Letting Go

Homily: 2^nd Sunday of Lent – Cycle A

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – March 7^th & 8^th, 2020

Saying "yes" to God's voice

Homily: 2^nd Sunday in Lent – Cycle B

          Michigan mega-church pastor Rob Bell has produced a series of videos that take a simple, straight-forward approach to demonstrating how the Gospel applies to everyday life.  In one of the videos that I’ve seen, Mr. Bell speaks about the importance of saying “yes” to something.  In doing so, he emphasizes, we can then come to know what it is that we need to say “no” to in our lives.  He uses Jesus as an example to illustrate his point, stating that because Jesus said “yes” to do the Father’s will, announcing the Good News and redeeming God’s people, he could say “no” to many other things (like when Jesus turned away when he knew the crowd was going to make him their king).

          This is a video (a short film, really) and so of course there is a visual component to his speaking.  In the film, the whole time that he is talking he’s walking, seemingly from one side of a city to another.  At first his surroundings just seem like normal busy streets, but if you’re paying attention you begin to notice that the surroundings are part of the point.  The visual noises are distractions that surround him as he walks.  At a couple of points, a person actually walks in between Mr. Bell and the camera as he’s walking, but he never loses his stride until he arrives at his destination (which happens to be a school where he meets a young boy that we are to assume is his son).  The well-made point of both his words and the visual presentation is to emphasize how knowing to what it is that we have said “yes” keeps us focused (i.e. able to say “no”) in the midst of the world’s distractions.

          Our scriptures today lead us to think about how God’s voice gets into the middle of people’s lives.  In our first reading, Abraham hears God’s voice, who commands him to do something horrific: to take his son Isaac (that is, the son that God had promised to him as the first of the innumerable descendants that Abraham would have) and how Abraham followed what God had asked him to do.  This, of course, was not the first time that Abraham had said “yes” to God.  In fact, it was many years before, when Abraham was still “Abram”, that God first called Abraham and directed him to leave the land of his fathers to travel to a land which he would show him.  That was when Abraham first said his “yes” to God.  In the many years that followed, Abraham maintained that “yes” to God; and so, when God asked Abraham to give his son Isaac back to him, Abraham could say “yes” once again. /// Because he was clear about to what he had said “yes”, Abraham could say “no” to everything else.

          In the Gospel, Jesus takes Peter, James, and John on a hike up to a high place.  Knowing that Jesus often did this to have a quiet place where he could teach or pray, I’m guessing that the three were anticipating a quiet afternoon.  But then, the Transfiguration…  Moses and Elijah…  And, to top it all off, the voice of God booms out from the thick cloud that had descended upon them.  They had already said “yes” to Jesus when they responded to his call to leave their nets and follow him.  Now their “yes” had to go deeper (like Abraham’s had to go deeper).  In commanding these three to “listen to him”, the Father was, in essence, saying, “Obey him completely”.  And how soon would this be tested?  As soon as they started down from the high place: The Gospel says that “…[Jesus] charged them not to relate what they had seen to anyone, except when the Son of Man had risen from the dead.” /// Because they had seen the full glory of that to which they had said “yes”, Peter, James, and John could then say “no” to everything else.

          And so, the question comes to us: “To whom (or to what) have I said ‘yes’?”  To answer this question, we need to take a look at to whose voice we listen and to whose we don’t.  This is an examination of conscience.  Is it God’s voice to which you listen?  Or is it to one (or more) of the many other voices that fill your day?  The ones, perhaps, who are closest to you and whose opinions and good graces you value highly?  If the voice to which you listen—that is, the voice to which you have said “yes”—isn’t God’s, then Lent is the time to “re-orient your hearing”, so to speak.

          In our second reading, Saint Paul reminds us powerfully that we should be listening—that is, giving our “yes”—to God.  In it, Paul is asking: "Who has done more for us besides God?"  God, who has given up his only son for us (and, in this context, we can add even when he didn't make Abraham do so).  If he has given us that much, Paul continues, how will he not give us everything else we need in this world, which is clearly much less valuable?  Then he asks, "If God has done this for us, then who should we fear in this world?"  For no one has more power than God and He has proven that he is "for" us (that is, “on our side”).  Thus, who (or what) have we to fear?  If it is God who ultimately decides our fate, then we must fear (that is, listen to) him alone.

          Okay, so how do I hear God’s voice and, thus, demonstrate my "yes" to God?  Well, first and foremost, follow his commandments.  Maybe you’re not hearing the voice of God speaking into your ear like Abraham did, but Abraham didn’t have the commandments: we do.  The commandments (and the moral teachings of Holy Mother Church which stem from them) are the voice of God for each of us.  If we are not following those, then we are certainly not giving our full “yes” to God.  Examine your conscience, then, and see if you are following his commandments.  If not, repent.  Seek forgiveness through the sacrament of Reconciliation and resolve to follow them from this point forward.

          Second, fulfill your vocation.  Whatever calling God has given to you (marriage, parenthood, the single life…), learn what it looks like to live this virtuously and then live it.  The Church Fathers tell us that every creature gives great glory to God by simply being fully what it is that God made it to be.  The same goes for us.  If you are a husband or wife, be the best husband or wife you can be.  If you are a parent, be the best parent you can be.  If you are single, be the best servant of others that you can be.  (Each of which are measured by the Christian law of charity, of course.)  If we’re falling short, then, again, we need to repent and resolve to become the best, according to our abilities.  And why these?  Because then you'll be on the same wavelength as God and you will be able to hear other, specific ways in which he wants you to act.

          My friends, Lent is about restoring our "yes" to God and to his voice.  Our Lenten practices of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving ought to have as their goal helping us to restore it.  And this, so that, through obedience, we would receive the blessings promised to Abraham, because of his obedience.  And, still further, so that God's kingdom—which is nothing short than seeing the Glorious Face of Jesus—would be made known among us.  May our Blessed Mother Mary, whose “yes” brought Christ our Savior to us, be for us a model; and may her prayers lead us to this glory that each of our hearts seeks.

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

Worshiping Jesus for his glory

Homily: The Transfiguration of the Lord – Cycle A

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Obedience makes us powerful

Homily: 2^nd Sunday in Lent – Cycle A

          Last week, as we celebrated the 1^st Sunday in Lent, I reflected on how the readings for the day seemed to indicate that God was asking us to enter into a 12-step addiction recover program this Lent.  I reflected how the journey through Lent can be like a journey through a 12-step program, as we acknowledge that we have sinned and have fallen short of all that God expects of us, that we, by ourselves, are powerless to overcome our sinfulness, and that we must give ourselves completely to the will of God (and his mercy)—particularly through the sacrament of reconciliation and the renewal of our baptismal promises at Easter—so that we can break free from the bonds of sin.  I noted how this last part is truly the key: that to hand over your will to one who is more powerful (and so, wise), yet loving—and to be completely obedient to him—actually leads to freedom, not greater slavery.

          In the Scriptures last week we saw this play out as the disobedience of our first parents (Adam and Eve) led them into the bondage of sin, while the obedience of Christ (as evidenced by his unwillingness to give into the temptations the devil presented to him) left him free and blameless before his Father.  This week, we once again encounter this theme of obedience in the Scriptures.  In the first reading, God commands Abraham to move from his native place to a land he doesn’t know based simply on a promise that God will give him blessings beyond his wildest dreams.  In the Gospel, we read how, at the transfiguration, Peter, James, and John hear God's voice identifying Jesus and commanding them "Listen to him".  This "listening" is much more than "hearing”.  Rather, it is a "listening" that results in "doing", which is obedience.  And so, in this way, it's like God is saying "This is my beloved Son … be obedient to him."

          But “obedience” often carries with it a negative connotation, right?  The common definition that many of us might give to obedience is “being subservient to the will of another”.  In this definition, obedience seems negative as it is often associated with one person’s domination over another.  Slaves and other servants are “obedient” to their masters, just as good children are “obedient” to their parents, grandparents, teachers, etc.

          The word obedience, however, comes from the Latin verb oboedire, which translates literally to mean “to listen towards” something, like when you lean in to listen because you value what is being said.  In this definition, obedience, implies a relationship between the one who speaks and the one who hears.  This is an affectionate relationship, since one would not “lean in” to listen to someone who he or she didn’t think had concern for him or her in return.  And so we see that obedience involves a level of intimacy between the one who speaks and the one who hears.  In a very real way, therefore, obedience, if it is true, is really an act of love.

          Given this, let’s think about Abraham’s obedience for a second.  If we take the reading literally (which can be a little dangerous to do), we see that Abraham didn’t say anything to God as God told him what to do and what he would give him for doing it.  Abraham’s response (“Abram went as the Lord directed him”, the Scripture says) would be crazy if he didn’t already have a relationship with God and knew his voice.  And so we must assume that he did have a relationship with God and that Abraham already trusted him to be a loving Father, who wouldn’t give him a rock when he asked for an egg or a scorpion when he asked for a fish.  With this loving relationship, therefore, it was easy for him to obey, even when that meant that he would suffer some hardships because of it.

          The apostles, too, would find that, because they spent three years with Jesus while he taught about the kingdom of God and worked miracles to demonstrate that it, indeed, had come to fulfillment in him, it would be easy to “listen to him”, because they already had a relationship with him and they knew him to be a loving master: more like a brother, than a boss.  Thus, they could give him their full obedience and not fear that they would ever be led astray.  Their obedience was not servitude, but truly was an act of love.

          Well, okay, Father, if obedience is love, then why is it so hard?  Well, perhaps it’s because we haven’t correctly understood love, either.  The love that we speak of here is so much more than affection (that is, good feelings for another person).  Rather, the love we are talking about here is the willing of the good (that is, happiness) for another: even if there is no reward (and, perhaps, even suffering) for yourself.  Obedience, therefore, often involves self-sacrifice.  This component of self-sacrifice is why we often view it as being slave-like.  We think, “I have to give up what I want in order for that other person to get what he or she wants.”  But true love doesn’t count the cost—it doesn’t count what I lose so that the other can receive something good.  This is why Jesus could say “No one has greater love than this; to lay down one’s life for one’s friends”.  And this is why Saint Paul, in our second reading, could remind Saint Timothy to “bear your share of hardship for the gospel”, because love sometimes asks us to bear hardships.  Obedience, therefore, willfully given, is really an act of love; and most especially when it involves some sacrifice of one’s self.

          Former farmer and US Secretary of Agriculture Ezra Taft Benson once said that “When obedience ceases to be an irritant and becomes our quest, in that moment God will endow us with power.”  Jesus is the Father’s “beloved Son” firstly because he was obedient.  Thus, the power on display in the transfiguration is the power that is available to us who seek to follow our Lord’s example of obedience.

          And so, my brothers and sisters, let us acknowledge that Lent calls us back to obedience; which means, then, that we are called to restore our relationship with God the Father through Christ Jesus.  And so, let us not spend this time of Lent in works that won’t draw us closer to God.  Rather, let’s engage works that lead us first to acknowledge our need for repentance (and, therefore, our need for God) and that help us, then, to submit our wills completely to his, because he has never proven to be anything but a loving Father who cares for us.  Because, when we do, we will see the power of the blessings that Jesus has won for us made manifest in our lives; the power that comes through true obedience; the power that comes to us here in this Holy Eucharist.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 11^th & 12^th, 2017

Faith is not blind

Homily: 2^nd Sunday of Lent – Cycle C

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can't hear you, Jesus, because I'm not listening."

          In the story of the Transfiguration of Jesus, God does two amazing things: 1) He confirms Jesus' identity as the Son of God, and 2) He gives a simple command to help guide us as disciples - Listen to him.  Abraham listened to God, even when He demanded something horrific, and he was abundantly blessed for placing his trust in God.  May we use this Lent to "turn off" some of the other noises in our lives so that we might begin to hear Jesus more clearly; for when we can hear him more clearly, we'll be more disposed to listen.

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Homily: 2^nd Sunday of Lent – Cycle B

          For most of us, I would guess, the word holocaust is associated with the horrific events during World War II in which an attempt was made to eradicate the entire Jewish population from the European continent.  Although, technically speaking, this was not really a holocaust, but rather an attempt at genocide (a term indicating the complete eradication of a race of people), using the term holocaust to describe it is actually quite fitting.  You see, a holocaust is a form of ritual sacrifice in which the offering is completely burned up.  In this type of sacrifice, there is nothing that is held back.  To describe the attempted genocide of the Jews in World War II as a holocaust, therefore, is to describe how thoroughly complete its perpetrators intended it to be: if all had gone according to their intentions, then there would not have been one Jewish person left in the world.  Holocaust, therefore, aptly describes the gravity of these events.

          In our first reading today from the Book of Genesis we hear how God commanded Abraham to take his son Isaac and to “offer him up as a holocaust”.  Even without knowledge of what a holocaust is, its association with those horrific events of World War II should give anyone in this church pause to think about what a horrific thing it was that God was asking Abraham to do.  Perhaps even more shocking, however, is that Abraham readily obeys this command of God, taking his son willingly to the high place that God would point out to them in order to murder him and then, essentially, to cremate him.  I mean, how was this even possible?  If I had to guess, I’d say that it was because Abraham had learned not only to hear God’s voice, but rather how to listen to him, as well.

          Although we can sometimes use these words interchangeably, I think that there is an important difference between hearing and listening.  We can hear something without necessarily listening to it.  It drives me crazy sometimes to visit my mom and dad because when they’re awake there is almost always a TV on, in spite of the fact that half of the time no one is watching it.  “I just have it on for noise”, my mom will say, “I’m not really listening to it.”  In other words, she could hear it, but she wasn’t listening. (On the flipside, one of my favorite ways to get her goat is to respond like this when she is trying to tell me something that she thinks is important, but that I don’t really want to hear: I’ll say, “What? Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t hear you because I’m not listening.”)  Hearing, it seems, is something passive: something that happens when sounds enter a properly functioning ear.  Listening, on the other hand, seems to be something active: an intentional hearing in which the sounds that one hears are consciously acknowledged.

          For Abraham to be able to respond to God’s command he had to have been listening to him.  In other words, he had to have heard God’s voice many times so as to recognize it clearly in order to have responded so readily to God when he gave him this horrific command.  And from the moment of that command, I imagine that Abraham must have been intently listening for God’s voice to come to him again, perhaps this time with a command to stop the sacrifice before it was completed.  How else could Abraham have stopped so abruptly, knife in hand and ready to slaughter his son, if he wasn’t continually listening for God’s voice?  We are quick to commend Abraham for his obedience to God by being willing to sacrifice his son at God’s command, but how often do we commend Abraham for his obedience to God when God commanded him to stop at the moment when the sacrifice was about to take place?  If he had stopped listening, Isaac would have died.  Abraham listened, however, and for that he was given abundant blessings.

          In our Gospel reading today, we heard Mark’s account of the Transfiguration, in which Jesus allowed the hidden glory of his divinity to shine forth outwardly in the presence of his “inner circle” of disciples, Peter, James and John.  Then, the cloud of God’s presence descended upon them and God’s voice was heard in the midst of the cloud saying: “This is my beloved Son.  Listen to him.”  Listen to him.  Interesting that the Father chose to use the word listen.  He could have used any number of words.  For example, he could have said: “This is my beloved Son.  Imitate him”, but he didn’t.  He said listen.  Therefore, my brothers and sisters, it is not enough for us merely to hear Jesus.  Rather, we must also listen.  It begins with hearing, of course, and so the first question that we need to ask ourselves is “Can I hear him?”  In other words, “Is my world so full of noise that I couldn’t hear Jesus’ voice, even if I wanted to?”  If the answer is “yes” then congratulations because you have an opportunity to have the most incredible Lent of your life: the only way you can go is up!  If the answer is “no” and the reality of your life is that Jesus’ voice is just one of many that you hear day in and day out, then you have to ask yourself this question: “Will I listen to him?”  Perhaps for most of us this is the question that we have to face this day.  If so, then our Lenten practices can help us say “yes” to listen to Jesus.

          By fasting, we begin to turn off the noise generated both in the world around us and in our own hearts: for when we fast from material things, we also calm the passions in our hearts that can keep us from listening.  This, of course, leads into prayer: in which we intentionally listen for God speaking to us.  Then, in giving alms, we listen for the Lord’s voice speaking to us in the voices of the “least of these”: the poor with whom he identified himself in the famous chapter from Matthew’s Gospel.

          My brothers and sisters, during Lent, God calls us to renew our commitment to make our lives a holocaust to him: a holy sacrifice in which nothing is held back for ourselves.  He is not asking for a senseless abandonment—it would have been incredibly sinful for Abraham to choose for himself to make a holocaust of his son—rather, God is asking for a trusting response from one who listens to him: a response like Abraham made when he did not withhold his son and like Jesus made when he did not withhold his own life.  Let us, therefore, pray for the faith to listen, like Abraham did, and for his courage to act, so that we, too, might see and share in the glory of God—the transfigured glory of Jesus that we will soon encounter here, veiled in the form of bread and wine.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 1^st, 2015

This is nice, but isn't there more?

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

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

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Homily: 2^nd Sunday of Lent – Cycle A

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rocky Mountain High...

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

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

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Homily: 2nd Sunday of Lent – Cycle C

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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