lord from the tomb!” and we are witnesses of what Peter would tell us after he ran to the tomb and found it empty.  “Could it be that our Lord has risen?”  Yes, Peter, he is risen and of this we are witnesses.

          My brothers and sisters, we are witnesses.  We have encountered the risen Christ.  In fact, we encounter him every Sunday, here at this altar. Peter and the other disciples knew that once they had encountered the risen Christ, they could not remain in the Upper Room, but had to go forth from there to proclaim what they had seen and heard.  And so it is with us.  As much as we can no longer claim ignorance of our sins, having seen the suffering that they caused our Lord, no longer can we stand idle, either.

          Ite. Missa est.  Those old enough will recall that these are the words of dismissal from the Mass as it was celebrated in Latin.  Ironically, even though the new English translation of the mass was intended to more closely emulate the Latin, the dismissal seems to have somehow escaped that treatment.  Literally translated, the Latin phrase means “Go.  It is the dismissal.”  However, the word “dismissal,” in the sense that it is used in Latin, means something more than “you are free to go” like it does in English.  It means, rather, “you are sent forth” and it is understood that this “sending forth” involves some sort of mission.  Missa.  Dismissal.  Mission.  Those words all sound related, don’t they?

          Every Sunday, and in a particularly powerful way on Easter Sunday, we participate anew in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ; we encounter again the risen Lord in Word and Sacrament.  My brothers and sisters, we are witnesses.  Therefore, the dismissal at Mass is never the end of our Christian obligation for the week (or for the year, perhaps?), but rather it is just the beginning.  The privilege of being a witness—and it is a privilege—brings with it the responsibility to proclaim what we have seen and heard in every place where we live.  Just listen to our late Holy Father, Saint Pope John Paul II, who said at the beginning of his pontificate, “Do not be afraid to go out into the streets and the public places—like the first apostles!—to preach Christ and the good news of salvation in the squares of cities.”  If we are to be authentic witnesses then we must take seriously this “sending forth” that we receive today and every Sunday.

          Since we are learning Greek vocabulary today, why don’t we try one more?  Does anyone know what the Greek word for “witness” is?  It’s martyr.  May our kerygma, our witness, of the risen Christ whom we encounter here at this Mass earn for us so noble a title.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 27^th, 2016

Less hastags and more martyrs

Homily: 33^rd Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B

          In the early 1600’s, French Jesuit Jean de Brebeuf left France for the un-tamed wilderness of North America in order to proclaim the Gospel to the people of the Huron tribe in what is now the south-east part of Ontario, Canada.  He left a rather comfortable life in which he had everything he could ask for: a secure and clean home, food to spare, an excellent education, and the opportunity to work among his people proclaiming the Good News to them, and he travelled to a place where he had none of that.  He slept on a crude mat on the ground in a rough-shod shelter that was constantly filled with smoke from the heating fire because there was no ventilation.  He barely had food enough to sustain him and his education was all but useless as he struggled to communicate with a people whose language was completely different from his own.  All of this and the constant threat that a roving band of Iroquois—who were intent on killing any Huron or French person that they encountered—would attack them.

          Yet, John de Brebeuf was undisturbed.  He had a zeal for the souls of the Huron people and he longed for them to know Christ.  In one of his journals he wrote: “How I grieve, my God, that you are not known, that this savage country is not yet wholly converted to faith in you, that sin is not yet blotted out!”  He strove to learn their language.  In fact, it is because of him that we have any written record of the Huron language!  He loved them and he wouldn’t be turned away from this mission on which, he believed, God had sent him.  When he wrote to Isaac Jogues, his fellow Jesuit back in France, to prepare him to join him in his mission, he said: “You must love these Huron, ransomed by the blood of the Son of God, as brothers.”

          In 1649 the Huron village in which Jean de Brebeuf was living was attacked by Iroquois.  The Huron insisted that Jean and his companion Gabriel flee the village and survive. They refused to leave their beloved Huron and instead endured horrific tortures at the hands of the Iroquois (Jean for 4 hours, Gabriel for 16 hours) before they died.  Over the nearly 25 years that he served the Huron nation, Jean de Brebeuf made over 7000 converts to the faith.  He never lost his zeal for their souls and his burning desire that all Native Americans would know Christ.

          As we approach the end of the Liturgical Year, the readings for Mass begin to focus on the “end times”: that is, Jesus’ second coming, the final judgment, and what it will be like leading up to that day.  They are all very graphic in describing the great tribulation that will precede the final judgment, but they all stop short of giving us a clear indication of when we can expect this all to happen.  It wouldn’t be hard to look at things that are happening here and now—most notably the horrible terrorist attacks in Paris last/Friday night—and to think to ourselves “What’s the hold up, Jesus?”  This is certainly a time of great trial and tribulation and so we can, perhaps, wonder “What is he waiting for?”

          Now, although I’ve never read anything to support my opinion, I’ve never read anything that refutes it, either, so I’m going to share with you my thoughts on when we can expect Jesus’ second coming.  In the second reading, from the letter to the Hebrews, the author says that the “eternal high priest” (he’s speaking of Jesus) has offered “one sacrifice for sins, and [has taken] his seat forever at the right hand of God”; and that “now he waits until his enemies are made his footstool” (other translations word it “he waits until his enemies are placed beneath his feet”).  Whenever I read this passage, I am struck by the fact that there seems to be a condition placed on Jesus’ waiting: “until his enemies are made his footstool”.  Now, we know that Jesus didn’t want worldly power, but rather the salvation of souls and the conquering of all sin; and so what else can he mean by “his enemies are made his footstool” than “everyone is converted to Christ and is free from sin”?  (Probably a lot of things, I’m sure, but this is the one that I just can’t escape.)

          Thus, my opinion, perhaps, isn’t so much an opinion about when Jesus will come as much as it is an opinion about how to hasten his coming.  Sin and those who cause men to sin are Jesus’ enemies.  Thus, to be converted and to leave off sin in the name of Jesus is to put Jesus’ enemies “beneath his feet”.  The sooner, therefore, that all of Jesus’ enemies are placed beneath his feet, the sooner Jesus will return to make his final judgment and, thus, usher in his kingdom of light, happiness, and peace.  Thus, to state it simply, if we want to be done with this world in which suffering, trial, and tribulation afflicts us—if we want to be done with senseless attacks like the ones that just happened in Paris—then we ought to be intensely focused on defeating sin, both within ourselves and in others, and on leading to conversion anyone not yet converted to Christ.

          In the Gospel reading, Jesus exhorts his disciples not to ignore the meaning of the tribulations that were coming.  Just as they would know that summer was near when leaves started sprouting on fig trees, so too, after these tribulations, they should know that his second coming will be upon them.  The attacks in Paris demonstrate that the Evil One is working to destroy God’s children, perhaps before they could become his friends, and so we must see this as the sign that now is our time to act.  If we have, in any way, neglected our mission to purify our lives from sin and to help others to do the same, then we must act now.  Our world is in desperate need of martyrs like Saints Jean de Brebeuf, Gabriel Lalement, and the other North American Martyrs: men and women whose love of Christ and zeal for souls was so great that even the real possibility of horrific torture and death wouldn’t stop them from proclaiming this Good News and, thus, bringing the day of Christ closer by placing more of Jesus’ enemies beneath his feet.

          My brothers and sisters, the enemies of Christ still abound.  If we wish to hasten his coming and thus end this time of suffering and tribulation, then we need less hashtags and more martyrs.  Mary, Our Mother, has spent her eternity as a missionary: appearing wherever there has been great trial and tribulation, or when there has been a great need/opportunity for conversions, in order to call all of God’s children to repentance.  May her prayers guide and protect us as we strive to continue that mission in our own lives and in the lives of those around us.  And may Jesus, who comes to us in this Eucharist, strengthen us to fulfill it.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – November 14^th & 15^th, 2015

Be a Dying Seed

          Okay, so I didn't get around to writing a blog about the Cursillo weekend.  It's not because it wasn't a good weekend... the week definitely got away from me!  My reflections will have to come at a later date, though, because this week is already running away from me.  We're definitely praying for the women's Cursillo weekend coming up next weekend.  May God bless the team and candidates with His Spirit!

          One thing that was clear to me over the weekend is that I am continually being called to die to myself so that my life might bear abundant fruit for God's kingdom.  May all of us agree to be "dying seeds" for God's kingdom so that we all might know the joy of Christ's Easter glory!

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Homily: 5^th Sunday of Lent – Cycle B

          Saint John de Brebeuf was a French Jesuit and martyr from the 17^th century.  He was raised in France and it was there that he entered the Jesuit order.  He was a good student and he had an ear for languages.  His work as a student (and later as a teacher) was often hindered, however, because of health problems that he endured.  John would find new life, however, when his superior would send him to work in their mission in North America.  He spent a couple of years with the Algonquin tribe in Quebec, but then felt a call to go out into the yet untapped mission of the Huron nation.

          This was a difficult and dangerous mission.  Difficult because there had not yet been any significant contact between the Huron and the European settlers and so John and his companions had to begin by first learning their culture and language.  Dangerous because the Huron were always under threat of attack from the Iroquois, a rival nation.  John and his companions persevered, however, and eventually over seven thousand persons would convert to Christianity through their efforts.

          All the while, the Huron nation was weakening in its defenses and the Iroquois were strengthening.  In 1649 the Iroquois launched a fierce attack on the Huron nation.  At this point, John and his companions were well beloved by the Huron and so they urged them to flee their village before the Iroquois arrived.  John and his companions refused, however, and eventually were captured, horrifically tortured, and killed.

          This moment of the attack was a liminal moment for John and his companions.  It was a moment of decision; a decision which would have a profound impact on the rest of their lives and the legacy that they would leave behind.  They could have responded to the urging of the Huron and fled until they could return safely; but instead they stayed with their beloved Huron to the end.

          In our Gospel reading today, Jesus has also encountered a liminal moment.  In it, some Greeks come forward seeking to see Jesus.  When Jesus hears of this, he says something strange.  He says, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.”  We might expect him to say either “Great! Show them in.” or “Tell the Greeks that I came for the Jews, so I will not see them.”  The answer that John records for us in the Gospel, however, is not expected; that is, not unless you understand what had been prophesied about the coming of God’s kingdom.

          You see, in the Old Testament prophecies, it was foretold that, when the kingdom of God was made manifest, all nations (the Jews and the Gentiles) would “stream towards Jerusalem” and worship God at his temple.  And so, when these Greeks (that is, Gentiles) came looking for Jesus, he knew that the time to fulfill his purpose had arrived.  In other words, this seemingly harmless request was a sign to Jesus that his ministry of preaching and healing was coming to an end and that he must now go to be killed in order to redeem mankind.  Therefore, the entire speech that follows those words—“The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified”—is an expression of Jesus’ realization of what now must happen.

          Jesus reveals something of the drama of this moment when he says “I am troubled now.”  Perhaps he wasn’t expecting this moment to come so soon and so anxiety over what he will have to suffer grips him.  It’s a liminal moment for him: a moment of decision.  He knew, however, that to suffer and to die for the salvation of the human race was the purpose for which he was sent and so, in spite of his anxiety, he refuses to walk away—or even to plead to be relieved of this burden—and he prays, rather, that the Father would glorify his name.  In other words, instead of trying to protect himself, he followed his Father’s will until the end.

          Each and every one of us has experienced a liminal moment in one form or another: a moment in which the positive outcome depends on whether or not we choose to flee from a dangerous or uncomfortable situation or to endure it until the end.  Perhaps, however, unlike Jesus or saints like John de Brebeuf and his companions, we’ve failed to choose the difficult path—the path of self-sacrifice and discomfort—instead choosing self-protection or comfort.  If so, then Lent provides us with the opportunity to ask forgiveness for these failures as well as the opportunity to choose again to follow Christ—that is, to “hate” our lives so as to preserve them for eternal life—to be the grain that dies, so as to produce much fruit.

          Some years after the death of Saint John de Brebeuf and his companions a girl was born of Iroquois descent who, in spite of resistance from her family and others in her village, would convert to Christianity.  This girl is the woman we know today as Saint Kateri Tekakwitha: the first Native American saint.  She is the first of the jewels in the crowns of martyrdom that Saint John and his companions received; demonstrating indeed that a grain of wheat must fall to the ground and die for it to produce much fruit.

          Of course, it is only God who knows what fruit will be produced when we give our lives completely over to him.  Ours, in fact, is not to know the fruit.  Rather, ours is to be the seed that agrees to fall to the ground and die so that an abundant harvest might be produced.  My brothers and sisters, Lent is the time to once again offer ourselves to be those seeds for God and this Sunday marks a liminal moment in this holy season: for next Sunday we begin Holy Week.  Therefore, let us make the decision today to be dying seeds for God and so to follow Christ, all the way to the Cross; so that we, too, might come to be glorified with him in his Easter glory: the glory that we glimpse—even if only obscurely—here in this Holy Eucharist.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 22^nd, 2015

¡Viva Cristo Rey!

          The lives of the martyrs ought not be extraordinary.  If each of us who profess Christ to be Lord and King of the Universe would live as if we were convinced of this truth, then we'd all be martyrs - witnesses - to this truth as we proclaim Christ's name and serve him in the poor who we encounter.  With the Liturgical New Year coming next Sunday, perhaps we could each make a "new year's resolution" to live the truth we proclaim when we cry out, "Long live Christ the King!"

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Homily: Christ the King – Cycle A

          “Long live Christ the King!”  This was the rally cry of the Cristero rebellion, which fought to restore religious freedom to Mexico in the 1920s.  After the revolution of 1910, Mexico enacted a constitution that placed strict limitations on the Church and its clergy.  At first, these limitations were not strongly enforced.  Under Mexican President Plutarco Elias Calles, however, a strict enforcement of these limitations was put in place, often using violence as the means for enforcement.

          In response the Bishops of Mexico suspended all public worship, in the hope that it would rouse the hearts of the Mexican people to respond to the unjust actions of their federal government.  This, coupled with the increasing violence against Catholics, led to the uprising that became known as La Cristiada.  This rebellion fought against the government forces in order to protect the faithful from their violence and to restore justice by restoring freedom of religion to their country.

          Blessed Miguel Agustin Pro was a young Jesuit priest who was killed during this persecution of the Church under President Calles.  In 1911, when Miguel was 20 years old, he was expelled from Mexico because he had entered the Jesuit novitiate.  He completed his formation and was ordained a priest in 1925.  He had a severe stomach ailment, however, and, after several operations were unsuccessful in resolving it, his superiors allowed him to return to his home land, in spite of the persecutions.

          By that time, the churches were closed and priests were in hiding. Thus, Father Pro spent the rest of his life in a secret ministry to the sturdy Mexican Catholics. In addition to fulfilling their spiritual needs, he also carried out works of mercy by assisting the poor of Mexico City with their temporal needs. He adopted many disguises to carry out his secret ministry. In all that he did, he remained filled with the joy of serving Christ and obedient to his superiors.

          In 1927, Father Pro was falsely accused in a bombing attempt on the President-elect and became a wanted man.  He was betrayed to the police and sentenced to death without the benefit of any legal process.  On the day of his death, November 23, 1927, Father Pro forgave his executioners, prayed, bravely refused the blindfold, and died with arms outstretched proclaiming "Long Live Christ the King!", in Spanish, Viva Cristo Rey!

          Persecutions always have the effect of polarizing people.  Violent persecutions will often reveal the depth of a person’s faith, because they force a person to choose a side.  Thus, no one stands on the sidelines.  This is true of the persecution in Mexico during the last century and for every other religious persecution that has happened throughout history.

          There are other, more subtle persecutions, however, that don’t polarize people so absolutely.  These, in a way, are just as sinister, because instead of trying to kill the believer with one thrust of the sword, this type of persecution slowly bleeds a person to death by making thousands of little cuts.  No single one is enough to force the person to take a stand and so he or she is forced into submission often without realizing that it was happening.

          This type of persecution doesn’t affect the person of conviction, however.  At the first little cut, these men and women immediately respond.  The person that this type of persecution affects the most, rather, is the lukewarm person: that is, the person who is not deeply convicted by his or her beliefs and so is either frozen by fear of choosing the wrong side or unmoved because of apathy (which, in fact, is a tacit approval of the persecutors).  It is this lukewarm group that Jesus is targeting with his parable today.

          The image that Jesus gives us is an apocalyptic one: It is the end of time and Jesus has come to sit on his throne so as to judge, that is, to polarize, all peoples.  He separates them into two groups: one group on his right, the other on his left.  The group on his right is composed of those who lived what they proclaimed: that Christ is King and that to serve him is to serve the needs of his people.  Notice, however, that the group on the left isn’t made up of persecutors; rather it is made up of the lukewarm: those who, perhaps, proclaimed Christ as King, but who did not live what they proclaimed, choosing rather to enjoy their comfortable lives instead of serving the needs of their King’s people.

          Blessed Miguel Pro lived as if what he said was true.  He proclaimed Christ as King and gave his life in service to his King: first by becoming a priest, then by serving the needs of his King’s people by serving the needs of the poor, and finally by giving up his life in resistance to the forces that were trying to convince the people that Christ wasn’t King.  To him, and to men and women like him, Jesus gives the name “sheep”.

          How many of us, however, live like the group on Jesus’ left: calling ourselves “Catholic Christians”, but then resisting the service that demonstrates our convictions; preferring instead our comfortable lives?  If we have come here today to proclaim that Jesus Christ is Our Lord and King of the Universe, but then return home and live as if that doesn’t demand certain things from us—specifically, service to the needs of our King’s people—then Jesus has a name for us, too: “goats”.

          As we know from elsewhere in the Gospels, Jesus ain’t got no love for hypocrites.  Notice, he almost never condemns persecutors and public sinners; rather, he condemns the hypocrites: that is, those who profess faith in God, but then fail to live in accord with that faith.  Therefore, my brothers and sisters, we must be sincere.  If we call Christ King of the Universe, then we must live that conviction: by proclaiming his name, in spite of whatever hardships that may cause us, and by living detached from material things in service to those who suffer because they lack them.  If we do, Our King will welcome us to eternal life.  If we don’t, however, he will leave us to suffer eternal punishment.

          My brothers and sisters, the blood of Blessed Miguel Agustin Pro and thousands of others was shed to proclaim the truth that Jesus Christ is King of the Universe.  If our hearts are convinced of the same, let us live as they lived, so that their blood may not have been shed in vain and so as to hasten the coming of our King and the blessed life that he has promised us.  Therefore, let us make our own the cry of the Mexican martyrs and proclaim by our words and our actions, ¡Viva Cristo Rey!   Long live Christ the King!

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – November 22^nd & 23^rd, 2014

The gates of the netherworld shall not prevail

          I cannot chalk it up to anything but God's providence that a federal judge in Indiana would declare it unconstitutional to deny same-sex couples marriage licenses in this state during the Fortnight For Freedom and when we are celebrating the feast of the Church's greatest martyrs, Saints Peter and Paul.  It provided a great opportunity for me to speak about how our faithfulness to God and the mission we have received from him will keep us under God's sovereignty, in spite of whatever our government tries to throw at us.  Therefore be bold!  Confess the truth about God and the human person, in love, wherever you are and you, too, will come to share the crown of righteousness!

          Click here to read the Indiana Bishops' statement regarding this week's ruling.  Take note of what they highlight as the difference between what we know as marriage and what our courts are trying to define it as.  If you are married, you should make sure that your marriage falls on the correct side of that distinction.

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Homily: Saints Peter and Paul, Apostles – Cycle A

          Well, my friends, let’s face it.  When it comes to national politics, Indiana just isn’t on anybody’s radar.  If you’ve been around for a while and have been through a few election cycles, you’ll know that the words “Indiana” and “swing state” or “critical to this election” are almost never uttered in the same sentence.  Although big in size, we just don’t have enough people to make a difference one way or another.  Oh sure, perhaps one of our senate seats will be up for grabs and the outcome of that race might be important for which party has the majority, like it was in the last election cycle, but other than that Indiana doesn’t get a lot of air play on the national scene.

          The ancient Jewish nation of Judah experienced much of the same thing during the time of the early Church.  Occupied by the Roman Empire, the nation that, at different times in its history, was a powerful nation in the area was simply a small outpost along the Roman trade route with Egypt.  Nothing that happened there really made news elsewhere in the Roman Empire.

          Unlike other empires before them, the Roman Empire didn’t try to wipe out the culture of the peoples that they conquered.  Rather, they kept the local government intact, as long as it made itself obedient to Caesar.  Thus, during the time of Jesus and the early Church, a Jew named Herod was still in place as the King of Judah, in spite of the Roman occupation.

          Now Herod knew that his place as king was a tenuous one.  Many of the Jews were not happy with the Roman occupation and it looked like Herod wasn’t trying to do anything about it.  Yet he knew that to try and do anything against them would mean almost certain destruction—both for the nation and for himself—so he walked the line between the two.

          This followed into his dealings with Jewish religious life.  John the Baptizer had made quite a stir with his teachings; and when Herod let himself get tricked into having him killed, he knew that it didn’t bode well with the people.  And so when Jesus came his way, he basically ignored him, sending him back to Pilate to be judged.

          The nascent group of Jesus’ followers, however, was causing a real stir in Judah and so, increasingly, Herod knew that he was going to have to act.  When he did take a firm action and had James the Apostle killed, he found that the people, in general, were pleased with this and, thus, that it boosted his image.  Emboldened by this, he then had Peter arrested so as to convict and execute him as well.  Perhaps he thought that if he worked swiftly and decisively against these followers of Jesus that he would get noticed by Rome (and at least secure his place as King of Judah).

          A federal judge here in Indiana has, in a way, done much of the same thing in this past week.  Seeing that bans on giving marriage licenses to couples of the same sex were being ruled “unconstitutional” in states across the nation, he ruled the same here in Indiana.  Now, I cannot stand here and claim that this was in any way an attempt by this judge to grab notoriety.  I don’t know anything about him except that he is the judge that ruled that Indiana’s ban on giving marriage licenses to same-sex couples is “unconstitutional”.  Nevertheless, it does seem to me to be an example of someone who might not otherwise tread out into tumultuous waters such as these being emboldened to do so because he sees that it is “pleasing to the people”.

          With Peter and Paul, however, we see that it wasn’t the political power that had the last word.  Although after having Peter arrested Herod had him bound and guarded tighter than any other criminal, God intervened and provided for Peter’s escape.  Of course, we know that this would be only a temporary escape and that in the not-so-distant future Peter would find himself in Rome where he would be crucified on the Vatican hill.  Nevertheless, this was a clear sign that God was in control and that he would not let Peter be martyred until he had finished the mission he had given him.

          In Paul’s letter to Timothy he speaks of how he, too, was delivered by God so that he could “finish the race”—that is, complete his mission here on earth.  He speaks of the Lord standing by him and giving him strength and of how the Lord rescued him “from the lion’s mouth” when all of his companions had abandoned him, so that “the proclamation might be completed”; which, for Paul, also led him to Rome where he, too, would be martyred.  These were meant to be proofs, both to Peter and to Paul—and to the Church and to those who were persecuting it—that God’s mission for these men (and, thus, the Church) would not be thwarted by the powers of this world.

          And this is the message that comes to us at this dangerous moment in the life of our nation (and, now, our state).  The powers that be continue to make decisions that undermine the institutions that are the foundations of our society.  These decisions are already negatively affecting the Church.  Catholic adoption agencies in states where couples of the same sex are given licenses to marry are forced to close their doors when federal funding is taken away from them because they refuse to place children in homes of same-sex couples.  Catholic health care institutions throughout the country are threatened by the Health and Human Services mandate that all employers must provide contraception in their employee’s health benefits.  Now, what constitutes a family is being completely redefined and it would be naïve to think that this will not, eventually, affect the Church.

          Yet what we celebrate today is that the sovereignty of God is greater than our fault-filled attempts to govern ourselves.  Just as God would not let Peter or Paul be martyred before their mission on earth was complete, so too he will not let these evil powers prevail against us until our mission here is complete.  We will only see that, however, if we remain faithful to our mission, like Peter and Paul did.  If we do, then we will be able to say, like Paul, that, even though we are “being poured out like a libation”, we know that the “crown of righteousness awaits [us]”; because we have “competed well” and have “finished the race”.  And, thus, we, too, will know that Jesus’ promise to Peter is true: for the “gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against [us]”.

          This, my brothers and sisters, is what we celebrate today: that, through Jesus, evil has been conquered, even if it still exists today; and that in his Church, founded on the pillars of the Apostles Peter and Paul, we are secure.  But, if we are secure, it is only so that we can fulfill our mission: the work of building up his kingdom that he has given to each one of us.

          Therefore, my brothers and sisters, we cannot lay idle.  Rather, we must finish the race.  Let us not think that we are too small to make a difference: for Peter was an uneducated fisherman, unqualified to lead, yet qualified by his faith in Christ, and Paul, although learned, was also a great sinner who, by God’s grace, turned from his effort to destroy the Church to become its greatest builder.  Each of us can and will make a difference if we remain faithful to our call and finish the race.  Fed and strengthened by this Eucharist—and by our support of one another—we cannot fail to finish it.

          Let us, then, take courage to continue to speak boldly the truths about God and the human person which God has revealed to us in Jesus Christ, and to act on them by serving one another, so that, when we have finished the race, we, too, might receive the “crown of righteousness” that both Peter and Paul received: the gift of eternal life.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – June 29^th, 2014

The Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul, Apostles

How to start a fire...

          Well, it's been a crazy weekend so far (and it isn't over yet!).  Confessions, wedding, baptisms, and catechism... I continually find it amazing that I'm constantly moving in and out of peoples' lives.  What a blessing for me!  I don't know if any one felt that way, but I hoped this week's homily would be a little challenging to people.  If you have any feedback, I'll take it!

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Homily: 20^th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          A few weeks ago, I spent some time with my niece and nephew and we watched the animated film, The Lorax.  It is based on the Dr. Seuss children’s book of the same name and chronicles the story of a young boy who visits a strange isolated man at the edge of town who purportedly can explain why the area is in such a run-down state.  The man, named the Once-ler, explains by way of flashback how he came to this once pristine land full of blissful animals and beautiful trees and began to use the “tufts” of the trees to make a product—Thneeds—through which he would make his fortune.

          As the first tree was cut down, he remembers, a mythical figure appeared: the Lorax, the protector of the forest.  Instead of being some great, powerful being that will destroy by force any threat to the forest, the Lorax appears as a prophet (now, before you think “bor-ing” remember, this is a Dr. Seuss book).  Thus, he confronts the Once-ler about his actions and then warns him of the dire consequences that will result if he continues to march forward with his plan unabated.  The Once-ler, surprised that this strange, mythical creature hasn’t invoked any supernatural powers to stop him, ignores him completely and presses forward with his plan: eventually destroying the forest (and, thus, the habitat for all of the blissful animals who lived there) and leaving the land desolate.

          In many ways, the Lorax is not unlike many of the ancient prophets of Israel, including Jeremiah.  These prophets were men chosen by God to speak the truth about current events and to announce the consequences of continuing to pursue particular courses of action.  In the case of Jeremiah, he was called by God at the time when the people of Judah had fallen away from following the Mosaic Law.  At first, he called for repentance and predicted that if the king and the people did not change their ways that God’s protection would leave them and that they would thus be subject to being conquered by neighboring nations.

          In the reading we heard from the Book of Jeremiah today, we see those consequences being played out.  Jeremiah’s prophecies went unheeded by King Zedekiah and Jerusalem, thus, was under siege and losing the battle.  Jeremiah continued to prophesy, however, saying that the city would be overthrown unless the king and all the people would repent and turn back to the Lord.  The princes of Judah refused to hear him any longer and so they came to the king asking to be allowed to dispatch him.  The king succumbed to their wishes and left him in their hands.  It was only through the hands of a foreigner, Ebed-melech, that Jeremiah was saved from death in the cistern.  Thus we see that prophets, and their prophesies, are meant to make us uncomfortable.

          In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus is claiming his role as a prophet.  He states in no uncertain terms that he has come to make us uncomfortable.  In fact, he’s come to “set the world on fire”!  Here we see that Jesus is more than a prophet: that is, a passive voice that speaks God’s truths and then leaves the consequences to the choices of those to whom he speaks.  His is an active voice that will challenge his hearers and force them to choose: either to repent and to follow him or to turn defiantly and definitively against him.

          His message, that he has come to establish division, instead of peace, makes us uncomfortable, because we want to believe that Jesus just wants us to be nice and to get along with each other.  Yet, his prophesy that households will become divided—that father will be divided against son and son against father; mother against daughter and daughter against mother—is still very relevant for us today as we see it being played out in our own families.  The challenge of Jesus is so strong that one has to choose either to follow or to turn away and, sadly, we see many families that have become divided and separated because of this.

          Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, a great abbot of the 12th century, wrote to one of his monks who had just been elected to be the pope in order to warn him not to become so accustomed to the hectic schedule demanded of him as the Bishop of Rome that he should become callous and unreflective.  In it he said: I am afraid that you will despair of an end to the many demands that are made upon you and become calloused and gradually suppress your sense of just and useful pain.  It would be much wiser to remove yourself from these demands even for a while, than to allow yourself to be distracted by them and led, little by little, where you certainly do not want to go.  Where?  To a hard heart.  Do not go on to ask what that is; if you have not been terrified by it, it is yours already.  A hard heart is precisely one which does not shudder at itself because it is insensitive…

          My brothers and sisters, if Jesus’ words today do not cause us some discomfort then perhaps we, too, have allowed our hearts to become hardened.  Maybe it is through our negligence as we allow the daily demands of our hectic schedules—the demands that world places on us—to gradually desensitize us from being stung by Jesus’ challenge to radical discipleship.  Or maybe our sin, like the greed of the Once-ler and the pride of King Zedekiah, hardened our hearts long ago so that we now despair of ever feeling true contrition once again.  Whatever the case may be, our call today is to acknowledge the state of our hearts, and, thus, our discipleship, and to recognize the call of the prophets to turn back to the Lord who, as the Psalmist says, “will draw us out of the pit of destruction to set our feet on secure ground.”

          Friends, I believe that Pope Benedict called for this Year of Faith and for a renewed focus on the New Evangelization because he saw Jesus calling out to us today using these same words that we heard in the Gospel reading: “I have come to set the earth on fire, and how I wish it were already blazing!”  This Year of Faith has been a call to us to shatter our hardened hearts and to return to the faith of the Church; and then to turn out and to set that flame of faith loose on the world so that the fire of Christ’s love will consume it entirely.

          Saint Catherine of Siena once said, “Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire!”  My brothers and sisters, God has called us to be prophets and evangelists who will set the world on fire for Christ.  But we cannot do this if we are clinging to our comfortable lives or to maintaining a “false peace” with our family members, friends, and neighbors who obstinately refuse to follow the truth.  We can only do it if we ourselves become living flames of faith by “ridding ourselves of every burden of sin and persevering in running the race that lies before us while keeping our eyes on Jesus,” as the author to the Letter to the Hebrews exhorts us to do today.

          Therefore, let us take courage.  For that same author also reminds us that “for the sake of the joy that lay before him [Jesus] endured the cross, despising its shame, and has taken his seat at the right of the throne of God.”  With his witness and with the witness of all the saints that have gone before us (the great “cloud of witnesses” spoken of in the second reading), we too can endure in our struggle against sin, even to the point of shedding our own blood.  For the promise of glory—the promise that is renewed for us every day on this altar—is already ours.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – August 17^th & 18^th, 2013

A noble title

            This was my last weekend in Jeffersonville.  But this was just the end of an incredibly busy weekend.  On Thursday evening, we had our second Around the World Party at Saint Meinrad, were seminarians prepare different foods from the home cultures (some as close as Louisville and as far as Vietnam).  Friday night we enjoyed the performance of The Taming of the Shrew by The National Players (with the subsequent "after party" at the UnStable).  I celebrated the ordination of my friend Julio Barrera to the diaconate in Bowling Green, KY on Saturday morning.  Then to Jeffersonville where I preached the Saturday evening mass before enjoying the nation's (and possibly the world's) biggest fireworks show, Thunder Over Louisville (and from one of the best spots, on the I-65 bridge going into Louisville).  Finally, I preached the masses on Sunday morning, the second of which I also baptized a little girl, Alexandra Grace.  Lot's of joy was experienced and a lot of calories were burned!  Only three weeks of seminary remain...

            Here is my homily from this weekend.  In reality, it should be experienced live because the whole idea is that the preaching of it itself is supposed to model the witness that it calls people to give.  Hopefully you will find some insight in it, however.  Enjoy!

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Homily: 3^rd Sunday of Easter – Cycle B

            In its most basic definition, a witness is someone who sees an event take place.  Typically, we associate a witness with legal proceedings.  Because of this, we all generally recognize that being a witness carries with it responsibilities, specifically the responsibility to recount what it is we have seen or experienced.  Here in the United States, one can only be demanded to “give witness” in a court of law.  Otherwise, we have the “right to remain silent.”  For Christians, however, this right doesn’t necessarily exist.  Certainly, our freedom to remain silent can never be taken from us.  Nevertheless, as Christians we believe that an encounter with the risen Christ demands a kerygmatic response.  It is in fact a response commissioned by Christ when he told his disciples, “You are witnesses….”

            Now I know many of you are probably looking at me and saying, “I was with you right up until that “K”-word.  Right, kerygmatic.  First let me tell you that it is not important that you know how to say this word and it is even less important that you know how to spell it (if it wasn’t for spell-check, I would get it wrong every time).  Now let me tell you what it means.  It’s a Greek word that means a convincing proclamation of what one has seen and heard.  For Christians, kerygma is a proclamation that the crucified and risen Jesus is God’s final and definitive act of salvation.  Imagine for a moment that someone would stand up in this assembly and say: “Brothers and Sisters, you remember this man, Jesus of Nazareth, the prophet mighty in word and deed, who worked many signs and wonders in our midst and whom we lauded as our king as he entered this city; this man whom we then watched as he was condemned wrongfully and led off to be crucified.  I stand before you today and tell you that he has been raised to life and that I have seen him.  And not only me, but these other men, too.  We have seen him face to face.  We have heard him talk and have seen his hands and his feet.  We have even seen him eat and so are assured that it is no ghost that we have seen, but a living man.  Truly, we tell you, this Jesus, whom you have crucified, has been raised to life.”  You can imagine that this kind of a witness would be pretty powerful.  This is exactly the witness that Peter gives in our first reading today.

            Taking a look at that reading again, we see that we are not given the context of Peter’s speech.  Why do you think that is?  Why do you think the Church cut out the parts that give us the context of Peter’s speech?  It is because the Church wants us to recognize that Peter is not only speaking to those people who were present at that historical point and time, but rather that he is also speaking directly to us today.

            And so when we read that Peter said that God “has glorified his servant Jesus, whom you handed over and denied in Pilate’s presence…” we can recognize that his plural “you” means all of us and hopefully we can also recall our experience of Good Friday, when, during the recounting of the Passion of our Lord, we shouted as the crowds did when Pilate wanted to release Jesus, “Crucify him!  Crucify him!”  And when Peter says “You denied the Holy and Righteous One and asked that a murderer be released to you” hopefully we will recall how we, too, chose Barabbas over Jesus.  We are called to feel convicted of our sins, which Peter intends when he says, “The author of life you put to death…” and then to feel the power of his next words: “…but God raised him from the dead; of this we are witnesses.”

            By leaving out the context, the Church calls us to acknowledge that Peter is announcing the conviction against us, reminding us that our sins, too, were what nailed Jesus to the cross.  Yet, Peter doesn’t condemn us, does he?  No, he doesn’t.  Rather, he speaks words of mercy.  First he calls us brothers.  In spite of our culpability, he reminds us that we are still family.  Then he speaks words of consolation.  “I know that you were unaware—that you were ignorant—of what it was you were doing.  God used your ignorance to fulfill his great plan.  Now, be ignorant no more.  God’s mercy is available to you.  Repent and the sins of your ignorance will be wiped away.”  In other words, he is saying that God has looked with mercy on our ignorance, but that he stands before us to tell us that we no longer have that excuse.

            My brothers and sisters, as sinners, we deserve Peter’s judgment, for it is our sins, too, that crucified Christ.  Yet, as baptized Christians, we find that we also stand in the Upper Room, where Christ appears and opens the Scriptures for us and declares to us that we, too, “are witnesses of these things.”  My brothers and sisters, we are witnesses.  We have encountered the risen Christ.  In fact, we encounter him every Sunday, here at this altar. Peter and the other disciples knew that once they had encountered the risen Christ, they could not remain in the Upper Room, but had to go forth from there to proclaim what they had seen and heard.  And so it is with us.  As much as we can no longer claim ignorance of our sins, no longer can we stand idle, either.

            Ite. Missa est.  Those old enough will recall that these are the words of dismissal from the mass as it was celebrated in Latin.  Ironically, even though the new English translation of the mass was intended to more closely emulate the Latin, the dismissal seems to have somehow escaped that treatment.  Literally (and somewhat slavishly) translated, the Latin phrase means “Go.  It is the dismissal.”  However, the word “dismissal,” in the sense that it is used in Latin, means something more than “you are free to go” like it does in English.  It means, rather, “you are sent forth” and it is understood that this “sending forth” involves some sort of mission.  Missa.  Dismissal.  Mission.  Those words all sound related, don’t they?

            Every Sunday we participate anew in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ; we encounter again the risen Lord in Word and Sacrament.  My brothers and sisters, we are witnesses.  Therefore, the dismissal at mass is never the end of our Christian obligation for the week, but rather it is just the beginning.  The privilege of being a witness—and it is a privilege—brings with it the responsibility to proclaim what we have seen and heard in every place where we live.  Just listen to our late Holy Father, Blessed Pope John Paul II, who said at the beginning of his pontificate, “Do not be afraid to go out into the streets and the public places—like the first apostles!—to preach Christ and the good news of salvation in the squares of cities.”  If we are to be authentic witnesses then we must take seriously this “sending forth” that we receive today and every Sunday.

            Does anyone know what the Greek word for “witness” is?  It’s martyr.  May our kerygma, our witness, of the risen Christ whom we encounter here at this mass earn us so noble a title.

~ Given at Sacred Heart and Saint Augustine parishes, Jeffersonville, IN: April 21-22, 2012