Don't give up on Lent!

4^th Sunday of Lent – Cycle A

Friends, we all know that Lent is a time of penance and preparation.  Hopefully, we all know that the penance part has a purpose: that is, for preparation.  Preparation to celebrate the great solemnity commemorating the Resurrection of our Lord (otherwise known as Easter) and for us to meet our Lord when he either calls us home to himself or returns to usher in the “end of the ages”.  To that end, one of the things that we do during this time is to take a hard look at our lives to identify in what ways we are still in need of conversion: that is, of turning back to the Lord.  Then, having identified those ways, we set ourselves to that work of conversion.

I think, however, that it is safe to say that there are only a handful of us who are truly heroic in embracing this work: that is, persons who let nothing get in the way of doing this work of conversion.  Most of us are rather weak-willed (“stiff-necked” is how the Bible often describes us) and so it is hard for us to be both self-convicting and energetic in conversion.  We are either very hard on ourselves, but then do very little to produce change, or we are soft on ourselves, but very energetic trying to stamp out a little fault (all the while ignoring some larger, more serious faults).

This year, however, God is challenging us to something more.  The coronavirus pandemic has upended our lives and is forcing us to confront ourselves in ways that, for many of us, may be—to put it lightly—uncomfortable.  Let me say clearly that I don’t believe that God is allowing this pandemic because he wants anyone to be hurt.  But he has allowed it and, if he has allowed it, he must be allowing it so that good could come from it.  I can see two goods right off the bat: a sense of solidarity with those who are suffering and with those who are on the front lines of battling this pandemic and, as I have already mentioned, to provide us with an opportunity to look more sharply at ourselves and to see our ongoing need for conversion, both as individuals and as a society.  Nevertheless, the question still holds, “Why is this happening?”, and our Gospel reading gives us light into the answer.

There, Jesus and his disciples encounter a man who was born blind.  The detail here is important.  The man was born blind: he didn’t become blind at some point, but rather he had always been blind.  Nonetheless, the prevailing thought of the time was that any deformity (like blindness) was a punishment due to sin, either the individual’s sin or the sin of his parents, that was being inflicted on him.  And so, when Jesus and his disciples encounter this “man born blind”, Jesus’ disciples ask him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”  Jesus answers with an enigmatic answer, saying that this isn’t because of sin, but rather so that God’s glory and power can be made manifest.  It’s a reminder that we are not often directly punished for our sins or another’s sins, but rather often suffer because of an indirect effect of sin being in the world.  Even still, Jesus is reminding us, this suffering is intended to be an opportunity to manifest God’s glory and power.

In this case, the man born blind is given sight and, thus, led to recognize Jesus as the Christ.  His blindness from birth humbled him and made it so that he could see the truth in the reality of things.  Thus, when he was cured, he did not look to explain it away, but rather marveled at what had happened and held in great esteem the one through whom it was made possible.  The Pharisees, on the other hand, who had never had a problem with physical sight, were, nonetheless, unable to recognize the truth that was manifest in front of them.  Thus, the man born blind could recognize Jesus as the Christ, while the Pharisees, worried as they were to protect the way they had constructed things, could not recognize Jesus as the Christ and so fought to explain away what he had done.

Friends, as I said at the beginning, this time has been given to us so as to guide us into the light of Christ.  We need to be open to seeing the ways in which we are still in need of conversion: that is, the ways in which we still cling to our own ideas of how things should be.  We need to look at the reality of things and respond to them, like the man born blind did: “If he is a sinner, I don’t know.  One thing I do know is that I was blind and now I see.”  There’s no speculation there.  Just a clear vision of the reality of things that provides him with a way to respond.  We, too, need to allow the reality of things to point us to the one in whom all reality finds its end: Jesus Christ.  And we need to rejoice that, through the grace of baptism, we have been united to him; and, thus, to rejoice that it is possible to find our end in him.

Friends, I’ve said to a few others already, that I can see one of two ends to this crisis: First, that we will one day in the relatively near future return to our churches for Mass and the sacraments; or second, (and I don’t mean this flippantly) that the virus will wipe us all out.  My opinion, looking at the reality of things, is that the latter is not at all likely.  So, let's use this time courageously to seek the reality of things—especially our need for ongoing conversion—and, seeing the Lord with eyes made new, let us worship him and build his kingdom here on earth.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – March 21^st and 22^nd, 2020

Don't give up on waiting

Homily: 3rd Sunday of Advent – Cycle A

Is it Christmas?  No.  There, I’ve just given you every small detail of the website whose sole purpose seems to be to answer that question.  The website’s address is isitchristmas.com and when you go to the site all that you see is a big fat NO in your face.  I’m not sure what happens on that website on Christmas, but my guess is that it’ll either say “Yes”, which is boring, or it will invade my computer with a virus, rob my identity, and cause my computer to self-destruct, which would be much more exciting, for sure, but not the kind of exciting that I’m looking for.

You know that we’re a little bit crazy about Christmas when there are websites whose sole purpose is to remind us that it isn’t Christmas yet.  And I think that this is a sign that, frankly, we just don’t get it.  Every year, it seems, we demonstrate that we are so impatient for our self-indulgent winter holiday celebrations that we can’t wait even the three to four weeks of Advent before we start indulging.  I intentionally use the phrase “winter holiday” here because, at least in my experience, these almost never have anything to do with Christ and his coming among us in our human nature (except, perhaps, as a “pious excuse” for having them).  The fact that “winter holiday” decorations come down on December 26^th is evidence enough that our celebrations were over long before the event itself arrived.

You may call me “Scrooge” for thinking like this, but I tell you this comes from a deep place of concern.  You see, I’ve read the Scriptures (it’s kind of a necessity of this vocation) and I’ve read about what happens to folks who give up on waiting for God.  Let’s go back to the book of Exodus.  There, in chapter 24, God calls Moses up onto Mount Sinai (the mountain of the covenant) in order to give him the Ten Commandments.  Moses goes up and spends 40 days and 40 nights on the mountain.

Then, we hear that the people got anxious waiting for Moses to return and so demand that Aaron (Moses’ brother and the guy who was left in charge while Moses was gone) build them an idol to worship.  Aaron ceded to their demands and fashioned a golden calf before which the Israelites bowed in worship and then feasted: eating and drinking in excess and otherwise celebrating with great revelry long before Moses returned with the Ten Commandments.  God alerted Moses to this and said that he would slay them right then and there.  Moses intervened, however, and God relented.  Moses then went down the mountain to find what God had described and himself became enraged.  He called forth the Israelites who had not worshiped the idol nor had engaged in revelry and had them punish those who had done those things by putting them to death.  The passage ends with this somber verse: “Thus the Lord smote the people for having had Aaron make the calf for them.”  The Israelites refused to wait and instead gave into self-indulgence: for this they were severely punished.

Advent, my brothers and sisters, reminds us that we are in a time of waiting, and that this waiting is not aimless; rather, we are waiting the return of Jesus.  And not just Jesus our friend who has been away for a while (as joyous as that homecoming would be), but Jesus, our King, who will come with judgment and to usher in the fullness of his kingdom in which right order is finally reestablished through all of creation.  Those who are found in faithful preparation will be like the sheep Jesus describes in the parable of Matthew 25, to whom he says “Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.”  To those who are found to have given up on waiting, that is, to have given up on their faithful preparation for his coming, the King will say, “Depart from me, you accursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.”  I hope now that you can see why I am so concerned that we have given up on waiting.

In the Letter from Saint James, from which we heard in the second reading, he instructs us: “Be patient, brothers and sisters, until the coming of the Lord... Make your hearts firm, because the coming of the Lord is at hand... Behold, the Judge is standing before the gates. Take as an example of hardship and patience … the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord.”  Saint James is exhorting us not to give up on waiting, because our King’s advent, that is, his coming, is closer than we think.  Friends, by dutifully waiting to celebrate until the day of the Nativity of Christ, December 25^th, we remind ourselves that we must dutifully wait and prepare for Christ our King’s imminent return.  We do this both internally, by repenting of our sins and turning again to the Way that Christ has shown us, and externally, by doing the works of mercy and, thus, producing the signs that the King who is to come has indeed already come.  Friends, everything else is secondary.

In our Gospel reading today, we heard how John the Baptist, imprisoned by King Herod, sends his disciples to ask Jesus, “Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?”  Jesus, with great love for his dear relative and friend, sends them back with this instruction: “Go and tell John what you hear and see...” that is, that the signs of the Messiah of which Isaiah prophesied—blind who now see, lame who now walk, lepers who are cleansed, deaf who now hear, and the dead who now live—these were now happening through him.

If someone asked any of us today: "Is Jesus the one who was to come, or should we look for another?" what would we say?  Could we say, "Yes! Look, the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised"?  Perhaps you might say, “No, but Jesus isn’t here with us to make those things happen.”  True, but didn’t Jesus say to his disciples, “Whoever believes in me will do the works that I do, and will do greater ones than these”?  My friends, we must say "yes", that Jesus is the one who was to come, but we must also manifest the works of the kingdom, that is, the works of mercy, among us so as to declare that he is still to come again.  Otherwise, even the John the Baptists of the world—that is, persons of great faith—may give into doubt and fall away before the time of his coming.

You know, the prophet Isaiah, John the Baptist, the apostle James, and those of their time never asked the question “Is it Christmas?”  They, rather, were concerned with a greater question: “Is it Advent?”  In other words, “Is it the Coming of the one who is to come?”  For the prophet Isaiah and John the Baptist the answer would have been a single “Yes”, for they would not live to look for the second coming (in this world, anyway).  For the apostle James, however, and for every Christian for the last 2000 years, the answer is “Yes and yes”: meaning, “Yes, the one for whom we looked to come has come” and “Yes, it is he for whom we are preparing to come again”.

My brothers and sisters, the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Jesus our King that we encounter in the form of bread and wine from this altar is the bridge between these two “yeses”.  As we encounter Him today in this Mass, let us ask for the strength to wait and to faithfully prepare for his second coming, so that we might be welcomed into the fullness of His kingdom to rejoice with Mary and the saints for all eternity.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – December 14^th & 15^th, 2019

Rejoice! God makes the ordinary extraordinary.

Homily: 3rd Sunday of Advent – Cycle C

St Peter’s Basilica in Rome is arguably the most famous church in the world.  And it’s enormous.  Inside it’s 614 feet long.  In fact, when you enter the doors and stand at the end of its full length and look at the floor, you’ll see that there are markings there indicating its size in comparison to other major churches throughout the world, verifying that quite possibly it is the largest church in the world.  The ceiling of the main nave is 145 feet high, and the inside of the dome itself soars to 385 feet.  It’s built in the form of a cross and, just to give you a better idea of its size, I would bet that our church—which is not small, by any means—would fit multiple times in one of the side naves of St. Peter’s.  Like I said, it’s enormous.

Of course, it is adorned with everything that high Renaissance art could throw at it, which you might think would be overwhelming when you first walk in there.  On the contrary, though, there is an incredible sense of balance and proportionality to it all.  As I walked through there for the first time I just tried to take it all in.  After spending some time in there, however, I started to approach different objects—certain statues, altars, side chapels, etc.—to take a closer look; and when I did I was amazed at the size of each thing.  Not only is the Basilica itself huge, everything in it is huge, too!

Standing in the midst of this extraordinariness, it’s easy to forget why it’s even there at all.  St. Peter’s Basilica was built over an ancient necropolis (a “city cemetery”) on Rome’s Vatican Hill.  This ancient burial ground was very close to one of the places where Romans held sporting events, gladiator fights, and where they sometimes executed criminals.  That Roman entertainment complex (which they called “circuses”) was where Saint Peter was crucified and that nearby necropolis was where Saint Peter was buried.  It’s amazing to think that such an extraordinary basilica was constructed because of someone so ordinary: a fisherman from Galilee, a remote outpost of the Roman Empire.  That’s like saying we were going to build a basilica to honor a line worker from Indiana Packers up in Delphi: on the surface, there doesn’t seem to be any merit for it.

The basilica wasn’t built because of Peter’s merit alone, however.  That would be a hard case to sell.  He often said the wrong thing, at the wrong time, and Jesus had to correct him.  He confessed that he would die with Jesus, but then fled when Jesus was arrested.  Worse yet, he denied knowing Jesus three times when he was threatened with arrest for knowing him.  No, the basilica wasn’t built over his grave because of his own merits.  He was an ordinary fisherman from Galilee through and through.  The basilica was built over his grave, rather, because of the extraordinary things that God accomplished through his ordinariness.  In other words, it was built to honor the ordinary that God had made extraordinary.  And so, we see that, with God, it all starts with the ordinary.

In the Gospel reading last week we heard how people were coming to John the Baptist, responding to his call for a “baptism of repentance” in which they would renounce their sins and then be ritually washed so as to be cleansed from the ritual impurity that their sins caused.  Today, we heard how many of these people, having turned away from their sins, sought advice from John about what they should do now that they had been cleansed.  Perhaps they thought that he would invite them to join him in his ascetic way of life, abandoning their work and wealth to live in extreme conditions.  Perhaps they thought that this kind of extraordinary act would be necessary to complete their cleansing.  What they heard, however, wasn’t very extraordinary at all.  John said to them: “Whatever you’re doing, do it right. And if you have the chance to help somebody in need, do it.”  These were very ordinary things.  Nevertheless, John knew that these things would prepare them for the extraordinary transformation that Christ would soon bring.

This transformation is much more dramatic than the words of the Gospel convey on the surface.  What John described was fantastical.  His baptism was an ordinary baptism: a cleansing with water.  Imagine having just experienced that kind of baptism and then to hear him say that the one who will come after him—the one who would be mightier than him—will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire!  It would have been shocking and incomprehensible to his hearers.   Yet what he was saying to them was, "Do these ordinary things and you'll be ready for this extraordinary experience.”

It’s not hard, sometimes, however, when we’re not sure what the next steps are, to think that we have to do extraordinary things.  For example: a couple of years ago my family decided to come to Logansport to visit me for Christmas.  I had never hosted my whole family before so I wasn’t sure how to prepare.  I started worrying that I would have to do all of these extraordinary things to prepare for their arrival.  I soon realized, however, that I had to start with ordinary things: I had to make sure that the house was clean and that it was neatly appointed with festive things.  After that, I just had to keep doing what I had been doing and wait for them to come.  In the end having them there was a great experience! Extraordinary in every way.

I worry that we sometimes act this way with God.  We think that we have to do extraordinary things to get his attention.  And that, if we don’t feel like we can do those things (or, perhaps, we’re just not motivated to do those things), we decide to do nothing at all.  Yet, as we see throughout the Scriptures and in the lives of the Saints, God wants to meet us in the ordinary: and then to make our ordinary extraordinary.

My brothers and sisters, the most extraordinary event in the history of the world was the birth of Jesus, the divine person who took on our ordinary human flesh in order to save us from sin and death forever.  He has already worked an extraordinary transformation in each of us through baptism; and he is coming again to complete our transformation to be like him in glory.  Thus, we don't need to be extraordinary ourselves. Rather, we can find joy in the ordinary—the work-a-day here and now—because of the extraordinary that God has promised to make with it.

So, what should we do?  Focus on the basics: Repent.  Seek the baptism of repentance by turning away from whatever sin in which you may be caught and be cleansed by making a good confession before Christmas.  Then, do the work you were given to do in justice and in truth.  In other words, pray, share your blessings with the poor, and do your daily work with integrity.  Finally, wait in joyful expectation of the one who has already come, who is still with us, and who will come to us again.  In these ways, my brothers and sisters—that is, in our faithful obedience to the ordinary—we will be prepared for that day when God will transform our ordinary to be unbelievably extraordinary.   Therefore, as Saint Paul exhorts us today, let us “rejoice in the Lord always.  I say it again: rejoice!”  For the Lord is truly near.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – December 16th, 2018

Are you tired? Let go!

Homily: 1st Sunday of Advent – Cycle C

I don’t know about all of you, but I am pretty tired.  I’ve been here for five months now and have found that pastoring a parish of this size—one that is also the Cathedral, and all of the trappings that come with that—is a lot of work.  And I mean that in the very literal, scientific sense: for work is energy expended over time and I know that I have been expending a lot of energy over extended periods of time in the last five months.

I would guess that it’s pretty safe to say, however, that I’m not the only one who is feeling this way.  Let me ask, how many here have a new baby?  How many of you have more than one kid under 7 years old at home?  How many have moved sometime this year?  How many have either lost or switched jobs?    And how many of you are working and going to school at the same time?  How many of you have lost a loved one recently?  How many of us are dealing with emotional turmoil from the scandals in the Church?  I’m guessing that this covers most everyone here.  But, even if I didn’t mention part of your situation, I suspect that all of us could identify some things in our lives that are causing us to expend a great deal of energy: either just to keep up with our lives or, perhaps, to cope with the stress of transitioning into something new in our lives.  Regardless of what it is, all of us can probably admit that we are feeling a bit worn down by it all: that we, too, are tired.

As a result, I think that a lot of us hope that we could come here and hear a word of comfort.  Perhaps we’ve come here hoping that the Gospel reading for the day would be something like: “Well done, good and faithful servant, come share in your master’s joy.”  Instead, we walk into this season of Advent and are greeted with an exhortation from Saint Paul saying, “The good that you’ve already been doing, you should do more!”  Then, on top of that, Christ tells us to “be vigilant at all times,” that is, not to take a break.  And, as if that wasn’t enough, he prefaces that statement by saying, “You know, everything is actually going to get a lot worse before it gets better!”  Thus, when we hear Christ’s instruction to us—“Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy…”—it really doesn’t seem all that helpful.  And what we come to realize is that our hearts, indeed, have become drowsy.

In many ways, however, we are not unlike the ancient Israelites.  For centuries, they waited for the Messiah—the one promised them by God who would redeem them and free them from all of their oppressors.  Yet, their hearts had become drowsy from waiting as they endured exile away from their homeland, and then occupation of their homeland by foreign invaders after their return.  And so, even though God had sent them prophets throughout these times to remind them of his promises—like the prophet Jeremiah, from who we heard in the first reading today—many of the Israelites still failed to see in Jesus the coming of the One for whom they had longed ///

Perhaps to us it seems as if Christ’s return is also long delayed.  And perhaps, therefore, we’ve allowed our focus to drift away from our eternal destiny, our anticipation of his coming to become dulled, and our discipline in prayer and good works to lapse.  In other words, perhaps we, too, have allowed our hearts to become drowsy from the anxieties, the worries, the stresses of our daily lives.  We’ve lost sight of the goal, it seems, and, thus, feel a bit lost.

At the end of each calendar year, we all somewhat instinctively assess where we’ve been throughout the year.  For some, this is a time of great anxiety as we look back at what we desired to accomplish in the last year and see what remains undone.  For others, the stress comes from seeing how, though great efforts were made, circumstances meant that there was little to show for it.  Still for others, it is a time of despair when we see that, through fear or lack of self-confidence, another year has passed and we have not made any moves to improve a difficult situation in our lives.

This is why the Church, in her wisdom, guided by the Holy Spirit, gives us this season of Advent at the end of the calendar year.  She knows how easy it is to get bogged down by the work of daily living and so She offers us this season as a “wake-up call” and a reminder to us that the promise of Christ’s second coming—the promise that there is something greater yet to come—is still before us.  Advent, therefore, is the great season of detachment: of letting go of those things that tie us to this world and its anxieties, lest we be caught off-guard, cowering in fear after the days of tribulation, when Christ will come.  It is also the season of remembering that we can never accomplish our fulfillment alone: for Christ came to us specifically because we could not effect our salvation on our own.  Rather, we needed the help of Another—who is God made man, born in a cave outside of Jerusalem.

Brothers and sisters, our Christian faith tells us that we have been made for greatness and that our work in this life is to strive for that greatness always.  It also reminds us, however, that our ability to reach the heights of that greatness is limited and that we can never achieve it on our own.  Advent is the season in which we are reminded to rejoice, regardless; because in Advent—which, literally translated, means “the arrival”—we remember that God himself has come, in our human nature, in order to overcome our weaknesses, and that God himself will come again to fulfill his promise to end our anxieties and to draw us into himself: the place of our eternal rest.

And so, my brothers and sisters, if your hearts have become drowsy, then let this be your wake-up call.  Because our hope, Jesus Christ our Savior, is coming—and has already come—to relieve us and to lead us home.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – December 1^st & 2^nd, 2018

Christ the King sheds the light of truth on reality

          Last week I did not preach, so I did not have a homily to post.  This week, we enter the last week of Ordinary Time as we prepare to begin a new liturgical year with Advent.  Let us pray for each other as we "begin again" and so that we will never fail to proclaim Jesus Christ as our King!

Homily: 34^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle B

The Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe

For those of us of a certain generation, “reality TV” has shaped much of our television experience.  In spite of what it looks like today, reality TV began as a simple project: stick seven strangers in a house together for a certain period of time and record their lives.  To see their “real, unscripted reactions” to each other, it was thought, would be just as entertaining as any scripted story-line.  And, for the most part, they were right.  “The Real World”, which was the name of this first “reality show”, was a big hit and the concept of “reality TV” quickly blossomed and saturated our televisions with variations on the same theme.

Just as quickly, though, it moved away from the basic concept of real people in real-life situations into sensationalism.  In other words, each new show had to do more to “manufacture” drama, and its participants, it seems, had to be all the more willing to respond to it.  Instead of being an opportunity to look into the lives of other human persons, and perhaps glean an insight into the mystery of human relationships, reality TV has morphed into a voyeuristic fantasy land where the only thing connected to reality, it seems, is that these people still have to eat and sleep once in a while.  As a result, “reality TV” no more resembles real human life than do any of the Harry Potter films. ///

It shouldn’t be too hard for us to see that this notion of “manufactured reality” reflects our culture today.  The dominant culture that we experience in the media, and which is put forth in certain politics and academia, wants us to believe that truth is relative to the person and the reality that he/she experiences in which it is interpreted.  In this model, we equate experiences with truth.  One example of this is “transgenderism”.  In this a person experiences “gender dysphoria”: that is, that the gender with which one identifies him/herself does not align with his/her biological gender and thus experiences an internal conflict (or “dysphoria”).  This experience is real.  The interpretation of the experience, however—that this person must now live as if he/she is the gender opposite to his/her biological gender (possibly going to the extremes of bodily modifications in pursuit of it)—is a reality manufactured on the false notion that what this person has experienced is not just reality, but is the truth: in spite of the obvious physical data that exists to the contrary.

All of this is to highlight that to live in reality—that is, to experience the world as it really is and to flourish within it—one must interpret reality (that is, our experiences) based on what is true.  In order to do this, one must begin with the most fundamental truths.  The first and most true thing that we can say is that God is being itself.  When God appeared to Moses in the burning bush and Moses asked him, “What should I tell them is your name?” God replied, “Tell them ‘I AM who AM’ sent you”: in other words, “I am existence itself”.  If, therefore, God is existence itself, then he must also be the source of all that exists.  And because he has shown us that he is not a distant, aloof creator, but rather a creator that cares for his creation, we know that all things that exist (which come from him) are, therefore, ordered to him.  This is reality.  This is true.  When we get this idea backwards, however—that is, when we believe that things and experiences in existence are ordered towards me (or to some other reality that isn’t God)—is when we fall into trouble.

Given this, the dialogue that we heard in today’s Gospel is poignant.  This exchange between Pilate and Jesus is the stuff of which great reality TV is made: tension, drama, suspense… and real consequences for decisions that are made.  Although we didn’t hear it in today’s reading, Pilate’s next words in the Gospel—the ones that follow Christ telling him that he came to bear witness to the truth—are some of his most famous: he says “What is truth?”  As a governing officer in the Roman Army, Pilate had spent years of his life following orders without question—even if it contradicted what he thought was true—and now, in the face of Truth incarnate, this “manufactured reality” distorted his view of what was really real.  In other words, he could no longer see reality for what it was.  Thus, he was trapped in a conflict between Truth (capital “T”) that stood before him and the truth (small “t”) under which he had been living for most of his life.  He had ordered his reality to the false truth that all things are ordered to Caesar and the empire and so, in the conflict between his truth and Truth itself, he ignored what was really real and chose to live in his falsehood.

The abuse crisis that we have been suffering through in the Church has this disordering of reality as part of its cause.  The actions of individual priests were reprehensible and the result of a criminal indulgence of the temptations to sin.  The responses of some in authority over those priests was also reprehensible and betrayed, it seems, that those men had ordered their reality to the truth that the institution of the Church was the ultimate good, instead of God (and, specifically, his commands to protect the most vulnerable).  It is a sad reality from which we must now recover.

And we will recover, if we re-order our reality to the truth that we celebrate today: that Jesus Christ is King of the Universe: that is, that he is Lord—Dominus, in Latin, he who dominates—over all that exists.  If we see that all that exists comes from him who existed before all things and is, therefore, ordered to him, then we have a solid truth on which to interpret our reality (that is, all that we experience); and, thus, we can live in confidence that our reality is not a manufactured reality, but a true reality that will lead us to true happiness and peace.

Friends, it is no mere coincidence that this feast also closes our liturgical year.  Celebrating the kingship of Christ at the end of our liturgical year invites us to rejoice: in the truth that all things in the universe are created from and subject to a king who has suffered and died for us—and who now lives again forever—so that we, too, can live forever in him; and to lament and repent from the ways in which our lives have not conformed to that truth and thus strive (making a “new year’s resolution” even) to order our lives completely to this truth and to work so that the world around us might also be ordered to this truth.  This Eucharist is the foremost way in which we do this: ordering our praise, worship, and thanksgiving to God, who is its source.  Our 40 hours devotion, which begins tonight, is a privileged time to reflect on this truth, as well, and so I hope that you all will find an hour to spend with our Lord in adoration during these 40 hours.

My brothers and sisters, in a few moments we will have the opportunity to look directly at Truth Incarnate: the King who reigns over all existence.  If we have any doubt about what is true, let us not fail to ask him—not like Pilate, who asked in frustration, but in humility—“Lord, what is truth?” and then listen with open hearts for what he will reveal to us.  Friends, if we can do this, we will then be prepared for the greatest reality show of all time: the triumphant return of Christ our King.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – November 25^th, 2018

God is always on our side

Homily: 4^th Sunday in Lent – Cycle B

          We are now a little more than halfway through Lent and we come to this Sunday, named Laetare, which calls us to “rejoice”.  Perhaps you are having your best Lent ever so far and so this invitation to “rejoice” is quite a welcome one.  If so, good for you!  Keep up that awesome work!  If you are anything like me, however, your Lent has been a mixed-bag so far: either some steps forward mixed with some steps back or even a struggle to get it off the ground all together.  If so, then it might be a little annoying that the Church tells us to “rejoice” at this point.

          No, if you’re anything like me, you’ve experienced a situation like I have sometime during your Lent.  My story goes something like this: I commit to giving up that favorite sin of mine (you know, the sin that I am not happy about committing, but for which make excuses whenever I do it… that’s right, the one that I am annoyed that I have to confess almost every time I go to confession), but then Satan throws me an unexpected curveball and, before I know it, I’m right back into that sin.  Frustrated, I wonder if I will ever overcome it.

          Recently, this story played out again.  When it did, I was really upset with myself.  I had trouble sleeping the whole night because I felt so bothered by my failure to respond to grace and my prideful inclinations that made me think that I could “play” with Satan’s temptations and get away without falling into sin (don’t play with Satan’s temptations, people!).  The next day I woke up earlier than normal, still bothered by my failure.  Then this phrase from Saint Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians came to my mind: “What I do is discipline my body.”  It was a cold winter morning with a biting wind and I knew it.  But I was convinced that I needed to discipline my body so I decided to get up and go for a run outside.  I’ve done this before, but that day it was particularly miserable.  About halfway through the run, however, as I was thinking about how miserable it was, another insight came into my mind: God put that thought there this morning because he wants me to discipline my body, not to punish me, but so that I can win the battle today.  He’s not happy with my failure yesterday, but he’s still on my side and he wants me to win today.  Now, while that didn’t change how physically miserable the run was, I did begin to feel a sense of hope that pulled me out from the wallowing in my guilt that I had been doing.

          Friends, I think that this is the story of the Scriptures this weekend: that God allows us to suffer for our sins, but always with his eye towards the restoration that he wants to make in our lives.  Just look at the reading from the book of Chronicles.  It describes the great infidelities that the Israelite people had committed against God; and how time and again God had sent his prophets to call them to repentance and warn them of the suffering that would come to them if they continued in their ways.  It describes how the Israelites ignored the prophets, even mocking and mistreating them, until there was nothing further God could do; and so he took back his hand of protection from them and allowed their enemies from the north, the Babylonian empire, to come and destroy Jerusalem, along with the Temple within it, who then took the Israelites into exile.  He did this to “discipline their bodies”, so to speak, so that, when the fullness of their discipline had been fulfilled, he could raise up Cyrus, king of Persia, over the Babylonian empire, who would show benevolence to the Israelites and allow them to return to Judah and rebuild the Temple so that they could worship God once again.  God allowed the Israelites to suffer for their sins, but remained “on their side”: knowing that, through their suffering, they were being made stronger so as to win the next battle with the forces of the evil one.

          The ultimate rendition of this story comes in the Gospel reading, of course.  While Chronicles documents how God worked for this particular people, whom he had chosen to be his light to the nations, the Gospel reading reveals the fullness of that plan.  In one of the most famous passages in the Gospels, we read that “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.”  As beautiful and powerful as that verse is, the one that follows it adds emphasis that applies to our reflection here today: “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.”  In other words, although God may have allowed us to suffer on account of our sins, he remained on our side, waiting until our “bodies” had been “disciplined” fully so that he could send his Son: not to “finish us off”, so to speak, but rather to save us and restore us to his friendship.

          Friends, when we look at our failures this way—and when we look at the suffering that has come along with them in this way (even if that suffering has only been a bit of mental anguish over failing to live up to our values)—then we truly do have reason to “rejoice”: because God, who never fails to acknowledge our sins (and the punishments due to us because of them) is, nonetheless, “rich in mercy” and desires not to condemn us, but rather that we would be restored so as to win the next battle against Satan and his wiles.

          And so, if you are feeling a bit down about your failure to live up to your ideals this Lent (regardless of how specific or vague they might have been), do not despair!  God has not given up on you!  Rather, he wants you to repent, to confess your sins and to receive his forgiveness in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, and to allow your body to be disciplined by him so as to make you stronger against the attacks of the evil one so that you can win the next battle.  Christ has already won the war.  In him, with bodies made pure through discipline, we can win each battle.  This Eucharist that we celebrate is both our reminder of God’s care and our strength for the fight; and so let us rejoice in it.  May our rejoicing carry us through the remaining discipline of Lent; so that, with minds and hearts made pure, we may truly celebrate the victory of Christ’s Resurrection.

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

Rejoice that the Lord has saved us.

Homily: 3^rd Sunday of Advent – Cycle B

          Gaudete!  Today the Church celebrates Gaudete Sunday.  “Gaudete”, because it is the Latin word for “Rejoice” and it happens to be the very first word that the Church proclaims in the Mass today.  The Mass, as it is written in Latin, begins with the Introit, or “Entrance Antiphon”, which is a short verse taken from the Bible that is said or sung (preferably sung).  The Church allows us to substitute a hymn for the antiphon and so we almost never hear it during Sunday Mass (a hymn with which everyone is familiar makes it easier to engage everyone in the Mass from the first moment); but in the official liturgical books, the Mass begins with the Introit.

          The Entrance Antiphon for the Third Sunday of Advent comes from Saint Paul’s letter to the Philippians and reads: Gaudete in Domino semper: iterum dico, Gaudete. Dominus enim prope est.  In English: “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice. Indeed, the Lord is near.”  Ever since the time of Pope Saint Gregory the Great in the sixth century this Sunday of Advent has been marked by this phrase which invites us to remember that this time of solemn preparation is also a time of joyful preparation; and it is the reason that we wear a more festive color in our vestments and we light a rose colored candle.  All of this focusing on “rejoice”, however, begs the question: “In this season of joy, in what do we rejoice?”

          For many of us, I suppose that the answer to this question is simple: We rejoice in the coming celebration of the birthday of Christ and that, with it, comes joy-filled time with family and friends following traditions of celebration that connect us to generations of loved ones.  For some of us, perhaps, we rejoice that all of our presents for loved ones have been bought and wrapped and we can spend one last week truly enjoying the season (perhaps, however, that’s only a few of us).  Maybe we rejoice in another year of good health, good work, growth in our families, or accomplishments in our personal lives.  These, of course, are all worthy things in which to rejoice (to greater and lesser degrees).  Nevertheless, not everyone is able to rejoice in these things at this time of year; and so none of these can be the reason why the Church calls us to rejoice.  This, therefore, begs the further question: “In this season of joy, in what should we rejoice?”

          For the prophet Isaiah, the answer was simple.  He had been part of God’s chosen people who had suffered in exile for years.  He had declared to the people how their sinfulness, their disregard for God and his commandments, had led to their exile as a sign that God had taken away his protection from them and that his covenant with them had been broken.  Now, however, Isaiah was able to declare joyful news: that the time of punishment was at an end.  In his own words: “The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; he has sent me to bring glad tidings to the poor, to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to captives and release to the prisoners, to announce a year of favor from the Lord and a day of vindication by our God.”  Everyone likes to be the bearer of good news, right?  So, no wonder why Isaiah would rejoice.  Notice, however, that this is not the reason why he rejoices.

          In the following verse we hear: “I rejoice heartily in the Lord, in my God is the joy of my soul; for he has clothed me with a robe of salvation and wrapped me in a mantle of justice, like a bridegroom adorned with a diadem, like a bride bedecked with her jewels.”  Isaiah proclaimed this joyful news: that Israel’s exile was at an end.  He rejoiced not in the news, however, but in what God had done for him: that, in declaring this good news, Isaiah is declaring that God has brought salvation to him and to his people—and, thus, that he has forgiven their sins—so that they might be restored to right relationship with God; which, for them, meant eternal life.  Now this is something in which all of us can rejoice, right?

          All of us here: those who have been baptized, and even, in a way, those who are seeking baptism, have been “clothed in a robe of salvation” through faith and, thus, it is in this that we must “rejoice heartily in the Lord”.  The Third Sunday of Advent rightly turns our focus from our anticipation of Jesus’ Second Coming to the celebration of his First Coming on the day of his birth (for it is now readily at hand).  We “rejoice”, however, not just because Jesus was born to us (even though the coming of God in human flesh would be reason enough to rejoice!), but rather because of what his birth meant for us.  It meant not just that God was going to walk among us, like one of us, but that our salvation was finally at hand!  And that the long reign of death—and sin that causes death—is now at an end: for God has come to save us!

          My brothers and sisters, if the thing in which we rejoice during this season of joy is not that the birth of Christ was the in-breaking of salvation into the world, then we’ll never understand what Saint Paul says in his letter to the Thessalonians: “Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances give thanks…”  How could we possibly “rejoice, pray, and give thanks always” in this world that is still filled with so much sadness and pain unless our rejoicing was for something that transcends this world of darkness, which has the power to protect us within it and to lift us up from it?  The answer, of course, is that we can’t.  And so, the Church reminds us: Gaudete in Domino semper: “Rejoice in the Lord always…”

          Friends, if you struggle to “rejoice in the Lord”, don’t worry.  Perhaps, like the priests, Levites, and Pharisees who came out to see John the Baptist you are looking for the Lord in great signs and powerful show.  Or, perhaps, you’ve just let yourself get caught up in the materialism and commercialism of secular Christmas.  If so, allow me to remind you that the Lord in whom you will find a lasting joy has come, yes, and is coming again, yes, but is also already among us; in an appearance, perhaps, that we don’t recognize: the bread and cup that we receive from this altar.  Let us, then, turn to him here, in this humble presence, during this last, full week of Advent, and meet him again; so that, when we celebrate his birth, this joy of salvation might be in us and our joy might be complete.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – December 17^th, 2017

Advent's reassurances

Homily: 3^rd Sunday of Advent – Cycle A

          I can understand why John the Baptist might have doubted.  He spent his adult life calling others to repentance in order to prepare themselves for the manifestation of the Messiah.  And on that fateful day that Jesus came out to him, he acknowledge Jesus as that Messiah, the Lamb of God who would take away the sins of the world.  After he had baptized Jesus and saw the Holy Spirit descend upon him and remain with him, John continued to preach repentance.  Now, however, he would turn those who were coming to him towards Jesus.  But the tables had turned, it seemed.  John found himself imprisoned by the Israelite king, Herod (someone who should have been welcoming his message!), and none of those things that the Messiah was supposed to bring forward, about which Isaiah had prophesied, seemed to be coming to fruition.

          Although I’ve never been imprisoned, I imagine that it affords a person a lot of time to think.  And, with one’s freedom removed, I imagine that it’s probably hard to think positively about things.  I can only imagine what John might have been thinking while he was in Herod’s prison: “Was I doing the right thing?”  “What if I was wrong?”  “What is Herod going to do with me?”  “What if Jesus really isn’t the Messiah?”  Then, along come some of his disciples to tell him of these things that Jesus is doing: miracles of healing and preaching about the kingdom of God.  Perhaps John felt very confused and conflicted and so I understand why he may have doubted.  He doesn’t want to doubt, though, and so he decides to send his disciples back to Jesus with this question “Are you the one who is to come or should we look for another?”

          I also understand why Jesus might have covered for him.  I mean, John was his number one promoter.  John pointed Jesus out and called him exactly what he is—the Lamb of God—and he told his disciples to turn and follow him, instead.  And so, when John’s disciples come to him saying “John told us to ask you this question: ‘Are you the one who is to come?’”, Jesus defended him: telling everyone that John was a prophet greater than all prophets and even going so far as to say that no one ever born has been greater than John (presumably including even himself).  I imagine that Jesus might have thought “If John is doubting, what will keep the rest of these people from doubting?”  And so, I understand why Jesus might have covered for him.

          It’s easy to understand these things, perhaps, because we can relate.  And so we read these scripture passages and we think “Look, they’re human just like us after all.”  And this is true!  They are human!  The challenge for us, however, is to look at this passage and realize that John didn’t doubt and that Jesus wasn’t covering for him.

          John, as we know, was the great herald of the Messiah’s coming.  He was “the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord.’”  He preached repentance because he knew that the one who would bring judgment was coming.  He leaped for joy at the presence of Jesus in the womb of Mary while he was still in the womb of his mother, Elizabeth.  And after Jesus manifested himself publicly, he boldly pointed him out and taught his followers to follow him.  His whole life was about “I must decrease, he must increase”, and so it just doesn’t make sense that, after years of believing in and proclaiming his coming, John would all of a sudden doubt.  And so, if this is what the scriptures seem to say to us, perhaps we should take a closer look.

          First, they tell us that “When John the Baptist heard in prison the works of the Christ, he sent his disciples to Jesus with this question…”  He sent his disciples…  John still had disciples!  But John’s purpose was to turn his disciples to Jesus!  In other words, his job was to work himself out of a job!  And so, having heard of the miracles that Jesus was performing and that he had been preaching the kingdom of God, John sent his disciples to ask the question for themselves: “Are you the one who is to come or should we [like, us personally] look for another?”  Jesus perceived what John was doing in sending his disciples to him and so he not only told them “yes” or “no”, but he showed them the proof of his answer: “Go and tell John what you hear and see…” and he preached the kingdom and performed these miracles before their eyes.

          John’s disciples, presumably converted, went off to share this good news with John in prison.  Jesus, far from trying to cover for John, extolls his praises as one of God’s greatest and most faithful servants.  He uses this opportunity to teach them about who John was so as to shed more light on who he was, because, remember, his followers were still just starting to understand that he is the Messiah.  And so he tells them that John is the prophet greater than all prophets, because he was chosen to be the herald of the Messiah’s coming.  More than that, however, he tells them that John is the greatest of all men because of his extreme faithfulness to God: faithfulness that isn’t deterred by the suffering caused because of imprisonment.  Then he uses this to teach about how much greater the kingdom of heaven is by saying that even this great man is as nothing in that kingdom.  All in the kingdom are greater even than he.

          Okay, but what about us?  You know, it’s understandable if we feel a little bit imprisoned these days.  The world is an increasingly dark place and it is increasingly hostile to our faith.  I can understand if perhaps any of you might begin to think thoughts like, “What if I was wrong?” and “What if Jesus isn’t who he says he is?”  “The perfect world that Isaiah promised would come with the Messiah seems to be far away, and so what are we to do?”  Advent, my brothers and sisters, gives us the answer.

          In the second reading, Saint James wrote to the first generation of Christians and encouraged them to be patient and to be steadfast in their right conduct throughout these many seasons until the Lord returns.  He exhorts them in this way because he anticipates the Lord’s return: “Behold, the Judge is standing before the gates”, he wrote.  This same advice applies to us today and reminds us of why we are in this holy season.  Although we are anticipating our celebration of Christmas—Christ’s first coming among us—the main focus of Advent is to remind us of our need to anticipate Christ’s second coming, which is still to come.

          We have come to know Jesus, the one for whom our hearts long.  Our task is to remain steadfast in faith, even in the face of hostility from the world, and to work to make the kingdom of heaven known in anticipation of Christ’s imminent return.  Advent is this time of renewal in which we return to Jesus, like John sending his disciples to him, and see once again for ourselves the proof that he is, indeed, who he says he is.  Perhaps even in our own lives we have seen him perform miracles: maybe not curing the blind or deaf or making otherwise crippled persons walk upright, but maybe in healing a broken relationship or consoling a heart crippled by a loss.  These and many more things are signs that Jesus is, indeed, the one who was to come and so we have no need to look for another.  This very fact is cause enough for us to rejoice!

          Nonetheless, we still have an even greater sign that Jesus is the one who was to come: his coming to us here at this altar.  May our hearts open more deeply to receive him here today and so be strengthened in our faith that the Messiah has come, is here, and will come again; and thus go forth from here rejoicing to strengthen the hearts of those around us so that all might be ready to receive him when he comes.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – December 10^th & 11^th, 2016

It all starts with the ordinary.

Homily: 3^rd Sunday of Advent – Cycle C

          St Peter’s Basilica in Rome is arguably the most famous church in the world.  And it’s enormous.  Inside it’s 614 feet long.  In fact, when you enter the doors and stand at the end of its full length and look at the floor, you’ll see that there are markings there indicating its size in comparison to other major churches throughout the world, verifying that quite possibly it is the largest church in the world.  The ceiling of the main nave is 145 feet high, and the inside of the dome itself soars to 385 feet.  It’s built in a the form of a cross and, just to give you a better idea of its size, I would bet that our church—which is not small, by any means—would fit multiple times in one of the side naves of St. Peter’s.  Like I said, it’s enormous.

          Of course, it is adorned with everything that high Renaissance art could throw at it, which you might think would be overwhelming when you first walk in there.  On the contrary, though, there is an incredible sense of balance and proportionality to it all.  As I walked through there for the first time I just tried to take it all in.  After spending some time in there, however, I started to approach different objects—certain statues, altars, side chapels, etc.—to take a closer look; and when I did I was amazed at the size of each thing.  Not only is the Basilica itself huge, everything in it is huge, too!

          Standing in the midst of this extraordinariness, it’s easy to forget why it’s even there at all.  St. Peter’s Basilica was built over an ancient necropolis (a “city cemetery”) on Rome’s Vatican Hill.  This ancient burial ground was very close to one of the places where Romans held sporting events, gladiator fights, and where they sometimes executed criminals.  That Roman entertainment complex (which they called “circuses”) was where Saint Peter was crucified and that nearby necropolis was where Saint Peter was buried.  It’s amazing to think that such an extraordinary basilica was constructed because of someone so ordinary: a fisherman from Galilee, a remote outpost of the Roman Empire.  That’s like saying we were going to build a basilica to honor a factory worker from Logansport Stamping.

          The basilica wasn’t built because of Peter’s merit alone, however.  That would be a hard case to sell.  He often said the wrong thing, at the wrong time, and Jesus had to correct him.  He confessed that he would die with Jesus, but then fled when Jesus was arrested.  Worse yet, he denied knowing Jesus three times when he was threatened with arrest for knowing him.  No the basilica wasn’t built over his grave because of his own merits.  He was an ordinary fisherman from Galilee through and through.  The basilica was built over his grave, rather, because of the extraordinary things that God accomplished through his ordinariness.  In other words, it was built to honor the ordinary that God had made extraordinary.  And so we see that, with God, it all starts with the ordinary.

          In the Gospel reading last week we heard how people were coming to John the Baptist, responding to his call for a “baptism of repentance” in which they would renounce their sins and then be ritually washed so as to be cleansed from the ritual impurity that their sins caused.  Today, we heard how many of these people, having turned away from their sins, sought advice from John about what they should do now that they had been cleansed.  Perhaps they thought that he would invite them to join him in his ascetic way of life, abandoning their work and wealth to live in extreme conditions.  Perhaps they thought that this kind of extraordinary act would be necessary to complete their cleansing.  What they heard, however, wasn’t very extraordinary at all.  John said to them: “Whatever you’re doing, do it right. And if you have the chance to help somebody in need, do it.”  These were very ordinary things.  Nevertheless, John knew that these things would prepare them for the extraordinary transformation that Christ would soon bring.

          This transformation is much more dramatic than the words of the Gospel convey on the surface.  What John described was fantastical.  His baptism was an ordinary baptism: a cleansing with water.  Imagine having just experienced that kind of baptism and then to hear him say that the one who will come after him—the one who would be mightier than him—will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire!  It would have been shocking and incomprehensible to his hearers.   Yet what he was saying to them was, "Do these ordinary things and you'll be ready for this extraordinary experience.”

          It’s not hard, sometimes, however, when we’re not sure what the next steps are, to think that we have to do extraordinary things.  For example: last year my family decided to come here for Christmas.  I had never hosted my whole family before so I wasn’t sure how to prepare.  I stated worrying that I would have to do all of these extraordinary things to prepare for their arrival.  I soon realized, however, that I had to start with ordinary things: I had to make sure that the house was clean and that it was neatly appointed with festive things.  After that, I just had to keep doing what I had been doing and wait for them to come.  In the end having them here was a great experience! Extraordinary in every way.

          I worry that we sometimes act this way with God.  We think that we have to do extraordinary things to get his attention.  And that, if we don’t feel like we can do those things (or, perhaps, we’re just not motivated to do those things), we decide not to do anything at all.  Yet, as we see throughout the Scriptures and in the lives of the Saints, God wants to meet us in the ordinary: and then to make our ordinary extraordinary.

          My brothers and sisters, the most extraordinary event in the history of the world was the birth of Jesus, the divine person who took on our ordinary human flesh in order to save us from sin and death forever.  He has already worked an extraordinary transformation in each of us through baptism; and he is coming again to complete our transformation to be like him in glory.  Thus, we don't need to be extraordinary ourselves. Rather, we can find joy in the ordinary—the work-a-day here and now—because of the extraordinary that God has promised to make with it.

          So what should we do?  Focus on the basics: Repent.  Seek the baptism of repentance by turning away from whatever sin in which you may be caught and be cleansed by making a good confession before Christmas.  Then, do the work you were given to do in justice and truth.  In other words, pray, share your blessings with the poor, and do your daily work with integrity.  Finally, wait in joyful expectation of the one who has already come, is still with us, and will come to us again.  In these ways, my brothers and sisters—that is, in our faithful obedience to the ordinary—we will be prepared for that day when God will transform our ordinary to be unbelievably extraordinary.   Therefore, as Saint Paul exhorts us, let us “rejoice in the Lord always.  I say it again: rejoice!”  For the Lord is truly near.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – December 12^th & 13^th, 2015

Rejoice! The end is near!

          The third week of Advent is upon us, which means that the end is near!  Are you ready?  No, not for Christmas, but for the second coming of Christ!  Christmas will come and we will be ready enough, but if this time hasn't helped us to prepare for Christ's second coming, then we haven't used this time well.  Go to confession.  Pray.  Then look with expectant hope for Jesus to come again in glory.  Then will you be able to rejoice, because the end is near.

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Homily: 3^rd Sunday of Advent – Cycle B

          In one form or another, we all have probably seen them.  I call them “sandwich board prophets.”  You know, the ones who walk through city streets or stand on street corners wearing a sandwich board sign that in big, hand-painted letters reads “The end is near!”  These folks will tell you that they are reading the “signs of the times”—that is, they are interpreting current events—and that these indicate that the end of civilization as we know it—or, perhaps, even the end of the universe itself—is very near.  It can be an unsettling message for someone just going about their day; one that can leave him or her feeling rather uncomfortable.

          However you may have seen them (if not in real life then depicted in films or in TV shows or on the news), they almost always have the appearance of someone who isn’t quite connected with mainstream culture.  These folks usually look pretty disheveled: long, unkempt hair, ratty clothes, a scraggly beard (on men), and a look in their eyes that makes you question who’s really there behind them.  Thus, in spite of their discomfiting message (or, perhaps, because of it), you find it easy to shrug them off.  And why?  Well, because he or she looks… what?  Crazy! Yep, they’re crazy.  Because if they’re crazy then we can forget about what they are trying to tell us and go on with our comfortable lives.

          A couple of millennia ago, a man named John came from a little hill town of Judea and began to proclaim an uncomfortable message to the people of Judah.  “Repent”, he said, “and be baptized, for a mighty one, the Lord’s anointed, is coming!”  This man John was crying out in a deserted place, outside of Jerusalem.  The author of the Gospel of Mark tells us that “he was clothed in camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist” and that “he fed on locusts and wild honey.”  It certainly doesn’t stretch the imagination to think that this John would look right at home on a street corner in New York City with a sandwich board sign on his shoulders reading “The end is near!” (Perhaps this is where the modern sandwich board prophets got their look.)

          John’s message was certainly uncomfortable for many.  Unlike our modern examples of sandwich board prophets, however, people were actually listening to John’s message and they were coming to be baptized by him in the Jordan River.  Thus, in spite of the fact that many, perhaps, wanted to sign him off as crazy, the people of Judah were forced to take him seriously.  And so, as we heard today from the Gospel of John, the Jewish leaders in Jerusalem sent a delegation of priests and Levites (that is, men from the priestly tribe of Levi) to find out who he was.  John’s message was uncomfortable and so they needed a way to make sense of it and, perhaps, to explain it away.

          John, however, eludes their categories.  First, John straightly admits that he is not the Christ.  He would not allow even the slightest bit of speculation to be circulated about that question.  Then, they ask if he is Elijah, the prophet, who, it was believed, would appear again just before the Messiah would come.  But, in spite of the fact that, in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus himself will say that John is Elijah, John denies it.  Next the priests and Levites ask if he is the Prophet (that is, the one who Moses predicted would arise after him).  Again, John denies it.  Frustrated, they finally give in and say “Just tell us, because we have to have something to tell the religious leaders back in Jerusalem!”  To this John gives an enigmatic answer: “I am a voice crying out… Prepare!”  The Jewish leaders wanted another category in which to put him so that they might feel more comfortable with him; but he defied their categorization.

          John, however, seems to have seen himself as fulfilling a prophesy of Isaiah; and thus sharing in the same “anointing of God’s spirit” that Isaiah claimed to have in our first reading.  Isaiah’s message was something much more joyful; for he claimed that he was sent “to announce a year of favor from the Lord”, in which those who suffer would be freed from their suffering.  This was a very joyful message for those who heard it and many of the people of Israel rejoiced with him for having proclaimed it.

          Each of us has been anointed with God’s Spirit.  In our baptism, we were cleansed of sin and became children of God: temples of God’s Holy Spirit.  In Confirmation, the Gift of the Holy Spirit was sealed within us, strengthening us to announce Good News to the people of the world.  (Our Brother, Tim, is about to receive this sealing as he is received into full communion with the Church.)  Because each of us has been anointed and sealed with God’s Holy Spirit in this way, we are each called to make some proclamation in our lives.  Some of us, like Isaiah in today’s reading, may feel like we have been given a joyful message that the end of suffering is upon us because of the death and resurrection of Jesus our Savior.  Others, like John, may feel like we have been given a discomfiting message: the call to repentance because the time of the Lord’s return is near.  In reality, however, these two calls often interchange through the different seasons of our lives.  Nevertheless, the call to proclaim these messages as Good News remains unchanging.

          Therefore, my brothers and sisters, let us acknowledge today that each of us is called to be a “sandwich board prophet”, because each of us, through our baptism and confirmation, has been anointed with the Lord’s Spirit to proclaim the coming age of the end of suffering and thus to call all people to repent—that is to turn away from their worldly comfort—so as to prepare for the coming of the Mighty One, the Lord’s Anointed, Jesus, Our Savior, who is coming after us and who surely is coming soon.  What’s that?  Sure.  Go ahead and clothe yourself in camel’s hair if that helps inspire you to take up your call; but it’s not necessary.  All that’s needed is a love of our Lord Jesus and a fervent desire that everyone else would know and love him, too.  (And, by the way, if you’re missing either of these things, then seek the Lord in prayer and ask him to draw near, most especially here in the Holy Eucharist: for He surely will.)

          Let us, then, take up this call (and our sandwich board, if necessary) and proclaim the coming of our Lord.  For when we do, we will acknowledge that the end is truly near and we will hasten the Lord’s coming; thus hastening the time when we will truly know what it means to rejoice.

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