A true gift: the gift of Christ

Homily/Homilía: Holy Thursday/El Jueves Santo

          A gift, by its nature, has two defining characteristics: 1) it is something that has been freely given and 2) it is undeserved by the one who receives it.  Just think about a birthday gift for a moment.  One who gives a gift for a birthday always does so freely, motivated by love for the person whose birthday is being celebrated.  In other words, no one is ever coerced into giving a birthday gift, because if they are then it really isn’t a gift.  And the person receiving the gift did nothing to earn this gift, right?  I mean, they didn’t choose to be born on whatever particular day it happens to be; and, besides, there is nothing particularly deserving of gifts for being born on any given day.  Thus, a present given to celebrate someone’s birthday is truly a gift, because it is both freely given and “unearned” by the one who receives it.

          When we look at this story that we just recounted from the Gospel of John, we see in Jesus’ action more than just a model of how to treat one another; rather, we see also a gift.  Jesus, the teacher and leader of this band of disciples, does not owe these men anything.  If anything, these men ought to be the one’s washing Jesus’ feet.  Nonetheless, Jesus freely chooses to wash their feet, demonstrating just how devoted he is to them by offering them this undeserved gift of loving service, calling it a “model to follow”.  Peter, perhaps speaking on behalf of the other disciples, fails to understand Jesus’ action as a gift and at first he refuses it, but then asks for more than what was being given.  In other words, it seems as if he only wanted Jesus’ gift if he could have it “his way”.  Only after the events of Good Friday will he come to understand the gift that they had been given.

          Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI has said that “to be a Christian is primarily a gift…”  Beginning tonight, we meditate on the gifts that Jesus has given us: the gift of the Eucharist, the gift of the priesthood, and the gift of this “model to be followed”.  Over these next three days we will meditate deeply on these gifts in light of the gift that unifies them all—a gift freely given and of which we are wholly undeserving—the sacrifice of his life so that we might have eternal life.

          Perhaps tonight we find ourselves like Peter, unwilling to accept Jesus’ gift as it has been given or perhaps even asking for more than was offered (in other words, trying to have it “our way”).  If so, then let us pray—tonight and over these next three days—that we may be like Peter also at Easter Sunday: humbled but joyful before the Risen Christ whose gift—the sacrifice of his Body and Blood, his living Body and Blood—is still being given to us.

          Un regalo, por su naturaleza, tiene dos características definitorias: 1) es algo que ha sido dado libremente y 2) no es merecido por quien lo recibe. Solo piensa por un momento en un regalo de cumpleaños. Quien da un regalo para un cumpleaños siempre lo hace libremente, motivado por el amor hacia la persona cuyo cumpleaños se celebra. En otras palabras, nunca se obliga a nadie a dar un regalo de cumpleaños, porque si lo es, realmente no es un regalo. Y la persona que recibió el regalo no hizo nada para ganarse este regalo, ¿verdad? Quiero decir, no eligió nacer el día que sea; y, además, no hay nada particularmente digno de regalos por haber nacido en un día determinado. Por lo tanto, un regalo dado a celebrar el cumpleaños de alguien es verdaderamente un regalo, ya que es a la vez dado libremente e inmerecido por el que lo recibe.

          Cuando miramos esta historia que acabamos de contar del Evangelio de Juan, vemos en la acción de Jesús más que solo un modelo de cómo tratarnos unos a otros; más bien, vemos un regalo. Jesús, el maestro y líder de esta banda de discípulos, no les debe nada a estos hombres. En todo caso, estos hombres deberían ser los que lavan los pies de Jesús. Sin embargo, Jesús elige libremente lavarse los pies, demostrando cuán devoto está con ellos al ofrecerles este regalo de servicio amoroso inmerecido, llamándolo un "modelo a seguir". Pedro, tal vez hablando en nombre de los otros discípulos, no comprende la acción de Jesús como un regalo y al principio la rechaza, pero luego pide más de lo que se le daba. En otras palabras, parece como si solo quisiera el regalo de Jesús si pudiera tenerlo "a su manera". Solo después de los eventos del Viernes Santo podrá entender el regalo que se les ha dado.

          El Papa emérito Benedicto XVI ha dicho que "ser cristiano es ante todo un don ..." A partir de esta noche, meditamos en los dones que Jesús nos ha dado: el don de la Eucaristía, el don del sacerdocio y el don de este "modelo a seguir". Durante estos próximos tres días meditaremos profundamente sobre estos dones a la luz del don que los unifica a todos—un regalo dado libremente y del cual no merecemos nada—el sacrificio de su vida para que podamos tener la vida eterna.

          Tal vez esta noche nos encontramos como Pedro, indispuestos a aceptar el regalo de Jesús, ya que se ha dado o tal vez incluso pidiendo más de lo ofrecido (en otras palabras, tratando de tenerlo a nuestra manera). Si es así, recemos hoy y por estos tres días para que también podamos ser como Pedro en el Domingo de Pascua: humilde pero alegre ante el Cristo resucitado, cuyo don, el sacrificio de su Cuerpo y Sangre—su Cuerpo y Sangre viviente—aún se nos está dando.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 29^th, 2018

Dado en la parroquia Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN – 1º de abril, 2018

Stewardship is loving God and neighbor

          This month we've been focusing a lot on stewardship: that is, how we use our time, talent, and treasure; and this weekend we held our "Stewardship Drive" to invite our parishioners either to "re-up" their commitment or to make a new commitment to put their gifts at the service of God and the Church.  This year, we decided to have the parishioners fill out the forms in Mass (or before Mass, if they preferred) and invited them to place their commitments in the offering as a sign that this isn't just "not-for-profit" volunteer work, but truly a sacrifice that we make for God.  This is the homily that I gave at all of the Masses this weekend just before everyone was given the chance to make their commitment.

Homily: 30^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          Friends, it’s true that we know that someone loves us because of what they do as much as by what they say.  For example, we know that grandma loves us, not just because she says so, but because of her incessant hugs and kisses, because she bakes us cookies, because she takes care of us when mom and dad are away, because she gives us fun and thoughtful gifts for birthdays and for Christmas, and because she celebrates all of the special occasions in life with us.  In other words, we know she loves us because she not only tells us that she loves us, but because she demonstrates her love in actions; and we know that it is in these actions that the love that she professes is, in a sense, authenticated.

          We also know that someone loves us when they, too, come to love the things that we love, right?  For example, perhaps you’re not a baseball fan, but you become a fan of your spouse’s favorite team; or, you learn to love reading books so that you can share the experience of reading a good book with your best friend; or, you open yourself to liking your significant other’s dog or cat (even if you aren’t a “dog” or “cat” person) so that your significant other doesn’t feel divided between the two.  In this case, we demonstrate love for the person by going beyond words and by demonstrating love for the things that our beloved loves.

          In our Gospel reading today, Jesus is challenged to declare his opinion about the “greatest commandment”.  The Pharisees were thinking of the 613 precepts of the Jewish law and were hoping to expose him as a fraud if he tripped up and picked a less important precept as the greatest.  Jesus answers, however, with the obvious: that the greatest commandment is the most important thing that we could possibly do in life (and he quotes the most fundamental prayer of the Jewish people, the shema): that is, to love God (the Almighty) with your whole being.  Notice, Jesus says with your whole being. In other words, don't just say it: put your whole life towards demonstrating it.  This, Jesus replies, is the greatest commandment.

          Then Jesus adds to his response: stating that the second greatest commandment comes in the form of the second sense of demonstrating love (that is, loving what God loves).  In the first reading we heard how God declared his love for all people, especially for the poor and destitute: saying that the alien, widow, and orphan who cried out to him would be especially heard by him.  And so, when we love our neighbor, especially those most in need among us, by serving their needs, we demonstrate our love for that which God loves; and, in doing so, we demonstrate our love for God, once again.

          From this, we can come to a right understanding of stewardship.  Stewardship, my brothers and sisters, is not a burden of guilt that the Church imposes on us.  Rather, it is a response: it is a response of gratitude from one who acknowledges the undeserved gifts he/she has received from God.  It is a response of love from one who acknowledges that he/she was, indeed, first loved by God.  Stewardship, therefore, is “loving God back”.    By giving of ourselves to serve his Church, we demonstrate our gratitude, and, thus, our love, to God.  By serving those less-fortunate than us, we emphasize our love by loving those whom God loves.

          Over the last week's we've asked you to consider how you are "loving God back" by your stewardship.  Today, I am asking you either to renew your commitment to the ways to which you've already committed or to make a new commitment—perhaps a “first-time” commitment—to serve in our parish and in our community.  The ushers will now begin to pass out the "Time and Talent" forms.  Please be generous in what you mark.  It's not a life-long commitment.  Just an acknowledgement that this might be a way in which God is calling you to “love him back”.

          After you've completed the forms, please fold them and place them in the collection basket along with your monetary contribution (if you have one to make).  These will then be presented with the gifts as our demonstration of gratitude and love for our Good God, who has loved us by giving us so much.  Thank you.  And may God bless you for your generosity.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – October 28^th & 29^th, 2017

Re-centering on the Essential

Homily: 2^nd Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          This week the Church transitioned back into Ordinary Time.  Perhaps for most of you the switch was rather unremarkable.  Generally these transitions are pretty smooth for me, too, but because of my vocation, I can never just “roll through” them with little notice.  In the breviary, which is the book of prayers from which all priests must pray every day, there’s always a little note at the end of a season.  For example, this past Monday was the feast of the Baptism of the Lord, which officially ended the Christmas season in the Church.  At the end of Evening Prayer there’s a simple note that says: “After the feast of the Baptism of the Lord, Ordinary Time begins.”  Even though I know that this is coming, I almost always pause when I read that and think to myself: “[sigh] Suddenly, everything just feels so… ordinary.”

          This can be how we feel, right?  How many of you were lamenting to put away Christmas and get back to the “rest of your life?  We know that we can’t live our lives in constant celebration, and that we have to get back to work and school, and so we go back to “ordinary” things and we leave Christmas, and all the excitement of celebrating Christ’s birth, packed away in boxes until next year.  Can you see that there’s a problem with this, especially when we apply it to our lives of faith?

          “Ordinary Time” never means “just go back to doing what you were doing before”.  Rather, Ordinary Time is the time to take all of the blessings that you received during the celebratory season (like those new things that you received at Christmas) and apply them to your everyday life so as to help renew your everyday life and thus grow as a Christian disciple.  Ordinary Time is the time in which we engage the hard work of growing in holiness.  It is not “throwaway” time in between the great seasons of Advent/Christmas and Lent/Easter, rather it’s valuable time given to us so that we might produce fruit in the world for God’s kingdom.

          And so, let me remind all of you of something: holiness is a great privilege to which we have been called.  This is what Saint Paul says to us in the second reading: that we are “called to be holy”.  He says these words as if it is an exclusive gift that not everyone is chosen to receive.  In reality holiness is unobtainable by ourselves; and so to be chosen to receive it is a great privilege.  Yet, how often do we see it as a burden!  “Well, I guess I ought to be holy today… ugh!”  To be holy is difficult and if we weren’t called to be holy we wouldn’t be able to obtain it ourselves, but we are called and so we can obtain it.  The problem, it seems, is that we’ve lost touch with the understanding of the amazing gift that holiness—that is, Godliness—is; and so we’ve lost the ambition to become holy, even though we’ve been called to it.

          If we have, indeed, lost touch with the understanding of what a gift holiness is, then how do we turn back to see it?  We have to embrace what is essential, once again.  We have to embrace those essential works of the spiritual life: Mass, prayer, confession, mortification, reading, devotion to Mary and the saints, etc.  In order to for this to be fruitful, however, we first need to re-center our hearts and our lives on what is essential: that is, on Christ, himself.  John the Baptist, in today’s Gospel reading has to point out Jesus to his followers—men and women who were flocking to him to receive his baptism of repentance.  They were so caught up in the work of repenting, that they were missing the reason for their repentance—Christ, himself, walking among them.  Today, if I can be so bold, in order to inspire us as we enter into Ordinary Time, I’d like to do the same for all of you.

          Our recently adopted parish purpose statement reads: “The sacred purpose of All Saints Catholic Parish is to be a Christ-centered people whose active faith and love of the Eucharist inspire all in Cass County to be united to Jesus in the Catholic Church.”  We, the people of All Saints Parish, therefore, have as our purpose to be a Christ-centered people.  This purpose is realized when both our faith is active and when our love for Christ in the Eucharist is fervent.  The first priority towards realizing our purpose that we identified is “Integration – Uniting in the Heart of Jesus”.  The Eucharist, of course, in which Jesus is truly present to us, Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity, is where we have the opportunity to unite most perfectly in the Heart of Jesus.  Love of the Eucharist, therefore, is the most perfect way to become and remain a Christ-centered people.

          Now, if we say that our purpose is to be a Christ-centered people, and that Christ is truly present to us, in the fullness of his Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity, in the Eucharist, and in the Blessed Sacrament that we reserve in the tabernacle, then we have to ask ourselves a question: is that demonstrably obvious to anyone who walks into our Church?

          Back in the seminary, I took an independent study on church art and architecture and I read a little book that I found to be very helpful.  It was called “how to read churches” and it was designed to help someone walk into a church and discern what the art and architecture says about what the people who worship there believe.  In other words, it says that the way that our church is designed and arranged sends a clear message about what we believe; and it captures a very Catholic truth about us humans: that what we do physically affects us spiritually.

          And so the question comes back to us: If Jesus is truly the center of lives as Christians, and if we believe that Jesus is truly present to us in an abiding way in the Blessed Sacrament, reserved in the tabernacle, then why is his enduring presence placed off to the side in our place of worship?  It should be obvious to anyone who walks into this church that what happens at the altar is the most important thing for us; and it is.  But what happens at the altar seemingly has been artificially separated from what is reserved in the tabernacle, which has been relegated to the side where “those who give it greater importance” can exercise their devotion, but where it otherwise doesn’t gather much attention.  I’m afraid, my brothers and sisters, that this has had the unintended consequence of hurting our love of the Eucharist instead of helping it, which, I’m sure, was not the intention when it was moved here.

          One of the first goals that we identified under the priority of Integration, therefore, is to realize all-day Eucharistic Adoration, because we believe that having parishioners praying before Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament every day, throughout the day, will be the fuel that motivates and powers everything else that we will do as a parish.  Our goal is to convert the chapel in the parish hall into this place of enduring devotion to our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament.  First, however, I think that we need to make a move to remind ourselves of the central importance of Jesus’ presence among us by moving the tabernacle back to the center of our worship space and to surround it with beauty worthy of one whom we honor as Lord and Savior.  Then, both believer and unbeliever alike would know, without even one word being spoken, that we are a Christ-centered people, whose love of the Eucharist inspires and drives everything that we do.

          My brothers and sisters, Ordinary Time in the Church is never ordinary.  Nevertheless, this year, as we enter into Ordinary Time, our parish has a special opportunity to truly embrace this time for what it is: a time to heed the call to be holy by re-centering ourselves on Christ through our love of the Eucharist.  I pray that the power of Christ that we receive in this Eucharist will inspire you to join us in this bold work of allowing our Lord to renew this parish into a place that proclaims from every side once again the proclamation of John the Baptist: Behold the Lamb of God!—so that we, along with all those around us, might encounter him anew and say once again (or, perhaps, for the first time) those words that bring us salvation: “Now I have seen and testified that He is the Son of God.”

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – January 14^th & 15^th, 2017

Conversion to a life of thankfulness

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

          There’s one of those “make you think” quotes that runs around on the internet and in social media and which lands in front of me every once in a while.  It asks a very important question that is intended to inspire you to change your attitude for the better.  It asks this: “What if you woke up tomorrow with only the things that you were thankful for today?”  (REPEAT)

          Anyone who has lost a loved one suddenly to an accident or a sudden illness can probably tell you of the regret they sometimes feel that they didn’t appreciate more the time that they had with that person.  When a fire destroys a family’s house and all their personal possessions, they too start to realize what a gift it was to have what they had, even though they weren’t always very thankful for it.  None of us, if we are paying attention to the news, can imagine what it must be like for the people of southwestern Haiti as entire villages and towns and hundreds of lives were swept away by Hurricane Matthew.  In their grief is an inherent acknowledgement that all that they had and have now lost was a gift; and they are thankful for the very fact that they are still alive.

          The question, therefore, is inviting us to realize the truth that anyone who has experienced any of these things can tell us is true: that it is better to appreciate the things that you have, while you have them, because tomorrow they could all be taken away from you.

          Our scriptures today speak of the type of conversion to thankfulness that this internet question seeks to inspire.  Naaman, a high-ranking Syrian official (and, thus, who wasn’t a member of the Israelite people) has been afflicted with a type of skin disease that people in the Ancient Near East simply referred to as “leprosy”.  This was devastating to him as this meant that he would be ostracized from public society for fear of infecting others.  At the prompting of a young Jewish servant, Naaman seeks out the prophet Elisha, hoping to find a cure.

          Elisha instructs Naaman to wash seven times in the Jordan River.  Naaman resists, at first, thinking that if all he had to do was wash seven times in a river, that he could have done that from home.  Encouraged by his companions, however, Naaman agrees to Elisha’s plan: accepting that there is something special about washing in the Jordon River, specifically.

          Today we heard that Naaman, after washing in the Jordon, which cleansed him of his leprosy, returned to offer Elisha a gift of thanksgiving.  Naaman was a high-ranking official in another nation and in the culture of that time was not required to return and offer the prophet anything.  Because he had seemingly lost everything, however, he was much keener to be thankful for having something that was very important to him restored to him.  And when Elisha declined his generous gift, Naaman asked if he could take two big piles of dirt back with him to Syria so that he could offer continual thanks to Yahweh, the God of Israel, on the very same ground on which he first encountered him.  Having been saved from losing nearly everything, Naaman converted his life to thankfulness.

          In the Gospel, ten men who had been afflicted with leprosy cry out to Jesus to ask for healing.  Similar to Elisha, Jesus instructs them to do something very simple: “go show yourselves to the priests”.  In faith, they respond and, as they go to show themselves to the priests, they find that they have been healed.  Certainly every one of them was appreciative of the fact that their health had been restored to them.  Only one, however, returned to give thanks.  This one, a Samaritan (who were despised by the Jews because they were “half-breeds” of both Jewish and non-Jewish ancestry), recognized the great gift that he had received and returned to give thanks to the giver of the gift.  Acknowledging that he had been saved through no effort of his own, he converted his life to thankfulness.

          When we recognize something that we have as being a gift—that is, as something that we didn’t earn and were incapable of earning—then we are much more apt to be thankful for it.  When we’ve worked for something and have achieved or acquired it, we tend to look at it as our just due.  Thus, although we certainly enjoy what we have earned, we are much less likely to be grateful for having it.  When we lose such a thing, we tend to be angry, as if a great injustice has been committed against us.  In other words, our reaction is not a residual thankfulness for having been able to enjoy whatever it was, but rather anger bred from a greediness that only desires to enjoy it more.  Now, while we should never be content with injustice, conversion to a life of thankfulness means that, even when we’ve lost something unjustly, we acknowledge the gift that it was to have had it and so give thanks.

          As your pastor I feel like it is my duty to remind you of the reason that we come here week after week.  Many Catholics, I fear, would limit their reasoning for coming to Mass to a sense of duty: to fulfill their “Sunday Obligation”.  This, although noble in itself, is limited and, frankly, unsatisfying.  My reminder to you is that we don’t come here to celebrate the “Holy Satisfaction of our Obligation”, but rather we come here to celebrate the “Holy Eucharist”—that is, the Holy Thanksgiving.  In other words, we come here not to try to satisfy a vengeful God so that he won’t strike us down, but rather to offer him the ultimate sacrifice of thanksgiving for all of the blessings of life (including the blessing of life) that we have enjoyed in the past week.  In it we receive many things, of course, but the core reason we come is to offer God worship and praise in thanksgiving of all of the abundant gifts that he bestows upon us.

          And so, the question comes to us again: “What if you woke up tomorrow with only the things that you were thankful for today?”  My brothers and sisters, if you are worried that right now you wouldn’t wake up with much, then today is the day to take action.  Starting today, if we aren’t already doing it, let us commit ourselves to taking time to give thanks for every good thing that we’ve received in the world.  Then, each week, as we return here to give thanks to God for all of these gifts, we’ll be ready to drop in the collection basket all of the blessings (and even the struggles) for which we are thankful so as to unite them to the sacrifice of thanksgiving that we offer on the altar: the perfect sacrifice of Jesus that won for us the greatest gift ever, our salvation and the gift of eternal life.  In doing so, we will not only find greater satisfaction and joy in our lives, but we will also prepare ourselves for the fullness of joy that awaits us in heaven.  May God’s grace strengthen us as we commend ourselves to this good work.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – October 8^th & 9^th, 2016

Faithfulness is what we owe to God.

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

          I don’t know about you, but the example that Jesus uses in the Gospel today has always been kind of unsettling for me.  The idea that “servitude” could be a permanent way of life for someone is actually rather repugnant to me.  Perhaps this is because here, in the United States, we recognized that slavery, as we practiced it, was unjust and so we’ve worked to create a society that recognizes that all persons are created equal, with equal opportunities, and, thus, that there aren’t different “classes” of people in our society.  To see an example of this, just look at voting.  When I vote, my vote counts equally to President Obama's vote.  And the fact that both of us vote for who we want our next leaders to be is further evidence of the equality that we share: because a stratified society would probably only count President Obama’s vote, since he is a member of the “ruling class”, and not my vote because I am of a “lower class”.

          Thus, the idea of a society of “servants and masters" has become pretty foreign to us.  I mean, we get the idea that, when trying to accomplish a job, one is a boss and one is a worker, but ultimately we still recognize that we're "equal".  And so, Jesus' example in the Gospel can unsettle us.

          In the Gospel, Jesus seems to say that the master has every right to press on his servant for more work, even after he's been out working rigorously all day.  And it's true, he does have that right!  This is because, in that system, the "master" was considered to be different than the "servant": the master had his role and place as ruler over household and lands and the servant had his role and place as one who served the master as steward of his household and land.  It was unequal, for sure, but nonetheless complementary in its arrangement.

          Obviously, when it comes to the human society, our set up, it seems, is the better way to go.  As human persons, we are equals; and so, even though there is still the "worker" and "boss" setup, we acknowledge that these aren't different classes of people, but rather people from the same class working in different roles.

          When it comes to our relationship with God, however, we have to acknowledge that it doesn’t work in the same way.  This is because we aren't equals with God.  And so, the "master" and "servant" model actually does apply.  God, our "master", provides for us and our needs, while we, his "servants", take care of his household and his land so that he can continue to provide for us.  If my master is benevolent, then I can serve him without questioning because I trust that he will always provide for my needs; and I can acknowledge that my service can help him to extend his benevolence even more broadly.

          In a real way this is what it means to be a steward.  It recognizes that all of the good things that I have in this world have come from my "master".  And it recognizes that he gives them to me with the understanding that I will put them to use in the care of his household and his land.  My task, therefore, is to work as long and as hard as my master demands because I trust that he will never fail to provide for me.  And so you see, I hope, how this is different than slavery.  In slavery, as we think of it, the servant is treated as an object for use.  Thus, he often serves involuntarily.  A steward, however, serves voluntarily and is treated as a person with inherent dignity; but who, nonetheless, is of a different “class” of persons who have a particular role to fulfill.

          Thus, as a steward, my faithfulness to serving is simply what I owe to my benevolent master for taking care of me.  To ask for recompense beyond what has been provided for me is, thus, to insult my master and to say that I do not believe that his generosity is sufficient for me.  And so, in the Gospel, when the disciples ask for more faith, Jesus responds "Don't worry about how much faith you have.  Just a little faith goes a long way!  Worry, rather, about your faithfulness—that is, about doing those things that you've been given to do day in and day out—because that's where you'll find your true greatness!"

          My brothers and sisters, when we recognize ourselves as stewards—that is, as servants of God, our master—then we can respond in service, because we trust that our good God will not leave us wanting, but rather will provide everything for us as long as we remain faithful to him.  The proof?  It’s right here in the Eucharist: the sacrifice of God's Son, Jesus, which was made for us so that we no longer have to be concerned about our future, because now it is guaranteed in Christ.  And so, as we approach this altar today, let us renew our commitment to be faithful stewards of God's many gifts, pledging our trust in the life of peace and rest that has already been won for us by Christ our Lord by going forth from here to serve God faithfully in all that we do.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – October 1^st & 2^nd, 2016

Live according to Faith's reality

Homily: 19th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Cycle C

          Edith Stein, also known as St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, was born into an observant Jewish family on October 12^th, 1891.  By her teenage years, however, she had abandoned the faith of her childhood and was an avowed atheist. Moved by the tragedies of World War I, she took lessons to become a nursing assistant and worked in a hospital for the prevention of disease outbreaks. A year later, after completing her doctoral thesis from the University of Göttingen, she obtained an assistantship at the University of Freiburg.

          After reading the works of St. Teresa of Avila, the reformer of the Carmelite order, Edith was drawn to the Catholic Faith and was baptized on January 1^st, 1922 into the Roman Catholic Church. At that point she wanted to become a Discalced Carmelite nun, but was dissuaded by her spiritual mentors. She then taught at a Catholic school of education in Speyer. In 1933, the Nazi government began forbidding anyone of Jewish heritage from holding any position of authority in German society, including teachers.  As a result, Edith had to quit her teaching position.

          Her spiritual mentors being unable to dissuade her any longer, Edith was admitted to the Discalced Carmelite monastery in Cologne the following October. She received the religious habit of the Order as a novice in April 1934 and took the religious name Teresa Benedicta of the Cross. In 1938 she and her sister Rosa, by then also a convert and a sister of the monastery, were sent to the Carmelite monastery in Echt, Netherlands to keep them safe from the Nazi occupation. Despite the Nazi invasion of that state in 1940, they remained undisturbed until they were arrested by the Nazis on August 2^nd, 1942 and sent to the Auschwitz concentration camp, where they died in the gas chamber just a few days later on August 9^th.

          I mention St. Teresa Benedicta because she is just one in a long line of saints who demonstrate the truth of what the Letter to the Hebrews speaks to us today: that “faith is the realization of things hoped for and evidence of things unseen.”  In early 1920’s Germany Edith Stein had many things going for her; but on a fateful evening in 1921, while spending the night in the home of some friends, she randomly chose St. Teresa of Avila’s autobiography to read.  She was captivated by her story and spent the whole night reading it.  When she finished it, she herself reported that she closed the book and told herself, “This is truth.”  From that point on she set her sights on conversion to the Catholic faith and on becoming a Carmelite nun.

          Edith Stein was given the gift of Faith.  Because of this she could see that there existed a reality beyond the material world which was just as real as any reality that could be measured using scientific methods, and which, for her, was the realization of a far greater promise for happiness than the material world could provide.  Thus she immediately desired to begin living according to that reality.  And this is what the saints do: once they’ve been given the gift of Faith, they begin to live differently: they live in this world, but not of this world as they await the full realization of the life to come—the life that Faith makes present to them now.

          In the Gospel reading, when Jesus encourages his disciples to “sell [their] belongings and give alms” and that they “must be prepared, for at an hour [they] do not expect, the Son of Man will come”, he is encouraging them to live by Faith: that is, as if the promised reality of the kingdom of God was already present; because, in reality, it already was.  He uses the parables of the servant whose master is long delayed in returning to illustrate the danger in the temptation to live a worldly life, instead of according to the reality that Faith has revealed: in this case that Jesus, at an unexpected time, will return and that he expects to find his disciples living as if he had never left.

          This is very appropriate during this Year of Mercy, because it is by living our lives according to the works of mercy—both the corporal works (feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, sheltering the homeless, visiting the sick, visiting prisoners, burying the dead giving alms to the poor) and the spiritual works (counseling the doubtful, instructing the innocent, admonishing the sinner, comforting the sorrowful, forgiving injuries, bearing wrongs patiently, and praying for the living and the dead)—that we truly live by Faith: as if the blissful life that we all have hoped for is already real and so there is no need to tie ourselves to this one.  The works of mercy express our faith that our comfort does not come in this world, but rather in the world for which we hope and which Faith tells us is already here.

          My brothers and sisters, if you are not yet living like this—that is, according to the reality that Faith reveals to us—then perhaps you have not yet fully received the gift of Faith.  Don’t worry, however, because it is not something hard to obtain.  In fact, you only have to begin to pursue it and oftentimes it will find you: just like it found St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross and countless other saints.  Once you have received the gift of Faith, then it is time to live according to the reality that Faith reveals: that Jesus will, indeed, return; and that he will reward those whom he finds faithful—both in prayer and in works—by seating them at the great, eternal banquet prepared for them in heaven.

          My brothers and sisters, as we enjoy a foretaste of this heavenly banquet here, at this Eucharistic table, let us pray that the gift of Faith will grow within us and thus that we will have the courage to live according to the reality that Faith reveals to us and so build up God’s heavenly kingdom among us.

Knowing Jesus in the Eucharist

Homily: The Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Jesus

Cycle C

          As most of you know, I grew up near Chicago, in Joliet, Illinois.  This was (and still is) close enough that “Chicago” culture permeates Joliet, too.  I’m always a little surprised when I go home to visit at some of the stark contrasts between “Chicago” culture and our more rural “Indiana” culture.  One of those aspects that usually sticks out is the “I know a guy…” syndrome.  You see, in Chicago culture, one establishes his or her authority on a subject by proclaiming to “know a guy” that says something authoritative about it or who can do something in regards to it.  For example: “I know a guy who says that the bishop keeps forty or fifty gold bars buried under the Cathedral in case of emergency.”  Or (and this is more common), in the case that you need something done: “That storm ripped some siding off?  I know a guy who can fix that up for you.  He’ll do a great job and it won’t cost that much.  Let me call him right now for you…”

          This could be a great asset, if you were looking for someone and were hoping to find a good reference.  It could also be very annoying.  Perhaps you already had your own “guy” for the job, but now you have to talk to this other “guy”.  Nevertheless, in its own weird way, this aspect of the “Chicago” culture is very “priestly”.  In other words, the guy who knows a guy that can get you what you need and is willing to get it from him for you is actually acting—again in a weird analogical sense—like a priest.  Let me try to explain, taking a look at today’s Scriptures.

          You see, the role of the priest is to mediate between God and man.  The primary way that he does this is by offering sacrifices to God on behalf of man.  This is evidenced throughout history: one brings his or her offering to God and hands it to the priest who then offers it to God according to the ritual ascribed for it.   The other way that the priest mediates between God and man is to bring God’s blessings down to man.  That could be in sharing the physical offerings from the altar of sacrifice (such as when a portion of the sacrifice was returned to the one who offered it as a sign that his offering was received positively by God) or simply by imparting the blessings of God on the people.  Case in point: the priest Melchizedek.

          In our first reading today, we hear the short episode of when Abram returned victorious from a battle against an enemy attacker.  On his return he is met by the priest-king Melchizedek who brings out bread and wine for a thanksgiving offering to “God Most High”.  Melchizedek makes the offering and also imparts a blessing from “God Most High” onto Abram.  Then Abram gives a tenth of everything to Melchizedek in thanksgiving for the many spoils he brought back from his victory.  As a mediator for God, Melchizedek will make the appropriate offering on Abram’s behalf.  Through these actions, we see that the priest is a mediator between God and man: a mediation that goes in both directions.

          In the Gospel, we also see a model of priesthood.  After Jesus had been teaching the crowds all day, his disciples approach him on behalf of the people to ask that they be dismissed so they can go find food and lodging for the night.  After instructing them to “give them some food yourselves”, to which they object since they have so little food, Jesus works a miracle so that they can provide them all with food.  In other words, Jesus, who is God, pours out blessings upon the people (the multiplication of loaves and fish) through the hands of his disciples, which makes them “priests”.  Thus we see that, in a sense, the priest is a “guy who knows a guy” who can take care of what we need.

          Jesus, however, is the Eternal High Priest—that is, the priest above all other priests—who eternally intercedes on our behalf before God our Father, offering all of our prayers and praises to him while sending down to us grace for every need in our lives.  We know that this is true because of two things that Jesus did before he ascended into heaven: 1) he instituted the ministerial priesthood and 2) he instituted the Eucharist.  In the Eucharist, he made sure that his Body and Blood—which he told us is the very substance of life when he said: “Unless you eat my flesh and drink my blood you do not have life within you”—would be available to all.  And in the ministerial priesthood, he made sure that his Body and Blood would always be available to all, down through the generations, until he returned on the day of judgment.

          To make present his Body and Blood was a task that was given to a select few—not because of their exceptional worthiness, but simply because they were chosen.  It continues to this day to be given to those whom God has chosen for this task so that his divine life may continually be poured out for his faithful people to consume.  This is the role of the priest today, to offer the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving to God on your behalf and to be generous distributors of God’s many blessings through the sacraments, especially the Eucharist: in which the Body and Blood of Jesus is made really present to us in the form of bread and wine.  In other words, the priest is to be the “guy who knows a guy” who can bring God’s divine life to us.

          In a special way today we honor the Most Holy Body and Blood of Jesus as a way of honoring Jesus, the Eternal High Priest, who made of himself a sacrifice to God on our behalf and who continually pours out God’s blessings to us through this most holy sacrament; and as a reminder to honor him always in his real presence that remains with us in the tabernacle.  This truly is both the source and the summit of our faith.

          Let us, then, honor him worthily today by pouring ourselves out in praise and thanksgiving for this great gift; and by embracing the share in Christ’s priesthood that we all have received in baptism and go forth from here to be that “guy who knows a guy” who can intercede before God on behalf of others and bring others to the abundant blessings that God pours out for all when the Most Holy Body and Blood of Jesus is made present here in this Holy Eucharist.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – May 29^th, 2016

The necessary bridge of trust

Homily: 21^st Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B

          Last week I spoke about the pilgrimage of thanksgiving that I took to the Holy Land in April.  I mentioned that now, some four months removed from the trip, I was getting some clarity on what impacted me the most during the trip.  One of the highlights, I noted, 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.  “In that place,” I reflected, “the God who created everything, and whose existence cannot be contained even in the vast universe, somehow encapsulated himself in human flesh.”  It was an awe-inspiring moment.

          I reflected 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.  I then went on to reflect how this 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 and I challenged those who heard my homily to realize that this statement from Jesus was polarizing: either he is who he says he is and, thus, we have to give credence to what he says, or he’s a madman and we should run away immediately.  I invited them to decide which side they were on and the criteria that I used were these: if he’s 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.  Since we don’t think that he’s crazy about everything, then he must not be crazy about this one thing, and so we have to give it credence, no matter how crazy it sounds.

          Therefore, 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 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 to eat his flesh without becoming cannibals.

          On the surface, however, this is still incredible and, frankly, it cannot be accepted outright.  If any otherwise rational person came to you and said, “oh, and if you really want to live you need to eat my flesh and drink my blood” you’d immediately doubt all that you knew about the 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 that he was talking about, 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.”

          Jesus knew that some of those who followed him would not believe.  And he knew that their lack of belief would stem from a lack of openness to grace.  Thus he could say, “For this reason I have told you that no one can come to me unless it is granted him by my Father.”  In other words, we don’t come to this on our own.  If the bridge of trust with Jesus has been built in any of us so that we can take him on his word, it is because of the gracious initiative of the Father.  Thus Jesus can say to Peter in another place: “Blessed are you Simon son Jonah, because flesh and blood did not reveal this to you, but my Father who is in heaven.”  Nevertheless, we still must open ourselves to receive it.  This grace is open to all, but not all receive it, as our Gospel—and the state of our Church—reveals to us today.

          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.

          This is not to say that all who stay believe, of course; recent polls indicate that around 33% of you here don’t believe.  Rather, it is to say that those who leave the Church have either never believed in the Real Presence of Jesus or, if they have believed, have turned their backs on him completely.  Thus our task is either to help them to come to belief—that is, to open their hearts to God’s gracious initiative surrounding this—or to help them to return to belief and thus right relationship with God.  My brother and sisters, this is an urgent task.  Pope Saint Pius X, whose feast day we celebrated last week, once said that “Holy Communion is the shortest and safest way to heaven.”  If our brothers and sisters have walked away from this and do not believe in the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist, then there is no greater mercy and love that we can show them than to gently lead them back to this short and safe way to heaven.

          Let us make it, therefore, 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 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 to feast on the Bread of Life: Our Lord Jesus Christ.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – August 23, 2015

Offer it anyway

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The "eyes of the kingdom"

          It's transition week!  On Wednesday, Fr. Mike officially transfers to St. Joseph's in Rochester, I become Administrator of All Saints, and Fr. Clayton joins us as Parochial Vicar (Associate Pastor).  Please pray for us this week.

          My prayer is that I will always see my ministry through the "eyes of the kingdom", working always to give those whom I serve not just what they ask me for, but what God wants for them: the complete restoration of their lives in His kingdom.

Verso l'alto!

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

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 All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN  - June 27^th & 28^th, 2015

Love and do what you want.

          Okay, so I had a little trouble getting my homily from last week posted (and it's almost time to post this week's!).  We've had an extraordinary number of funerals this past week, so posting this homily was pushed to the bottom of the priority list multiple times this week.  Nevertheless, here it is!

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

Homily: Pentecost (Day) – Cycle B

          “Love, and do what you want.”  Perhaps for some of you who grew up in that era (or, perhaps, if you are like me and you’ve watched too many movies or TV shows about that era) these words might sound like a “hippie mantra” from the late 1960’s.  “Hey man, why can’t we all just love each other and do what we want?”  (And yes, I know that I am caricaturing this era, which isn’t fair, so I hope that nobody is offended by it.)  Would you be surprised to know, however, that this is actually a quote from a fifth century bishop?  Saint Augustine, to be exact.  Now, it might seem that Saint Augustine wouldn’t have much in common with a 1960’s hippie, but if you look at what each would be implying by this statement you might find that they are more similar than you think.

          Regarding the first part—to love—I would guess that Saint Augustine and hippies might mean the same thing.  Love, in its simplest definition, means to do good, positive things to others and, thus, to do no harm.  Hippies from the 60’s were upset that our political differences and agendas were causing uprisings and violence throughout the world.  By preaching “love”, they were hoping to bring us back to the realization that we are all one human family and thus should care for one another.  Saint Augustine—who was the bishop of Hippo, by the way… (coincidence?  I think not!)—would also proclaim that love demands that we put aside our differences and agendas and care for one another as brothers and sisters.  Both have touched on the very essence of love, thus, these two very different people, seem to agree.

          Regarding the second part, however, their meanings seem to diverge.  For the hippie, love was a license for licentiousness.  “Do whatever you want”, therefore, would have been a cry for freedom to engage in whatever he or she felt like doing, as long as it didn’t seem to hurt anyone else.  For Saint Augustine, however, what you “want” must be ordered to love.  In other words, love, in his understanding, shapes what it is that I want and so puts certain limits on it.  Thus, Saint Augustine wasn’t calling for a freedom from restraints, but rather a freedom for fulfilling the demands of love.  His conclusion: if we are totally focused on love—that is, true self-sacrifice for others—then all of our desires will be ordered to love.  Thus, since there is no law limiting love, then I am free to “do whatever I want”, because “whatever I want” will be good for me and for all those around me.

          Saint Paul clarifies this for us in his letter to the Galatians, which we read in our second reading.  Throughout his preaching, Paul claimed over and over again that those who put their faith in Christ find freedom: true freedom for fulfilling the demands of love.  The Galatians, however, must have thought otherwise: that the freedom we have in Christ is really a freedom for “whatever” (that is, the licentiousness that the ‘60’s hippies wanted to claim for their own).  Paul, therefore, explains the difference between the true freedom of the Spirit and the false freedom of licentiousness.  He says that “the flesh has desires against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh” and that “these are opposed to each other, so that you may not do what you want.”  In other words, living in the flesh leads to doing what it is that you don’t really want to do; and what else is slavery if it isn’t “being forced to do what you do not want to do”?  However, “if you are guided by the Spirit,” Paul continues, “you are not under the law.”  In other words, life guided by the Spirit is true freedom, for there is no law to restrict it.

          My brothers and sisters, because of the sin of our first parents our human nature has been wounded and the desires of the flesh have overcome the power of the Spirit.  This effect on our human nature was a punishment for our sin.  Christ, by his death and resurrection, has redeemed our sin so that we might be saved from eternal death.  Nevertheless, our nature remains the same: we are still naturally driven by the desires of the flesh.  God has given us the gift of the Holy Spirit, however, to guide us so that we might overcome the desires of the flesh and enjoy the true freedom of the Spirit.

          Who of us hasn’t struggled against at least one of the “works of the flesh” that Saint Paul lists in today’s reading: “immorality, impurity, lust, idolatry, sorcery, hatreds, rivalry, jealousy, outbursts of fury, acts of selfishness, dissensions, factions, occasions of envy, drinking bouts, orgies, and the like”?  And who of us hasn’t at one time in our lives been living in one or more of these sins—and suffering because of it—yet cried out to God saying “I believe in you, why am I suffering like this?”  We are living outside of God’s grace—that is, outside of the life of God’s Spirit—and yet we expect to experience its fruits: love, joy, peace, and the rest!  My brothers and sisters, if our lives are not producing these fruits then our first question ought to be directed not towards God—“Why are you permitting this?”—but rather towards ourselves—“What ‘works of the flesh’ are controlling my life?”  In other words, “What’s my favorite sin and why can’t I let go of it?

          My brothers and sisters, if we want to know the true freedom of the Spirit, that is, if we want to love and to do what we truly want, then we must crucify our flesh with its passions and desires so as to be guided by the Spirit.  Only then will we begin to discover the freedom that produces the fruits of love, joy, and peace in our lives.  Only then will we live free from the law, because our hearts will be so attuned to love that there could be no restrictions on doing whatever it is our hearts desire.

          This weekend we celebrate Memorial Day: a day in which we honor those men and women who have lost their lives serving in our nation’s armed forces.  It is a day in which we are reminded that the freedom that we enjoy in this country isn’t free: it came at price.  And so, as we honor those who fought and died for our freedom in this country, let us also honor the one who died for our true freedom—Jesus Christ—by following his Spirit, whose gift to us we celebrate this day.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – May 24^th, 2015