Trust in God in times of distress

Homily: 3^rd Sunday in Lent – Cycle A

It’s news to no one here that the “novel coronavirus” has upended our lives and is causing great deals of distress.  Distress about individual health, anxiety about the uncertainty of how this virus will spread and if we’ll be able to contain it.  Distress about how to deal with the “novel” situations of having kids home from school for an extended period of time, of providing care for them, of providing food for them, and of facing any financial insecurity because we either must take time off of work or spend unbudgeted money on caregivers.  Distress, finally, (and possibly especially) about whether or not our healthcare system is equipped to respond to widespread exposure.  The number of you who are NOT here today is a sign that this distress is affecting all of us.

This distress is not unlike the distress that the Israelites were experiencing as they began their journey in the desert after being liberated from Egypt.  After having emerged triumphantly from the Red Sea, they set out towards the land that God had promised to give them (the Promised Land, in which they would live free from slavery).  A couple of days into that journey, however, (led, as they were by the cloud in the day and fire by night), having seen no water and with no signs of any ahead, they all begin to experience distress.  Insecurity always gives birth to anxiety and being without something as necessary as water for more than a day is certain to heighten one’s sense of insecurity.  It’s no surprise, then, that these folks begin to cry out to Moses, God’s point man leading them on this journey.

This journey was not only practical, however, but rather catechetical also.  The practical was to get them out of Egypt and into a land in which they could live as a free society.  In the absence of trains, buses, or planes, a journey on foot was necessary.  The catechetical, however, was to teach them complete reliance on God and his providential care for them.  In other words, the catechetical journey was to increase and solidify their trust in God alone.  Thus, the way that they followed from the Red Sea was a way on which there was no water.  God, through Moses, then provided them water in a miraculous way, just as he had already provided them with food in the form of manna and quail.  Through this, God shows himself worthy of their faith.  They were in distress, the called out to God, and God responded.

The Samaritan woman whom Jesus encounters at the well is also someone who learns to put her faith in God, but in a different manner.  She was not necessarily looking for help, but the details of this story indicate that she was certainly in distress.  She came to the well at midday: the time when, because of the midday heat, no one else went to the well.  In other words, she was avoiding others.  She encounters Jesus there and he reveals his knowledge of her and her life.  She has had five husbands and is living with someone to whom she isn’t married.  Women couldn’t live on their own at that time and if a woman was married and divorced, she couldn’t return to her father’s house and so would either have to marry again or would end up destitute.  We can’t know for sure, but it seems like this woman may have struggled to be in a stable marriage, but continued to seek it out so that she wouldn’t become destitute.  She certainly would have been looked down upon in that society and so she worked to avoid contact with others.

This day, however, she encounters Jesus, who peers into her soul and speaks to her in a way that opens her eyes and lets her see that relief from this distress is possible.  In other words, he helps her to see that there is hope for her on this journey, that the promises of the God of the Israelites could be fulfilled, and that even the Samaritans—even she, herself—could receive their benefits.  Her life was out of order, but her encounter with Jesus gave her supernatural hope that God was leading even her to freedom from this distress.  Her response was to go off and tell of what she learned to all of the people in the village.  Let that sink in for a moment: before her encounter with Jesus, she wanted to avoid all contact with the people of her village.  Now, she goes to them to share what she learned.  This is a person who has found hope and who has placed her trust in God and in his promises.

Our newly Elect, who will now intensely prepare for baptism at the Easter Vigil, are on this same journey.  Over these next three weekends, they will be called to encounter Jesus through what is called the rite of scrutiny, in which they will be challenged to see their lives, disordered as they have been by sin, and encounter the hope that, through Jesus, they can be set free from this disorder and receive all of the blessings that God has promised to those who are united to him.  Having encountered this hope, they will be exhorted to put their faith in God and to follow the path to holiness that has been laid out by Jesus.

This, of course, is not only their Lenten journey, but each of ours as well.  Every year, each of us is challenged to recognize the distress under which the world places us (this year, it is particularly apparent) and to allow ourselves to encounter our Lord, who names our distress and provides an answer to it.  This, for sure, is not always relief.  Rather, it is often a challenge to trust and to order our lives to more closely follow him.  In other words, it is the challenge to respond in faith to the distress of our lives.  One of the ways that we do that is through our intentional engagement of our increased giving program.

Last weekend, we heard from parishioners who have all had this experience of distress and have responded to it with faith and so have grown in trust of God.  Part of their experience was finding support and resources through the many ministries and programs that we at Saint Mary’s provide: ministries and programs made possible by your generous financial support.  Today, I am asking you to continue to put your faith in the fact that God is responding to the needs and distresses of peoples’ lives through the ministries and programs of Saint Mary’s by continuing and even increasing your financial support for our parish.

You know, all of us are on a journey through the desert and at different times and for different reasons we may each find ourselves in distress.  Your ongoing financial support of the ministries and programs at Saint Mary’s means that we’ll be able to respond and to help assure you in your trust in God who, like he did with Moses for the Israelites, works through us to relieve our distresses.

I hope that you brought your commitment cards with you today.  As I mentioned before Mass began, we WON’T be passing around the collection basket as a precaution against spreading germs.  If you’ve already dropped your commitment card in the box by the entrance, great.  Thank you for doing that.  Please hold in your heart your commitment as your offering to be united to the sacrifice of Jesus here at the altar.  If you still have your commitment card with you, I encourage you to keep it close to you during the Eucharistic Prayer as a reminder to unite your commitment to the sacrifice of Christ on the altar.  You may drop the card in the box near the entrance on your way out today.  If you did not bring your card, but would like to complete one today, please feel free to use one of the blank cards in your pew and do the same.  In other words, however you brought your commitment with you today, please make an intentional effort to unite it to the sacrifice of Christ that we will offer here at the altar.

As I said earlier, this “novel coronavirus” has upended our lives and caused a great deal of distress.  Very quickly, however, I saw signs that God is working among us to relieve it.  On Friday afternoon, I received an e-mail from our “Saint Mary’s Cares” ministry coordinator asking if it was okay for them to contact other parishes to formulate a plan to assist anyone, like our homebound parishioners, get groceries, prepare meals, etc. so that no one feels alone or abandoned during this time.  I’m grateful for their dedication and for the support of all of you that helps make their ministry possible.  Thank you, again, for your courageous commitments.  May they lead us to trust God even more as he leads us to our reward in heaven: the reward foreshadowed by the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – March 14^th & 15^th, 2020

Trusting that God fulfills his promises

Homily: 19^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

Friends, a dominant theme in today’s readings is that God fulfills his promises and that those who, therefore, place their trust in God are greatly rewarded.  In the first reading from the book of Wisdom, we are reminded that God promised the Israelites that he would lead them out of slavery in Egypt into a land that would be their own, where they would enjoy freedom and prosperity.  The sign would be the Passover, when God would send his destroying angels to eliminate the first-born throughout the land of Egypt but would spare the Israelites if their homes were marked with the blood of the sacrifice.  This command was not without risk.  The Israelites were not allowed to offer sacrifice to God in Egypt and so, if God did not fulfill his promise, the morning after the proposed “Passover” the Egyptians would see that they did, indeed, sacrifice to their God and so would punish them severely for it.  The Israelites, having seen the other signs that God had performed (the other 9 “plagues”), trusted that God would fulfill his promise and so made the sacrifice.  They were rewarded with their liberty.

In the second reading we go back further in salvation history to Abraham and recall that he, too, trusted that God fulfills his promises and so was rewarded.  Abraham was one of a certain people who lived in the land of Ur of the Chaldeans (modern-day Iraq).  God called him out of that land, however, so as to make of him the first of a new people, set apart for God alone.  Abraham set out, already advanced in years, yet without any children, trusting that God would fulfill his promises if he remained faithful.  Even after his wife Sarah conceived and bore him a son (through which this promise of “descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky” might be fulfilled), Abraham trusted when God asked that he offer his son as a sacrifice.  The author of the Letter to the Hebrews says that Abraham “received Isaac back as a symbol”: a symbol that God, indeed, fulfills his promises.

Then, in the Gospel reading, we hear Jesus give stern warnings to his disciples.  “Be vigilant!  As my disciples, don’t waste time with worldly pursuits, but always be about the work that I am giving you!  You will not know when I return; and if I return and find you lounging around (or worse!) you will be severely punished.  But if you are found to be about the work that I have given you, you will receive a blessed reward.”  It’s the kind of warning that can make you sleep with one eye open, right?  It’s the kind of warning that gives rise to bumper-stickers that say, “Jesus is coming, look busy!”  The warning is not so much a threat, however, but a promise: for at the beginning of the reading, Jesus says, “Do not be afraid any longer, little flock, (how tender!) for the Father is pleased to give you the kingdom.”  In other words, you don’t have to prove yourselves in worldly pursuits and conquests—the source of much fear and anxiety for us—but be about the work I am giving you, for the Father is ready to give you far more than the world can ever give: the fullness of the kingdom.  If I come and find you doing this work, great will be your reward!  The rest of the New Testament (Acts of the Apostles and the Epistles) demonstrate to us that Jesus’ disciples did exactly that: trusted that God fulfills his promises and so did as they were called to do.  Each that did has now found his/her reward in heaven.

Bishop Doherty’s pastoral plan for the diocese, Uniting In Heart 2030, is a challenge to each of us to exercise this kind of trust.  Paying attention to the reality that is before us, Bishop Doherty is courageously putting forth a plan that will take us out of our comfort zones, yet which contains a promise for future strength and prosperity for the Catholic Church in North-Central Indiana.  The question for us is whether we will trust in the Holy Spirit, who has inspired this plan—that he will fulfill his promises—and so set out on this journey of transformation.  Hopefully, we will see this challenge in the light of Jesus’ warnings: that this is part of the work that he has given to us and so should be found busy about it when he comes and so set ourselves to the work.  I am committing myself to it, including the personal work of transformation that it will require of me: trusting not only that our diocese and parishes will be stronger, but that I, too, will be stronger—that is, holier... more ready for the kingdom—when this work of transformation is finished.  I hope that each of you will join me in this work.

Saint Jeanne Jugan, the foundress of the Little Sisters of the Poor, from whom we will hear at the end of Mass today, also trusted that God fulfills his promises and so set out to serve the elderly poor, in spite of all of the obstacles that she would encounter.  This order stands as a testament to the blessings that come from placing our trust in God and the power that our witness of trust has to move other hearts to do the same.  May the faithfulness of God, who never ceases to hand over his Son, Jesus, to us here in this Eucharist, inspire in us greater trust, so that we, too, may step out into the unknown: where the reward of God’s kingdom—the kingdom of reconciliation... harmony... PEACE among all people—will be found.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – August 10^th & 11^th, 2019

An encounter with mercy

"The Incredulity of Saint Thomas" by Caravaggio

Homily: 2^nd Sunday of Easter (Divine Mercy Sunday) – Cycle C

          Over the years as I have been striving to live this Christian life well I’ve found that I’ve come to appreciate more and more those persons that I’ve met or read about who have provided a “lived example” not only of achieving holiness in their lives but also of the struggle to arrive at faith and to maintain that faith throughout one’s life.  This is why I’m enjoying Pope Francis so much.  He has been providing us with a different perspective on the Christian life.  While Pope Benedict XVI invited us to know Christ in prayer, especially with the Scriptures, Pope Francis is inviting us to go out and find Christ in the poor, the marginalized, and the suffering.  With both of their lived examples, we are getting a fuller, more rounded, perspective of how to live the Christian life.

          This is why I also enjoy encountering persons like Saint Thomas in the Scriptures.  I think that it is easy for us to step back and say “Oh yeah, there’s that ‘Doubting Thomas’ again” and fall into the trap made by the Pharisee elsewhere in the Gospel who said: “I’m glad that I’m not like him, doubting the Lord’s Resurrection and all.”  It’s certainly easy for me to stand here and say, “Now don’t be ‘Doubting Thomases, but believe!” (and, if that’s all that I had to say, then I might as well just sit down, because you’ve heard all of that before).  I have a great sympathy, for Thomas, however, because there seems to be something going on with him that is deeper than just a stubborn resistance to believing that the Lord had risen.  I think that Thomas was really struggling with something deeper.

          For years, Thomas had been following Jesus closely.  He had gotten to know him and certainly he had bonded with him.  No one can be that close to Jesus—God… love incarnate—and not feel a sense of intimacy with him.  Thus, Thomas had made himself vulnerable both to him and for him: “Ok, Jesus, I believe that you are the Christ and so I am willing to proclaim this to others, even if that means that I will be ostracized and persecuted by family, friends and the people of my nation.”  Thomas was convinced that Jesus was the one for whom he had been waiting and he put all of his trust in him.  And so, when Jesus appeared to be defeated—when all seemed to be lost because Jesus had been put to death—that hurt Thomas deeply.  He loved Jesus—which was perhaps something difficult for him to admit—and Jesus seemingly let him down.  It wasn’t that he was resistant to believing, but rather that the wound was still fresh and demanded a personal encounter before it could begin to be healed.

          You know, I think that this is an experience that we see both in ourselves and in one another.  Not just the experience of being disappointed or let down by someone we’ve come to love and trust (though that experience is common enough), but also the experience of being disappointed and feeling let down by Jesus (or, at least, by his Church).  A few years ago, I shared a table at a wedding reception with a woman who had a lot of negative opinions of the Church.  I was still a seminarian at the time, and so the woman felt free to express her thoughts to me; and we had a lively, but respectful discussion.  I of course gave her (as best I could) all of the reasoned arguments about why the Church teaches this and why it can’t change that, but she didn’t seem to be buying much of it.  Finally, I realized that there was something else going on with her—that this wasn’t just a philosophical struggle with principles—and so I stopped and gently asked her: “You’ve been hurt by the Church, haven’t you?”  “Yes”, she replied.  She, like Thomas, wasn’t necessarily doubting Jesus, but she needed more than intellectual arguments and the testimony of witnesses to resolve the hurt that she was feeling inside of her.  She needed, rather, an encounter with the one who had hurt her, who had let her down, so as to reconcile that hurt before she could move forward.

          I would guess that many of us know somebody in a similar situation: somebody who has left the Church for reasons unbeknownst to us and who has strong feelings about why he or she refuses to return.  And I would guess that most of these persons have some sort of hurt or disappointment that they have experienced with the Church and that only a personal encounter with the one that has hurt them can resolve.

          In the Gospel today, Thomas receives that encounter.  Notice, however, that it wasn’t immediate.  Thomas had this news for a whole week before Christ would return to reveal himself to him.  And what a blessing it was that Christ gave him this chance to have that personal encounter that he needed to reconcile this hurt within him.  And what mercy Jesus showed him.  For he could have easily chided Thomas for his unbelief, but instead he tried to remove all barriers to his believing—to his reconciling himself to him: “Peace be with you… Come, touch my hands and put your finger into my side… do not be unbelieving, but believe.”

          My brothers and sisters, this is exactly the mercy that we commemorate today on Divine Mercy Sunday.  This is the eighth day of the Lord’s resurrection: the day when he mercifully appeared to Thomas so as to reconcile him to himself.  And so today we too are reminded that Christ offers us the same opportunity to encounter him and to reconcile our hurts with him.  He comes to us, immolated for us on this altar so as to say “Come, see my hands, touch my wounds—the wounds that I received for you—and do not be unbelieving, but believe.”  “Come,” in other words, “and be enfolded in my mercy.  I know that you’ve been hurt and I want you to be healed.  And so, whatever it is, just come.  Come and see my sorrow for your pain and let my mercy wash over you to bring you healing and peace.”

          And so, my brothers and sisters, how good it is that we are here to celebrate this great mercy.  May our hearts be open to his heart today so that we, too, may believe and, thus, may have life in his name: the life of the Resurrection… the life of mercy.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – April 28^th, 2019

A foretaste of heaven in a messy world

Homily: 21st Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B

          A few years ago, I made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.  Of all of the amazing things that I saw and was able to experience, one of the highlights was my visit to the Basilica of the Annunciation in Nazareth, which was built over the site of Mary’s childhood home and was the place in which she received the message from the archangel Gabriel, announcing that she would become the mother of God’s Son.  I remember reflecting about my experience there.  “In that place,” I said to myself, “the God who created everything, and whose existence cannot be contained even in the vast universe, somehow encapsulated himself in human flesh.”  For me, among all of the other experiences on that trip, standing in the place where the “Word became flesh and dwelt among us” was an awe-inspiring moment.

          I remember reflecting on the absurdity of it all: that God, who is limitless, would subject himself to the limits of his creation simply out of love for what he had created.  Nonetheless, as we’ve been reading in the sixth chapter of John’s Gospel, I’m often struck that this same Son of God then took the absurdity even further by claiming that for anyone to have life within them they had to eat his flesh and drink his blood.  On the surface, it’s a crazy statement, right?  I mean, Jesus is asking his followers to be cannibals: to eat human flesh and drink human blood!  Although our familiarity with it may mean that it no longer strikes us as odd, we need to grapple with the fact that this statement from Jesus is polarizing: either he is who he says he is (that is, the Son of God) and, thus, we have to give credence to what he says, or he’s not (and, therefore, he’s a madman) and we should run away immediately.

          Perhaps not many of us have thought about it in these terms, but this is one of those things about which, as Christians, we cannot be neutral: rather, we need to decide on which side we are.  If you need some help deciding on which side you are, I will offer this criteria: that if Jesus is crazy about one thing then he’s crazy about everything; but if he’s not crazy about everything, then he’s not crazy about anything.  I think that it’s safe for me to say that we don’t think that he’s crazy about everything.  Therefore, he must not be crazy about this one thing, and so we have to give it credence, no matter how crazy it sounds.

          And so, when Jesus says, “I am the living bread” and “the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world” we have to strive to believe that he is talking about the Eucharist: for the bread that we present is not “living” bread: that is, bread that is alive, as if it were something out of some B-rated horror film.  No, it is not “living” bread until it is given life when, through the words of consecration at the altar, its very substance changes and it becomes the Body and Blood of Jesus.  Although it still appears to be lifeless bread, it is in reality the flesh of Jesus, who lives; thus, it becomes “bread that lives” and makes it possible for us to eat his flesh without becoming cannibals.

          On the surface, of course, this is still incredible and, frankly, it cannot be accepted outright.  If any otherwise rational person came to you and said, “I promise you that you will live forever if you eat my flesh and drink my blood; and, by the way, you’ll be able to do that if you eat this thing that looks like bread and drink this cup filled with what looks like wine,” you’d immediately doubt all that you knew about that person.  Accepting something like this—something that pushes you beyond the bounds of understanding—comes only after a bridge of trust has been built with the person who is making this claim.  Just look at our Gospel reading today: “Many of Jesus’ disciples who were listening said, ‘This saying is hard; who can accept it?’” it says.  And later it goes on to say “as a result of this, many of his disciples returned to their former way of life and no longer accompanied him.”  These disciples had been only loosely connected with Jesus and had not yet built a “bridge of trust” with him.  Therefore, when he made this seemingly absurd claim, their fragile faith in him was shaken and fell apart.  They concluded that he must be crazy and so they turned away from him.

          The twelve Apostles, on the other hand, stayed with Jesus.  They had experienced so much more from him and, therefore, had built a bridge of trust that supported their faith.  And so, even if they didn’t understand what it was about which he was talking, they refused to write him off as a madman, but instead recommitted themselves to him: “Master, to whom shall we go?  You have the words of eternal life.  We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God.”

          So where do we go from here?  You know, I am convinced that those who leave the Church must not be persons who believe in the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist.  Otherwise, how could they walk away from it?  Peter and the other Apostles believed that Jesus was the Holy One of God and so could not be swayed to abandon him, even when he taught such incredible things.  In the same way, it does not seem possible that someone would acknowledge the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist and yet still feel as if he or she could go somewhere where it is not.

          Nonetheless, many have walked away; and the great tragedy is that many of those have walked away because of the sins committed against them by leaders in the Church: men who they called “Father”.  This is an enormous tragedy: first, because it discredits the Gospel, but second because it turns people away from the Eucharist: the Eucharist, which is the event in which we literally commune with God, offering him our sacrifice of thanksgiving and praise, remembering the great work he has done to bring us to salvation, calling down the Holy Spirit to strengthen us for our mission on earth, and partaking in a sacred meal, which is a foretaste of the eternal banquet in heaven.

          My brothers and sisters, I get it if some of you (or some people that you may know who are not here) find it hard to look at the failures of bishops and priests and not think “Can we really trust these men who have failed us so horrendously, and, therefore Christ and his Church?”  I urge you, however, to remember Christ’s words: that “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his Blood, you do not have life within you” and, thus, to hold in tension the sacred actions of the priest, in which he stands in the person of Christ so that his Body and Blood and his healing mercy is made present to us, with the worldly actions of the man, weak and fallible as he is and subject to the attacks of the evil one: holding him accountable for his failures while supporting him in his efforts to grow in holiness.  This so that not one more of us would be separated from this foretaste of the eternal banquet, which strengthens us and preserves us for eternal life.

          I pray, therefore, my friends, that we would make it our task to seek out our brothers and sisters who need this grace from the Father to believe that Jesus is truly present in the Eucharist, in spite of the sometimes serious failures of the men through whom it is provided; and to help them, with our prayers and companionship, to open their hearts to this grace, so that we all might be joined together at this Holy Table, the foretaste of the eternal banquet prepared for us in heaven, to feast on the Bread of Life: Our Lord Jesus Christ.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – August 26, 2015

The Eucharist is a sacrifice

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

          If I were to mention the word “sacrifice” in the context in which we are standing—that is here in a Church during a religious service—most of us would probably know what I was talking about.  That’s because sacrifice, in a religious context, almost immediately calls forward images of the ritual sacrifices offered by ancient peoples: animals or other objects offered on an altar in homage to a god or gods.  And this is true enough, for in a religious context this is the basic definition of a sacrifice.  However, I think that there is a much broader definition of sacrifice—one that we encounter outside of the religious context—that allows us to understand sacrifice a little more directly and to see how sacrifice is actually something that we encounter regularly in our daily lives.

          In a more general context, sacrifice is the surrender or destruction of something that is prized or desirable for the sake of something considered as having a higher or more pressing claim.  And if we think about it, I guess we could find that, in big and small ways, we do this almost every day.  Families will give up vacations so as to save money for a new home or a college education for their children.  Parents will sell the sports car in order to purchase a minivan as their families begin to grow.  Some will refuse to take a new job because it would move them too far away from loved ones.  Others, however, will even leave their native country in order to provide a better life for their families.  Every couple of years, either in the winter or in the summer, this ideal of sacrifice is on display during the Olympics, where athletes from around the world who have sacrificed years of their lives in order to strive for greatness in a particular sport compete for one prize—an Olympic medal—that makes their sacrifices worthwhile.  Without doubt, sacrifice is something familiar to us.

          And that’s good, because sacrifice is a very important aspect of the Eucharist that we celebrate each and every week.  The unique thing about the Eucharist considered as a sacrifice, however,  is that while at the same time it is a sacrifice like those made by ancient peoples, in which an offering is immolated on an altar, it is also a sacrifice that never ends and is constantly being re-presented because of its most perfect and enduring nature.  In the Catechism of the Catholic Church we read that: The sacrifice of Christ and the sacrifice of the Eucharist are one single sacrifice: “The victim is one and the same: the same now offers through the ministry of priests, who then offered himself on the cross; only the manner of offering is different.” (1367)  And so, the sacrifice that we offer week after week is the one, eternal sacrifice of Christ on the Cross.  It is the only perfect sacrifice.  And so, uniting ourselves to it becomes the only way to make our lives an acceptable sacrifice to God. (cf. 2100)

          The Church also teaches us that an outward sacrifice that is not an expression of an inward sacrifice of spirit is empty (2100).  And Psalm 51 reminds us that “the sacrifice acceptable to God is a contrite spirit.”  And so we have to ask ourselves: “When we come here each week, do we do it merely out of external duty or do we do it to offer something of ourselves to God?”  If we are here only because we fear what God will do to us if we don’t show up, then I think that we are missing the point.  Don’t get me wrong, we all need a reason to be here and if fear of punishment is all you have this week, well then that’s something.  But the real fruit of our weekly sacrifice will only be found when we come here to unite our daily sacrifices of prayer and work to Christ’s eternal sacrifice.  In other words, our sacrifice of prayer in this building will mean little to us individually unless we bring forward the sacrifices of our daily lives to be offered with Christ’s on this altar.

          Sometimes, however, we can convince ourselves that our offerings don’t amount to much.  This is not new.  As we saw in our readings today, two persons were asked to place their meager offerings before a multitude of people: to sacrifice what they had for a greater purpose.  To each of them, it didn’t look like much; but to God it was enough to multiply and satisfy.  They couldn’t see this, however, until they were invited to make the offering.  They thought their offering was barely enough to cover their own needs.  What they found, however, was that, when offered to God, their small sacrifices served a much greater purpose.  In other words: their sacrifice, united through the “man of God” to God’s sacrifice, was made abundantly fruitful.

          And so this is our work: to daily acknowledge the connection between the sacrifices we make every day and the one, perfect, and abundant sacrifice that Christ offered on the cross; and then to bring those sacrifices here to be offered with Christ’s and lifted up to God in prayer and praise.  Perhaps you can even find practical ways of doing this, like writing down your sacrifices during the week on small slips of paper and then dropping them into the collection basket next week.  Then, as you watch as the basket is brought to the altar, you will be able see your sacrifices going up to be offered with the bread and wine that will become the Body and Blood of Christ, the true and perfect sacrifice.  Whatever way you choose, find some way to recollect the small and big sacrifices that you will make this coming week so that you can offer them here and you will begin to find that your participation in this celebration will be much more fruitful. ///

          You know, I think that we have a special opportunity in these coming weeks, as we hear more from these Eucharistic passages of John’s Gospel, to reflect on and renew our experience of this miraculous event and of its sacramental renewal here in the Mass.  And so I encourage you to spend time reflecting on these Gospel passages each day of this week and the weeks following (yes, I said each day).  In fact, we can begin right now in the silence that follows before we profess the Creed.  Let these words soak into your heart and ask God for the faith to see the truth of what he has promised: that our sometimes meager sacrifices can be made abundantly fruitful when united to Christ’s one, perfect sacrifice.

          My brothers and sisters, if you pay close attention to what follows, you’ll see that our prayers and actions are all pointed toward making that connection between the offerings of our lives and the life offered here on this altar.  And so let us turn, now, to him and make an offering of ourselves acceptable to God our Almighty Father.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – July 29^th, 2018

The unexpected prophet

Homily: 15^th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B

          Fr. Ron Knott is a priest on the staff of Saint Meinrad Seminary where I received my formation for the priesthood.  A priest of the Archdiocese of Louisville, Fr. Ron celebrated his 48^th anniversary of his ordination earlier this year.  In some clergy circles, he’s becoming quite well-known for his work in the field of ongoing formation of priests and presbyterates.  Yet, he’s done so much more.  Before his work of teaching and forming seminarians for the priesthood, he directed and guided the discernment of seminarians for his own Archdiocese as its vocation director.  Before that, he led a multi-year, multi-million dollar revitalization program for the Archdioceses’ cathedral parish, which not only included a renovation of the cathedral church, but also generated projects for revitalizing the surrounding neighborhood in downtown Louisville.  Before that, he worked in the home missions in poor, rural Kentucky, building a sturdy parish family off of the just four or five registered Catholics who were in the entire county when he arrived.  Without doubt, in his 48-plus years of priesthood, Fr. Ron has made a positive impact on both his home Archdiocese and on priests and presbyterates throughout the country.

          Yet, one might have never suspected such things from the young man who, by his own report, was so deathly afraid to speak in front of people that he once hid on a fire escape to avoid a presentation he was expected to make.  No, even though now he can be a bit gregarious, he does not exactly fit the mold of the charismatic prophet, such as we might find on Sunday morning Tele-evangelist programs.

          The prophet Amos was not your typical prophet either.  Back in ancient Palestine, there were actually guilds of “professional” prophets.  These were not “soothsayers” purporting to see into the future, but rather individuals—often employed by kings—who were skilled in discerning the gods’ response to current events.  These were not unlike the “political advisors” employed by public officials today.  Although it may sound quite odd to us, back then it was a legitimate way to make a living: not unlike being a part of any of the professional guilds of skilled labor that exist today.

          The hazard of the profession was that the only way to know if your prophecy was true was to wait and see what happened.  Thus if a certain employer was anxious about the potential negative consequences of a certain situation, he might take offense at a prophet that comes to tell him that what he fears is the likely course of events.  And so, on the flipside, prophets would often be tempted to compromise their professional integrity by telling their employer what they wanted to hear instead of what they discerned the true response to be.

          And so, like I said, Amos didn’t fit this bill.  God had called him from his work tending sheep and dressing sycamore trees to go into the Northern Kingdom of Israel (from his home in the Southern Kingdom of Judah) to prophesy the coming danger for the people of that kingdom.  Needless to say, it wasn’t received well up north.  The reading tells us that Amaziah—the priest, of all people (talk about a little stab to the heart right there!)—was trying to get rid of Amos, because he didn’t want to hear the message from God that Amos came to bring.  This priest accused Amos of trying to scam his way into being paid for his prophecy, to which Amos responded: “I’m no prophet.  I’m a shepherd called by God to bring you this word.  If you don’t like it, take it up with him.  I’m just responding to what God has called me to do.”  Amaziah, the priest, then, couldn’t escape the fact that Amos had nothing to gain by making this prophecy and thus that his prophecy truly must have come from God.

          In the Gospel reading we heard of a similar type of call.  We heard how Christ called the twelve apostles and sent them out to preach his message.  These were certainly no guild prophets—they were fishermen, zealots, and tax collectors—but Christ sent them out anyway.  And he instructed them to take only the barest of necessities: the tunic they were wearing, a walking stick and sandals.  For the rest, they were to rely on whatever was shared with them by those who received the message they were bringing; and this was so the people would know that they were not professional prophets.  Like Amos before them and Fr. Ron after them, these men were not what the people expected a prophet to be.  The irony, of course, is that this made them all the more trustworthy to those who were truly anticipating the coming of the Messiah.

          My brothers and sisters, God has not stopped calling prophets to carry his messages to his people.  And he certainly hasn’t limited his gift of prophecy to his ordained ministers.  Rather, he continues to call the unassuming: the bank clerk, the insurance broker, the mechanic, the hog farmer and the feed corn supplier—and he continues to send us out to bring his message to his people.  How we realize that ministry in our lives and as a faith community takes prayer and discernment—both individually and collectively—but make no mistake, by virtue of our baptism, we are all called.

          To respond, of course, is not always easy.  Rather, it takes an act of faith to give ourselves over to this call.  But, as the prophet Amos, the twelve apostles, and Fr. Ron has shown us, you don’t have to be a professional prophet to go.  You only need a willingness to do God’s will and the trust that God has provided the message.

          Thankfully, we have the Eucharist—God’s presence among us—to nourish us and strengthen us for this holy work.  May the grace we receive here today free us from whatever fears we might have that keep us from engaging this holy work and may it strengthen us to carry this Good News to those to whom God has sent us.

Given at Saint Mary Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – July 15^th, 2018

Your faith has saved you

Homily: 13^th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B

          One of the more “epic” moments in television in the last twenty years occurred in 2004 on the Oprah Winfrey show.  In many ways, Oprah was at the height of her popularity at this time and she was using it to great advantage for others.  Now, I don’t recall of the background of that day’s show, but I remember that Oprah started by gifting eleven teachers, who were reputed to be extremely self-giving and, thus, were in financial trouble, with a new car.  This was an incredible gesture by itself, but Oprah wasn’t finished.  She then told the audience that she had one more car to give away and that one of them in the audience would receive it.  The staff then brought out identical gift boxes for each member of the audience and Oprah instructed them that in one of these boxes was a key to the twelfth car and whoever had that key in their box would take that car home.

          What happened next, of course, is what launched this moment into “epic” status: when Oprah commanded that the boxes be opened, the audience members found that each and every one of them had a key in it.  No, this wasn’t a trick.  Oprah intended to give each audience member a brand new car.  Because there was so much excitement—screaming and crying—mixed with confusion about whether or not this could be real, all you see is Oprah screaming over and over again: “You get a car, you get a car, you get a car… everybody gets a car!  Everybody gets a car!”  Now, perhaps none of us were in the audience that day, but you would have to have a pretty cold and hard heart not to feel a sense of joy for those audience members who received such an undeserved gift from someone that they didn’t even know.

          I can imagine, too, that every audience for every show after that day walked in wondering “Will today be another day like that one?  Will I walk out of here with something I never dreamed of getting?”  None really have since then, of course, which is what makes that moment in 2004 so epic.  Sometimes, however, I wonder if this isn’t how we approach Jesus, especially here at Mass.

          As we read the Scriptures, especially the Gospels, we learn of how Jesus often healed the sick and even brought back to life those who had died.  Most of us, I’m sure, were already following him before we came to understand his incredible power to heal: in other words, we were coming to Mass and trying to follow his teaching.  Perhaps one day we came to know that Jesus worked a healing in someone else’s life.  And perhaps, once we learned of this healing, we began to expect a healing for ourselves.  And so, perhaps, we began to come to Mass hoping that this time would be one of those times that Jesus would appear before us and, like Oprah that day, dole out healings to everyone: “You get a healing, you get a healing, you get a healing… everybody gets a healing!”

          Perhaps, however, we aren’t even expecting anything that dramatic.  Perhaps, we are more like the woman in the Gospel today, who had been afflicted for twelve years with a hemorrhage.  Since a bleeding like that made her “ritually unclean”, she was excluded and needed to refrain from coming in contact with others for fear of making them “unclean” also.  And so, it’s understandable that she would approach Jesus in the way that she did.  “I’m embarrassed enough to have this defilement,” I imagine her thinking, “so instead of approaching Jesus directly, I’ll simply sneak up behind him and touch his clothes: surely his power to heal will come to me.”  Surely enough, it did.

          Having been healed, the woman then tried to slip away; but Jesus wouldn’t allow it.  You see, Jesus didn’t come just to bring healings: that is, just to spread joy by doling out healings to anyone who approached him, without concern for who the person was.  Rather, he came to bring forth the kingdom of God, which was a restoration of God’s original plan for each of our lives.  Therefore, when the woman was healed—that is, when the power of healing had “gone out of him”—Jesus took notice and decided to make this moment a teaching moment.  He wanted people to see this woman—whom they all knew to be the one who had been afflicted by hemorrhages for twelve years—and to see that she was now healed by her faith in him and thus restored to her status in the community.  In other words, for Jesus it wasn’t enough that she was healed; rather, he desired that her life also be restored; and for that, he needed to address her personally.

          This is also true of the young girl whom Jesus brought back to life.  Jairus, the synagogue official, came in faith to ask Jesus to heal his daughter, who was sick and at the point of death and Jesus agrees to come.  Even though the delay of addressing the woman healed from hemorrhaging meant that the child died before he arrived, Jesus remained unperturbed.  When he arrived and saw the mourning of those already in the house, he invited them to see this situation with the “eyes of the kingdom” when he said “the child is not dead but asleep.”  It was a reality that wasn’t visible to them, but that he would soon make visible to them: for in the “eyes of the kingdom” worldly death is no longer death, but rather a temporary sleep; and to prove this, Jesus resuscitates the twelve year old girl.

          As incredible as this was, Jesus once again proved that he didn’t come simply to dole out healings or to resuscitate people after they died.  He came with a concern of restoring people in the fullness of the kingdom of God.  Therefore, Jesus didn’t simply give the breath of life back to the little girl; rather he then saw that the girl was hungry and demanded that she be given something to eat.  In other words, his healings were never functional only; but rather they always came with a tenderness—a deep and abiding concern for the one who was healed: that he or she would not only experience healing, but also have his or her life restored completely.

          This, my brothers and sisters, is God’s plan for us.  We heard in the reading from the book of Wisdom that “God did not make death”; and in the Gospel reading Jesus proves to us that, even though God did not make death, he certainly isn’t powerless before it.  No, death was never part of God’s plan for us.  Death, rather, entered the world because of Satan’s envy, which led him to deceive our first parents into sinning against God.  God sent his Son, though, not just to demonstrate his power by doling out healings to anyone who asked for it, but rather to restore us to life—that is, to his original plan for us—by freeing us from eternal death.

          This restoration, however, isn’t automatic.  Like Jairus, the synagogue official, and like the woman afflicted with hemorrhages, we must first come to Jesus in faith to seek this healing if we ever hope to receive it.  This faith, however, must not only be in Jesus’ power to heal—though that is fundamental—but it must also be faith in his will: faith, that is, that Jesus’ will is wiser than my will so that, if his will is that I not be healed at this time, I might not despair and thus lose all faith, even in his power to heal.

          Ultimately, my brothers and sisters, the choice is ours.  When we choose to place our faith in Jesus—and in his power to save us—we choose God’s original plan for us: which the book of Wisdom tells us is a plan “to be imperishable; the image of God’s own nature…”  When we do otherwise—placing our faith in ourselves or in someone or something else—we place ourselves in the company of the devil, through whose envy death entered the world.  The book of Wisdom tells us that to keep company with him makes us susceptible to it: death, that is, in the “eyes of the kingdom”, which is eternal suffering and sorrow… eternal separation from God.

          You know, Oprah did a great thing that day back in 2004.  Her gift, however, was a momentary thing and could not restore the lives of the people in her audience that day.  Through Jesus God offers us so much more than a one-time gift can give us: he offers us the opportunity to have our lives restored to his original plan: a plan where death—and the sorrow and suffering that comes because of it—no longer has any place.  Ultimately, we must choose this plan over the many others that the world offers.  We choose it by saying “Amen” to Jesus when he appears on this altar; and when we live our lives with the “eyes of the kingdom”, looking beyond our life in this world to our life in the world to come.  My brothers and sisters, God desires to give us this life, because we matter to him.  Let us choose this life for ourselves today—and everyday—so that we, too, may go in peace, healed and ready to proclaim this Good News.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral Parish: Lafayette, IN  - July 1^st, 2018

God can bring us to our best end.

          This is my homily for my last weekend at All Saints in Logansport.  Next weekend (June 30-July 1) I begin my assignment as Pastor of the Cathedral of Saint Mary the Immaculate Conception in Lafayette.  Please pray for me, for Fr. Jeff Martin (the new Pastor of All Saints) and for both parishes during this time of transition.

Homily: The Nativity of John the Baptist – Cycle B

          Friends, we are very blessed today to celebrate this great feast of the Birth, or Nativity, of John the Baptist.  Every year, this feast falls on June 24^th, and the Church thinks it so important that we celebrate this feast, that its celebration is not suppressed when it falls on Sunday: which it does every six years or so.  Thus, after only a couple more weeks of “ordinary” Ordinary Time Sundays, we enjoy another special celebration.

          So, why does the Church consider this so important of a celebration?  Well, certainly because John was such a pivotal player in salvation history.  He was the herald (that is, the announcer or proclaimer) of the arrival of the Messiah (the one for whom the Jews were waiting, who would usher in the fullness of God’s kingdom); and so, his birth—and the circumstances surrounding his birth—mark the moment that this crucial “pivot” begins.  I could spend time unpacking for you how all of those circumstances are meaningful (and if you’re interested, you might seek out Bishop Robert Barron’s homily for today on the internet, as he explores this nicely); but I’d rather focus on two points that today’s celebration seems to make for us: 1) the amazing truth that God works through us, not around us; and 2) that it isn’t how one begins one’s life that makes a difference, but rather how one ends it.

          First: God works through us, not around us.  One of the things that gets overlooked in our celebration of saints is that God didn’t need them.  In the book of Genesis, we read that God created everything ex nihilo, that is, out of nothing.  And so the question arises: If God doesn’t need us to accomplish his work, then why does he rely on us?  In answering this question, we come to better understand God’s plan.  God created us, not to be his slaves, or to be some plaything for his entertainment, but so that he could share with us, his creatures, the eternal bliss of his divine life.  By inviting us to cooperate in his work, he is inviting us to be united to him and to help others to be united to him, too.  Still further, our cooperation in his work makes us feel loved and wanted by God; and his interaction in our world demonstrates his love and care for us.  In the end: God works through us not because he needs us to make up for something he lacks, but rather to unite us to him and so fulfill his plan for creation.

          The evidence of this is right there in the Scriptures: in spite of the numerous times in which God’s plan to bring salvation was thwarted by the lack of cooperation from the men and women he called, God continued to call them.  And, by many numerous persons who did cooperate, he moved his plan forward.  Thus, we come to John: the one, in a sense, predestined to be the herald of the Messiah (though nobody really understood that at his birth): one who cooperated with God’s plan and thus helped make the fullness of God’s plan a reality when he announced Jesus as the Messiah.

          This, in a way, brings us to our second point: that it’s not so much how we begin our lives, but how we end them that matters.  You see, while John may have been predestined from birth for this work that God had given to him, he was not predetermined.  In other words, John could have chosen to resist God’s call or even to abandon God altogether.  Yet, he didn’t.  Rather, he cooperated with God’s plan and announced a baptism of repentance—a cleansing—in order to prepare for the coming of the desperately anticipated Messiah.  When the Messiah appeared, he continued to call for repentance: so much so that he was eventually killed by those in power whom he was condemning so as to silence his voice.  It is because of the way that John ended his life—remaining a faithful cooperator in God’s work—that we honor John and, therefore, his birth.  Therefore, like Isaiah, whose voice we heard in the first reading and who faithfully cooperated in God’s work until the end of his life, John has been honored far above his Jewish people and has become a light to all nations.

          Friends, these same things are true for us.  You see, God wants to work through us.  And for God, how he accomplishes his works is just as important as what he accomplishes.  The what is growing his kingdom by uniting more men and women to him.  The how is through our cooperation.  For most of us, this means sanctifying our world and others through day to day actions: such as, living virtuous lives according to the Ten Commandments, loving God in our prayer and worship and through our love for our neighbor, serving both their physical and spiritual needs and supporting their efforts to grow in holiness.  For some, this also means preaching and teaching and leading others.  For all, however, it is to discern how God has called us to cooperate with his work—continuously, in every stage of our lives—and then continuously to give ourselves to it.

          By continuously giving ourselves to the work of cooperating in God’s work in the world, we will then be prepared to end our lives well.  Friends, even if we've lived many years and have never given ourselves to doing God's work, we can still respond.  Many saints lived dissolute lives only to be turned, finally, to God and to cooperate with his work.  Some for only a small percentage of their life span; but it was the most important part, the end: and it is the end of our lives to which most people look to gauge what it was that we valued most.  Therefore, if we turn, even now, to seek God and the work that he has given to us, he will bless our efforts and we will not be disappointed.

          And so, what is the best way to end our lives?  I don’t think we can look for a better example than John the Baptist: who ended his life by pointing towards Jesus.  Again, no matter how we've lived our lives up to this point, if we end our lives having repented and cooperated with God's plan, and pointed away from ourselves and towards Jesus, we will have finished well.  (Which, of course, is what I hope you have seen me do in my time here: to seek repentance and to help others do the same and to point not to myself, but to Christ.)

          You know, not many of us had auspicious beginnings, like John the Baptist did.  All of us, however, can have an ending like his that leads to glory.  And so I encourage you: pray and listen for what God asks of you; then be courageous to step out and do it, even if it means you'll be rejected; and trust that God, working through you, will manifest his kingdom among us.  Friends, this begins here, in this (and in every) Eucharist, when we worship him with our hearts and are nourished by his Word and by his Body and Blood.

          John the Baptist once said, "I must decrease, he must increase."  As I “decrease” from your sight, may Christ and his kingdom continue to increase among you.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – June 23^rd & 24^th, 2018

Saying "yes", once and forever

Homily: The Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph – Cycle B

          A few years ago, I was invited to a vocations awareness dinner where Archbishop Peter Sartain, was scheduled to speak.  In his talk during that dinner, he spoke of his experience of leaving his home diocese of Memphis to become bishop of the diocese of Little Rock, Arkansas; and then of leaving the diocese of Little Rock for the diocese of Joliet.  He said that, in both cases, he had to hearken back to the day of his ordination as a priest.  He said that he realized that on that day (the day of his ordination) he had said “yes” to God and that this “yes” was open ended.  In other words, he knew that his “yes” was a “yes” for whatever God, through his Church, would call him to do in the future, even if that would move him away from family and his beloved flock.  Thus, although he felt deep sadness to leave his home diocese and then his first diocese as a bishop, he trustingly accepted the call of the Church; for in his heart, he knew that he had already said “yes” to it all on the day of his ordination to the priesthood.

          In our Scriptures today, we encounter another man whose “yes” to God was open-ended, and which took him to places and experiences he never dreamed of.  Abraham (who, initially, was called simply “Abram”) was a man blessed by God and to whom God revealed himself in visions.  God had a plan for Abraham: a plan that would take him far from his native land, with only the vague assurance of prosperity when he arrived.  Abraham placed his faith in God who had revealed himself to him and set out from the land of Ur of the Chaldeans for an unknown land that he was to receive as an inheritance.

          This, of course, not only affected him, but his whole household.  His wife, Sarah, and their entire household (including his livestock) would move with him; and the hardship that they endured throughout the journey was great.  Abraham’s faith was tested—as was his relationship with his wife—but he persevered and settled in the land that God had promised him.

          Having settled in the land that God had promised to him, God promised Abraham prosperity and protection.  Abraham, however, questioned God’s promise: asking “What good will your gifts be if I keep on being childless?”  You see, these ancient peoples had not yet developed the notion of the immortal soul and so they believed that “eternal life” came from having children, in which your name—and, thus, your heritage—lived on.  Abraham didn’t want material prosperity; rather, he wanted eternal life.  Thus, God would make another promise: the promise of descendents more numerous than the stars in the sky. /// It would be many years, however, before God would fulfill this promise and grant to Abraham and his wife Sarah a son.  This was another test of Abraham’s faith: a test that, once again, affected his whole family.

          As difficult as this test might have been, there would still be one final test for Abraham.  After fulfilling his promise to give Abraham an heir, God then calls Abraham to offer his son Isaac back to him as a sacrifice.  At this point, I imagine that Abraham felt like he had had enough; and I imagine that he had to pray long and hard about whether or not he should obey.  In the end, I imagine that he thought back to that first revelation that God had given to him back in his homeland of Ur of the Chaldeans.  I imagine that he looked to that first “yes” that he had given to God and then realized that, to say “no” now, would be to negate all of the blessings that he had received by saying “yes” to everything that had come before.  In other words, he knew that his first “yes” was an open-ended one: a yes not only to God’s first command to leave his land for a land unknown to him, but also to everything that would come after; and so he said “yes” to God once again and brought his son to be offered as a sacrifice to him. /// We, of course, know the rest of this story: that God stopped Abraham from completing the sacrifice and, as the Letter to the Hebrews relates, Abraham “received Isaac back” and with it the promise of a family of innumerable descendants.

          The Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph is also a family whose life was affected by an open-ended “yes” by its members.  Mary was confronted by the archangel Gabriel, who appeared to her and announced God’s incredible plan for her life.  She, however, had made a secret consecration of virginity to God and so could not comprehend how it would be possible for her to conceive the child that the angel was promising to her.  Nevertheless, she trusted in God and said “yes”: a “yes” to which she would have to return over and over again as more revelations would be made to her about who her son would be and the difficulties that he would face (and the difficulties that she would face through him)—revelations such as the one she received from the Temple prophet, Simeon.

          Joseph, too, would have to say “yes” to an angel—the one that appeared to him in a dream.  When he found that his supposedly virgin wife had become pregnant before they had consummated their marriage, he had decided to divorce her, because, as the Scriptures tell us, he was a righteous man and that was what the Mosaic Law demanded.  He, too, however, trusted in God and said “yes”: a “yes” to which he, too, would have to return in the future—such as when he was forced to flee with his family into Egypt to avoid Herod’s persecution.  His and Mary’s “yeses” to God were open-ended.  They could not foresee all that these “yeses” would demand of them, yet they trusted in God and gave them anyway; and for this, they have already received their reward.

          To this day, faithful families in the land of Abraham, Sarah, and Isaac—of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—find themselves in similarly difficult situations.  Christians throughout the Middle East, and especially today in Syria and Iraq, are being severely persecuted by highly-organized religious extremists and they are being forced to face their “yes” that they had given to God: the “yes” to put their faith in God’s complete revelation of himself in Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who came to save us from our sin and to win for us eternal life.  They are being forced to acknowledge that their “yeses” were open-ended ones: for they could not foresee that the endurance of such persecution would be demanded of them.

          Believe it or not, we are not far from this experience, either.  Although we in this country are not subject to the violent persecutions that Christians are facing in the Middle East, we are, nonetheless, suffering from a persecution no less hostile.  Instead of confronting us with the threat of death—thus forcing us to renew our “yes” to God or to abandon it all together—we are being bombarded by a cacophony of confusion, in which our modern culture seeks to twist truths so that there are no longer absolutes and then push forward secular values which must be accepted.  Refusal results in persecution: not for being Christian, per se, but rather for being “intolerant” and “bigoted”.  It has so many of us confused that we’re not sure what we’ve said “yes” to, anymore.  This confusion has disrupted our families and has even caused division within them.

          Therefore, my brothers and sisters, this feast today is calling us back to our first “yes”: the “yes” that we proclaimed at our baptism (or at our confirmation, if we were only infants at our baptism).  The “yes” to trust in God through his Son, Jesus.  The “yes” to have faith in his Church, the Body of Christ, who we are, and who, guided by the Holy Spirit, cannot err to provide for us clarity in the midst of confusion.  Like Abraham and his family, Sarah and Isaac, and like the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and like Archbishop Sartain and the persecuted Christians in Syria and Iraq, we must remember that our “yes” was never to an idea, but to a person—Jesus, our Savior—and to his promise that, in spite of whatever difficulties we might face, we will not die, but rather will have eternal life—that is, happiness—forever with him in heaven.  God is calling us today to put our faith in his promises: the promises that are fulfilled even here in this Eucharist as we offer Emmanuel, God with us, back to him on this altar.  Come, then, let us receive the fulfillment of these promises, so that, strengthened by them, we may go forth to bring the light of this truth to a dark world, so desperately in need of it.

          And let us pray that the Holy Family may guide our families through this night and into the light of the fulfillment of God’s promises; and thus go forward in faith: for our God, who alone has the power to save us, is trustworthy.  He has promised and he will do it.  Amen.  Alleluia!

Given at Saint Anne’s Parish: Monterrey, IN & Saint Ann’s Parish: Kewanna, IN

December 30^th, 2017

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN

December 31^st, 2017