The Blood that makes us Family

Homily: The Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ – Cycle B

          It used to be, it seems (at least, that is, if movies and TV shows depicted the stereotypes correctly), that fathers of newly engaged daughters would make brash declarations to their soon-to-be son-in-laws about the “rules” of being part of their family.  These usually centered on the idea that the son-in-law to be must respect the father’s daughter and treat her like a lady, as well as some of the ways that he would be expected to integrate into the family culture.  And, if it is a particularly “over-protective” father, these rules usually come with some sort of threat of punishment if any of these rules are ever broken.  Has anyone ever seen this scene before?  Has anyone ever lived this scene before?

          What strikes me about these scenes, however, is the rudimentary parallels between them and the covenants formed in the Ancient Near East (that is, ancient Palestine: where Jesus walked the earth).  You see, a covenant, in ancient times, was basically a pact between two peoples who weren’t otherwise bound to each other by blood or by marriage.  A covenant is like a contract in which terms are spelled out between the two groups entering into it: there are certain rules that each group must abide by and punishments for those who break those rules.  Different, however, is that the bond that the covenant forms is a familial bond.  In other words, after entering the covenant, the groups that enter into it treat each other as if they were family.  Thus, the correlation between the father and his future son-in-law: “If you’re going to be a part of this family, there are certain rules you have to follow.”  The father, perhaps unknowingly, is laying down the terms of a covenant.

          In the first reading of today’s Mass, we heard described how the ancient Israelites entered into a covenant with God.  Moses, speaking on behalf of God, reads the “terms” of God’s proposed covenant with the people; and the people respond that they will indeed fulfill these terms.  The covenant is then sealed by a sacrifice: the blood of which is splashed on the altar (representing God) and then sprinkled on the people.  In doing this, God and the people became “family” (as evidenced by the oft-repeated phrase in the scriptures: “You will be my people, and I will be your God.”)

          Now, if you heard my homily last week for Trinity Sunday (or, perhaps, if you read it online), you’ll know that what we celebrate on Trinity Sunday is that God has made himself known to us so that we can enter into relationship with him and, thus, fulfill our purpose for being made: which is to know, love, and serve him in this world, and to be happy with him forever in the next.  You’ll also remember that I said that we know him by remembering the gracious ways that he has worked in our lives and in the lives of others throughout history, as recorded for us in the Bible, in Church History, and in the Lives of the Saints.  I said that, as adopted sons and daughters of God (and, therefore, brothers and sisters of Christ), we are endowed with the grace of being loved by God as his beloved children and that, as brothers and sisters of Christ himself, we are caught up into the eternal outpouring of love that the Father makes to the Son and the Son returns to the Father, and which explodes forth and pours out into creation as the Holy Spirit.  Thus, we love God by loving him as Christ loves him: by receiving the love that is poured out to us and by returning that love with an outpouring of our lives.  Finally, I said that we serve God by fulfilling the “Great Commission” that Jesus gave to his disciples: to “go and make disciples of all nations” in the particular manner to which God has called each of us.

          It is to the second point of these that I want to draw our attention today: that is, that we love God like sons and daughters because we have been adopted by him.  Friends, if we are adopted sons and daughters of God, then we, like the ancient Israelites, have entered into a covenant with him.  This is not the covenant that Moses mediated between God and the people and sealed by the blood of bulls and goats, however.  It is a new covenant, mediated by Christ and sealed by the sacrifice of his own Body and Blood, as the author of the Letter to the Hebrews relates: “[Christ] entered once for all into the sanctuary, not with the blood of goats and calves but with his own blood, thus obtaining eternal redemption.”  This is why we celebrate this great feast of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ—and why we celebrate it immediately following the feast of the Most Holy Trinity—because without it we were estranged from God, but with it we are now sons and daughters of God—brothers and sisters of Christ—and, thus, can receive the fullness of the benefits that come from being in this covenant with him: that is, to know him, to love him, and to serve him in this world, and to be happy with him forever in the next.

          Friends, it is a great grace to be in covenant with God.  And if we understand this, then our response must always be thanksgiving.  This is why our primary form of worship is the Eucharist: a sacrifice of thanksgiving in which we offer back to God the very thing that unites us to him, the Body and Blood of his Son Jesus.  Our thanksgiving doesn’t end here, however.  Rather, our lives must be a continuous act of thanksgiving; which they are when we live according to the way of life God has commanded us to live as safeguarded by the moral teachings of the Church.  Therefore, as we give God thanks today for this covenant into which he has invited us—sealed as it is by the Blood of Christ—let us recommit ourselves to living as he commanded us.  In doing so, we will give him glory and prepare ourselves to be happy with him forever in heaven.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – June 3^rd, 2018

Offer it anyway

          This past week we had to say “goodbye” to our dear friend Fr. Eder.  I’ll admit that I regret not spending more time with him while I was still Associate Pastor.  Nevertheless, he still made an impression on me.  His stories of how he decided to get a pilot’s license and then used it to take youth on trips (on his plane!) and of how, when he was assigned as a chaplain to the State Hospital and they didn’t have enough counselors, he decided to get a degree in psychotherapy in order to help out impressed me the most.  Here was a man who had a rare mix of a servant’s heart and a “can-do” attitude that was inspiring.  Like all of us he came to God without much; but when God asked him to take what he had and give it to the people he did, and what he offered was multiplied to do more than probably he could have imagined, just like the offerings that were made in this weekend’s readings.  Perhaps this week, in Fr. Eder’s spirit, we too could strive to let God multiply our meager gifts by placing them before him and responding in faith to his call to serve.

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Homily: 17^th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B

          If you’ve read the books, or seen the film, or have been to the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum, then you perhaps know the story of Oskar Schindler, a businessman in Germany during World War II who worked to save over 1000 Jews from death in German Concentration Camps.  The film, titled Schindler’s List, is how I came to know him.  It dramatically and powerfully portrays how this, at times, shady businessman turned his prowess towards keeping his factory open and maintaining a mainly Jewish workforce as a way to keep as many of them as he could from the horrors that they faced daily in the camps.

          One of the most moving parts of this powerful movie happens towards the end, of course.  After the Russian forces liberate the camp from which Oskar Schindler was taking the Jews to work in his factory (and he, thus, sees a glimpse of the full horror that those camps inflicted) he begins to feel guilty for not having done more to save more Jews from those horrors.  I often wonder, if he had known the scope of the problem before he started, would he have even begun?  Or would he have thought that he couldn’t have made a difference and so turned away from the problem all together, hoping someone else would do something?  Thankfully, we’ll never know.

          But this is something rather human for us, isn’t it?  That when we look at a problem that seems far too big for us to solve alone we often turn away from it, instead of offering what we can, because we think that our offering won’t make much of a difference.  1200 Jews isn’t much when you think that 6 million were killed and so it’s not unreasonable for us to sympathize with individuals who understood the scope of the killing and could have done something, but failed to do anything because they were paralyzed by thinking that it would make little difference.  When we look at Oskar Schindler’s story, however, and the stories we read in our Sacred Scriptures today, we realize just how wrong we can be.

          In our first reading, we heard how a man brought the firstfruits of his harvest—the “fresh grain in the ear”—to Elisha, the “man of God”, in order to offer it to God.  This was a very common thing to do as a way of showing reverence to God from whom all life (and, thus, the harvest) flows.  Elisha does something dramatic, however, when he directs the man to place it before the gathered people, instead.  The firstfruits offered to God were for God alone and should not be eaten by the “common” folk (who we might call “laity” today).  This reveals, perhaps, that there was great hunger at that time and so it could be thought that Elisha was responding to the truth that “God desires mercy, not sacrifice” by directing that the offering be given to those who were hungry.

          Nevertheless, the man observes that his offering is insufficient to feed the number of people who had gathered and so he tries to object.  It seems as if he thought that because his offering would be insufficient to feed all of the gathered people, that it would be useless to offer it.  Elisha, however, knowing the sign that God wanted to show through the offering, insists that he offer it anyway, which he does.  And, as we heard, the Lord multiplied his meager offering: so much so that there was bread to spare.

          Then, in the Gospel reading, we heard how Jesus asked his disciples how they could get enough food to feed the large crowd who had gathered to hear him teach.  And we heard how Philip responded; thinking that even a Bill Gates’ sized fortune wouldn’t be enough to feed them all.  Andrew, however, found a boy who had some loaves and fish.  He mentioned it to Jesus, acknowledging that this meager amount might as well be nothing on account of there being so many to feed.  But Jesus knew the sign that he wanted to show through this offering, and so he directs the gathered crowd to recline (as if at a dinner table) as he prepares the meal that he will share with them.  What they had to offer was insignificant in comparison to the problem that needed to be solved and so they wanted to give up.  But the Lord multiplied their meager offering: again, so much so that the leftovers were more abundant than what was offered.

          One of the unique characteristics of each of these offerings, however, is their Eucharistic nature.  The man in the first reading brought the firstfruits of his harvest to offer to God as an act of thanksgiving for the abundance of his harvest.  In the Gospel, Jesus takes the gift of loaves and fish and first gives thanks to God for having received them.  In both cases, the thanksgiving offerings were multiplied to satisfy the need.  None of us, of course, has enough on our own to resolve the world’s greatest problems.  Nevertheless, if we would only offer to God what we have, in thanksgiving for what we have received, God would multiply our individual offerings, too, and thus satisfy the needs of those around us.  This is what our beloved Fr. Eder did in his life and, if you were at his funeral Mass this past Friday, you’ll know that because of this God multiplied his offering and so touched many more lives than Fr. Eder probably would have ever imagined he could have touched.

          This, too, therefore, highlights the sacramental nature of our offerings: that in spite of what our offering looks like on the outside, in God’s hands it is always something greater.  Just look at what happens here at this Mass: we bring forward our meager offering of bread and wine and as we give thanks to God for these gifts—united in thanksgiving for all of the gifts that he has given us—he transforms them into the Body and Blood of Jesus for us to receive: an immeasurable multiplication of what we offered.

          My brothers and sisters, our Church, our parish, is not dying: it’s alive!  It will only live, however, if we continue to trust that God will multiply our gifts when we offer them to him in thanksgiving for all that we have received; which happens whenever we respond to the needs of the materially and spiritually poor.  And so, in thanksgiving for all that we have received, let us make our offering today; and then let us go forth in faith to see how God will work a miracle of grace in our lives and in the lives around us.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – July 25^th & 26^th, 2015

Notice:

            In September of 2009 I was diagnosed with Stage 4, Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma.  In the spring of 2010, I completed the full cycles of chemotherapy and the cancer was officially declared to be in remission.  Many experts say that after five years without a recurrence one is considered to be “cured”.  In January of this year I was scanned once again and the cancer remains in remission.  Praised be God!  Anticipating this last fall, I decided that I would make a pilgrimage to offer thanks to God for his mercy.  On April 8^th, I left for the Holy Land to make this pilgrimage.  How appropriate that I will be there on Divine Mercy Sunday, when we celebrate God’s saving mercy that has come to us through the death and resurrection of His Son, Jesus Christ Our Lord.  There I will walk in the land where Our Savior walked and pray in the holy places, offering thanksgiving to God, especially through the Eucharist.  I will remember all of you there.  Please pray with me during this time as I invoke the maternal protection of Mary, Our Lady of Perpetual Help, for my journey.

O Mother of Perpetual Help,

I invoke your powerful name

which is the safeguard of the living

and the salvation of the dying.

O purest and sweetest Mary,

hear me when I call upon you

for help in all my physical

and spiritual needs.

I offer myself into your hands.

Hold me close to your heart

as you held your Son Jesus,

and ask the angels, Michael and Gabriel

to keep watch over me always

in times of trouble and temptation.

Amen.

I look forward to being with you all again after my return on April 18^th.  Pax.

          A little late in posting!!!  Please, don't skip Advent.  We are a Resurrection people (Easter), but we are also a people awaiting the final coming of our Lord (Advent).  Come, Lord Jesus!

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Homily: 1^st Sunday of Advent – Cycle A

          Does anybody here remember Thanksgiving?  “Oh, Father.  Thanksgiving is so, like, 15 minutes ago!”  Yeah, I know.  You know, I don’t have a TV over at the rectory so I hardly ever watch TV.  But my parents and my sister have TVs in just about every room in their houses and so when I’m home visiting, like I was these last few days, I can’t help but watch some of it.  And by the looks of what I saw on TV, Thanksgiving was over before it even began.  Everything leading up to and throughout the day was about getting you to think about Christmas.

          And the Christmas that they want you to think about isn’t the Christmas of Jesus, but rather the Christmas of immediate satisfaction, right?: every ad on TV, on the radio, and in the newspapers is desperate to convince you that 1) if you’ve waited until now, you’re already too late and 2) that if you get or give the latest thing that you and your loved ones will never be sad again.  (Which, by the way, is a total lie, because if it were true then you wouldn’t have a need to go back to the stores after Christmas, which would mean that they would all shut down… and that isn’t gonna happen.)  But then we show up here, for Mass, on this first Sunday of Advent and what do we see?  Not Christmas, but what?  Purple?  Yes, the color purple.  The color of penance, conversion, and preparation.  Yes, it seems like the Church is telling us a different message, a contrasting message.  Hopefully, this is a contrast that makes us stop and think.

          But you know, there wasn’t much difference in Jesus’ time.  The coming of the Messiah had been long-delayed, it seemed, and the people of Jesus’ time had become complacent with their daily lives.  Their religion became more of a culture—an expression of who they were as a people—instead of way to remain focused on the coming of the Messiah and their daily concerns were causing them to lose focus on the bigger picture: their ultimate salvation and redemption through the coming of God’s anointed one.

          And so Jesus, speaking to his disciples, gives a lesson to help wake them up.  He recalls the history of Noah and the flood in order to remind his disciples of how the vast majority of people were not ready for the coming of the flood, because instead of responding to Noah’s prophesy through building the arc, they continued “eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage.”  And when the flood came, it was too late and they were all carried away.  They were focused on the “right now”, Jesus seems to say, and so they were unprepared for what was to come.

          This is his lesson to his disciples (and so to us): stay awake and be ready for the coming of the Son of Man.  For his coming will be even more sudden than the coming of the flood; more sudden than a thief who comes in the middle of the night; so sudden and unexpected will it be that even those who are ready for it won’t know that it has come until it is upon them: like it would be if two men were working in the field and one would suddenly disappear or if two women were working at the mill and one would suddenly disappear.  And so, he tells them (and us), “stay awake!”

          Saint Paul, in his Letter to the Romans, repeats this message.  He says to them, “Brothers and sisters: you know the time; it is the hour now for you to awake from sleep.  For our salvation in nearer now than when we first believed; the night is advanced, the day is at hand.”  In both Jesus’ and Saint Paul’s message there is urgency: a sense that there is no time to lose; that, in fact, we are perhaps already too late… Wait, doesn’t that sound a bit like a message we receive in nearly every commercial or advertisement?  And so you see just how countercultural the Gospel is in our modern day.  While the culture of the world is telling us “Go now! Shop! Spend! Indulge! because you’re going to be too late!”, the Gospel tells us “Turn away from all of those things, because the day of salvation—the day when all of those things will be left behind—is already at hand.”

          On November 30^th, the Church celebrates the feast day of Saint Andrew, the apostle.  Although by one Gospel account, Andrew was the first to respond to Jesus’ call, we have almost no words of his recorded: either in the Gospels themselves or in letters that he may have written before his martyrdom.  The few words that we have recorded appear in the gospel of John, when, after encountering Jesus and engaging in dialogue with him, he was so convinced of who Jesus was that he rushed to his brother Peter and said to him, “We have found the Messiah.” (John 1:41)  Saint John Chrysostom, reflecting on Andrew’s reaction to his encounter with Jesus and on these few words of Andrew’s, states “Andrew’s words reveal a soul waiting with the utmost longing for the coming of the Messiah, looking forward to his appearing from heaven, rejoicing when he does appear, and hastening to announce so great an event to others.”

          Saint Andrew revealed himself as one who was awake and ready to encounter the Messiah.  I wonder about how many of us are awake and ready to encounter the Messiah, the Son of Man, when he comes again?  Yet, that is exactly the question that is being posed to us today: “Are you ready to encounter Jesus should he come today?”  Or, better yet, “Are you daily ready to encounter Jesus, when he comes?”  If the answer is “no” or even “I’m not sure”, then the season of Advent is for you.

          My brothers and sisters, the encounter with the Risen Lord, announced to us in the Gospels, calls us to a different mode of living: that of the “already, but not yet.”  The day of our salvation has come, for Jesus, the Word of God, has become flesh, has suffered and died for our sins, and has arisen, conquering death forever.  Yet the day of our salvation is still coming when Jesus, who sits now at God’s right hand, will come again to judge the world and gather all of God’s faithful ones into his kingdom.  Advent, therefore, is the season that reminds us to live in this tension of “already, but not yet.”

          And so, instead of diving into the deep end of the Christmas flood that is already upon us, believers enter into it prayerfully and slowly: focusing not just on what I can get and what others want from me, but rather on giving and getting that strengthens the bonds of relationships between us and keeps us focused and moving forward towards our true happiness: the eternal day in which we shall all walk in the light of the Lord; the foretaste of which we enjoy here in the Eucharist.  My brothers and sisters, this Advent calls us to focus once again on the coming of our Lord even as we prepare to celebrate our remembrance of his first coming; for it is in the light of this first coming that we can walk in the hope of his second coming.  Therefore, my brothers and sisters, “come, let us walk in the light of the Lord!”

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – December 1^st, 2013

The grace to give thanks

          Thanksgiving is still more than a month away, but can we get on board with the idea of giving thanks everyday?  Here's to hoping that we can...

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Homily: 28^th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          Not long before I entered the seminary, just a few months before I would leave my job as an engineer, I was on a business trip in south Texas.  At that time, I was in the throes of discerning how God was leading me to follow his call to be a priest and so I was praying and fasting a lot, asking mostly that I would be humble enough to know what God was asking me to do and to be courageous enough to do it.  It happened to be the middle of March and I was about a thirty minute drive from South Padre Island, where hundreds of thousands of college students were celebrating their Spring Break.

          I was there over a weekend and didn’t have to work on Sunday, so I decided to head over to South Padre  to spend some time relaxing on the beach.  Now, before any of you get the idea that I was going there to party, remember that I had already discerned that God was calling me to be a priest and that I was trying to discern how he was leading me to follow that call.  Thus, I went with the idea that I might evangelize some of the Spring Breakers, not party with them.

          When I got to the beach, however, I quickly understood why Jesus sent his disciples out two-by-two.  Although the beach wasn’t crowded, I quickly felt overwhelmed by the task and, with no one to support me, I gave in to the idea that my impact on the beach that day would be minimal, at best.  And so, armed as I was with some pamphlets that invite people to consider God’s great love for them, I decided to enjoy the beach and pray, hoping that God would send someone my way who needed to be touched by his love.

          Not long after I took my bible out of my backpack and began to pray, I was approached by two men looking for some money for food.  One of them, the man who addressed me, was obviously inebriated.  As has become almost instinctual for us these days, I immediately said to myself “I’m not going to give him money, he’ll just spend it on alcohol.”  Even still, I did see this as an opportunity to share one of my pamphlets with someone and to pray with them, and so I offered this to them instead.  The inebriated man declined my offer, however, and the two of them moved on.

          As they walked away, I was immediately convicted that I should have offered them more.  “I should have offered to take them somewhere to eat”, I thought to myself.  Thus convicted, I sat back down and promised God with all sincerity in my heart that if I saw them again that day that I would offer to take them somewhere to eat.

          I spent a little longer on the beach praying and enjoying being near the water and then got up to return to my car.  As I was leaving the beach and heading towards the parking lot, there were these two men sitting on a bench.  When I recognized them I immediately thought “Thank you God for giving me a chance to make good on my promise.”  I walked towards them and asked them if they were still hungry.  They, of course, replied “yes” and I invited them to go get some food.

          The second man, who said nothing to me the first time we met, asked why it was that I had changed my mind.  When I explained how I felt after they left and the promise I made to God, he began to cry.  He explained that this was not the first time that God had intervened to help him.  He began to thank me profusely, even to the point of asking me not to do this kind gesture for him, so deeply he felt undeserving of my kindness.  The other man, it seemed, thanked me as a formality and was soon focused on getting back to the beach, perhaps to continue begging for money.  His companion, however, continued to thank me and asked if I would pray for him, which I did right there, and then they went on their way.

          These men were of obviously different ethnic backgrounds and the thankful man was definitely of a minority ethnic group.  I imagine that, coupled with being impoverished and needing to beg for food meant that he often felt ignored and unacknowledged.  Yet that day, by the grace of God, I saw him, acknowledged his need (both material and spiritual), and tried to meet it.  Perhaps that was the first time in a really long time that he felt acknowledged and for that he was moved to gratitude.

          In the Gospel reading today, ten lepers cry out to Jesus asking him for mercy.  They all had faith in Jesus’ power to heal, which moved them to cry out.  All of them responded to that faith by immediately following Jesus’ instructions, even though they weren’t immediately healed.  Yet only one returned to give thanks to the one through whom the healing had come.  That one was a Samaritan: a person of an ethnicity that was looked down upon by Jews.  He was not used to being acknowledged, but that day Jesus saw him and acknowledged his need (both physical and spiritual) and he met it.  And for that he was moved to gratitude.

          The question for us, my brothers and sisters, is not whether or not we can see and respond to the beggars and the lepers in our midst like Jesus did (although we are called to do that, of course).  Rather, the question for us is whether or not we can recognize that we ourselves are beggars and lepers in need of God’s mercy.  What would it be like if we wore our sin on our skin, like a leprosy that we couldn’t hide from anyone?  Would we, then, know rejection like the lepers did?  And do you think that Jesus would still acknowledge us?

          The truth, my brothers and sisters, is that when Jesus looks at us he sees our sin as clearly as if it were a skin disease.  Even so, he still acknowledges us when we call out to him for mercy.  He does not pass us by.  Rather, he says to us, “Go show yourselves to the priest.”  And what else can that mean except “Go to Confession.”  And in following his command we realize that we have already been forgiven; we have already been healed.  And thus who wouldn’t want to return to give thanks to the one who looked so lovingly on us, even in the ugliness of our sin?  Yes, the one who is truly grateful for having been seen by him returns, glorifying God for his mercy and giving thanks.  And how do we do that?  Well, we do that every time that we return here to celebrate this Holy Eucharist with joy and gratitude in our hearts.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – October 12^th & 13^th, 2013

An invitation to the feast

          This week the priests of the Diocese of Lafayette will be on convocation in Brown County.  I'm greatly looking forward to it as there are still many priests from this diocese that I do not know.  This will be my first opportunity to spend some time with them.  Then we return to celebrate the ordination of three more men to the priesthood for our diocese next Saturday.  Finally, on Sunday I celebrate my first anniversary of ordination to the priesthood.  It ought to be a pretty "vocation affirming" week!

          Below is my homily for the Feast of Corpus Christi.  Enjoy!

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Homily: Corpus Christi – Cycle C

          Last Sunday, the Church gave us the Solemnity of the Holy Trinity, where we were invited to consider the mystery of who God is in himself.  Many of you are probably still digesting my homily from last week (and, perhaps, you still have some in-digestion along with it).  This Sunday, however, the Church offers us the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ: something, I would say, that is a little more… please pardon the pun… digestible.

          In this feast—also known as Corpus Christi—the Church invites us to consider the mystery of who God is for us.  In this feast, we celebrate that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, left for us a memorial of his Sacrifice on the Cross: a memorial that allows us to participate in that same sacrifice—and the salvation that it won for us—by re-presenting it to the Father in the form of the bread and wine, offered from our hands and then transformed by the words of the priest into the Body and Blood of Christ, and then by partaking in those gifts when we receive from the altar what God has blessed and made abundant for us.

          We also celebrate, of course, that the Body and Blood of Christ represents for us the enduring, physical presence of Jesus among us: that in churches and chapels around the world men and women can come and be in the physical presence of God, to commune with him in silent adoration and to be strengthened in faith.  This is a rich mystery for us to consider; one we should contemplate regularly.  For our purposes here today, however, I’d like to offer three things that this feast should inspire in us in our daily lives.

          First, this feast should inspire in us awe and wonder.  The disciples in the Gospel today were amazed that the five loaves and two fish that Jesus blessed were miraculously multiplied and that they not only satisfied the five thousand men (not to mention any women and children who were there) but that there was left over enough to fill twelve wicker baskets.  Jesus performs another miraculous transformation for us when, through the hands and words of the priest who stands in his place, and through the power of the Holy Spirit, the meager gifts of bread and wine have their very substance changed and become Jesus’ Body and Blood, his real presence, right before our eyes.  That this presence endures—and that we can not only receive him into our bodies, but also remain in his presence long after the Mass has ended—is something that should amaze us as well.  For this is only possible by God’s grace and through his great love and care for us.  That God would consider us, his creatures, so… loveable that he would deign to share this with us is truly an awesome mystery.

          Thus, the second thing that this feast should inspire in us is thanksgiving.  Just like in our first reading when the priest Melchizedek made an offering of thanksgiving that God had allowed Abram to conquer all of his enemies, so we, too, come here to offer thanks that God, through the sacrifice of his Son, has conquered our greatest enemy: sin and death.  Yet we go even further and we give him thanks that he has left us the Body and Blood of his Son to be a memorial for us of this great gift of victory; a gift which is ever present and available to us to strengthen us and to inspire our daily lives.  This is a true gift: one that we should be humbled by daily.  And the only appropriate response to this gift is to give thanks, which we do most perfectly when we celebrate the Holy Eucharist.

          True, authentic thanksgiving, however, always leads us to respond in kind, that is, to pay it forward.  Just as Abram responded to the thanksgiving offering of Melchizedek by offering ten percent of everything he had, so we, too, are called to respond by making a generous offering of ourselves, pouring out our lives in service of God, Our Father, who so generously fills us with his gifts.  Yet, how often do we fail, like the disciples did in the Gospel, and convince ourselves that our meager gifts, our talents, aren’t enough to make a difference?  How often do we say, “I’m not really that good at anything” or “I don’t have much to give, so why bother?” when what we should be saying is “Here, Lord, it isn’t much, but it’s what I have.”  We forget, don’t we, to give what little we have to Jesus.  We think that we have to prove something to him and so we assume that our little bit won’t go too far.  But when we give it to Jesus, what happens?  He multiplies it, of course!  So much so that it spills over to become more than is needed.

          My brothers and sisters let us not lament our small gifts, but rather our small faith!  Better yet, let us bring our small faith to Jesus, even if we have doubts, and place it in his hands.  Because when we do so, like he did with the loaves and the fish, he will bless it and multiply it so much that it fills baskets with what is left over: even after countless others have been nourished by it.

          This, my friends, is our invitation today on this feast of Corpus Christi: an invitation to be amazed that the God who created the universe would come to us, his creatures, under the appearance of simple bread and wine—gifts that we can consume; an invitation to give thanks for this awe-inspiring gift; and an invitation to respond, offering our meager gifts to Jesus so that he can multiply them for the good of many.  The Good Lord never ceases to invite us.  Let us, then, respond with the same “yes” as Mary did, a “yes” filled with awe and wonder, so that we, like her, may produce a great harvest through the grace of God working in us—the grace that we receive when we receive the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ from this altar.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – June 1^st & 2^nd, 2013

The Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ