Worship in spirit and truth

Homily: 2^nd Sunday in Easter – Cycle A

Friends, as we come to this second Sunday of Easter, the eighth (or octave) day since we celebrated our Lord’s resurrection, I’d like to take some time to reflect on a few scenes from the video series titled “The Chosen”.  Most of you have heard me refer to this series already, but they recently made the whole first season available through “livestreaming” events, the recordings of which can still be found on their YouTube channel.  I made it a point to watch one of the episodes each day this week and every one of them was very moving.  In my opinion, the producers have done an impressive job portraying the truths of the Gospel scenes while giving each of the “players” very well-rounded personalities.  In other words, for me, the writing, acting, and production have all helped me to see into the hearts of these persons, which in turn has helped me to enter into these Gospel scenes a little more deeply.

I bring this up today because I think that there are three scenes from these first eight episodes that can help us to interpret and enter into this our celebration of Easter amidst these very unique circumstances.  The scenes are these: the Shabbat dinner, Nicodemus the Pharisee, and the Samaritan woman at the well.

One of the early episodes, perhaps the second one, begins nearly 1000 years before Jesus’ birth, showing a family, living in tents out in the countryside, who are preparing for the Shabbat dinner (“Shabbat” being the Hebrew word for “Sabbath”, the day of rest).  A child, probably the age of 8, is questioning his mother about the Shabbat meal: why are they doing this (and why every week!), why are all of these extended family members invited, etc.  The mother’s responses are both generous and instructive: God commanded that we rest and so remember and give thanks for all that he has done for us, all are invited because in God’s eyes we are all one family, “peculiarly chosen to be his own”, etc.  The episode continues to show the different ways that the Shabbat dinner was continued in Capernaum in the time of Jesus: showing the very elaborate dinner hosted by the Pharisees, the simple dinner of Simon Peter, his wife, and his brother Andrew, and the awkward dinner provided by Mary of Magdala for a disparate group of people in town.

What struck me about this episode was that the dinner was liturgical.  What I mean by this is that it had a form that was to be followed, but which also allowed for adaptation to the means of the household and the circumstances under which it was performed.  It also meant that this was not just a dinner party, but rather a sacred event: a meal consecrated to giving thanks.  Beyond being liturgical, however, what struck me was that it was celebrated in the home.  This latter part is why I am sharing this with you today.  I see in our current circumstances a great opportunity to grow and develop liturgical prayer in the home, especially around meal times.  Parents (or elders in a household), during this time, be intentional about setting aside at least one time a week to engage in liturgical prayer with your family or those in your household.  This could be done around a meal, by using one of the meal blessings meant for households that can be found online and then having each person speak of what they are thankful for, or it could be taking time in the evening to pause and read from scripture and to talk about it with each other.  If you are a household of one, I encourage you to seek ways to do this virtually through the many video conferencing programs available on the internet.  The point being: that we apply ourselves during this time to making our homes into sacred places for prayer once again.

Throughout these first episodes, we are introduced to Nicodemus the Pharisee.  Honestly, he’s my favorite person throughout these episodes and I’ll show you why.  Nicodemus was a leading Pharisee: kind of like an Archbishop for us—a “teacher of teachers” among the Pharisees.  At first, he seems like the consummate “corporate man”, holding the corporate line and managing the “politics” among the other Pharisees.  We discover in this portrayal of him that he is also a man of deep faith.  He knows the Law and he teaches it faithfully.  But he also knows that the Law is not an end in itself, but rather the means that God had given them to keep them in right relationship with him, lest the people fall out of favor with God.  We see that he believes that God is a living God and, thus, looks for him to work in the world around him.  Finally, we see that he is someone who is truly awaiting the Messiah, but yet still surprised when he appears.

In our circumstances I see an invitation to be like Nicodemus.  Most of us have a great desire to serve God in the way that he has laid out for us in the Church: daily prayer, worship in community on Sundays, and the works of mercy.  As we are deprived of some of those things, we are being called to trust that God is still working around us and that he is ready to make himself manifest to us in ways that we, perhaps, are not expecting.  It might be as simple as an insight about God spoken by one of your children or a friend who calls unexpectedly; or it could be something bigger, like a healing that has long been prayed for.  If we get caught yearning only for things to go back to the way in which we’re comfortable, then we may miss the ways that Jesus wants to share his resurrection joy with us here and now.

In the last episode of this first season, the scene of the Samaritan woman at the well is portrayed.  It is presented really well as it first gives us a glimpse of this woman’s life before she meets Jesus, and it “fills-out” the interaction between her and Jesus at the well.  The exchange, as it is portrayed, is a rather argumentative one as the woman wants nothing to do with this Jewish stranger while Jesus wants nothing less than for her to see him for who he is and, thus, to be set free from her past and so live in the freedom of the children of God.  In the climax of the scene, she accuses the Jews of keeping God for themselves because they claim that worship can only be done in Jerusalem at the Temple (a place where Samaritans are forbidden to go).  Jesus speaks the famous line: “The hour is coming, and is now here, when true worshipers will worship the Father in Spirit and truth...”  He tells her that he has come to make it so that true believers won’t be limited by mountains and temples in their desire to worship, but rather will worship in the freedom of the spirit.  She is overjoyed by these words and, having come to believe that he is the Messiah because of how he revealed his knowledge of her heart to her, she runs off to tell whomever she can in the city.

In our present circumstances, I see that we, too, are being called to this kind of worship: that is, to discover (or re-discover) our capacity to worship God right from where we are; and to do so “in spirit and in truth”, which we are capable of doing because of the Holy Spirit who dwells in us who have been baptized.  In other words, while we cannot worship in our churches (as we’d prefer), we have not been prevented from worshiping God with our hearts and our voices.  When we sing hymns that we know or even just read the Psalms out loud, we praise God.  When we kneel in prayer from wherever we are, we praise God.  When we console and support one another, we praise God.  My friends, now is a time for each of us to worship God “in spirit and truth”.

In our Gospel reading today, Jesus declares those “blessed” who have not seen his resurrected body, but who yet believe that he is the Messiah, who died but now lives.  We who live today and who believe may count ourselves among the “blessed”.  More than that, we have been given a share in his Spirit which enables us to worship God from wherever we are “in spirit and truth”.  Let us be grateful for this gift.  And let us increase our trust that God is with us in this time of isolation, turning towards making our homes sacred places in which every day occurrences can become liturgies in which God is praised, thus opening ourselves to encountering our Lord in new ways.  Finally, let us commit ourselves to rejoicing, so that, as Saint Peter wrote, “the genuineness of our faith... may prove to be for praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ."  My brothers and sisters, Jesus Christ is alive and we have life in him.  Let us rejoice and be glad!

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – April 19^th, 2020

Evangelize through goodness

Homily: 5^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

Friends, as you know by now, I have invited you to journey with me through these weeks of Ordinary Time, seeking each week one way, revealed to us in the Mass, that we can grow in our discipleship of Jesus during this time.  In previous weeks, I encouraged us to seek to behold Jesus, the Lamb of God, in the different moments and encounters of our daily lives, to see in the Word of God both a record of God’s promises to us and the evidence of their fulfillment, and to be lowly and pure so that we might be blessed to recognize his presence among us.  This week, I believe that the Mass moves us to remember that we have been given a mission to evangelize and what that looks like.  And so, let’s dive in to see how it reveals this to us.

Bishop Robert Barron, in explaining his discoveries over many years of seeking to evangelize and to inspire others to do so, often speaks of the difficulties trying to proclaim Jesus in a world that has lost much of its religious sense.  What he means by that is this: that since, in western culture, people have lost a sense of who God is—or that there even is God—to approach them with a proclamation of Jesus (whom most, if they know him, view him as an ethical teacher and a prophet) is ineffective, since they wouldn’t have a context in which to place him and thus accept him.  To counter this, Bishop Barron often proposes introducing people to what are called the “transcendentals”: that is, truth, beauty, and goodness.  These, he argues, are things, not specifically religious, that anyone can experience, and which can lead them to acknowledge realities that are beyond themselves (that is, realities that “transcend” their own).  When someone is able to do this, Bishop Barron argues, then they can be introduced to the idea of God and of our need for a savior, who is Jesus.

Truth, Bishop Barron argues, is a difficult one to begin with.  This is because our culture is so rife with relativism—that is, the idea that truth is relative to the person who perceives it—that even when presented with a universal truth, a person might not be open to experiencing its transcendent quality.  Beauty is a similarly challenging mode of evangelizing, he says.  This for a couple of reasons: first because to truly encounter beauty one has to “raise your eyes” above the world.  In western culture, so rife with images that speak to our passions and our primal urges, it’s hard to pull our eyes away to see something that is truly beautiful in and of itself.  Second, because the idea of beauty has also been subject to relativism.  “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” the saying goes.  But this is not true.  Transcendent beauty is something that has an objective quality.  You might say that this church does not appeal to your taste in regard to style, but you’d be wrong if you said that it wasn’t beautiful.

This leaves us with goodness.  This, Bishop Barron argues, is where we have the most opportunity.  This is because many in western culture still believe that we have a responsibility to care for those who are less fortunate than us.  Therefore, when folks see Christians serving the poor—especially if it is poor Christians serving the poor—they more readily recognize that there is something valuable in goodness and, thus, will be open to knowing what it is that motivates us to service, which is our chance, then, to share the Gospel.  This third transcendental as a means of evangelization is exactly what our scriptures point towards today.

In the first reading from the prophet Isaiah, we hear the Lord telling the Israelites how it is that they will be restored to God’s good graces and begin again to fulfill their purpose as God’s people, which is to be a light drawing people from every nation towards God.  And what does he say?  He says, “share your bread with the hungry, shelter the oppressed and the homeless; clothe the naked when you see them, and don’t turn your back on your own.”  Still further he says, “remove from your midst oppression, false accusation and malicious speech... bestow your bread on the hungry and satisfy the afflicted...”  In other words, “Do good and avoid evil and the light that you have been given will shine brightly in the world, drawing people into my kingdom.”  Friends, if you read through the Old Testament, you’ll see that every time that the Israelites get in trouble with God it is because they have failed to be the light of God’s goodness in the world, thus turning people away from God, instead of towards him.

Then in the Gospel reading we hear Jesus in his Sermon on the Mount sharing with us the metaphors of salt and light.  “You are the salt of the earth”, he says to his disciples, meaning that they are meant to take what is good in the world and enhance it.  “You are the light of the world”, he also tells them, echoing the purpose that God gave to the Israelite people to be a light to all peoples so that they might turn to God.  He continues, saying, “Just so, your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father.”  There it is, once again: by displaying goodness to others, others will, in turn, discover and glorify God.

Not included with today’s first reading, but implied by our Lord in his sermon, is the consequences for not evangelizing.  The result of evangelizing, of course, is that things get better: for the kingdom of God will grow and the brotherhood of mankind, united to God through Jesus, will bring peace and harmony to the world.  The consequence of not evangelizing, however, is not that things stay the same, but rather that they get worse.  As Jesus says, salt that loses its taste is good for nothing but to be thrown out.  When it is thrown out and trampled underfoot, it makes the ground sterile: that is, unable to support plant growth.  A burning flame (which is what Jesus means when he says, “light”, by the way) that is hidden by a basket will not keep burning, but rather will burn out after it consumes all of the oxygen under the basket.  In both instances, when the thing is not used for its good end, it doesn’t keep things status quo, but rather make things worse.

And so, my friends, it does, indeed, seem that our Mass today is encouraging us to consider our mission as disciples to evangelize and to do so through goodness: that is, by doing good so as to enhance the inherent goodness in the world and to be a light that draws men and women to know God, who is goodness himself, and, thus, to glorify him.  Let us, then, commit ourselves to spend time this week considering the ways that God is calling us to evangelize through good deeds in our daily lives and to seek out the ways that are still available to us to do more good (like, perhaps, removing “malicious speech” from our lives) so that we might become more fervent disciples of Christ and God’s kingdom of harmony and peace might be realized here and now.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – February 8^th & 9^th, 2020

Faith is the power to stand up for life

          I am indebted to the USCCB Respect Life committee for their excellent scriptural reflection for Respect Life Sunday.  I have only slightly edited their words to make it flow as a homily.  It otherwise expresses deftly and plainly the reality we face as a pro-life people and the gifts of faith and hope that we need to persevere in proclaiming the Gospel of Life.

Homily: 27^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

Brothers and sisters, in the first reading today we hear the voice of the prophet Habakkuk crying out to God in anguish: “How long, O Lord? I cry for help but you do not listen!”  How often do we feel that God does not hear our pleas for help?  How often do we fear that our prayers will not be answered in the manner that we desire?  The voice again cries out: “I cry out to you, ‘Violence!’ but you do not intervene. Why do you let me see ruin; why must I look at misery? Destruction and violence are before me; there is strife, and clamorous discord.”

I imagine that each of us can relate all-too-well to this feeling today.  When we watch the news or scroll through social media, we are inundated by stories of violence against human life.  The tone of public debate and discourse disrespects the dignity of the human person.  We can often feel that misery surrounds us as abortion, assisted suicide, the death penalty, and other affronts to the dignity of the person find wide public support.

But God, as he responded to Habakkuk, responds to us with a message of hope.  We are assured that the Lord, “will not disappoint.”  And that, “the just one, because of his faith, shall live.”  While God does not promise to answer our prayers on our schedule or according to our plans, we know that He does not abandon us.  While suffering is indeed a part of our earthly life, nonetheless our destiny is to share eternal life with Christ, and this reading reminds us of this today.

In his encyclical letter Evangelium Vitae (which translates to “The Gospel of Life”), Pope Saint John Paul II wrote that, “the Gospel of life is not for believers alone: it is for everyone.”  Although faith allows us to more deeply understand the sacred value of human life, the light of reason naturally endows the human conscience with the ability to recognize the dignity of each and every person, and so why does it seem that so many are ignorant of this truth?

In the responsorial psalm, we replied: “If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.”  It seems that many in our world have indeed hardened their hearts to the truth.  They are unable to see the humanity of the child growing in his/her mother’s womb.  They incorrectly believe that a person’s value is determined by his/her abilities (or by a potential to avoid suffering in this world).  They fail to comprehend that one’s worth is not dependent on one’s age or circumstance.  And perhaps, if we’re honest with ourselves, we’ll see that we’ve allowed our own hearts to be hardened to the attacks against human life.  Maybe we’ve allowed the pain of loss to make our hearts numb, too.

Therefore, in a world that seems to have lost sight of the value of human life, we must pray that those whose hearts have been hardened would hear the voice of God and come to see the invaluable dignity of every person they meet.  And we must pray that our own hearts would be pierced by the suffering of the most vulnerable among us. ///

Because the world in which we live is so often hostile to the Truth, proclaiming the Gospel of Life can be difficult.  In many arenas, defense of infants’ lives, the lives of those disabled or dying, or the lives of any vulnerable human population is met with resistance.  Proclaiming the Church’s teaching on topics like abortion, assisted suicide, and the death penalty can provoke challenging and emotional responses from those who disagree.  Sometimes we may find ourselves afraid to speak up about these issues in our families, among our coworkers, or with students in our school community.  We may fear disagreement, judgement, confrontation, or misunderstanding.  But in the second reading, Saint Paul tells us that, “God did not give us a spirit of cowardice.”  Rather, God has given us a spirit of “power and love”—and this spirit should cast out all of our fears.

Saint Paul also encourages us “not to be ashamed of our testimony to our Lord.”  He urges us to “bear our share of hardship for the gospel,” and reminds of our “strength that comes from God.”  Through our faith in Jesus Christ, we know that sin and death have been defeated.   We know that our identity can only be found in our Savior.  And we know that the sufferings and persecutions that we endure in our earthly life glorify God; and, thus, that we are given the strength and grace to persevere in hope.

Faith, my brothers and sisters, gives us this ability to hope.  Through it we are empowered to accomplish amazing things (like ripping up deep-rooted trees and casting them into the sea with only a word).  As a gift, however, faith is not something that we can claim as our own: it’s not something that we earn.  Rather, it is only the graciousness of God that provides it to us, for we are “unprofitable servants” who have done only what we have been obliged to do.  The example of the apostles in the Gospel, however, encourages us to ask God Himself to “increase our faith.”  If we struggle to find the courage to speak boldly about human life, we shouldn’t be ashamed: for the apostles—who themselves lived, ate, and prayed with Christ—needed God’s grace to carry out Christ’s saving mission.  Even still, we needn’t be afraid to take hold of the faith that we have been given: for if we have but “faith the size of a mustard seed,” Christ can give us the power to do incredible things in service of the Gospel.

So today, on this Respect Life Sunday, as we recommit ourselves to upholding the teachings of the Church on the inviolability of human life, may we recall that we have merely “done what we were obliged to do” as followers of Christ; and that this is no small thing, because Christ is our hope, in every season of our lives; and He, who is ever faithful to us, will not fail to snatch us from the snares of death and lead us to the victory of eternal life that He has won for us—the eternal life to which all human life is ordered—the eternal life that we experience, even now, here in this Eucharist.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – October 5^th & 6^th, 2019

Given at Saint Thomas Aquinas Parish: West Lafayette, IN – October 6^th, 2019

Christ the King sheds the light of truth on reality

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Risen Christ removes blindness

Homily: 3^rd Sunday of Easter – Cycle B

          One of the common threads that seems to run through our readings today is the idea that Christ’s Resurrection is the light that takes away blindness.  In the first reading, Peter is speaking to the crowd who had gathered around him and the Apostle John after they had healed the crippled man near Solomon’s Portico just outside the temple.  We hear Peter accuse the crowd of having “denied the Holy and Righteous One” and having put to death the “author of life”.  Then, in a turn of mercy, he acknowledges that they “acted out of ignorance” and assures them that, if they repent, their sins will be wiped away by the very same “Holy and Righteous One” whom they denied.  In other words, when they denied him, they were blinded by their ignorance, but now see the fullness of Christ, risen from the dead, and his saving power.  Thus, they can turn to him and receive forgiveness.

          In the Gospel reading, we hear how Peter and the Apostles were the first (or maybe second) to be enlightened by the risen Christ.  There the disciples from Emmaus to whom the Risen Christ appeared and was made known in the breaking of bread, have returned to Jerusalem and are recounting their encounter with the Risen Christ.  “While they were still speaking about this,” the Gospel records for us, Jesus appeared in their midst, rebukes them for their unbelief in the resurrection, and then “[opens] their minds to understand the Scriptures” about how the Christ had to suffer and die and then rise to fulfill what was written.  In spite of what Jesus told his disciples before his Passion, Death, and Resurrection, it took his risen presence to take away their blindness so that they might see the full truth of his teaching.

          In the second reading, the words of the Apostle John also aim at opening the eyes of its readers.  Our reading begins with John saying “I am writing this to you so that you may not commit sin.”  In other words, “so that you may recognize sin and, thus, avoid it.”  Then, like with Peter in the first reading, we hear him announce God’s mercy: saying, in effect, “If, in your ignorance, you have sinned, don’t despair; because Jesus is our Advocate before the Father and he has expiated our sins.”  In other words, “If you have sinned because of blindness, be blind no longer and turn to Christ who will advocate on your behalf before the Father.”  For John, it is Christ, risen from the dead, that gives light and hope to those who had been blind in their sin, just as it was for the crowd that listened to Peter that afternoon in Jerusalem, and just as it was for the disciples gathered in the Upper Room on that first Easter.

          And so, why is this important to note today?  Because it will be important to remember in the coming years as it will become necessary to propose once again these great truths to a generation who has largely turned away from it.

          Newspaper columnist Terry Mattingly recently reflected on Europe’s woes regarding young adults and religion.  He specifically quotes Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI who, while still Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, noted that the trend in Europe meant that the Church would be “reduced in its dimensions” making it “necessary to start again.”  Here, nearly 20 years later, we see this playing out in Europe.  A recent study showed that, in 12 of 22 European nations polled, over half of 16-29 year olds claim no religious affiliation whatsoever.  In 18 of these 22 nations less than 10 percent of young adults admit to attending religious services on a weekly basis (this includes all religions, not just Catholicism).

          According to the report’s author, a key to understanding this shift is to acknowledge that “nominal” or “cultural” faith doesn’t transfer from one generation to the next.  Which means that, if this generation’s parents are Christians “in name” only—perhaps believing in a "vaguely benevolent 'Something' out there"—then their children’s generation is likely to cut ties with religion, rather than continue the charade.  Again, this seems to be playing out: in an extremely pronounced way in Europe, but also here in the United States.  If this trend continues, Mattingly notes, “the future that Pope Benedict predicted, that a smaller church would have to return to basics”, will become a reality.  In this reality, according to the retired Pope, believers will once again have to be missionaries and to “propose again … the questions on God, salvation, hope, life, especially what has a basic ethical value."

          This is where these lessons from today’s Scriptures come in.  Many of these young people—and, of course, many of the adults—who have strayed from the faith will, at some point, “hit a wall”, so to speak.  Having lived a life of what Benedict XVI has called “practical atheism”—in which God is not explicitly denied, but one’s life reflects no consideration of God—many will find it empty and will begin searching for answers.  Our job will be to be there and to propose again the hard, yet merciful truth that Jesus proposed to his disciples when he said: “How could you doubt?  Look at how this fulfilled everything that the Scriptures proposed”; and that Peter proposed to the crowd when he said: “You killed the author of life!  But if you repent you will find forgiveness”; and that John proposed to the early Church when he said: “Those who say ‘I know him’, but don’t follow his commandments are liars!  But those who sin have an Advocate in Jesus”.  If we have been faithful witnesses—not just in word, but in action—then these persons, their blindness lifted, will turn back to the Lord and the Church will begin to grow again.

          This is why today I want to encourage you to study closely the Acts of the Apostles during this Easter season.  Just as Lent was our time of preparation to celebrate the Resurrection, so should Easter be our time of preparation to re-propose the Gospel to a generation that is abandoning it; and studying how the early Church proposed the Gospel the first time will be a great way to prepare.

          Friends, the joy of the resurrection and the promise that Jesus is our advocate—two things which are renewed each time we celebrate this Eucharist—will be our strength to fulfill this good work.  So let us take it up, trusting that Christ, whose light broke through the darkness of death, can break through the blindness of those around us and bring them to new life.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – April 15^th, 2018

Salvation through suffering

Homily: Easter Sunday – Cycle B

          Friends, if you couldn’t tell by the way the church is decorated, by the vestments that I am wearing or by the festive music that we are singing, today is a great day of rejoicing.  Christ the Lord is risen from the dead; and for this we rejoice.  Yet, there is a great truth, hidden beneath the surface of this reason for our celebration, that should add depth of joy to our celebration, and it is this: that the way to the resurrection is through suffering.

          Most of us, perhaps, live relatively comfortable lives.  We have places to live, clothes to wear, food to eat, a job that provides for us (or parents who have jobs that provide for us).  We have family and friends that support us and add joy to our lives.  Nevertheless, if we’ve lived long enough, we realize that even those comforts that we enjoy haven’t kept suffering completely out of our lives.  Rather, we have all experienced suffering in some way.  We’ve lost loved ones through death and we’ve watched loved ones suffer; we’ve been hurt by those closest to us: our spouses, our family members (perhaps even our own children), and our friends; we’ve lost jobs (or, perhaps, failed to get the job that would help us fulfill our dreams).  In these and countless other ways, suffering has touched each of our lives.

          Suffering, for many people, is a thing of despair; and if we think about it even for a little bit, we can see why.  We instinctively know that our life spans are limited; and so if suffering becomes too great a part of it, we begin to despair that there is any hope of enjoying this life that we have been given.  For those for whom daily suffering is intense, this lack of hope can be stifling: leading them to isolate themselves from the world and, in some cases, to contemplate ending their own lives (for, they believe, to end their lives would finally bring an end to their suffering).

          This is why today’s celebration—the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead—is such good news: because not only has Jesus redeemed us from the punishment due to sin, but he has opened for us a life beyond suffering: one into which we enter precisely through suffering.  Yes, Jesus’ resurrection is a thing of wonder and awe; but it would be much different if he had lived a comfortable and full life and died at a ripe-old age of natural causes, wouldn’t it?  We’d certainly be overjoyed to see him again, but would it truly be the victory we’d hoped for?  No, Jesus’ resurrection holds such great power because it comes precisely after he suffered horrendously: that he, the only truly innocent man ever to live, suffered the full brunt of evil that the world could produce and defeated it by rising from the dead.  In doing so, he demonstrates for us that suffering in this world is not meaningless; but rather that, when it is accepted and endured in innocence of heart, for the love of God and our neighbor, it will speed us along the path that leads to the life beyond suffering that Jesus has opened for us.

          This is so important to say in today’s world: and why?  Well, because it wasn’t enough for Jesus to be a “good person” throughout his life—one who tries not to hurt others and otherwise doesn’t create problems—and then to die of natural causes only to be raised again.  Rather, he had to contend with this world—and the evil-inflicted suffering within it—in order to open for us the way to a life beyond suffering.  Notice, that this contention wasn’t to push suffering down and overcome it by his cunning or his power; but rather to stay pure within it, so as to show that even the worst suffering that the evil in this world can inflict is no match for the power of God.

          My friends, we do not proclaim an easy salvation.  Rather, we proclaim a salvation won for us through suffering: a salvation in which we participate through suffering.  And this, as I’ve said, is the great truth hidden beneath the surface of today’s celebration: that if we embrace the sufferings that come to us in this life—the daily sufferings that we experience because of our sins and simply because this world is broken, and most especially the sufferings that come to us precisely because we are disciples of Jesus—then we are uniting ourselves more perfectly to Christ in his suffering.  And when we are united to Christ in his suffering, then we will also be united to him in the fruits of his suffering: the new life beyond suffering that he has opened for us.

          Friends, this is why we have taken on voluntary suffering for the last forty days: to remind us that suffering in this world is not to be avoided at all costs, but rather that, when embraced for love of God and our neighbor, suffering unites us more perfectly to Christ and, thus, prepares us to experience the resurrection with him.  If you have spent these forty days well, then by all means celebrate in praise and thanksgiving for the grace of God that has worked within you.  And if you haven’t spent these days well, then you, too, should rejoice: because the fruits of the resurrection of Christ are not just for those who can claim “victory” at the end of these forty days, but rather it is for everyone who still struggles to live the life that God has called them to live.  For these I say, “God is on your side!  Continue to struggle and you will find grace to overcome.  Your faith will be evident in the struggle, and by faith the life beyond suffering which Christ has opened for us will be yours!”

          This truth couldn’t be more evident to us than here in this Mass: in which we offer back to God the perfect sacrifice of his Son in thanksgiving for the salvation that his suffering won for us.  Therefore, let us put our whole hearts into this offering: for Christ is risen and we have life in him.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – April 1^st, 2018

Mary's mysterious motherhood draws us back to Christmas reality

Happy New Year!

I pray that our Good God will bless all of you richly in 2017.

May Mary, Mother of God, keep you and protect you throughout the year.

Homily: Solemnity of Mary, the Holy Mother of God – Cycle A

          It’s no secret that I am not the world’s biggest fan of all of the secular, year-end holiday stuff that has attached itself to our celebration of the Lord’s birth on Christmas.  I’m talking about all of the sentimental holiday things—like brightly decorated trees with gaily wrapped presents underneath, snow falling in the moonlight, and egg nog by the fireplace while listening to songs that speak about all of these things without ever making reference to the reason why there is a holiday in the first place: the Child born in Bethlehem who is God and the Savior of the human race.  Those of you who heard my homily for Christmas know that I spoke about how all of these things have become signs that we have “objectified” Christmas: that is, we’ve turned what was a subjective reality (a reality in which real people had real experiences) into an object to be manipulated for our own pleasure and amusement.

          You’ll also remember that I proposed a way for us to break free from this objectification of Christmas: a return to an understanding of the original event and what it meant to those involved and to the world.  I invited us to imagine a people suffering under a great oppression—a people of strong faith in their God who had promised to send them a leader who would free them from their suffering—who then hear that the one who had been promised had, indeed, been born; and that through this imagining we would begin to understand the great prophecies that Isaiah had made about the Messiah and how the infancy narratives in the Gospels point to their fulfillment in the birth of Jesus.  I invited us to imagine the smelly, dirty, and yet gloriously real reality of the original event so as to put our modern-day celebration in its proper perspective; thus ensuring that would not objectify it, but rather celebrate it for what it truly is: the day that our salvation came to us.

          I recount all of this today because this day, the octave day of Christmas, the day in which we honor Mary under the title “the Holy Mother of God”, gives us another opportunity to shake off our “objectifications” of Christ’s birth and get back to the real subjects who had experienced this world-changing event.  Today we make a bold statement: that Mary, in every way a human being, is the Mother of God, that is, the Mother of the Infinite Being through whom all things in the universe exist and without whom no things exist.  That’s crazy, right?  How can a human being, who would not exist if it wasn’t for the pre-existence of God, never the less be the Mother of God?  If you’ve never thought of this before, then you’re not engaging your faith enough and therefore your New Year’s resolution is to open your catechism in 2017 and read it through, asking the hard questions and then letting it explain them through the richness of nearly 2000 years of thinking on God’s revelation (Got it?).  If you have thought about this before, then you are in good company.  This very belief was challenged for these very reasons nearly 1600 years ago.

          In 431, in the city of Ephesus, an ecumenical council was held to resolve this issue.  Nestorius, the bishop of Constantinople at the time, contended that it was heretical to call Mary the “Mother of God” for the very reasons to which I’ve already alluded.  Since God is eternal, Nestorius argued, to say that God has a mother is contradictory: because for someone to have a mother indicates that there was some sort of birth, or beginning, to that person’s life, which with God simply cannot be.  He contended that she could be called “Mother of Jesus”, but not “Mother of God”.

          St. Cyril, who was the bishop of Alexandria, knew that this couldn’t be true, because he knew that for Jesus to be able to accomplish his saving work for us he had to be both fully human and fully divine and that there could be no separation or “compartmentalization” of the two.  He also knew that in the hearts of the faithful (i.e. the whole Church for the previous four centuries) Mary had been honored as Mother of God, and so he knew that he couldn’t give way to Nestorius’ erroneous thinking and thus contradict what had already been held as true (though not concretely defined as such) for nearly four centuries.

          Legend has it that crowds of people waited outside the basilica during the last days of the council waiting to hear what the bishops had decided the truth was about Mary.  When the bishops emerged and definitively declared that Mary was, indeed, the Mother of God, the crowd erupted with joy that the bishops had confirmed what they already knew in their hearts was true.  They purportedly carried the bishops through the streets along with images of Our Lady, singing songs and praising God that Mary is, indeed, the Mother of God.

          This is important to us today for two reasons: One is that, in preserving for us the mysterious declaration that Mary is truly the Mother of God (because she is the Mother of Jesus, who is the Son of God), who Jesus is for us is also preserved (that is, God incarnate: the fullness of whose humanity made it possible that his death and resurrection from the dead—both in the flesh!—would redeem our sins and make eternal life possible for us once again).  And so we see that, if Mary cannot be called the Mother of God, then there is no reason for us to celebrate Christmas: because without the fullness of Jesus’ divinity (and, therefore, the fullness of Mary’s Divine Maternity), the day of our salvation has not come for us and we must lament that eternal life still is not possible for us.

          Second, in preserving for us the mysterious declaration that Mary is truly the Mother of God, we also preserve the reality that God, in spite of all that he has revealed to us, is still clouded in mystery for us.  In other words, by not having a “how” to explain the “what” of Mary’s Divine Motherhood, we preserve our right relationship with God: the relationship that acknowledges that he is the all-powerful, pre-existent Being and that we are his creatures who will never fully understand his wisdom or his power.  This humility before the mystery that is God helps to prevent us from “objectifying” events like Christ’s birth (and, thus, appropriating it into something that fits into our lives and makes us feel good instead of moving us more deeply into the mystery of who God is in himself), which can only deepen our love for him as we contemplate the great love that he must have for us to act in our lives in these ways.

          My brothers and sisters, this is the example that Mary herself gives us.  When the shepherds came to see the baby Jesus, they revealed to Mary and Joseph all that they had seen and heard in the field: Angels in the air revealing the birth of the child and singing songs glorifying God.  Mary didn’t press the shepherds to explain how all of that could have possibly happened, but rather, as the Gospels relate to us, she and all there “were amazed by what had been told them by the shepherds … and Mary kept all of these things, reflecting on them in her heart.”  Mary allowed herself to dwell within the mystery of what had been revealed and there she encountered deeply the One who had revealed it: God in her son.

          As we enter into this new year, the challenge for each of us is to allow ourselves to dwell within the mystery of how God has revealed himself to us so as to open ourselves to encountering there God’s presence in the unexpected: like in a little child, born into poverty in a little town in ancient Palestine, or under the appearance of bread and wine right here on this altar.  If we can do this, my brothers and sisters, the Lord will “bless us and keep us” in 2017.

          May the peace of God, which is beyond all understanding, keep your hearts and your minds in the knowledge and love of God and of his son, our Lord Jesus Christ so that you, too, may enjoy this blessing in the New Year.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN

December 31^st, 2016 & January 1^st, 2017

Mercy demands "applied Christianity"

Homily: 15^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          In the world of advanced studies, there are generally two categories of persons: those who generate knowledge and those who apply that knowledge.  If you look at the degree offerings of major colleges and universities, you’ll often find degrees both in “mathematics” and “applied mathematics”, “physics” and “applied physics”, “chemistry” and “applied chemistry”.  This is evidence of what I am saying: that in the world of advanced studies, there are two categories of persons, those who are concerned just with knowing things, and getting to know more about those things, and those who are concerned with applying this knowledge of things for some purpose.

          And both of these are necessary, right?  Certainly there is value in knowing things—such as the principle of gravity—because it increases our awe and appreciation of a world that has been so wonderfully made and simply helps us to exist in it.  But what if that’s all we had?  Just knowledge of the fact that gravity exists (and perhaps why it exists)?  A whole world of technology wouldn’t exist if we hadn’t tried to apply that knowledge towards some purpose.  Almost any mode of transportation that we use today fundamentally relies on an understanding of the principle of gravity for it to work.  Knowledge, therefore, is necessary!  But knowledge without application—that is, without action—tends to be something lifeless.

          This principle of applying our knowledge to purposeful action is something fundamental to the Christian life and our readings today reinforce this.  In the reading from the book of Deuteronomy Moses is giving his last instructions to the people whom he has led through the desert for 40 years.  He will die soon and he wants these people to remember the most important things.  So he tells them, “If only you would heed the voice of the Lord, your God, and keep his commandments and statutes that are written in this book of the law… [which are] not too mysterious and remote for you … No, it is something very near to you, already in your mouths and in your hearts; you have only to carry it out.”  In other words, he’s saying: “You already know what God demands of you, but it isn’t enough just to know it!  You must also apply it to your lives and live by it.”

          This is also the lesson that emerges from the episode that we recounted today from Luke’s Gospel.  There, Jesus was confronted by a “scholar of the law”—in other words, someone focused on “knowing things”—who wanted to test Jesus on his knowledge of the Law.  Deftly, Jesus doesn’t engage his debate, but in turn tests the scholar on his knowledge of the Law.  The scholar having answered rightly, Jesus agrees with him; thus demonstrating both Jesus’ knowledge of the law and that he does not see himself or his teaching as being above the law.  The scholar was not satisfied, though, so he asks a follow-up question: “But who is my neighbor?”  At this point, Jesus decides not to give him a “book” answer, but rather to enlighten the answer with an application: the parable of the Good Samaritan.

          Notice in this that only implicitly did Jesus answer the scholar’s question: “Who is my neighbor?”  The robbers’ victim—the person in need of mercy—is implicitly identified as every man’s “neighbor” when Jesus asks the scholar “Which one of these was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?” and the scholar replies “The one who treated him with mercy.”  In doing this, Jesus did two things: 1) he identified as our neighbor anyone whom we find in need of mercy and 2) he demonstrated that knowledge of who our neighbor is and what our neighbor demands of us is not enough, but rather that we must also apply that knowledge in action if that knowledge is going to be worth something.  The robbers’ victim was neighbor to both the priest and the Levite, but only the Samaritan was neighbor to the victim because he not only acknowledged him as his neighbor but then acted on that acknowledgement.

          Let me restate this once again, lest it get lost: knowledge is necessary!  First we have to acknowledge what is true and which truth demands the most of us.  For the believer it is that God is supreme and therefore we must love him with our whole selves.  Then, that Man is made in the image of God and therefore is due great honor, that all men are created equal and therefore demand equal treatment, and, thus, that we must love our fellow man as we love ourselves.  Then, however, we have to act on that knowledge.  "See how one acts towards his neighbor?", Jesus asks, "Go and do likewise … and you will live."

          My brothers and sisters, this is not complicated.  Remember what Moses said: "It is something very near to you, already in your mouths and in your hearts; you have only to carry it out."  But it isn’t necessarily easy, is it?  If it was easy there wouldn't be any of the violence that plagues our world, right?  Because of sin, however, that which, by nature, should be easy for us has become difficult to practice.  Thus, we have to work hard to love both ourselves and then our neighbor.

          Now, so we don’t forget that first part, let me say a word about loving ourselves.  We love ourselves when we do what's truly best for ourselves: purging sin from our lives, building disciplined lives of prayer, pursuing truth, goodness, and beauty, and taking care of our relationships.  Notice that “loving ourselves” doesn’t mean “do what is most pleasurable for ourselves” (though the pursuit of truth, goodness, and beauty ought to be pleasurable), but rather “do what is best for ourselves”, disciplining our bodies when necessary in order to ensure that our hearts remain pure.  Loving our neighbor, then, requires that we do what is truly best for them, too: helping them in their need and supporting them as they also strive to love themselves.  The prayer service for fighting the drug epidemic in our community was a great example of putting aside our projects and desires to do something for our neighbors in this community who are suffering because of drug use and abuse.

          My brothers and sisters, in giving us this year of mercy, Pope Francis hopes to do what Jesus did for that law scholar that day: he hopes to remind us of who our neighbor is (that is, anyone in need of mercy) and he hopes to move us to be neighbor to them by "treating them with mercy", which is the same Mercy that God has already shown to us: who, seeing us assaulted by Satan to the point that we were left for dead, did not pass on the other side, but came close to us, sending us Jesus to dress our wounds and to take us to a place (that is, the Church) where we could be healed and recover.  We must, therefore, go and do likewise.  This is the great "missa"—or "sending"—that we receive at the end every Mass.

          Thus, the question we must confront today is this: Will we allow our lives to be interrupted to care for others?  Like it or not, “yes” is the answer that Jesus expects of us.  Our work this week, therefore, will be to become more aware of and, thus, to respond to the opportunities to give mercy that God's providence places in front of us.  My brothers and sisters, through this Eucharist, the love and mercy of God—Jesus, himself—comes to us and dwells in us.  May our knowledge of this inspire us to open our hearts to others so that his love and mercy might spread and grow among us.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – July 9^th & 10^th, 2016

It is finished.

Homily: Good Friday of the Lord’s Passion – Cycle C

          It is finished.  Although it’s difficult for us to forget something that we already know, let’s imagine for a moment that we are hearing these words for the first time.  Let’s imagine that we don’t know, as Paul Harvey would say, “the rest of the story.”

          Imagine a mother and a friend, looking up on the one they love so dear now horribly disfigured—and how their own countenances have been disfigured by their sorrow.  Intense fear and agony overwhelm them, yet we can imagine that there was still hope: hope that in spite of all the mocking and jeering he may yet work a miracle that would save him from this death. /// “It is finished.” /// Even for these, the ones who were closest to Christ’s heart, as the resurrection was yet unknown to them, these words must have cast a shadow of doubt on their hope in the fulfillment of all that God had promised them throughout the ages.

          Imagine also a crowd of priests and soldiers, looking with anxiety to ensure the execution is completed.  As the intensity of their fervor diminishes—as the intensity of their mocking and jeering subsides—imagine that a certain uneasiness crept into their hearts. /// “It is finished.” /// Outwardly, they agree and are satisfied; yet inwardly their consciences continue to question.

          Imagine the disciples who didn’t follow their master to that hill, those who were afraid and hid away.  Imagine their questions to those who returned.  “What happened?”  “Did they kill him?”  “Did he say anything before he died?” /// “It is finished.” /// The intensity of their fear spikes as they hear these words.  Immediately they are flooded with confusion and doubt about their future, about what it will mean to be a follower of his way.  In the days following, fishermen will return to their nets, women will prepare the final burial spices, and pilgrims will walk the long road back to their homes questioning how this could have been the end.

          It is only the light of the resurrection, however, that can reveal that what is finished—that is, what has ended—is not our hope in one who can save, but rather our slavery to sin.  Christ proclaimed these words from the cross as a definitive statement to the evil one that his reign had ended and that death—Satan’s last power over man—had been forever destroyed.

          Today, we recall these words as a reminder to each of us that what Christ accomplished on the cross wasn’t just for a few people in a specific place and at a specific time, but rather that it was for all people of all places in all times… including right here and right now.  Therefore, my friends, let us listen closely to these words of Christ: for in them he says to each of us, “Your life of sin is over.  It is finished.”  May this end that we remember today lead us to begin our lives in Christ anew.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 25^th, 2016