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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence strengthens us for the storms

Homily: 19^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          For many, it seems, that just when God seems to be closest, he allows great trials to befall his closest friends.  Our readings today touch on this theme.  The prophet Elijah, who at the time appeared to be the only person faithful to God after the northern kingdom of Israel abandoned their faithfulness to him, finds himself hunted down as a heinous criminal after having proven that Yahweh, the God of the Israelite people, is the true God and that the gods that the people of the northern kingdom had been worshiping (the baals) were false and powerless.  Because of this, Elijah fell into despair.  He had called down fire from God when the over 400 prophets of baal could do no such thing; and, instead of finding a people who turned to God (and thus, who might stand with him, instead of against him), he found a people ever more anxious to destroy him.  This was a great trial for Elijah, known as the man of God.

          Saint Paul, after his conversion on the road to Damascus, began a very fruitful mission of bringing the Gospel to the Gentiles: the people from any nation that wasn’t a descendent of the ancient Israelite nation.  Nonetheless, he was tormented constantly because the people of his own heritage, the Israelites, with whom God had established his covenant, had rejected his message and had failed to accept Jesus as the Christ, the Messiah whom God had sent.  He was so bothered by this that, in his letter to the Romans, he wrote that he would readily give himself up to condemnation (that is, to eternal separation from God) if it would mean that his people would accept Jesus as the Christ and thus see the covenant come to fulfillment.  This was a great trial for Paul, known as the Apostle to the Gentiles.

          In our Gospel, we read how, after the miraculous feeding of the 5000, Jesus sent his disciples across the sea in a boat through the night.  During the night, a storm arose, filling the disciples with fear for their lives.  So much so, that when Jesus came towards them, walking on the water (!), they thought it was a ghost and, thus, a sign of their impending death.  This, too, was a great trial for those known as first followers of Jesus.

          Saint Teresa of Avila famously summed up this experience of frustration and despair that can befall many who follow God closely and have experienced his powerful intervention in their lives.  She lived in the late 1500’s and worked strenuously to reform the Carmelite order.  To do so she travelled much.  As you can imagine, travel over long distances in the 1500’s was difficult, even when the weather was good.  Nonetheless, Teresa continued to travel and God continued to prove that he was in her work by the fact that she could overcome what seemed to be impossible obstacles to reform monasteries and to establish new ones.

          Her travels weren’t without their trials, however.  Famously, in one of her last journeys, Teresa and her companions found themselves in the midst of a horrific storm: one that completely flooded the road on which her carriage was traveling.  Undeterred, she encouraged her companions to go forward on foot.  When she had been just a little way, the water rushing around her almost swept her away.  At this, she looked up and cried out “Oh Lord, when will you cease from scattering obstacles in my path?”  “Do not complain, daughter,” the Lord reportedly answered, “for this is the way that I treat my friends.”  “Ah, Lord,” Teresa replied, “it is also because of this that you have so few!”

          One of the things that anyone who has accepted their vocation from God must face is the frustration and despair that can come when God seems to take his favor away from us, leaving us victim to the tumultuous forces of the world, even after he may have intervened in a powerful way in our lives.  In any one of these three episodes today we can probably find something of our own experiences.  Perhaps some of you have spoken up boldly against some wrong—maybe at work or in the community—only to find that those whom you expected to support you have turned against you and you begin to suffer more than if you had never spoken.  Or perhaps you made great sacrifices in your family—maybe even submitting yourself to great embarrassment among them—so that your children or grandchildren might grow in the Catholic faith, only to suffer as time and again they ignore and even reject your efforts.  Or maybe you’ve given of yourself and made sacrifices of both your time and your money to do the work of God to relieve some suffering for the poor, only to find that your own security is swept out from under you by the loss of a job or the support of a benefactor.

          While none of these things may ever destroy our belief in God, each one of them can, and often does, damage our trust in him.  As God has proven throughout history, however—in the Scriptures, in the lives of the saints, and in our own lives—he is never far from us when we find ourselves in the midst of these trials.  For Elijah, God allowed himself to be encountered in the “tiny whispering sound” in order to remind him that, in the midst of the clamor of the world seemingly fighting against him, God was close to him in the most silent recesses of his heart.  For Peter and the disciples, it was Jesus’ appearance in the midst of the storm, while unaffected by it, that could calm their fear and embolden them to step headlong into it (as evidenced by Peter’s trust in the Lord’s command to step out of the boat).  For Paul, it was the constant witness of the Scriptures that assured him that God’s promise to his people had not been revoked that motivated him to continue to proclaim the good news to the Gentiles: even to the point that he came to hope that it would be through the Gentiles that his people would eventually accept Jesus as the Christ.

          So it is for all of us, brothers and sisters.  We should in no way consider ourselves immune from this type of trial.  Rather, in the midst of these trials, we must give ourselves back over to God in trust: knowing that he, who did not abandon the great saints and prophets before us, will not abandon any of us, either.  In order to cultivate this trust, however, we have to do something that is increasingly difficult—nay, seemingly impossible—in today’s culture: we need to cultivate silence in our lives.  To do this, we must first turn off the external noise: the television, the internet, and our smart phones.  Then, comes the difficult work: for we must then confront our internal noise—our passions, anxieties, and frustrations—and seek to silence it as well by offering it all to God with acts of trust in his power to satisfy our every true desire and to save us from every trial.  Only then will we truly begin to hear the “tiny whispering sound” that is God’s assuring presence with us; and, thus, find the strength to persevere.  My brothers and sisters, we must take up this good work of seeking silence: for our lives of faith, literally, depend upon it!

          May God’s abiding presence in this Holy Eucharist fill us with peace to overcome every fear and to remain faithful to him until he comes again in glory.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – August 13^th, 2017

Worshiping Jesus for his glory

Homily: The Transfiguration of the Lord – Cycle A

          Lest anyone be confused, let me clear something up for you right away: today’s feast is not about us.  It’s about Jesus and about celebrating who Jesus has been revealed to be.  I know, I know… most times—especially during Ordinary Time—we can walk away from Mass on Sunday and say something like, “Okay, there’s something else that I can work on in my life as I strive to be a better Christian” or “That was interesting, what those readings said; I’m really going to try to figure out what that means and how I can apply it in my life”.  Today, however, there’s none of that; it’s really all about Jesus and who Jesus has been revealed to be.

          On the one hand, as a preacher, that kind of stinks.  You see, it’s much easier to preach when I can take what comes to us in Sacred Scripture and then find some way to apply it to our lives: in other words, when there’s a discernable “moral to the story”.  On the other hand, however, I’m kind of happy for it; because it “upsets the apple cart” a little bit and, maybe (just maybe) leads us to something even more inspiring.  Therefore, if this feast is all about Jesus, then let’s dive in and see what it has to tell us.

          In the book of the prophet Daniel, we are given this vivid description of a vision that Daniel experienced; and this vision was really about the end of time.  The vision is given to us in two parts.  In the first part, Daniel describes having seen the “Ancient One” (with a capital “A” and a capital “O”).  This was common terminology for God because it pointed to two of God’s essential attributes: his eternity and his wisdom.  Describing his appearance as having a “bright whiteness” indicates his absolute purity.  This, however, describes more than moral purity, but rather a purity of mind and heart that enhances his wisdom.  Unsullied by any impurity, therefore, the “Ancient One” is able to judge all things rightly.  The flames of fire that form his throne and that surge in streams from his throne indicate the great power that he commands; and the millions who minister to him indicate the wide breadth of authority that he exercises over all things.  Finally, we hear that a court is convened in his presence, indicating that the Ancient One is ready to exercise his judgment.

          In the second part of the vision, Daniel describes one being presented to the Ancient One, presumably for judgment.  He is described as one “like a Son of man, coming on the clouds of heaven”.  “Like a Son of man…” describes someone who is human in appearance, though it doesn’t necessarily mean that he or she is human.  The vision goes on to describe how this one receives from the Ancient One great power and authority over the entire universe and that this dominion that has been given him will be everlasting: never to be taken away or destroyed.  This second part of the vision is describing the Messiah, of course: the one who, ultimately, would restore God’s kingdom on earth.

          The recounting of the Transfiguration of Jesus in the Gospels echoes the images described in Daniel’s vision.  First, and most obviously, Jesus is “one like a Son of man…” who goes “up a high mountain”, which, in the ancient world, always meant “going to the heavens to meet/communicate with God”.  Then, he is transfigured before Peter, James, and John, whom he took with him; and what do we see?  His face “shone like the sun and his clothes became white as light”.  Interesting that the one whom we at first connect with the second part of Daniel’s vision is described as suddenly having an appearance of “bright whiteness”, like the Ancient One in the first part of the vision.  This points to something truly amazing: that Jesus truly is “one like a Son of man”, but also that he is so much more; that he, at least, shares in the eternal life, wisdom, and power of the Ancient One, and maybe even that he is of one being with the Ancient One.

          Reading further, we, of course, see that our suspicion that Jesus is the “one like a Son of man” from Daniel’s prophecy is confirmed, as Jesus not only converses with Moses and Elijah (thus, demonstrating his equality with the ancient law-giver and the greatest of Jewish prophets), but a cloud overshadows them all (indicating, of course, the “cloud of the presence” that filled the ancient temple and indicated that God had made his dwelling there) and a voice comes from the cloud declaring “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.”  The voice declares Jesus’ divinity (this is my beloved Son) and that he has been given authority over all things (listen to him).

          My friends, those who want to reduce Jesus to the level of a wise sage or a devoted charity worker have never seriously read these two passages together.  Jesus is a wise sage and he is devoted to relieving the sufferings of the poor, but to reduce him to these things misses the point of who he is in himself.  Jesus is God’s beloved Son, who, nonetheless, is like a Son of man: human in form, but still divine.  I hope that you all can see how amazing this is: that the Ancient One—the eternal God who created all things in this incredible universe—nonetheless cares so much for us that he sent us his Son to become one with us so that we could become one with him.  If there is anything in this message today that is for us, it’s this: that God didn’t come to make us nice people, but rather he came to make us like him—to transfigure us, so that we could be one with him.

          My brothers and sisters, today, like every Sunday, we worship God for having humiliated himself out of love for us by taking on a human nature in order to save us from sin and death (in other words, from eternal separation from him).  In a specific way, today, we worship Jesus who made his divinity known to us in his Transfiguration so that we might have the confidence to call him “Lord” and so that we might be filled with the hope of knowing that our human nature can be transformed by the divine power of God working within it.  And how does that divine power come into our human nature?  Well, there are seven specific ways that it comes to us.  Does anybody know what those seven ways are called?  Yes, the Sacraments.  When we receive any one of the seven Sacraments we receive a share of God’s divine life and, thus, make it possible for our nature to be transformed—transfigured—to be like his so that we can be one with him in eternity.

          Yes, my brothers and sisters, today’s feast is a celebration of Jesus and of who Jesus has been revealed to be.  We celebrate because, in revealing his full nature, Jesus also revealed who we can be when his divine life dwells within us.  As we place our sacrifice on this altar today, let us be mindful to unite to it our prayers of thanksgiving to God for his great mercy that brought Jesus to us, and for his divine life in which we will share more deeply when we receive this gift from this altar once again.  Through the intercession of Mary and the Apostles Peter, James and John, may each of our lives be transfigured so as to show forth the splendor of God’s glory to all those around us.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – August 5^th & 6^th, 2017

Fatherhood and the Eucharist

Homily: the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ – Cycle A

          Father’s Day, like Mother’s Day, is a great day because it is a day of remembering: remembering so as to honor.  If we stop for just a moment and think about it, we’ll see that this truly is a beautifully human thing: that we pause to recognize that there is something honorable in parenting (and, specifically, this weekend, in fatherhood).  That this year’s celebration of fathers coincides with our celebration of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ provides us with an excellent opportunity to reflect on fatherhood and the Eucharist.

          When we look at the Sacred Scriptures and the life of Jesus we detect many aspects of what it means to be a father.  A father has a real love for his children no matter how they may respond to him.  A father’s deepest desire is for his children to know and experience his love.  He desires the well-being of his children and teaches them how to love others by his example.  A father must at times correct, admonish and warn his children for protection’s sake.  A father always speaks the truth with love, even when it is difficult.  Christian fathers, in particular, must know how to teach their children to receive God’s love in prayer and to taste and see God at work in everyday life. Ultimately, when examined closely, we acknowledge that the fullness of fatherly love is the complete surrender that a man makes of himself for his children.

          We recognize these qualities in the life of Jesus in his preaching, in his teaching, in his healing and deliverance ministry, and especially in his loving relationship with his closest disciples, the apostles.  He speaks of his love for his apostles when he says "As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you, abide in my love."  He calls them friends.  He corrects them when he overhears them arguing over who is the greatest.  In order to remain faithful to the Father’s ways, Jesus strongly rebukes Peter with the words, "Get behind me Satan."  He prays for Peter personally as well as for the well-being of all the apostles and those who will believe in him in the future.  Jesus teaches his disciples to pray, calling God “Father”, and teaches them by his example to go off in quiet prayer.  Jesus promises the Advocate who will instruct the apostles in all matters and keep them in the truth.

          Since Christ is the “image of the invisible God”, we can see in him and by his example, the fullness of the Father’s love for us.  Truly, the giving of his Son is the fullest surrender of himself that God the Father could make for us.  The fact that this surrender continues to happen each and every day—each and every hour—on countless altars throughout the world, is evidence of the Father's unfathomable love for us.  Thus, in celebrating the real and enduring presence of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, what we are celebrating is the real and enduring Love of the Father poured out for us.

          Fatherhood, therefore, is fully realized when a father surrenders himself fully and continually for his children.  In other words, just as the outpouring of God the Father’s love for us is real and enduring, so the outpouring of a father’s love for his children must be both real and enduring.  While I could name for you a number of saints who demonstrated this fatherly virtue heroically, I’d like to introduce you to a great example who has not yet been nominated for sainthood, instead.  He is Karol Josef Wojtila, senior: Saint John Paul II’s father.

          The elder Karol was a retired soldier from the Polish army and a tailor.  He was widowed when young Karol, his son, was the age of nine.  He had already lost one daughter in infancy and later would suffer the loss of his eldest son, Edmund.  He was an upright man and a man of deep piety.  As an example, Saint John Paul II would recall that, after the death of his mother, his father took him into his parish church and led him to the image of Mary, Our Lady of Perpetual Help, and said to him: “She is your mother now.”

          While other men may have gotten lost in their grief and become distant from their family, Karol senior remained engaged in the lives of his sons.  He made his young son’s clothes himself, he did the cooking and cleaning, and he encouraged his sons in their friendships, their studies and their sports.  Above all, and especially for Karol junior, Karol senior formed his son’s early faith.  The Pope, himself, describes this best.  He wrote: “My father [was] a deeply religious man.  Day after day I was able to observe the austere way in which he lived.  By profession he was a soldier and, after my mother's death, his life became one of constant prayer.  Sometimes I would wake up during the night and find my father on his knees, just as I would always see him kneeling in the parish church.”  This real and enduring outpouring of love for his children had a deep and enduring impact on a man whose real and enduring outpouring of love would have a deep and enduring impact on the world.

          My brothers and sisters, the example of Karol Wojtyla senior shows us that being a father is about generating life.  This generation of life doesn’t end, however, after the conception of a child.  Rather, it must continue throughout the child’s life.  In other words, every father must make a real and enduring outpouring of his life so that his children may grow into life.  Logic tells us, of course, that one cannot give something that one does not have and so the question arises: “How can a father be continually filled with life so that he can continually pour out his life for his children?”  The answer is in our Gospel reading today.  There Jesus says: “Just as the living Father sent me and I have life because of the Father, so also the one who feeds on me will have life because of me.”  The answer, in other words, is the Eucharist.  Therefore, fathers, it behooves you to approach this altar frequently—even daily, if possible—because by receiving the Most Holy Body and Blood of Jesus in the Eucharist you receive Life, himself, and thus are filled with life so that you can pour yourself out for your children.

          And so, my friends, as we celebrate this wonderful gift that has been given to us—the real and enduring presence of Jesus: Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity in the Eucharist—and as we recognize and honor the fathers among us, let us give thanks to God the Father in heaven for this amazing gift of his love and let us pray for the fathers among us that, strengthened by this Holy Sacrament, they might continually generate life in their children, like Karol Wojtyla senior did, and thus produce an abundant harvest of life for the world.  Saint Joseph, patron of fathers, pray for us!

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – June 18^th, 2017

The Communion... that we share.

So I didn't get last week's homily up because I had to leave for the work camp trip with the youth early Sunday morning.  It's providential, I think, because I see these last two Sundays as being intimately connected.  In celebrating the Most Holy Trinity, we are celebration God, who is a communion of persons in himself.  In celebrating the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, we are celebrating that, through our participation in the Eucharist, God has invited us to share the communion that he is.  Thus, the two celebrations go together; and so, my homilies this week come to you... together ;-)

P.S. We had a great experience at Catholic Heart Work Camp in Milwaukee :-D

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Homily: The Most Holy Trinity – Cycle A

          I don’t know if any of you remember having finger painted when you were in kindergarten, but I would guess that most of you at least remember your kids having the opportunity to finger paint when they were there.  Now for kids, finger painting is kind of like a dream come true.  I have a blank slate, I don’t have to use any tools (except for those I’m most adept at using… my fingers) and I’ve been covered in an plastic apron which pretty much gives me license to make as big of a mess as I’d like to during the process.  For the kindergarten teacher, however, I imagine that finger paint day is the day that he or she has to summon up all of his or her courage to go to work.  This is a day in which every child at every moment is teetering on the brink of disaster.  Thus, while the goal of other days is success and accomplishments for the children, the goal of finger paint day (again, I imagine) is survival.

          If I remember my kindergarten art projects correctly (finger painting included), when all was said and done we almost always had something to show for it; and we almost always had a “big-‘ol hot mess” on our hands.  Nonetheless, I don’t remember one time when either my teacher or my parents took a look at what that mess produced and said anything but how beautiful it was.  Now (as you all know, I’m sure) it didn’t matter if the art project had any sort of artistic merit on its own; because it was the effort and the love that went into producing it (and its accompanying mess) that gave the project all of the merit it needed.

          Reflecting on this year’s Easter Vigil, I find myself making a lot of parallels.  It was my first time presiding at the Vigil Mass and if you’ve ever been to one you’ll know that it is a very complex liturgy.  There’s the liturgy of light, when we bring in the newly blessed Easter Candle, an extended liturgy of the Word, baptisms, confirmations, and first Holy Communions, all mashed together in one Mass.  Add on top of all of that the need to celebrate the liturgy in two languages and I shouldn’t have been surprised that the whole thing felt like one “big-‘ol hot mess”.  Nonetheless, after it was finished, almost everyone who spoke to me afterwards expressed just how beautiful they thought it was.  Just like in the finger painting, it wasn’t the product itself (the liturgy) that merited these comments, but rather it was the effort and the love  that went into celebrating it (and, of course, the presence of the Holy Spirit) that gained for it all of its merit.

          You know, for years men and women of faith have tried to figure God out.  All the way back to Abraham, Moses, and the Ancient Israelites and up until today, we have tried to come to grips with this God who, in spite of being all-powerful, nonetheless loves us and desires communion with us.  For the Ancient Israelites it was slightly easier.  God hadn’t yet revealed himself as three persons in one God.  Nonetheless, the mystery of the creating God who had chosen them for his people still kept them intrigued.  In Jesus, and through the Paschal Mystery, God has reveled himself as a Trinity: a mystery of three holy Persons in the one, singular godhead.  If you’ve ever tried to come to grips with this reality—and more so, if you’ve ever tried to explain this reality to someone else—then you’ve probably realized that it is a much more complex mystery even than what it seems; and that any explanation that you come up with probably leaves you (and your hearer) more confused than when you began.  In other words, you usually end up with a “big-‘ol hot mess.”

          Still further, when we try to live out of this reality—that God is three and God is one, and that, though perfect in himself, he nonetheless desires a relationship with us: a relationship that demands certain things of us—we often find that we fall short (way short) of what it is that this demands of us.  Perhaps some of us even despair that we could ever realize what has been promised to us.  Sometimes, no matter how hard we try, we find that we’re left with little more than a “big-‘ol hot mess.”

          This is where the grace of this feast that we celebrate today, the feast of the Most Holy Trinity, comes into play.  You know, we don’t celebrate this feast because we already know all that there is to know about the Trinity and thus hold it up like some kind of accomplishment.  We celebrate it, rather, because acknowledging God for who he has revealed himself to be is a way to help us deal with the messes that we make in our lives.

          In our first reading, we heard about Moses going up onto Mount Sinai with the stone tablets in his hand.  What we didn’t hear is that this was the second time that he was going up.  The first time he went up, he received the Ten Commandments from God.  And when he brought them down, he found that the people had gotten anxious while they were waiting for him to return and so decided to make an idol—an image of God—whom they then worshiped.  So angry was Moses to see this that he threw down the stone tablets and shattered them to pieces.

          Thus, Moses went back up the mountain to beg God for another shot, for him and for his people.  The people had gotten themselves in a “big-‘ol hot mess” and Moses went back to ask for mercy (and for another copy of the Ten Commandments).  When God revealed himself to Moses a second time, he did not call himself “the God of wrath and vengeance”, but rather “a merciful and gracious God, slow to anger and rich in kindness and fidelity.”  At hearing this, Moses, already fearful of God’s response, could only fall down and worship; that this God, powerful beyond comprehension, would spare this people who had made such of mess out of his graciousness was truly a thing of wonder.  At that moment, Moses saw who God really was and he was filled with awe.

          For all of us here today, this feast provides us with an opportunity to experience something of what Moses experienced on the top of Mount Sinai.  We all come here, having been here before and having heard all of God’s admonitions for how to live our lives in constant communion with him, and we realize that, in spite of our best (or, perhaps even, our barely minimal) efforts to fulfill all that God has commanded us, we have fallen short and basically have made a “big-‘ol hot mess” out of it all.  Nonetheless, we come here and God reveals himself to us for who he really is—the Father, whose creative, life-giving love has made us and sustains us, the Son, whose saving love redeemed us from our sin, and the Spirit, whose sanctifying, healing action works among us even now—and our reaction is (or at least it should be) the same as Moses’: to fall down and worship him who so graciously revealed himself to us.

          This loving, merciful God who has revealed himself to us in three persons looks upon all that we have done—good, bad, and everything in-between—and he sees the mess it has produced.  More than anything, however, he sees the effort and the love that we put into striving to fulfill his commandments; and his response is the same response that we give when we receive a kindergartner’s finger painting: “Yeah, it’s a mess, but it’s beautiful.”

          My brothers and sisters, as our Holy Father encouraged the young people at World Youth Day last year, let us not let our fear of stirring things up and making a mess prevent us from trying our hardest to fulfill God’s command to go out into the world and make disciples.  In fact, let’s be intent on making a mess: for from out of that mess God’s Kingdom will come, the beautiful mess that unites us perfectly to the Holy Trinity; Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – June 14^th, 2014

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Homily: Corpus Christi – Cycle A

          As Americans, we know that we can be pretty pragmatic.  We like things to fit into structures and routines so that we really don’t have to think about them.  As a result, things that we do frequently become common or ordinary to us and we oftentimes forget how important they really are for us.  Consider our morning breakfast: a couple of pieces of toast or perhaps a bowl of cereal, a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee and we’re on our way.  Yet, it throws our whole day off, doesn’t it, if we find we’ve run out of bread or someone finished the last bowl of our favorite cereal.  We just feel better if it remains the same, day in and day out, and we don’t realize how important it is to us until we don’t have it anymore.

          In today’s first reading, we hear Moses reminding the Israelite people, who had been wandering in the desert for forty years after leaving Egypt, about what a miracle it was for them to have the manna as food for their journey.  Way back at the beginning of their journey, the Israelites grumbled against Moses and against God after they were led out into the desert from Egypt because they had no source of food to sustain them during their exodus.  God responded and promised “bread from heaven,” the manna that appeared each morning like dew across the ground.  Each day the Israelites would gather enough to feed their family for the day and on the next day—faithfully, for forty years—more would appear.  If you could imagine what it would be like to eat the same food every day for forty years straight, you might understand that the Israelites began to take this blessing for granted.  The manna, as miraculous as it was, had become common and the Israelites had come to take it for granted.

          I would venture to say that some of us here might experience a similar problem.  Many of us have been parishioners here for a long time: perhaps some of us even for forty-plus years.  We know what mass we attend and where we generally sit (I say “generally” because there are always those “floaters” who sometimes end up in our seats, right?), the music perhaps is somewhat predictable and we generally know what to expect from the experience—I mean, the mass is the mass, right?  And it all becomes very routine for us.  Even though every week we are called here to worship God and to receive the Body and Blood of Jesus in the form of bread and wine—the true bread come down from heaven—we nonetheless sometimes find ourselves looking forward more to the opportunity to meet with friends; or on the flipside considering it a chore to be drudged through so that we can get on with the rest of our day.  Because we come here every week and because the mass—by design, by the way—generally looks and feels the same, it has become familiar to us and perhaps we forget what a miracle it is to be called here to receive the Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ.

          As we look back again at the Israelites and Moses’ speech from the first reading today, we recognize one important fact.  In spite of all of their years of taking it for granted, God never once failed to provide it for them.  For forty years the Israelites wandered, grumbled, and wandered some more and in all of that time God never failed to provide them with that miraculous bread from heaven.  The manna, therefore, was their viaticum—which literally translates to “on the way with you”, but less formally means “food for the journey.”  Manna was the miraculous “bread from heaven” that sustained them on their way and was their reminder of God’s providential presence with them throughout it all.

          In giving us this great feast of Corpus Christi, the Church is doing what Moses did for the Israelites a few thousand years ago.  It is reminding us of what a miracle it is that we are called here every week and have the opportunity to receive the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ in the form of bread and wine.  It is a reminder that, even if we sometimes take it for granted, God will never fail to give us the Eucharist, our viaticum, our “food for the journey.”  And this is so important for us to remember.  Not just because it is food—obviously the little portion that we receive is not much to satisfy us—nor only because it is spiritual food—which of course it is—but primarily because it is our intimate comunion with God.  God gave the Israelites bread for their bodies, but the manna, however, was just that, bread.  The bread that God provides us in the Eucharist is both bread for our bodies and spiritual food to nourish us on our journey, but because it is the Body and Blood of Jesus, our Lord, it is also a participation in the intimate communion that is God: the communion which we celebrated last week in the feast of the Most Holy Trinity.  The Body and Blood of Jesus is the fulfillment of what the manna of the ancient Israelites foreshadowed.  It is the sacrament of God’s presence intended to effect, that is, literally, to make, our communion with God, until that day when we cross over from this life into the land promised to us, not the land of Canaan that God promised to the Israelites, but rather God’s heavenly kingdom.

          My brothers and sisters, the real, sacramental presence of God—the Body Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Jesus Christ—in the form of bread and wine is the most perfect gift that God has given us.  It is the sign of God’s presence with us, even in the midst of our worst afflictions.  Many people today, much like the people of ancient Israel, often want extraordinary signs that God is with them in their affliction.  What I want you all to realize today, however, is that God has given us such a sign.  Yet, in his great condescension to us he has allowed this extraordinary sign to be experienced by us as ordinary.  I realize that sometimes when we are in the midst of our worst afflictions, we want—we feel we need—the clouds to part and a voice to come from the sky saying, “It’s ok, I am with you.”  We want to see Jesus face to face and have him put his arm around us and say, “I know that this is hard, but look I haven’t left you.”  But what I am telling you is that God has done that for us.  Every time that we walk into a church and mass is being celebrated, or even if we only get a glimpse of that red candle flickering in the corner—we can know that God has not abandoned us, but rather that he is with us.  Thus, in the midst of our worst afflictions, God calls us to run to him in the Blessed Sacrament.  He calls us to receive him as often as possible so that his presence may comfort us and strengthen us for the journey.  This is why he sent his Son to us and this is why Jesus instituted this great sacrament.  He did it for us.

          Moses needed to remind the people of Israel that the sign of God’s providential care was something right under their noses: the miraculous bread from heaven that they received every day.  Today, the Church gives us this great feast of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ to remind us of the same thing and more.  The Blessed Sacrament that we receive ordinarily from this altar is the sign of God’s providential care as we wander as pilgrims on this earth.  It is also the bread that will strengthen us to remain steadfast in faith through all of our trials.  Most importantly, it is our intimate connection to God, who desires communion with us.

          As we continue to plow head-long back into the “routine” of ordinary time, let us strive to remember what an extraordinary gift it is that God has given us, the invitation, as Saint Paul says, “to participate in the body and blood of Christ,” and let us strive to celebrate this gift as extraordinary, even amidst our ordinary participation in it, an opportunity that we enjoy here today.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – June 21^st & 22^nd, 2014

The Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ (Corpus Christi)

This is nice, but isn't there more?

          Jesus revealed his glory to his closest followers before his crucifixion so that they would be sustained in faith (even amid doubts and confusion) after his crucifixion.  He did this to show them that he did not come to make this world perfect, but rather to perfect us for our destiny in the next.  Let us commit ourselves to achieving greater holiness this Lent!

P.S. If you'd like to see the whole story as Fr. Larry tells it, click here.

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Homily: 2^nd Sunday of Lent – Cycle A

          One of my favorite preachers is Father Larry Richards and in one of his most well-known talks he tells the story of a man from Crete, which is one of the islands of Greece.  This man, he says, was a great man and he loved his land.  Not only did he love his land, but all the people of his land loved him.  Whenever somebody died, he was always the first person to come and offer condolences.  Whenever a new baby was born, he was always the first person to come and offer congratulations.  And all of this because he so deeply loved his land and his people.

          Finally, when he was ninety-nine years old, it was time for him to die.  Surrounded by his ten children, he asked them to carry him out to the secluded spot in the back of his farm, which was his favorite spot to pray, and to lay him down on the earth.  There, as he closed his eyes for the last time, he clenched in his hands the dirt of the land he so dearly loved and he died.

          He awoke to find himself standing at the gates of heaven and when God came forth to welcome him in, he first asked the man what it was that he had in his hands.  “This is Crete,” he said, “it is all that I ever loved in the world.”  God looked at him and said, “Sorry, no dirty hands in heaven.”  Upset by this, but unable to let go of the one thing he held so dear in his life, the man turned away and God went back into heaven and closed the gate behind him.

          As the story goes, God would return two more times to implore the man to let go of the remnant of his beloved land so as to enter into heaven.  At the first, the man still refused to let go.  But at the second, the man found that the dirt in his hands had become so dry that it was now slipping uncontrollably out of his hands.  So, at God’s prompting, he opened his hands and just then the Spirit of God blew forth a strong wind that swept away every last remnant of the man’s beloved land.  Then, taking the man’s hand, God led him through the gates of heaven.  And when the man entered heaven what do you think that it was that he saw, but the land of Crete laid out completely before him.

          I share this story with you today because it is a great story and a great reminder that God never takes anything away from us, but rather only asks us to let go of some things so that he can give us more.  I also share it with you because I think it demonstrates for us just how short-sighted our vision can be at times.  This man thought that he had everything that he had ever wanted in the land of Crete and thus he let the vision of his life become limited to the years that he spent on earth.  He couldn’t imagine heaven being anything better than what he enjoyed on earth and so he tried to take his greatest joy on earth with him into heaven.  He had lost the vision that God promised to give him the “fullness of joy” in heaven and so stubbornly clung to the passing joy of the earth until it finally (and literally) passed out of his hands.

          In a way, this is the same lesson that Jesus is giving to his disciples Peter, James, and John in our Gospel reading today when he invites them up onto a high mountain to reveal to them the fullness of his nature.  Now, when the Scriptures speak of going up onto a “high mountain” they are always referring to the place where man encounters God.  There, Jesus reveals the fullness of his nature—the divine nature that coexists with his human nature—in order to point to the transcendent end of his being on earth (that is, to the fact that his coming in this world wasn’t meant for this world alone, but rather to re-open the possibility for man to enter the glory of God in the next world).  The disciples, however, are slow to see the meaning behind this and focus, rather, on clinging to the event in this world.

          “Well, this is nice,” Peter said, “why don’t we build some tents and stay here?”  Jesus, however, intended for this to be a lesson that would extend their vision beyond an earthly end and towards the end that he came to establish: that is, the return of man to perfect communion with God.  Thus the cloud (which, in biblical terms, always connotes the presence of God) descends upon them and overshadows them, and the voice from the cloud speaks to them, and it is then that they realize that something otherworldly is happening to them and they fall down in reverence and in fear of the absolute power that has overshadowed them.  Thus we see that Jesus didn’t take them up on that mountain to have a “nice” experience or to show off his divine nature to them (good as that was!), but rather to have an experience of the absolute holiness that he possessed and that he was calling them to enter into.

          I think that if we look at our own lives that we, too, will find that our vision of what we are here for has become somewhat limited.  If I asked you what you thought the prevailing moral norm is that governs our society, many of you might say “To love your neighbor as yourself”: and that’s good!  But if I asked you to tell me what that means in real life, I suspect that the answer many of you might give would be “To be nice and try to get along with everyone.”  Well, this is fine if all that you are concerned with is trying to have a peaceful life here on earth.  If, however, we are placing our vision on our eternal end in heaven, then we need to take just as seriously Jesus’ other, very strong moral mandate: “Be yourselves holy just as your Father in heaven is holy!”  This goes beyond being “nice” and sometimes means that we will have to act rather harshly with others.  It reminds us that while harmony in this world is a goal, it isn’t our end.  Our end, rather, is the vision of Jesus’ glory and being overshadowed by the presence of God!

          My brothers and sisters, Jesus did not say “just be good and nice to each other and you’ll be fine.”  Rather, he said “Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness and all the rest will be given to you.”  And what is God’s righteousness?  Well, nothing short of the absolute holiness that he revealed to Peter, James, and John on the high mountain that day!  Don’t just be nice, then, but be holy!  And what does that mean?  Well, it means overshadowing the world with God’s presence: with his uncompromising love for each and every one of his creatures, most especially our brothers and sisters who live among us.

          Friends, this time of Lent is a time for rediscovering this incredible gift that God has given us in restoring our humanity to full glory in Jesus; and for reconciling ourselves with, and re-conforming ourselves to, that truth so that we might overshadow the world with God’s love and one day enjoy the Easter glory of Jesus in heaven; the glory that we encounter in sacrament here in this Eucharist.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 15^th & 16^th, 2014