Communion with Christ brings us true comfort

Homily: 20th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B

In my six-plus years as a priest, I’ve celebrated a good number of funerals.  It is a graced experience to walk with families who have lost loved ones and to help them say “goodbye” in a sacred way.  There is one thing, in particular, about celebrating funerals that has stood out to me as interesting: that as we mourn the death of a loved one and after we celebrate his or her life in the funeral liturgy, we gather to share a meal; and that this is somehow comforting to us.

Of course, there’s a perfectly good scientific explanation for this.  The death of a loved one is often stressful and full of negative feelings of loss and separation.  When we eat—especially when we eat warm food that we enjoy to eat—our body releases chemicals, called endorphins, that help relieve the stress our bodies have been under and help us to relax and so give us a feeling of comfort.  Yet, we are more than just bodily creatures.  Rather, we are also spiritual.  And so there has to be something more than just the biological to explain why eating provides comfort.  Indeed, there is.

Sharing a meal with others creates or renews spiritual bonds that last long after the food and the endorphins disappear.  Those feelings of comfort caused by eating become associated in our hearts with the presence of those with who shared the meal, and a bond, a relationship, perhaps we could even say a communion is formed.  And it is this sense of communion, I would argue, that causes our true comfort. ///

As we continue to reflect on the “Bread of Life” discourse in John’s Gospel, we come to face the notion that the Eucharist is a Sacred Meal.  Beyond—or, better yet, in tension with—the notion that the Eucharist is Sacrifice, Anamnesis, and Epiclesis, we must also hold that the Eucharist is a meal: a sacred meal in which the bonds of relationship are either forged or strengthened.

Every week, we gather around this object that is both the altar of sacrifice and the table of communion.  And every week, as we gather as a people set apart by God, we renew our relationship to one another as the People of God when we share in the meal we receive from this altar.  But this is not only a renewal of our relationships with each other.  For when we receive the meal offered on this table, we receive also Christ, who makes of himself the meal that we share, and so renew our relationship—our communion—with him, too.

The Church teaches us that this renewal of communion is actually the sole purpose of our gathering.  In the Catechism of the Catholic Church it says that “the celebration of the Eucharistic sacrifice is wholly directed toward the intimate union of the faithful with Christ through communion” (CCC 1382).  What this reveals is that the communion we receive in the Eucharist is first and foremost communion with Christ, and that it is through our communion with him that we experience communion with all those who likewise receive him. ///

As I mentioned last week, most of us struggle, to some degree or another, with believing that the bread and wine that we offer on this altar truly becomes the Body and Blood of Christ that we then receive in communion.  I also said that, if we have doubts, our responsibility is to bring those doubts to God in prayer and to ask him to reveal the truth about the Eucharist to us.  For those of you who heard my homily last week, hopefully you’ve been practicing that prayer.  If you didn’t (or if you haven’t been practicing it) our readings today invite you again to see the truth about what we receive from this altar

In the first reading, the author of the book of Proverbs describes a scene in which “Wisdom”-- who is the personification of the creative force of God by which he designed and ordered the world rightly (and who could be referred to equally as “Logos” or “The Word”, as in “The Word was made flesh and dwelt among us...” in other words, an image of Jesus)--sets her table in order to invite those who are simple to come and receive from her the riches of wisdom.  “Come,” she says, “and partake at my table that we might be in communion with one another.”  For the ancient Jews who lived before Christ, “wisdom” was sought and valued as the way to live in communion with God.  To feast at Wisdom’s table, and, thus, to be in communion with her, was, therefore, to enter into that desired for communion with God.

In the Gospel reading we should immediately hear the connection: Jesus has set the table of his Flesh and Blood so that those who partake of it can be in communion with him: and, through him, with the Father in heaven with who he is eternally in communion.  “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him.  Just as the living Father sent me and I have life because of the Father, so also the one who feeds on me will have life because of me.”  In the Last Supper narratives Jesus will show us how he will give us his flesh to eat and blood to drink when he takes the bread and says “This is my Body, take and eat...” and the wine and says “This is my Blood, take and drink...”

My brothers and sisters, Jesus Christ presents us with this same offer today.  He desires greatly to be in communion with us and so he invites us to this table to partake of this “living bread that came down from heaven”: his Body and Blood.  And so, we should not be afraid to step forward even if we have some doubts.  Rather, we should let our “Amen” be shorthand for “Lord, I believe, please help my unbelief.”  If we can say even that much, then we can feel confident that we have the faith that we need to receive the communion that Christ so deeply desires to have with us. ///

Friends, in our grief over the scandals that continue to plague the Church we gather here in this sacred meal called the Eucharist to seek comfort in our pain.  May our communion with Christ and, through Christ, with one another provide us with the humility, courage, and fortitude to remain hopeful in the midst of darkness; and so continue to proclaim the Good News: that life beyond this life of suffering and pain is possible through Christ, the true Bread of Life.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral Parish: Lafayette, IN

August 18^th & 19th, 2018

Your faith has saved you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Staying connected to the vine

Homily: 5^th Sunday of Easter – Cycle B

          History's greatest leaders (that is, those whom have had a positive influence on the world) have a way to influence people from the outside in.  With their speech, their ideas, their example, and even their presence these leaders move and motivate those around them: drawing others into their good work and stirring them to action.  Jesus Christ—the world’s greatest leader, amen?—goes much deeper, influencing us from the outside in, yes, but also from the inside out.

          Jesus calls us not only from the outside—through the Scriptures, the Church, the actions of his providential care, and the example of his faithful disciples—but he also unites himself to us so intimately that his very life flows through our veins.  In other words, he’s “inside” us, too.  "I am the vine, you are the branches," we hear him say in today's Gospel.  If we think about this image, we can ask ourselves: “Where does a vine stop and its branches begin?”  And the answer is difficult to come by (unless, perhaps, you are a biologist).  The union between vine and branch is often too integrated to tell.  The sap that gives life to the plant runs seamlessly through the vine and into the branches.  This is not unlike how grace—the sap which is God’s divine life—flows through Christ and into us.  And so we see how, in using this image, Christ is identifying how he stands alone among every other great leader in history: not only does he beat them at their own game, so to speak—influencing others from the outside better than anyone else—but he plays at a level that is so far beyond those other leaders, literally empowering those who follow him with strength they did not have on their own; and in this demonstrating that he is more than just a leader, but that he is truly Lord of all things.  How grateful, therefore, we should be that he has seen fit to make us branches of his vine!

          And yet, as human beings we are a unique kind of branch.  A branch on a natural vine has no choice about whether or not it will stay attached to the vine.  We, however, are responsible for keeping ourselves united to the vine and can choose to separate ourselves from the vine.  And this is a problem: because, as branches, we are tasked to bear fruit from the vine for the world; and if we separate ourselves from the vine, Jesus tells us that we will not bear fruit; and not only that, but that we will then wither, die, and be burned.  So the question arises, how do we stay united to the vine, so that we can bear fruit and, therefore, share in eternal life?  I see four fundamental ways to do just that.

          First, staying united to the vine means constantly growing in our life of prayer.  Prayer is how we expose our souls to the divine sunlight.  Just as plants need exposure to sunlight for energy, so we need to expose ourselves to God's truth and love through reading and reflecting on the sacred scriptures and through conversing with God in the quiet of our hearts.  This must be a daily habit and must grow and adapt over the years in order for us to continue to grow and produce fruit.

          Second, staying united to the vine means making good use of the sacraments, most especially the sacraments of the Eucharist and confession.  If a branch gets damaged in a wind storm, a good gardener knows how to tie it up properly so that it will once again attach itself firmly to the trunk: he binds it or grafts it back on to the vine.  This is what happens through confession: Jesus heals the connection to him that had been damaged or broken because of our sin.  And in the Eucharist, our union with Christ is strengthened more powerfully than at any other time.  Through it we receive an influx of grace like no other.  In the Eucharist, the sap from the vine comes directly into us to nourish us and give us strength.  Every Holy Communion, therefore, is like a spiritual springtime in which a new outpouring of divine life surges into our hearts and minds.

          Third, staying united to the vine requires loving obedience to God's will.  This is that to which Saint John refers in today's Second Reading when he writes: "Children, let us not love one another in word or in speech, but in deed and truth."  It's easy to say pretty words: that is, to talk the talk of being a good Catholic.  But that talk has to translate into actions.  Otherwise, we are no better than actors on a stage, making a show out of looking like Christ's followers, but not really following Christ.  Eastern Orthodox Saint Diadochus of Photike put it this way: “All of us who are human beings are in the image of God.  But to be in his likeness belongs only to those who by great love have attached their freedom to God.”  To stay attached to the vine, we must attach our freedom to God through our acts of loving obedience to his will.

          Fourth, staying united to the vine means allowing God to prune us.  Jesus says that each healthy branch of the vine must be pruned "so that it bears more fruit."  This pruning takes the form of suffering, which may come in the form of painful, physical sufferings, like sickness, disease, financial insecurity, or old-age, or it may come in the form of hidden, interior sufferings, like losing a loved one or watching a dear relative abandon their Catholic faith.  Whenever God permits these kinds of sufferings—that is, the ones over which we don't seem to have any control—we have to let our faith remind us that they are under his control.  He is the vine-dresser.  He knows how much pruning we can handle and he knows how to use that suffering to unite us more deeply with Christ, who suffered on the cross to redeem the world.  In times of pain and hardship, therefore, we must recognize that God is begging us to trust in him more and more, to pray in the depths of our hearts that beautiful prayer that he himself taught us through his revelations to Saint Faustina of the Divine Mercy: "Jesus, I trust in you."  Accepting the Cross, not rebelling when God tries to prune us, is the secret of how all the saints remained united to Christ.

          Prayer, the sacraments, loving obedience, and suffering in union with Christ are what keep the grace which is God’s divine life flowing in our lives.  These yield the fruit for which we most yearn: a life that resounds with meaning and energy, a life that positively impacts others and exudes joy and enthusiasm, a life that changes this world for the better in as profound a way as Christ's own life did, and a life whose meaning and impact overflow into eternity.  This is what God wants for us; this is why Jesus came to earth: “By this is my Father glorified,” he said,

“that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.”  Bearing such fruit makes life worth living; because without it we are dry, dead branches good for nothing except the fire.

          As we continue with this Mass, let's thank God from the depths of our hearts for uniting us to the vine of Christ.  And when we receive our Lord in Holy Communion, let's promise him that this week we will make a decent effort to do our part to protect and strengthen that union.

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

Respect for life is putting the person first

Homily: 26^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          It seems to me that, in today’s culture, ideas and ideals are more important than persons.  What I mean by that is this: that protecting and respecting the dignity of the human person has taken a lower place in our society than protecting and respecting an idea or ideal.  The most explicit case in point, and appropriate to use on this Respect Life Sunday, is the legality of abortion on demand.  Now I am speaking here about the attitude that has led to abortion’s legal protection, not the attitudes of individual mothers who have chosen abortion for whatever reason; and the attitude is that an individual’s right to choose whether or not she will carry the new life within her to term is more important than respecting the inherent dignity of the life of the child within her.  Many ignore this conflict by claiming that the fetus, still in the womb, has not yet gained any dignity that needs to be respected; but yet there are still others—and increasingly so, it seems—who recognize that the fetus does have a certain dignity deserving respect and who yet still claim that this dignity is subordinate to the ideal that the mother of this child has the right to choose either to carry this child to term or to terminate her pregnancy through abortion.

          Hopefully, most of us here identify as “pro-life” and can nod our heads in agreement that, particularly in this case, this notion that the idea or ideal is more important than the person is wrong and destructive.  I want to warn us, however, that there is a danger that we on this side of the issue can allow ourselves to put the idea or ideal ahead of the person, as well.  In other words, we can become so focused on condemning the idea of abortion that we lose sight of the real human persons involved.  Must we speak strongly against these acts that destroy innocent human lives, and must we work tirelessly to limit and eliminate legal protections for these acts?  Yes, absolutely.  But never at the expense of the dignity of the persons involved: persons whose concrete circumstances we almost certainly do not understand fully.  This, I believe, is where our Scriptures today come into play, because I think that they hold this tension between upholding an ideal, while yet acknowledging and respecting the human person.

          In our first reading, we heard God, through the prophet Ezekiel, correcting the people who thought that God’s ways of justice were unfair.  If we looked at the greater context of this reading we’d see that what God is correcting is a fatalist attitude among the people that the sins of one generation became the destiny of the next and that this was God’s doing.  Thus God corrects them by saying, “no, if one man sins and he dies without repenting, then he shall die because of the sins he committed; but if he converts before he dies, he will live because of the virtuous acts that he performed: all of this without regard to the virtues or sins of the generation before him.”  In a sense, God is saying that, “yes, there are sins for which one can be condemned to everlasting death and each one must take care to know what those are and to avoid them or, at least, to repent for having committed them.”  In the context of our reflection, it’s a confirmation that, yes, ideas and ideals are extremely important.

          Then, in the second reading, we heard Saint Paul reminding us, through his letter to the Philippians, that we must empty ourselves for the good of others.  There he says, “Do nothing out of selfishness or out of vainglory; rather, humbly regard others as more important than yourselves, each looking out not for his own interests, but also for those of others.”  In other words—and in the context of our reflection—I think that we can see him saying, “Don’t let your ideals get ahead of the person.”  Saint Paul then goes on to express how Jesus emptied himself… and why?—for the good of each and every person—and that it was precisely because of this that he is now exalted on high.  Jesus refused to allow the ideals to become more important than the people he came to save and so he is now honored as Lord over all.

          Finally, in the Gospel, we see the tension that we have been describing come together in a concrete situation.  There Jesus challenges the chief priests and elders of the people to recognize that they have allowed their ideals to get ahead of their respect and concern for the person.  By his parable, Jesus accuses them of placing their ideals above the persons—condemning the tax collectors and prostitutes and excluding them from the community because of it, instead of condemning tax collection and prostitution while reaching out to those committing these evil acts and calling them to conversion.  Notice that Jesus does not ignore the ideal—he doesn’t say “Well, they don’t mean to hurt anybody, so don’t give them a hard time”—but he doesn’t allow the ideal to get ahead of the dignity of the personhood possessed by each of these sinners, either.  And this, for one very simple reason: that the ideal is meant to elevate our dignity, never to replace it.

          My friends, I think that we should be very grateful that this is God’s attitude towards us: to hold up a strong and important ideal that elevates the dignity of our humanity, while walking humbly with us so that, in our freedom, we might choose that ideal for ourselves.  Grateful because it is an important reminder that God isn’t holding up some impossible ideal, hoping that we would fail so that he can watch us suffer, but rather that he is encouraging us towards the ideal of our happiness and is ready to help us to achieve it: not for his own good, but for ours alone; and he demonstrated this when he sent his Son, Jesus, to empty himself and become one with us so that we might see that it is possible to become one with him in eternal happiness in heaven.

          My friends, I am under no illusion that this tension is something easy to balance in real life.  It is an art to hold up the ideal without using it to beat down the person whom it is meant to help; and anyone who has tried it knows that it is an art that we all practice imperfectly, especially when it comes to the concrete circumstances of an individual person’s life.  If we want to respect life truly, however, then this is an art that we must practice daily: like when our son or daughter, grandson or granddaughter, decides to move in with their significant other before marriage, or like when our sister or brother, or maybe our favorite aunt or uncle, has an affair and decides to divorce his or her wife / husband, or like when we discover that our neighbor or co-worker immigrated here illegally, or like when our students choose a homecoming king who, more appropriately, should have been elected homecoming queen.  These, and countless other situations like them remind us that, when we say that we respect life, it means that we put the person first, and the ideal at the service of that person; because God, who always remembers his mercies, has so treated us.

          May God, the author of all life, who gives us the Bread of Life from this altar, strengthen us to empty ourselves for one another; thus raising us all to the fullness of life for which he made us.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN

September 30^th & October 1^st, 2017

A pure wonder

Homily: 21^st Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          Perhaps we all remember that famous passage in the Gospel when Jesus says, "Unless you turn and become like little children, you shall not enter the Kingdom of God".  What Jesus means by this seems obvious, right?: that salvation involves a return to a state of moral innocence, like children.

          But I think this begs the question a little.  I mean, are children really as innocent as their reputation makes them?  Let’s think about this for a moment.  Infants are some of the most selfish and self-centered people I know!  They will cry and fuss until they get what they want, completely without regard to how their attitude affects others.  And what about toddlers?  Don't toddlers give their parents constant headaches as they stubbornly assert themselves against their parents’ wills (I mean, we don’t call it the “terrible twos” for nothing, right)?  Then, as they get to kindergarten and beyond, they augment their stubborn defiance and begin lying to their parents, don’t they?; and add to it an unrelenting torment of their siblings!  No, I’m not convinced that children are really as innocent as the “media” makes them out to be.

          Perhaps, however, Jesus was referring to a different kind of innocence when he made that statement: not a moral innocence, but an innocence marked by a purity of wonder.  You know, for healthy children, the world is a wonder-filled place.  Sea shells and starlight are both magically mysterious to them; and grasshoppers and green mountains equally inspire fascination and excitement.  And isn't that way it should be?  I mean, isn't that the way that Adam and Eve would have seen the world before original sin: as an inspiring collection of magnificent treasures given to them by their Creator?  I think so, because that's what creation is: a fabulous gift from an all-powerful God who is a wise and loving Father and who wants his children to share in his delight in his creation.

          An attitude of wonder and awe towards God’s gift of life and the created universe is something that has been shared by all the saints.  And it applies not only to natural gifts, but even more to the supernatural gifts of salvation and redemption.  This is why Saint Paul, after spending three chapters of his Letter to the Romans analyzing and explaining the complex twists and turns of salvation history, breaks out into a hymn of wonder and awe: "Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!"  My friends, this is the cry of a childlike, grace-filled heart.  In other words, it is the cry of one who carries a healthy Christian heart.

          In his spontaneous hymn of praise, Saint Paul tells us that God's judgments are "inscrutable" and his ways are "unsearchable."  Now, he doesn’t mean this in a negative sense, but rather in a “wonder-filled” sense as he acknowledges how God was using a creative, unexpected way to bring about the salvation of the Israelite people.  As it turns out, God is always using creative ways to bring about his magnificent plan of salvation.  One of those particularly creative ways is the papacy.

          In today's Gospel passage, Jesus explains that the papacy is the indestructible foundation of his Church.  To emphasize the point, he gives his disciple Simon a new name that symbolizes his ministry as the first pope: "Peter," which is derived from the Greek word petrus, meaning "rock".  As interesting as that is, the setting in which this is taking place only amplifies the situation.  You see, this conversation took place just outside the city of Caesarea Philippi, which was a glorious city that was constructed on the top of a huge hill, one side of which was a towering, bare rock cliff.  This gave the city an appearance both of invincibility and magnificence.  Precisely there, standing near that imposing cliff, Jesus explains that his Church will also be invincible, because it too will be founded on rock: the rock of Peter, the first Pope.  Jesus promised that his Church will be indestructible; and that the "gates of the netherworld" will not prevail against it.  And we see that his promise has come true.

          For the last 20 centuries, we see that the papacy has continued intact.  Even secular encyclopedias (who look at facts, not religious tradition) can trace an unbroken line of succession from Saint Peter, the first pope, up to Francis, our current pope.  At times, we must admit, there have been corrupt, greedy, and weak men occupying the “chair of Peter”, and many emperors, kings, and generals have tried to disrupt the papacy by having popes kidnapped, murdered, and exiled on numerous occasions.  Nonetheless, no pope in history has spoiled the purity of the Gospel or interrupted the flow of God's grace through the sacraments.  Thus we see, that the rock that Jesus established has stood the test of time; and not because of the popes' human qualities, but rather because of the "riches and wisdom and knowledge" of God's divine and truly wonder-filled providential care.  It was an odd plan, to be sure; but our hearts should be filled with wonder for God’s wisdom, because it has worked and will continue to work until the end of time.

          My brothers and sisters, when was the last time that we found ourselves echoing Saint Paul's hymn in our own hearts, being filled with wonder and awe at the thought of God's goodness, wisdom and power?  If it was recently, then that's a good sign.  Evidence of wonder and awe in our hearts is a key vital sign for the healthy Christian soul.

          If your soul is a bit short on wonder and awe, however, it may be a warning sign.  Of course, some people tend to be a bit pessimistic by temperament: it's part of their personality and so external signs of wonder and awe are just “not their thing”.  That's different, however, than the kind of worldly (and sometimes diabolically encouraged) cynicism and skepticism that actually extinguishes the Christian fire in our hearts.  You see, the cynic only laughs at irony and sarcasm and the skeptic only smiles at the failings of his neighbor; but for the healthy Christian, life itself is a source of joy and satisfaction.  In other words, even with all its suffering, life, for the healthy Christian, is a wonder-filled, awe-inspiring thing, because it shows forth the unfathomable "riches and wisdom and knowledge of God" and it reminds us that "from him and through him and for him are all things".  And so, if you don’t have this, perhaps it’s an indicator that you need to return to the basics of the Christian spiritual life: prayer and the sacraments, most especially the sacrament of reconciliation.

          Nevertheless, my brothers and sisters, today, whether our sense of wonder is rickety or robust, let's stir it up during the miracle of this Mass, so as to give God pleasure by enjoying his gifts and to make our Christian hearts healthy so that we might carry this joy into the world around us.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – August 27^th, 2017

The Spirit leads us through life's transitions

Homily: The Solemnity of Pentecost – Cycle A

          Yesterday I had the joy of concelebrating the ordination Mass for four men from our Diocese who are now priests: one of whom is Michael Bower, the seminarian (now former seminarian) who was with us last summer here at All Saints.  As a priest (just as, I imagine, it would be like for any of you), it is a great “shot in the arm” to my faith to see solid young men being ordained to the priesthood.  It often gives me pause to think and to pray, however, as I remember my own ordination and what it was like to move from seminarian to priest and I pray for the newly ordained who are making that same transition.

          Back in the seminary, one of the priests on the formation staff named Fr. Ron spoke often to us about what it would be like to transition from the seminary into priesthood and parish life.  He repeatedly quoted a certain bishop (whose name I can’t quite remember) who described the transition in this way: he said, “Leaving the seminary and entering the priesthood and parish life is kind of like leaving the hospital and having all of your IVs pulled out at once.”  What this bishop was implying was that there are many support systems built into seminary life (structured prayer schedule, ready-made food, and plenty of mentors and guides) that simply aren’t part and parcel of the life of a parish priest.  And so to leave the seminary is literally like “pulling the plug” on many of these support systems.  And if a new priest is not prepared for that, it can actually “shock” his system somewhat.

          In my own transition out of the seminary and into parish life, I can attest to the fact that there is a lot of truth in this bishop’s admonition.  My first (and only) assignment as a priest so far has been here at All Saints in Logansport, which was a town that, at the time, I had, perhaps, driven through one time, but in which I did not know anyone and which was at least an hour’s drive from any of my family or close friends.  Oh, and let’s not forget to mention that I had to start speaking Spanish almost from the moment that I arrived!  Even though everyone here was (and continues to be) very welcoming and assuring, it could not change the fact that I felt like I was very much alone as I made this transition.

          Nearly five years after ordination, however, I feel like I can say that I’ve weathered the storm pretty well (so far, at least).  There have been lots of challenges and new and exciting experiences, and many moments when I was about to enter into a new situation feeling like I might make a complete mess of it all, but turned out to be very beautiful.  As I reflect on all of these situations, I realize that there is one very real aspect of what we describe as the “grace of ordination” that has helped me through it all: and that’s the promise of the Holy Spirit.

          In our Gospel reading for today, the resurrected Jesus breathes on his disciples and says “Receive the Holy Spirit”.  This is Jesus empowering his disciples, who will be his first apostles, with the gift of the Holy Spirit.  He had promised this gift to them before his resurrection when he told them that “the Advocate, the Holy Spirit whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything and remind you of all that I told you.”  In many ways this is the same promise that the seminary makes to each man as they send them forth to be ordained, and it is the promise that every bishop makes to them as he ordains them.  It’s as if they are saying, “We’ve done our best to teach you everything, but inevitably there will be things for which we could not have fully prepared you.  But don’t worry because the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, will teach you everything and remind you of all that we have told you.  After nearly five years of priesthood, I can say that this promise certainly rings true.

          This promise, however, isn’t limited to the newly ordained transitioning into parish life.  Remember, the Gospel tells us that Jesus said these things “to his disciples…”  Therefore, this promise is for all of us; something that is especially true when we are experiencing any big transition in our lives.  This could be individually, as we transition from single life to being married and then from married life to having children.  It could also be when we are moving from high school into college or from college into the working world, or if we are changing jobs or even careers.  So, too, once all of the children leave the house and we transition back to the “solitary married life” or when we transition from working into retirement.  But it could also be a communal experience, like the one that we are about to embrace here in the transition from one associate pastor to another.  In all of these cases Jesus’ promise remains with us: that the Holy Spirit would be with us to teach us and remind us of what it was that he told us.

          The danger in each of our vocations, however, is becoming too comfortable in how we are living it out, because when we become comfortable, we start to close in on ourselves.  We think, “I have this all figured out and now I can just cruise from here.”  What this does, however, is close us off to the voice of the Spirit and we start to get stale.  After a while this staleness can lead to disillusionment and apathy.  How many people do we know who have said “Well, there’s not much I can do about it now, so I guess I’m stuck here”?  But it’s precisely in these moments that the Holy Spirit is most available to us and when it is most likely that he is waiting to show us a new avenue—or a new aspect of our vocations—that he is calling us to embrace: something, perhaps, that will take us out of our comfort zones and move us towards a place we never imagined we would go.

          My brothers and sisters, times of transition can be exciting times; but they can also be scary.  More than anything, however, they are chances to shake off the cobwebs of our routine lives and wake up to hear the voice of the Holy Spirit moving us once again: the Spirit who Jesus promised to his disciples nearly 2000 years ago and who has remained with the Church ever since; guiding her and each of her individual members even to this day.

          And so today let us give thanks for the great gift of the abiding presence of the Holy Spirit; and let us renew our trust in his presence and guidance in the life of the Church.  Let us also, however, renew our trust in his presence and guidance in each of our lives so as to joyfully embrace all that the God wishes to give us.  My brothers and sisters, the Holy Spirit is alive and well in the Church and in this parish.  Perhaps it’s time for us to let him loose once again.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – June 4^th, 2017

A Lenten Reality Check

Homily: 5^th Sunday in Lent – Cycle A

          My brothers and sisters, today’s gospel reading provides us with a little “Lenten reality check”, of sorts.  Perhaps we’ve been doing well in our Lenten practices—and perhaps we feel that we have made great progress in restoring our relationship with God in preparation for celebrating Easter.  If so, that’s great!  God created us to be in relationship with him so that he might share his life of unity, peace, and joy with his creation and so your work to restore your relationship with him—especially if that has already taken the form of making a good confession sometime in the last four weeks—is surely in conformance with his will for your life.  The “reality check” that today’s Gospel reading provides us, however, is a reminder that friendship with God is no guarantee of protection from calamity, suffering, or pain.

          Martha, Mary, and Lazarus were close friends of Jesus.  The Gospel tells us that “Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus”.  Because of this close friendship, the three of them had come to acknowledge Jesus as the Messiah and they put their faith in his ability to heal even mortal sicknesses.  And so, when Lazarus fell ill, Martha quickly sent word to Jesus, hoping that he’d come to save her brother from this illness.  Jesus didn’t come right away, however, and Lazarus died.  In fact, by the time Jesus had arrived, Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days.

          Because of this, Martha and Mary both confront Jesus, saying: “If you had been here, my brother would not have died!”  They are hurt because Jesus did not appear to respond as quickly as they, because of their friendship, expected that he would.  Jesus, in spite of already knowing what he was going to do, nonetheless displays the fullness of his humanity when, confronted by the sorrow being experienced by these sisters whom he dearly loved, he himself weeps.  It’s a touching moment that we would do well to consider any time that we experience a loss in our own lives.  But let’s imagine for a moment that the story ended there: Jesus weeping while Lazarus remains dead in the grave.  If that were the case, he’d be a great teacher, prophet, consoler, and even, perhaps, friend, but he wouldn’t be God.

          Thus, when we hear Jesus tell Martha plainly, “I am the resurrection and the life”, we hear something different.  With these words, Jesus is telling her that it isn’t just his belief that Lazarus will rise, but rather it is his concrete knowledge of who he is and of what he is capable.  Friendship with God, she discovers, is not divine protection from pain, suffering, or even death, but rather a guarantee that, in that pain, suffering, and even death, God will be with us.  When Jesus weeps, we see the most touching, but telling evidence that he, indeed, is with us, in the fullness of our humanity.  When he calls Lazarus from the grave, however, we see the still greater evidence that not only is Jesus with us—the great teacher, prophet, consoler, and friend—but that Jesus is, indeed, God: and that, in Jesus, God himself is truly with us.

          Thus, in Jesus, the words of the prophet Ezekiel have been fulfilled.  When Jesus called Lazarus from the grave he brought new light to the rebirth foreshadowed in his promise to bring back his chosen people from exile.  Those people thought themselves dead because they had lost the land from which they took their identity.  Thus, when the Lord “brought them back to the land of Israel”, they truly felt reborn.  Little did they know, however, that one day God himself would take on human nature and walk among them and would, literally, open the graves of the dead and have the dead rise from them.  Notice that the ancient Israelites were not prevented from experiencing exile because of their friendship with him.  Rather, it was because of their friendship that they were eventually restored to their land and given “new life”.  So it is now that our friendship with God will be no guarantee that we will not experience sadness, difficulty, or pain, but rather a promise that God will lift us from that sadness, difficulty, or pain, if we remain faithful to our friendship with him.

          This is the promise that those who are preparing to receive the Easter Sacraments are hoping to receive.  They acknowledge that they have been dead in their sin and they acknowledge that it is only through friendship with God, obtained by making a definitive act of faith in Jesus, that they will be freed from this death to walk in newness of life.  This final scrutiny invites them to acknowledge this truth and to pray for the grace to persevere in their commitment to leave sin in the past.  Finally, it invites us to support them with our prayers.

          My brothers and sisters, the scrutiny is a reminder to each of us that sin, especially mortal sin, separates us from God and our friendship with him.  If we have not yet turned from our sin this Lent, then we must begin this necessary work today because God—even though he never gives up on us—will not save us from death—that is, eternal death—if we do not first seek to be reconciled to him.  It also reminds us, however, that friendship with him is no guarantee that we will be spared pain, suffering, or even death in this world.  It is, rather, a guarantee that we will never be abandoned to eternal death: a promise which the raising of Lazarus—and, more poignantly, Jesus’ own resurrection—demonstrates for us.

          And so, as we draw close to the Lord around this altar, let us ask for the strength of faith to trust in the victory over death won for us by Jesus—and, thus, to place all of our hope in him, like Martha and Mary did—so that we, too, along with our elect, will be ready to receive the grace of new life: the new and glorious life in Jesus that we receive under sacramental signs, here in this Holy Eucharist.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – April 1^st & 2^nd, 2017

Discipleship from the heart

Homily: 6^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          Today we continue hearing from what is, for sure, the greatest sermon ever given: Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount.  While in the last two weeks, we’ve been given passages that focus on one central theme, today we seem to have been given a bunch of different lessons.  Each one of these lessons, it seems, could be expanded into an entire book.  And so, we better get started… ready?

          Even though Jesus does hit us with a lot of heavy punches that seem to be coming from all sides, there is, nonetheless, a common theme.  The core of them all, I believe, is that true discipleship is in the heart: not in merely outward appearances.

          Firstly, however, we must acknowledge that our exterior behavior must follow God's will.  This is exactly what Jesus means when he says, “Do not think I have come to abolish the law…”  If he did, that would give us a false freedom: a freedom from morality which, because of our human nature—a nature that is moral at its core—simply doesn’t exist.  What Jesus is trying to tell us, however, is that exterior behavior, that is, appearances alone, are not enough.  For a true, faithful citizen of God's Kingdom, rather, the attitudes and desires of the heart must also be in harmony with God's plan for our lives.  This, therefore, is what Jesus means when he says: “I have come… to fulfill the law…” that is, to bring the Old Testament Law to its fulfillment both in the exterior and the interior of mankind.

          Now, friendship with God (which is precisely the thing that Jesus offers to us) requires a union of hearts.  And we know, because it is written elsewhere in the Bible, that God “wills all men to be saved”—which means that he desires that the hearts of all men will be united with each other in his heart.  And so, if this is true, how can our friendship with God be complete when we harbor resentment or contempt towards some people, or tarnish their good name by spreading rumors about them or speaking ill of them?  And how can I live in intimacy with a God who loves every man and woman as a father loves his children, when in my heart I desire to use some of them only as an object of pleasure and self-indulgence?  And how can I be a true friend of God, when I make promises that I don't intend to keep?  While other people may be satisfied with merely exterior appearances—a kind of “I’m okay, you’re okay” attitude—God is interested in the complete package: and so Christ teaches us to look not just at the exterior, but all the way into our hearts, as well.

          Here’s the thing: If we live our faith superficially, looking like a Christian on the outside only, our lives will never have the meaning or the power that they are meant to have.  Rather, we will end up just following the latest trends and fashions, never really having the stability or making the progress in life that Jesus wants us to.  But if we live our faith from the inside out, that is, keeping Christ alive in our hearts, we will be people who set the trends, not just follow them.  Strange as this may sound, it's kind of like the difference between a thermometer and a thermostat.

          You see, a thermometer merely tells what the temperature is in a particular area.  If your thermometer reads seventy degrees and you place that thermometer in a room that is currently eighty degrees, then it won’t be long before the thermometer reads eighty degrees.  This is because thermometers change according to its environment.

          The thermostat, however, does just the contrary.  Instead of changing in accord with its environment, it acts to change the environment in accord with a setting that was given to it by an outside power.  Instead of adjusting to the room temperature, it adjusts the room temperature.  Thus, if the thermostat is set at seventy degrees and the room is eighty degrees, the thermostat will influence the heating or air conditioning systems so that the temperature of the room will gradually change to conform to whatever the thermostat is reading.  The room, therefore, not the thermostat will become seventy degrees.  Thermometers passively reflect what’s around them; thermostats actively affect what’s around them.

          If our hearts are truly Christian, that is, if they are filled with knowledge of God and with his grace, then we will be like thermostats and the world around us will change to match up with God’s will for human flourishing.  But if our faith only goes skin deep, that is, if we are only going through the motions of friendship with Christ, then we'll just be like thermometers, and the Gospel will have no effect and our communities will continue to splinter and divide.

          (Ron and Helen Russow example: “Perfect example of Christians being thermostats is on the front page of this weekend’s paper… Ron and Helen gave a beautiful testimony to what love really is and how prayer and sacrifice are integral to it.  Many people who struggle to know what real love looks like will read that and begin to seek it out in their lives.  This is what it means to be a thermostat!)

          Thankfully, Jesus is very practical about what can corrupt our hearts and turn them into thermometers instead of thermostats.  He identifies anger, lust, and dishonesty as hidden viruses capable of damaging, and even destroying, our integrity, our souls!  And all of us, if we are being honest, must admit that we struggle with temptation in each of these areas.  And so what are we to do?  Are we simply doomed?  I mean, when Jesus looks at our hearts, does he look away in disgust?  No, of course not!  Rather, he comes with the medicine of his grace to cure us.   We have to give him the chance to give it to us, however, and today's First Reading tells us how:

          "If you choose," the Book of Sirach tells us, "you can keep the commandments; they will save you."  My brothers and sisters, every day of our lives, we remain free to choose the thoughts and actions to which we will commit: either godly ones, or selfish ones.  And so, when a lustful thought flashes through our minds, we don't have to accept it; rather, we can reject it and turn to Jesus and Mary instead.  And when selfish anger boils up in our hearts, we don't have to let it rule our lives; rather, we can turn to Christ on the cross and learn from him how to turn the other cheek.  And when we are tempted to get ahead by compromising the truth, we can hold our tongues and cling to Sirach's promise: that "Before man are life and death, good and evil, whichever he chooses shall be given him."

          Friends, Jesus wants us to choose life, a fulfilling life here on earth and eternal life with him in Heaven, by choosing to reject temptation and to follow him.  During this Mass, he will give us the grace we need to make that choice, every day.  And so, let’s thank him for that; and then let’s go forth from here to put his grace to good use.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – February 11^th & 12^th, 2016