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

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

The Glorious Body of Christ

Homily: Feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica – Cycle A

          You know, I must not have been paying attention much over the years, because I don’t ever remember a year in which so many feast days that, when they fall on Sunday, replace the Sunday solemnity.  Surely a year in which the feasts of Saints Peter and Paul, the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, All Souls Day, and the Dedication of St. John Lateran all fall on Sunday has happened at least one other time in the nearly 37 years of my life, but for some reason I don’t remember it.  Of course it only happens “once in a blue moon”, which makes it special for us; and this is good, because it helps to shake us out of our routine in order to consider other aspects of the rich tradition of the Catholic Church.

          This feast, in particular, however—the feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica—may seem a little strange to us.  Celebrating the saints?  Sure, we get that.  Celebrating the dedication of a church building?  And one that most of us have never laid eyes on?  That one’s not as easy to understand.  In order to understand why, let’s first consider a little history.

          Not long after the emperor Constantine ended the persecution of Christians in the fourth century and made Christianity the official religion of the empire, he gave the pope land in Rome once belonging to the Laterani family; and the palace that was already erected there became the Pope’s residence.  The Pope built a church there and on November 9^th, in the year 324, Pope St. Sylvester I dedicated the church to be his Cathedral—the place where his cathedra, that is, the chair from which he governs the Church, resides.  In spite of the fact that the residence of the pope moved from the Lateran palace to the Vatican Hill in the 14^th century, the Lateran Basilica has always remained to be the Cathedral church of the Diocese of Rome.

          The church building itself has gone through many renovations through the years, even to the point of being completely demolished and rebuilt in the 17^th century.  With the façade that was added in the 18^th century, the church building took on the look that we know it to have today.  It is a huge structure (square-footage wise we could probably fit 10-plus copies of this church within it) and the high-renaissance art and architectural detail within it completely blows away both the expert art critic/historian and the everyday pilgrim alike.  By every right it holds a position as one of the most visually powerful buildings on this earth.  But this is not why we honor the dedication of this church today.

          No, there are many other buildings that rival St. John Lateran both in size and beauty (St. Peter’s in Rome, for example, is both bigger and more elaborate), but none of them contain the cathedra, the chair of the Bishop of Rome.  From that chair, the Pope presides over the universal Church.  And so, in a very real way, that chair—with the Pope sitting on it—represents the unity and continuity of the Catholic Church.

          But why such an elaborate church?  I mean, with all of the people suffering in poverty throughout the world, why build such an ostentatious structure?  Couldn’t the money used to build that church—along with the money needed to maintain such a church—be used to fund missionaries to bring relief to the world’s poorest people?  Yes, it could, but there’s more to this than the Pope having the biggest, fanciest church in the world as his cathedral.  This big, fancy church—and our celebration of its dedication today—says something about us, the People of God, and so this church has a deeper, sacramental meaning.

          In Saint Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, we heard him say that “You are God’s building.”  (The “You” in this sentence referring to the whole body of believers in the city of Corinth.)  Later in this same passage we heard him ask, “Do you not know that you are the temple of God?”  (Again, “you” referring to all of the Christians in Corinth.)  What is Paul saying here?  Well, he’s saying what the Christian community knew from a very early time after Christ’s Ascension into heaven: that the “temple” that Jesus spoke about that would be destroyed and raised up in three days was his body; and that his body was not just his human body, which was physically raised from the dead after three days, but that it was also the body of believers, of which Jesus himself is the head.  Therefore, this body of believers is God’s temple, the dwelling place of the Holy Spirit.

          Now, we believe that Jesus’ human body has been glorified: that is, that when Jesus’ human body was raised from the dead, it was transformed into a glorious body—one no longer restricted by the limitations of a non-glorified human body.  (Remember Easter Sunday?  He passed through locked doors to enter rooms.)  And so if Jesus’ body is a glorified body, and we, the body of believers are also his body, then we, too—as a body—must be glorious.

          Take a look at the folks sitting around you.  Does this look like a body sufficiently glorious so as to proclaim to the world “we are the Body of Christ, the glorious temple of the Holy Spirit”?  Now imagine what it was like 1000, 1500, or even 1700 years ago.  There were probably only a few people who would have even bathed before coming to Mass at the newly dedicated Lateran basilica.  My guess is that they weren’t looking much like a glorious temple of the Lord.  But when they walked into that basilica and took in all of the light, the gilded ceiling and altar, the statues and the even the floors, they probably thought to themselves, “Yeah, we are something special; something other worldly; something… glorious.”

          My brothers and sisters, this is why we build spectacular, beautiful, grandiose churches all over the world.  Not because we’re trying to show-off and proclaim ourselves better than anyone else; but rather to remind ourselves of who we are: the glorious temple of God on earth.  A splendid church is a visible reminder of an invisible reality: in other words, a sacrament.  And when we celebrate a particular church—whether that be the Pope’s cathedral in Rome or our own bishop’s cathedral in Lafayette—what we are celebrating is the universality of Christ’s glorious body by celebrating where this universality is most profoundly experienced: the place where the sheep and the shepherd unite to worship God in all His splendor.

          My brothers and sisters, the world needs to see the beauty and splendor of Christ’s glorious body here on earth.  Thus, as we experience this splendor when we come to this beautiful place to be most intimately united with Christ our head, who offers himself to us from this altar, we must then carry forward this splendor into the world, like the water in Ezekiel’s vision that flowed from the ruins of the ancient Temple in Jerusalem and brought fruitful life to the arid desert and made fresh the salt waters of the Dead Sea.  For when we do, the glory of Christ’s body will begin to be reflected outside of these walls and we will be ready to know Christ’s true glory when he comes again.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – November 9^th, 2014

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!

--------------------------------------------------

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

Blessings and Grace

Ok, so I'm finally back from all of my travels. Praise God first and foremost that throughout our journey no one got lost, injured, or pick-pocketed! Our travel was safe and it seemed like everyone had a great experience.

Before you ask, I haven't even begun to download my pictures yet. The most common question that I have been asked so far is probably the hardest one to answer in thirty seconds or less: "So, what did you guys see when you were over there?" Let me see if I can give a summary that leaves you longing to see my pictures (...gee, I really hope that most of them turned out!).

We started off in London where we in broad strokes reviewed the history of Christianity, and particularly of the Reformation, in England. To do this we visited the National Portrait Gallery and got a visual history of the Tudor dynasty and those that followed it. We visited the Tower of London and Tyburn convent, where thousands of Christians were murdered for being on the wrong side of the Catholic-Protestant divide (which side was the wrong side depending on who was in power at the time). We visited Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's Cathedral (both Anglican) to see "High Anglican" churches at their finest (even if one of them is a former Catholic monastery). We visited John Wesley's house and learned about the history of Methodism. We prayed at the splendid Brompton Oratory, as well as at the tombs of St. Thomas More, St. Edward the Confessor, and at the martyrdom site of St. Thomas Beckett. We visited Oxford to see Bl. John Henry Newman's old stomping ground and Canterbury, the very place where Christianity began in England. We also enjoyed contemporary culture in London, enjoying plays and musicals on a couple of evenings. I also enjoyed exploring some of the most charming pubs in London (more on these "walking tours" later). If it wasn't for the dreadful weather (cold and damp most days), I would have loved to stay longer. Alas, to Rome!

In Rome... well, in Rome it felt like we saw it all. If there was a theme it probably was, "From Constantine to High Baroque in Ten Days." We began by exploring the ruins of the Roman Forum (i.e. the splendor of Constantinian Rome) and continued to explore basilica after basilica... so much so that the nuances between Renaissance and Baroque styles of architecture started to become abundantly clear. We explored the architectural "duelling banjos" that was splendidly played out throughout Rome between Borromini and Bernini (let's just say that Bernini won that duel). Once we were cross-eyed with the High Roman Baroque, we toured Florence for something completely different... the Renaissance. After many of these tours I found myself playing the line from Ferris Bueller's Day Off in my head:

Ferris: Cameron, what have you seen today?
Cameron: Nothing good.
Ferris: Nothing good? Wha... what do you mean nothing good? We've seen everything good. We've seen the whole city! We went to a museum, we saw priceless works of art. We ate pancreas!

Side note: Google "borghese gallery" and "bernini"... most incredible sculptures ever! Then Google "trippa romana" and figure out what "trippa" really is... I ate that. Once you've done that you'll know why this quote was so prominent in my head :)

We toured the beautiful hill town of Assisi and I was able to complete my pilgrimage to Turin... which brings me to my most important point. We were able to pray in front of the tombs of many our Christian heritage's greatest saints: Saints Peter and Paul (I saw Peter's bones!), Saint Francis and Saint Clare, Saint Lawrence and Saint Cecilia, Saint Ignatius of Loyola and Saint Timothy, Saint Monica and the soon to be beatified John Paul II among many others. Two places were of particular interest to me: first, I climbed the stairs (on my knees, because that's the only way they let you do it) that Jesus climbed to meet Pontius Pilate in the Praetorium before where he was condemned to death; second, I was able to pray before the tomb of Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati, whom I looked to for help while undergoing chemotherapy treatments. It was truly moving to pray before his tomb in Turin, since I have been devoted to him for so long.

We also saw the Pope, of course, and ate lots of pizza, pasta, and gelato and drank our fair share of wine. Oh, and did I mention that it was 50-60 degrees and sunny every day we were there? I was sooo tempted to ditch the group and become a gypsy king just so I could stay in that perfect weather for a little while longer. Alas, I could not overcome my sense of duty and I returned home with the group. But that's not all...

Two days later, we were in vans heading to Washington D.C. to March for Life on the anniversary of the Roe v. Wade Supreme Court decision that legalized abortion in our country. Given my weariness with travelling, I really had no interest in going, but God's grace helped me to offer my tiny sufferings for all of those babies who have been murdered and the men and women whose lives have been permanently disfigured by abortion. Once again, hundreds of thousands of men and women, many of them youth from throughout the country, converged to stand in protest of the unjust laws protecting abortion as a right in our country. While laws protecting abortion are nothing to be proud of, we should all be proud of our country and the freedom we enjoy to speak out against our government when we feel justice is being ignored. I carried the Stars and Stripes during the March and felt proud to do so.

If I can describe all of these adventures in a nutshell it is in two words: blessings and grace. I have been truly blessed to have seen all that I have seen and to have come in contact with so much of our Catholic history, especially as I prepare to be ordained to the transitional diaconate in the spring. Grace has touched me throughout all of this (both in joy and sorrow) and I will be unpacking it all for months, I'm sure. I will try to share some of the specific blessings and graces with you here as I do.

Thank you for all of you who prayed for us as we traveled. They were felt! Stay tuned for more soon. Ciao!

Merry Christmas

Blessings to all for a very Merry Christmas! Just a quick note to all of you to let you know that I will be leaving in a couple of days for a trip to London and Rome with a group from Saint Meinrad. We will spend three weeks there (one in London and two in Rome). I will take more pictures than I will know what to do with and I promise (and I mean it) that I will post the story of our trip after I return.

Please pray for safe travels and a heart open to experiencing God's presence in a new way. Thanks and PEACE!