Letting Go

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 indicates 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 is the prevailing moral norm 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 Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – March 7^th & 8^th, 2020

Receive mercy, give mercy.

Homily: 5^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          In March of 2003, I was an engineer who had set himself on a path towards a career in the automotive industry.  I was at a point in my life when I knew that there were some things that would have to change—not so that I could be successful, but rather so that I could be happy—but I never thought that those changes would take me too far from engineering.  Nevertheless, after participating in a parish mission, I realized that my life might soon be radically different.

          You see, during that parish mission I had encountered Jesus in a very personal way; and when I encountered him I was suddenly deeply aware of my sinfulness (and of how broken I was because of my sinfulness).  There I went to confession for the first time in what had been over 12 years and I experienced in a profound way the depths of God’s mercy.  I left from that week knowing that my life had changed forever—that is, that God would be sending me in a different direction—even though I wouldn’t know what that direction would look like until some time later

          One of the things that I did quickly realize, however, was that my life would now have to be focused on others.  In other words, I knew that, because I had received God’s mercy, God wanted me to be an instrument of his mercy to others.  Thus, even while I prayed to discern God’s vocation for my life, I began to involve myself in the various outreach ministries in my parish.  Of course, (as Paul Harvey was wont to say) we all know the rest of the story: that the specific way that God was calling me to be an instrument of his mercy was to be a priest in his Church.

          The prophet Isaiah was a minister in the Temple of Jerusalem.  One day, while performing his liturgical duties in the Temple, Isaiah was given a vision of the glory of heaven and of the presence of God.  In spite of the splendor of this vision, Isaiah turns away from it because, in the presence of God, he is acutely aware of his sinfulness—and, thus, his unworthiness to stand in God’s presence.  Just then an angel carries an ember from the altar and “purifies” him by touching it to his lips so that he no longer has to fear being in the presence of God.  Isaiah was mercifully cleansed from his sinfulness.  In response, when the voice of the Lord calls out for someone to send on a mission, Isaiah promptly replies, “Here I am; send me!”  Although he was already ministering to the Lord in the Temple, his experience of God’s mercy inspired him to volunteer to be sent forth on a mission to be the voice of God’s mercy to others.

          Peter was a fisherman in Galilee.  He must not have been a bad fisherman, either, because the Gospel tells us that Jesus got into the boat “belonging to Simon” and only those who had been successful could afford to own their own boat.  After Jesus had instructed him to put out into deep water and lower his nets for a catch—at a time of day in which no one would catch anything, and after having spent the night (that is, the good time for catching fish) lowering his nets and catching nothing—Peter was astounded at the catch that was made and knew that he was in the presence of someone powerful.  This realization was immediately followed by an acute awareness of his own sinfulness; and so Peter bows down before Jesus and acknowledges as much before him.  Jesus, however, shows him mercy and gives him a commission to draw others to experience his mercy, too, when he says: “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching men.”

          And although it wasn’t recounted for us in our reading today, Paul’s career as an Apostle is a direct result of the same pattern.  On the road to Damascus—when he was still persecuting the first Christians—Paul encountered the Risen Jesus.  After that appearance, Paul was acutely aware of his sinfulness.  God showed him his mercy, however, and then sent him out to proclaim the Good News of his mercy to the nations.  Paul, in his letter to the Corinthians, does acknowledge this for us when he says “For I am the least of the apostles, not fit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.  But by the grace of God [that is, the mercy of God] I am what I am, and his grace to me has not been ineffective.”

          This pattern, I think, can be summed up in a simple phrase: Receive mercy, give mercy.  In each of these examples that I’ve recounted—in spite of the very different circumstances in which each occurred—the person became aware that he was in the presence of God and, thus, became acutely aware of his sinfulness.  Acknowledging his sinfulness before God, however, God showed him his mercy.  Having received God’s mercy, he then turned to become an instrument of God’s mercy in the world.  In other words, first he received mercy and then he gave it.  And although this might seem to be something that only “exalted” figures in the church can experience—figures such as prophets, apostles, or priests—this is not an experience only for the “chosen few”.  Rather, it is something that all of us can experience.

          In order to receive mercy, one must first acknowledge his or her sinfulness before God.  We are all sinners and so to acknowledge this openly before God invites him to show us his mercy.  Then, having received his mercy, our lives our changed and we go forth, not to return to our sinful way of life, but rather to live our lives for him and to be instruments of his mercy in the unique vocation that he has given to each of us.  Pope Francis, in a message for Lent a few years ago, said that “God’s mercy transforms human hearts; it enables us, through the experience of a faithful love, to become merciful in turn.”  In other words, when we receive God’s mercy we are transformed and, thus, enabled to give mercy to others.

          Lent is still a little less than a month away, however, and for this I am grateful.  I’m grateful because this is a message that we need to receive in the midst of Ordinary Time: the time in which we focus on our discipleship and the day-to-day living out of our Christian vocations.  This simple formula—receive mercy, give mercy—is the story of salvation in a nutshell; and it is the story that must be on our lips and in our actions when we interact with others.

          If you heard my homily last weekend (or if you pre-read my bulletin column this weekend), you’ll know that I exhorted us to reclaim the Church’s rightful title by becoming evangelical again.  To do so, I identified three tasks of evangelization that we must take up: witness, invitation, and service.  Witness: telling others about the mercy we have received.  Invitation: inviting others to receive that same mercy.  Service: mercy shared with others as a sign of the mercy that has been given to us.  People today are starving to know that there is mercy for them and to experience it.  We are in contact with the fountainhead of mercy, itself; and so we must be ready to help everyone find and experience it.

          Nevertheless, we ourselves must regularly return to the fount of mercy to renew our experience of receiving mercy so that we can be renewed in our efforts to give it.  This is where the Sacrament of Reconciliation comes in.  When we regularly return to this sacrament, we renew that original encounter, in which we acknowledge that we are in the presence of God (and our unworthiness to be there) and then receive from him the mercy of his forgiveness.  Having received God’s mercy we are told to “go in peace”: that is, to go and give witness to the mercy we have received in our words and actions.  Without this regular renewal, our efforts at evangelization will fall short and the Church will continue to shrink.

          Strengthened by our confessions—and, as always, by this Eucharist that we celebrate—we can become great instruments of God’s mercy and, thus, renew God’s Church.  Our Mother Mary, received such great mercy when she agreed to give birth to God’s Son.  She then turned and gave (and continues to give) such great mercy to others.  May she intercede for us so that our efforts will be fruitful; and so that God’s kingdom of mercy may flourish among us.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – February 9^th & 10^th, 2019

Jesus saves us from the zombie apocalypse

          I preached for the third scrutiny today and the readings centering around the Gospel reading of the Raising of Lazarus.  Enjoy!

Image from the scene of "Hungry Eyes" shot in Logansport 

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Homily: 5^th Sunday of Lent – Cycle C (Scrutinies)

          A couple of years ago, I was home visiting my folks and we were in the car going out to dinner when I noticed on the back windows of a couple of cars stickers that referenced a coming “Zombie Apocalypse”.  The one I remember clearly said: “Zombie Apocalypse Survival Vehicle”.  I turned to ask my sister if this was something I was imagining or if people really were worried about a zombie apocalypse and she told me that was kind of a “thing” that people were into.  Since then I’ve noticed that there seems to be a fascination with zombies: the TV series, “The Walking Dead”, the 2011 film “Zombie Apocalypse”, and the 2013 film “World War Z” all testify to this.

          In fact, poor Fr. Clayton received an awkward first impression of Logansport when, on the first day of his assignment here, as I was taking him out to dinner, we passed by a group of people who were all made-up like zombies for the filming of that scene of the film “Hungry Eyes” that was filmed here in Logansport.  I recall distinctly that he responded with what has now become his quite commonplace response: “Where am I?”

          So, why have we become so fascinated with zombies?  Well, that I can’t really answer.  As a subject for entertainment, however—that is, for those who are entertained by these type of gory thrillers—I can propose a few thoughts.  First, of course, is that they are “thrillers”—that is, they get our blood pumping—and in this way, they are kind of like roller coasters; which, if they don’t make us sick, are a lot of fun.  Second is that there is something about this idea of dead bodies coming back to life: only this time without any rational soul and with an insatiable desire to consume human flesh.  I mean, it’s our worst nightmare, right?  Every other threat to our lives we can stop by killing it, ultimately.  But what about those who are already dead?  How do you kill what’s already dead?  And how do you stop something that doesn’t seem to need food to survive, but nonetheless has an insatiable need to eat?  Yes, it’s our worst nightmare, but it is just far enough removed from any reality that we know that we’re not traumatized by seeing it portrayed on a screen.

          If we take a step back and reflect for a moment, however, we may realize that this nightmare is something that we are more ready to embrace and to face.  You see, in an era in which more and more people are turning away from the idea that there can be new life after death, anything that “re-animates” after having died will assuredly be monstrous: the idea of resurrection (that is, that life is renewed or reborn, not just resuscitated) is thought of as absurd.

          You see, death is a reality that we all must face.  For those of us in the Judeo-Christian tradition, death is a result of sin and the decay associated with death is the evidence that, separated from God, no life can be sustained.  We believe that God has the power to restore us to life, however, and so when Ezekiel says “Thus says the Lord God: O my people, I will open your graves and have you rise from them;” we don’t think of the zombie apocalypse (though, perhaps, now you will), rather we think about being resurrected to new life.  In a very real way, this is exactly what Jesus proved when he raised Lazarus from the dead and, more poignantly, when he himself rose from the dead.

          For those who have abandoned this tradition, however, death is simply the final part of life and the decay associated with death is simply the natural breakdown of the material body once the animating power no longer exists.  In this there is no power to restore life: only nightmarish concepts of bodies rising from graves by some unknowable power only to suck the lives out of those who are still living.  And so we see that, in a world in which God is denied (or simply ignored)—that is, a world without the resurrection of Christ—any concept of life after death can’t be anything more than the zombie apocalypse.  By acknowledging Christ’s resurrection, however, we come to realize that life after death isn’t something monstrous; rather it is something new and glorious and to be sought after.

          Eight of our brothers and sisters have acknowledged Christ’s resurrection and so have come to realize that God offers us something beautiful after this life is through.  Their desire is to be united to that offer (like the rest of us have been) through Baptism at the Easter Vigil.  To help them prepare, we have spent the last weeks scrutinizing them: calling them to turn away from sin and towards new life in Christ and today is our final scrutiny, in which we will remind them that only Jesus can save us from the death that sin has imposed upon us and ask God once again to free them from any and every attachment to sin to which they might still be clinging.

          And, of course, this message is also for all of us: a reminder of the necessity to remain vigilant against any attachment to sin that may creep into our lives.  One of the best ways that we do this, of course, is to make frequent use of the sacrament of reconciliation.  By making good and sincere confessions regularly throughout the year, we keep tabs on which sins in our lives have become habitual—and, thus, have become an attachment to our lives—so that we can take steps to remove these sinful habits and replace them with virtuous ones.

          My brothers and sisters, Jesus Christ, Emmanuel, God with us, has proven to us that, while death will still touch all of us, life after death will not be a nightmarish zombie apocalypse: at least not for those who have been united to him in a death like his through Baptism.  Rather, it will be new and glorious if only we remain faithful to him throughout our short time here in this world.  Let us pray, then, for our brothers and sisters, the elect—and let us pray also for ourselves—that, strengthened by our celebration of this Holy Eucharist, we may come to the realization of that glorious new life that awaits us: the eternal Easter of heaven.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 13^th, 2016

Rejoicing in the Good News about redemption

Homily: 4^th Sunday of Lent – Cycle C

          In the 2008 film “Seven Pounds”, actor Will Smith plays the role of “Tim Thomas”, an aeronautical engineer who made a life-shattering mistake.  While driving one night with his fiancé, Tim tries to send a text message using his phone.  While distracted he accidentally crosses the center line of the road and causes a multi-car accident in which seven people die: six strangers and his fiancé.  Completely overcome by grief, Tim sets out to make atonement for his mistake by searching for seven individuals for which he can offer part of himself in order to drastically improve or even save their lives.

          Tim’s generosity is conditional, however.  The seven individuals that he will help have to be “good” people: people who are deserving of receiving this unsolicited act of kindness.  Over the course of the next year and a half Tim donates part of a lung, a part of his liver, a kidney and bone marrow to help individuals whom he has encountered and whom he deems “good enough” to receive them.  Next he donates his house to a single mother of two children who feels trapped in an abusive relationship.  Finally, he will give his life to donate his heart to a woman who has congenital heart failure and his eyes to a man who is blind.  In each of the cases, he did these things anonymously (using a false identity) so that the people who received his gifts would not be able to contact him to thank him or try to pay him back.  In the end, you get the sense that he has “made up for” the seven lives that were lost by his mistake by saving the lives of seven other individuals at the cost of his own life.

          This is a good film on many levels as it deals with a very human issue: how do we deal with guilt and our natural need to make atonement for our mistakes?  We are sympathetic with Tim Thomas’ plight: who wouldn’t want to try to atone for the pain and suffering that one has caused?  And we are sympathetic with the conditions that he uses to decide who he will help: because who doesn’t think that people who have strived to do the right thing in their lives deserve to be rewarded by receiving help to overcome their hardships?  Nevertheless, the film portrays an atheistic, or at least deistic, understanding of mercy and redemption.

          You see, if there isn’t a God—or at least if God is just a “divine watchmaker” who created the world and set it in motion and now sits back to watch it tick—then there is no one to turn to who is greater than the powers of this world; and so the only hope of redemption from our mistakes that we will ever have is to become the savior ourselves: going so far as to give our lives to atone for our mistakes, if we have to.  In this view there is no atoning for others’ mistakes; and thus there can be no mercy on those unable to atone for themselves.  There’s only “eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth” justice.  Given this worldview, Tim Thomas is a hero because he made his one life atone for the seven lives that were lost by his mistake.  But this is not the worldview of Christians, which is displayed perfectly for us in our Gospel reading today.

          In proposing this parable, Jesus is responding to the Pharisees and the scribes who are confronting him about keeping company with those who were regarded as sinners: that is, those who had turned their backs on God to go their own way.  These folks, like Tim Thomas, had a similar idea of “mercy”: that is, that the blessings of God should only be given to “good” people—that is, those who deserved it by living a righteous life according to the Law.  The parable, therefore, was meant to show them (and, so, to show us) that we don’t earn God’s mercy by first atoning for all of our sins.  Rather, God’s mercy is pure grace, that is, gift.

          Those of us who understand what a gift it is to live in God's favor will conform our lives to his will because we acknowledge that he is a loving Father who only wants what is good for us and because we trust that the inheritance promised to us will be ours.  Those of us who have taken the gift for granted and have squandered it are nonetheless still loved by God and God is ready to receive us back, because as his beloved children he still desires to provide us with everything that will make us happy, even if we have turned our backs on him.  Simply stated, God's mercy is available to everyone who humbly ask for it, not just those who "deserve" it.

          In the worldview presented in the film “Seven Pounds”, one has to be heroic, like Tim Thomas, in order to atone for his or her sins, because there is no mercy, only strict justice.  In the Christian worldview, however, atonement has been made and thus mercy is available to those who could not atone for their sins themselves.  And because mercy is available, so is hope: hope that one can be redeemed even without having made personal atonement.  This is the parable of the Prodigal Son: the story of one redeemed not by personal atonement, but rather by mercy.

          Lent, my brothers and sisters, is a time to remind ourselves that this is the world that we live in: a world in which, because of mercy, we can be redeemed without the need of personal atonement.  And we remind ourselves of this by doing three things: reflection, repentance, and reconciliation.

          Reflection: Have I turned my back on God (like the prodigal son)?  Have I done terrible things in my life?  Or, have I been striving to live according to God's will, but have been proud and judgmental about it (like the older son)?  Have I shunned anyone because they have turned away from God?  Do I desire that all men and women be reconciled to God?

          Repentance: If I have turned my back on God (again, like the prodigal son), I turn back to him now to beg his forgiveness and mercy.  If I have done terrible things, I don't try to atone for them by myself, but rather I confess my sins and amend my life: because a long life turned away from sin has much more value than "eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth" justice.  If I have shunned sinners as undeserving of God's forgiveness (again, like the older son)—if I have judged others as "un-savable" and so have given up on them—I turn to recognize them as my brother or sister: as someone for whom our Father literally aches, and I commit myself to reaching out to them.  Recognizing the reconciliation of God in my own life, I turn to work for the reconciliation of others to God.

          Reconciliation: When I turn from any of these things, I immediately turn back to the Father and I approach the sacrament of reconciliation.  Like both the prodigal son and the older son who finds their Father waiting for them, so our heavenly Father waits for us in the confessional, door open and ready to receive his lost son or daughter who has repented so that he might celebrate his or her return.

          You know, many of us have been reconciled to God, and for this we rejoice!  Still many more, however, have yet to be reconciled.  Thus our need to evangelize is great.  Just imagine, however, if, when we called people to repentance, we told them that they would also have to atone for all of their sins.  What miserable news that would be!  And, if this were the case, I could understand our reluctance to share it!  How wonderful is it, then, that we have truly good news to share: that Jesus has already atoned for our sins by dying on the cross; and so redemption is free!  How could we not share this good news with everyone?  Although many may not be ready to receive this message, it shouldn't keep us from sharing it.

          Therefore, my brothers and sisters, let us let the joy that we feel today resonate in our lives; so that when others ask us "Why are you so joyful?", we will always have a ready response: "Because I have been saved by the Blood of Jesus and so have nothing to fear!"  May our joy pour out in thanksgiving now as we offer back to God this incredible gift of mercy that has redeemed us.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 5^th & 6^th, 2016

Faith is not blind

Homily: 2^nd Sunday of Lent – Cycle C

          Most of you, I’m sure, will remember the game show “Let’s Make a Deal” with Monte Hall.  It was a show that defined the genre, in many ways, and whose popularity extends into its reincarnation today, hosted now by Wayne Brady.  You’ll recall that the premise of the show was pretty simple: regular folk were gathered into the studio audience where Monte Hall passed through and chose persons randomly to offer them prizes and then the chance to trade those prizes for the possibility of winning prizes that were more valuable.

          For example: Monte would ask if anyone had a pair of eyelash tweezers and would give the first person he saw who had a pair $100.  Then he would proceed to deal with them, offering them something bigger of unknown value (something, perhaps, behind one of the big doors).  The big doors could hide prizes as valuable as cars or as worthless as a ride on a donkey around the parking lot after the show.  Thus, the crux of the show: will the person—who had nothing but a pair of eyelash tweezers to start with—give up the $100 for a chance to win something much more valuable, knowing that it could actually be something worthless; thus leaving them to go home having lost even the eyelash tweezers?

          Of course, there was never any way to know for sure what would be beyond those big doors.  Thus, the contestants would have to take a blind leap of faith that there was something valuable behind the door if they wanted the chance to take home a more valuable prize.  The fact that, more often than not, people did end up taking home more valuable prizes meant that the show remained wildly popular for a long time.

          The contestants on the show had to use blind faith if they wanted to win a big prize.  On the surface, that doesn’t seem too different from the deal that God was offering Abram in today’s first reading.

          The beginning of our reading lands us right in the middle of the conversation, it seems, where God invites Abram outside of his tent and says: “Look up at the sky and count the stars, if you can.  Just so … shall your descendents be.”  Perhaps our natural reaction is to think, “Abram would have seen thousands of stars… that would be a pretty impressive promise.”  When we keep reading, however, we realize that it wasn’t at night that God proposed this promise, but it was the middle of the day, because later in the reading it describes the day approaching sunset, indicating that the earlier part of the conversation must have been in the daytime.  Abram, therefore, couldn’t see the stars that God was asking him to count: rather, they were “hidden” behind the “big door” of the sky.

          So, when the reading says that “Abram put his faith in the Lord”, was it blind faith?  I don’t think so.  You see, on “Let’s Make a Deal” the contestants couldn’t know what was behind the door and, thus, were “blind” to whether or not it hid a valuable prize.  Abram, on the other hand, knew the vast quantity of stars that were out there: he had seen them.  And so, when God promised him that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars, even though at that moment he couldn’t begin to count them (because he couldn’t see them), he knew that they were there and so his faith was not blind.  It’s as if God had said to him: “Just as you know that there is a vast quantity of stars out there, even though now you cannot see them, so, too, there is a vast quantity of descendants that will follow you, even though now you cannot see them.  And just as sure as you are that the stars will appear after the sun sets, so will these numerous descendants of yours appear after the sun has set on your life.”

          This, my brothers and sisters, is the essence of what faith is.  In the Letter to the Hebrews it says that “faith is the realization of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen.”  Faith is “evidence”, it says.  Therefore, when “Abram put his faith in the Lord” it wasn’t just a good feeling that he had, but rather a conviction that supplied to him the evidence that his eyes could not give him.  “I cannot see my descendants,” he might have thought to himself, “but Faith convicts me that what the Lord says is true; thus, I will place my trust in him.”

          Elsewhere in the Gospels, Jesus’ disciples ask him to “increase their faith”, to which Jesus famously responds: “If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you would say to this mulberry tree, ‘be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you”, indicating that he wanted them to have confidence in the faith that they already had.  Nonetheless, Jesus does offer his handpicked leaders—Peter, John, and James—the opportunity to grow the faith (that is, the “evidence of things not seen”) within them when he takes them up on the mountain and allows them to see him in his glory in the transfiguration.  He permits this because he knows that they will have their faith “shaken” when he is arrested, condemned, and crucified.  Faith will tell them that death is not the end for Jesus, but rather divine glory is; and so they can persevere, even though all seems to have been lost.  Faith, strengthened by the experience of the transfiguration, supplied the evidence that their eyes could not see.

          My brothers and sisters, faith is an undeserved gift from God that supplies us with the conviction that what God has revealed to us is true and that what God has promised to us will be ours.  Faith was given to us at baptism.  This is why, in the Rite of Baptism, just after the minister asks the name of the one to be baptized, he asks the one to be baptized, “What do you ask of God’s Church” and the one to be baptized can reply: “Faith”; because, in a very real way, baptism infuses faith into the one who is baptized.

          Just as the outward experience of seeing Jesus in his glory gave the Apostles the inward assurance of Jesus’ resurrection, so too the outward evidence of baptism ought to give us the inward assurance of the truth that Faith reveals to us: that we are now citizens of heaven who await the second coming of Jesus, our savior, who will transform our mortal bodies to be like his glorified body and, thus, welcome us to enter with him into our true and eternal home.

          By our sinfulness and our lack of diligence in our spiritual lives Faith is dimmed within us.  Lent, therefore, is our time to clear away all that leads us into sin and to restore our focus on the spiritual life so that the light of Faith will continue to supply us with the evidence we need to trust in God’s promises.  The Sacrament of Reconciliation along with the Lenten disciplines of prayer, fasting, and giving alms are the tools that we use to achieve this end.  Let us, therefore, my brothers and sisters, rededicate ourselves today to using these tools to their fullest; so that, on Easter Sunday, we may celebrate knowing that the greatest prize of all time has already been won for us through Christ Jesus our Lord: the fullness of eternal life.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – February 21^st, 2016

Rocky Mountain High...

So, I have this week in between trips to Saint Meinrad for different "continuing formation" programs and I really thought that I'd have some free time to take care of some odds and ends.  That is not happening, though, and so it's Tuesday night and I am publishing my Sunday homily... from last Sunday :-/

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and I hope that your Lent has been fruitful so far.  May God continue to bless your prayer and your work!

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Homily: 2nd Sunday of Lent – Cycle C

I would guess that most of us here have had the experience of being on vacation where everything has been working out just perfect.  Flights were on time, there was no traffic, the hotel was actually better than what the pictures in the advertisement showed it to be; the weather was perfect and you had just the right amount of time to do all of the things that you had set out to do without rushing through anything, which left you with just enough down time to relish all that you’ve enjoyed.  It’s the kind of vacation that makes you think to yourself, “Man, I wish that we could just stay here forever.”

For me, it was a trip to Rome two years ago where I most experienced this feeling.  I was traveling with a group of seminarians on a study tour through Rome and some of the surrounding areas.  It was January, but the weather was all but perfect: Mostly sunny and about mid-60’s each day, which was just about perfect for walking through the city and seeing all of the sights.  Ancient ruins, the great Basilicas and holy places, an audience with the Pope, some of my closest friends from the seminary, and, of course, incredible pastas and wine every night.  You can probably imagine how much I desired to return home.  In fact, I remember very clearly telling Fr. Denis, the rector of our seminary who was leading the trip, “You better hope that the weather turns bad before we have to leave, because if it doesn’t there’s no way that I’m going back to Indiana in January.  I’ll stay here and join a band of gypsies if I have to.”  Of course what I was saying was “It is good that we are here.  I wish that we could stay here forever.”

Thus, I certainly wouldn’t blame Peter for his response to his experience on the mountain that we heard in today’s Gospel reading.  You could imagine what it was like living in Israel in ancient times.  There was no indoor plumbing or modern sewage system.  There were no street cleaners or washing machines.  For the most part, people walked around pretty dirty and for them that was normal.  Thus, when Peter, James and John got a glimpse of the glory of God when Jesus was transfigured before them, and when they saw Moses and Elijah—the two great prophets of the Hebrew people—standing there with Jesus, it’s no surprise that Peter blurts out (even in his fear) “Lord, it is good that we are here.  Let’s set up some tents and stay here.”

That’s a natural tendency for us, isn’t it?  That once we’ve experienced an escape from the messiness of our daily lives we think it easier to throw all of that away and grasp onto what is in front of us: an experience of beauty, closeness with others, and joy.  But soon, however, we realize that the experience that is in front of us cannot be contained and we find that what we thought was an escape was nothing more than a temporary reprieve.

Peter, James and John get that awakening.  Peter wanted to build tents and stay on the mountain, but, as the Scriptures tell us, “he did not know what he was talking about.”  This was an experience of Jesus, the Son of God, as someone wholly different from him—as someone completely beyond his grasp—yet Peter wanted to stuff him into a tent so as to keep that experience for himself and the other two.

Christ, for his part, wouldn’t allow that.  Just as after his resurrection, when Mary Magdalene met him in the garden outside of the tomb, Jesus told her “Stop holding onto me.  I have not yet ascended to my Father”; and when he told his disciples at his Ascension into heaven “Do not be sad, for I must go up so that I can send the Spirit to you,” so here Christ does not allow the apostles to hold onto the experience of his glory, but rather he directs them back down the mountain to take that experience to others.  In other words, these experiences were meant to be permanent—at least, not in this world, anyway—but rather catalysts propelling them into the world to proclaim Christ’s glory.

Nevertheless, I believe that this experience of Christ’s transfiguration can be a model for us during Lent.  Every year, the Church sets aside this time to be for us a “retreat” of sorts.  During Lent we are called to take a serious look at our lives to see where we’ve been falling short in following the way that Jesus laid out for us.  Even more so, however, we are being called by Jesus to this “mountaintop experience.”  Through fasting and abstinence we leave off the messiness of our daily lives so as to follow Christ up the mountain.  Thus detached from the world, we are freed to see him as he truly is in prayer.  Having experienced Jesus as he truly is, we then come down the mountain—renewed and energized—to take this experience to our neighbors by witnessing what we’ve experienced both in words and in acts of love.

It starts with detachment.  My brothers and sisters, we must learn to detach ourselves from the things of this world, otherwise we’ll never even make it up the mountain to experience Christ in a profound way.  One way we do that, of course (I mean, aside from our fasting and abstinence), is through the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  Through it we commit ourselves not only to leaving off our sinful ways, which bind us to the world, but we step forward to encounter Christ in an intimate way, reconciling our hearts to his.  My dear friends, if you have not celebrated this sacrament yet during Lent, I hope that you will make a commitment today to do so soon.  Second only to an encounter with Jesus’ real presence in the Eucharist, the Sacrament of Reconciliation is the best place for you to experience that deep, personal encounter with Christ in the person of the priest, to feel his love for you, and to receive his healing forgiveness that has the power to free you from whatever binds you to this world.

My brothers and sisters, if you’ve been afraid of returning to the Sacrament of Reconciliation, or if you’ve just been apathetic about it, now is the time to face your fear or apathy and to follow Jesus’ call to meet him on the mountain, where he desires to reveal to you his glory and to hear, not only the words of the Father regarding him—“This is my chosen Son”—but also the words of the Father regarding yourselves: “You are my chosen son… you are my chosen daughter… and I love you.”  If we can know that, my dear friends, then we won’t need the mountain any longer and on Easter Sunday we’ll rush down it proclaiming the joy that we celebrate even now: He is risen!

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – February 23rd & 24th, 2013

Let's take back what is ours...

Ok, so I've been away in Guatemala for three weeks and I didn't have any homilies to post! (I did preach at Mass some, but nothing that I have recorded.)  Thus, this is the first from my first weekend back.  

The trip was great, by the way, (and frustrating, beautiful... many things).  I hope to post some things about it after I get settled back in.

Thanks for all of your prayers and support!  Happy reading!

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Homily: 4th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

As you all know, I spent the last three weeks in Guatemala doing some intensive work on improving my ability to speak Spanish.  Now, I had been to Guatemala once before to study Spanish back in 2009 while I was still a seminarian.  Much like I do just about anywhere I go, I fell in love with the people there and hoped one day to return.  Thus, it was a blessing to spend the past three weeks there and to have a chance to connect with some of the wonderful people I had met during my first visit.
One of the new experiences of this trip, however, was the ability to travel to the town of San Sebastian, where a good number of our Guatemalan brothers and sisters here in Logansport originally came from.  It’s a small town up in the mountains of the north-east part of Guatemala where more people speak the native dialect than Spanish.
One of the things that most impressed me about San Sebastian was the new church that they are building there.  About six years ago, the original Catholic church building was destroyed when days of heavy rain eventually unsettled its foundation, causing it to collapse.  About three years ago, however, they began building a new church.  So far they have completed much of the exterior framework (the walls, the roof, the dome, the façade, etc.) and I can tell you that it should prove to be a beautiful building when it is completed.
One of the things that shocked me, however, was the size of the Evangelical church building just down the street from the Catholic church.  I didn’t have a chance to step in to take a better look, but looking in from the street it seemed to me like it could easily hold just as many people as this church building can; and on Sunday, it appeared to be pretty full during their worship service.  I was shocked because I simply assumed that in such a small town as San Sebastian, in which they are building such a large new church, that there wouldn’t be room for another Christian community of comparable size.
At first I thought, “Well, perhaps Catholics were slow to evangelize in this area and so when the Evangelicals came, they basically evangelized those whom the Catholics hadn’t evangelized yet.”  “If so,” I thought, “then that’s a good thing, because at least these people are hearing the Gospel message.”  After talking with a couple of people, however, it seems as if it is the same situation that is happening all over Central America: that Evangelicals are going throughout these countries specifically targeting Catholics and seeking to lure them away from the practice of the Roman Catholic religion.  The fact that they are finding success is, to me, a big problem.
But this is just a microcosm of what has been happening around the world and even here in Cass County.  How many of us here have watched as our children, grandchildren, godchildren, brothers and sisters have slipped away from the Catholic Church: either to stop practicing the Catholic faith altogether or who have been lured to an Evangelical community?  A good number of us, I’m sure.  Oh, and I do mean “lured,” by the way.  Perhaps not so much here in Cass County, but it many parts of the world Evangelicals are on a mission to “convert” Catholics because they believe that what we preach is a false religion.  When Jesus was accused of casting out demons by the power of Satan, he said to them, “A house divided against itself cannot stand.”  My brothers and sisters, some Protestants and Evangelicals are striving to do just that: to divide God’s house and in many ways we are letting it happen.
I think that, as the Catholic Church, we’ve allowed ourselves to become a little complacent.  We’ve allowed ourselves to think, “The world’s been evangelized, so I can sit back, relax and just hang out here in the Church until Christ comes back and everything should be fine.”  We’ve forgotten that the very nature of the Church is to be evangelical.  Thus, one of the things that is luring people away from the Catholic Church is that these other communities are doing what the Catholic Church has been failing to do: they are evangelizing!  Now I hope that this will not come as a shock to any of you, but we are all called to be evangelists.
Our first reading today from the prophet Jeremiah reminds us that we are all called to proclaim God’s words to his people.  Sure, the words we heard were God’s words to the prophet Jeremiah at a specific place and time.  Nonetheless, they have been preserved up to this day because they are inspired by God and helpful in instructing us in following our own calls today.  And so, what does God say?  “Try to be holy and just show up to Mass and you’ll be fine”?  No!  He says “Gird up your loins; stand up and tell them what I command you”!
What God is saying to us, then, is that it is not enough for us to give a minimal effort at holiness and to fulfill the basic requirements, like showing up on Sundays.  What God is saying to us, rather, is that we must also speak his words to others, especially those closest to us, challenging them in positive ways to seek God more deeply and then to support them as they do.
Perhaps, however, we are worried that we’ll push our loved ones away or that they will turn against us.  To that, the readings for today also have an answer.  God promised Jeremiah (and, therefore, he promised us) that he “would not leave us crushed before them,” but rather that he “would make us a fortified city….”
Jesus himself did not fear the reproaches of his family or his neighbors in Nazareth.  As we heard today in the Gospel reading, Jesus preached the truth to them and they boiled over with rage against him.  God did not leave him to their rage, however.  Rather, when he was about to be thrown over the edge of the cliff, Jesus “passed through the midst of them and went away.”
Thus, we need not fear the reproaches of our families or neighbors.  If our words inspire them to rage, then so be it.  God will not leave us to be “crushed before them.”  Hopefully, however, and if we speak the truth to them with love (as Saint Paul admonishes us to do today), our words will inspire in them a fervor to seek Christ where he may most fully be found: here in this church and in the Eucharist.
If we still have fear, however, then it probably means that we ourselves need to be ignited with fervor for the faith.  If so, don’t worry, because this is the work of the Year of Faith that we have been celebrating: to become ignited ourselves so as to ignite others.  Our tasks then are the following: fervent celebration of the Eucharist every Sunday, consistent daily prayer and reading of the Scriptures, adoration of Christ in the Blessed Sacrament as often as possible, faith sharing in small groups and frequent confession.  Close attention to these tasks will ignite our fervor for the faith.  Witness, invitation and service of others, then, become the acts that will ignite that same fervor in others.
My brothers and sisters, we’ve procrastinated long enough.  Today is the day to act.  Let us respond to the Holy Father’s call and reclaim for our Church the name which has always been ours: Evangelical.  And let us be that shining light for Christ that leads our brothers and sisters—our families and our neighbors—to that communion with God that their hearts so deeply desire: the communion that we share here at this table.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – February 2nd & 3rd, 2013

The Hope in the Horror

It's been a crazy weekend, so I don't have much more to add than to say that this one was also a difficult one to write.  Blessings to all of you.

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Homily: 3^rd Sunday of Advent – Cycle C

            I had been preparing a homily for this weekend in which I would play off of the fact that coming up in the next week is the day in which the ancient Mayan calendar ends, which many have believed to be a signal that the world itself would end.  Although my intent would have been to invite you all to ask yourselves serious questions about how ready you would be for that day, if it were to happen, I re-thought my plans after hearing of the horrific events that occurred in Connecticut this past Friday.  It just didn’t seem appropriate for me to be lighthearted in light of such a serious event.

            One does not need pictures or descriptions to describe what a horrible scene it must be in that school, and what horrible suffering the people of Newtown—and the families of Sandy Hook Elementary School—are experiencing as the reality of this tragedy continues to unfold.

            None of us even wants to imagine what such an experience would be like.  Yet, I suppose that for many of us those thoughts have come anyway.  “Schools are supposed to be safe places,” we say to ourselves.  Yet, we continue to see violence infiltrate even there.  I don’t think that any of us could be blamed if we’ve felt a little bit insecure—a little bit vulnerable—over the past day or so.  When violence hits a place of such common experience among us, we cannot help but recognize the unsettling truth that we, too—however unlikely it may be—are vulnerable to experiencing the same thing.

            And so we come here this weekend with heavy hearts for our brothers and sisters in Connecticut, perhaps hoping we’d receive some words of consolation from the liturgy.  Yet instead of words of deep consolation, the Church—as if she had just come down off of Mount Oblivious—says to us, Gaudete! (that is, Rejoice!).  She even calls us to break our more sober manner of preparation by encouraging us, for a moment amidst this season of Advent, to remove our somber violet and put on a more festive rose, as if this were not a time of tragedy, but a time of celebration.

            We live at this moment in the context of great tragedy and the liturgy tells us to rejoice.  What, then, can that mean for us?  That we should rejoice at tragedy?  Of course not!  We do not rejoice in tragedy.  In what, then, do we rejoice?  My brothers and sisters, we rejoice in hope: for Christ, our hope, is not only coming, but has already come, and he is here with us as we journey towards him, even in the midst of sorrows.

My brothers and sisters, the liturgy reminds us that the lens with which we must interpret every event of our lives—both individually and communally—must be the Paschal Mystery of Christ: for in his life, death, resurrection, and ascension he radically transformed the meaning of human suffering and infused it with hope.  Hope that suffering and violence and sadness and pain are not all that we can look forward to in this world.  Hope that a life of peace and joy and communion awaits us…  And so we live in this tension: the tension between the “already is” and the “not quite yet”.  This beautiful, yet painful, tension of grasping with whole hearts at the life that has been promised us while at the same time we are being bruised and battered by the storms of life that surround us.  The tension that today makes us cry out with full-throated authenticity, COME LORD JESUS!!!

            My brothers and sisters, it is tragedies like this that remind us that the mystery of life is still far beyond our ability to penetrate it, and thus that we need the help of Another to save us from despair.  And so we come here today to remember.  We remember that this Other has come: Jesus Christ our Lord.  And we remember the hope of the Cross: that when all seemed lost, it wasn’t.  And we remember that our Other is still yet to come to rescue us and bring us home.

            “But what,” perhaps you are want to ask, “then should we do?”

            Well… we pray.  We pray for those who have lost loved ones in this attack.  We pray for the community of Newtown that has been rent asunder by this violation.  We pray for the family of the attacker, and for the attacker himself… that’s God’s mercy would be upon them all.  Let us also pray for ourselves, that would have the grace to reconcile ourselves to God and one another without delay: because regardless of all of the reasons people will conceive as the reason for this violence, the foundational problem underneath it all is our inability to be reconciled.

My brothers and sisters, Saint Paul reminds us today that “the Lord is near.”  As this Advent season continues, let us not fail to seek reconciliation, and care for one another: for although today we may not be joyful, we can still rejoice in God’s mercy.  If we can do this, then, as Saint Paul also says, “the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord;

and let perpetual light shine upon them.

May they rest in peace.

May their souls and all the souls of the faithful departed,

through the mercy of God, rest in peace.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – December 15^th & 16^th, 2012