Homily for Tuesday, 24 December 2013– Vigil of Christmas

Solemnity of the Nativity of the Lord 

Readings of the day: Isaiah 9:1-6; Psalm 96:1-2, 3, 11-12, 13; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-14

[Looking at a map, a shepherd approaches a child in the congregation and asks for directions.]

Excuse me. Do you know which way it is to Bethlehem? Google Maps doesn’t seem to work very well around here.

I was out in the fields, keeping watch over my sheep. Suddenly, some of the shepherds who were with me started talking about something important that happened in Bethlehem. They said they had heard a message from an angel. I said I still needed to register with the census keeper, and that I would catch up with the other shepherds later.

Those Romans with their censuses! They make the malls during the last-minute Christmas shopping sprees look so peaceful by comparison! I wanted to beat the census registration lines, but by the time I got past the crowds, my shepherd friends were nowhere in sight. So much for waiting up, guys…

[The wayward shepherd retrieves his smartphone.] Wait! Yes! There’s a Wi-Fi signal! My GPS says I’m in… Iron-de-quoit? New York? That can’t be right. Wow, I really am a long way from Bethlehem!

I know: I’ll call a taxi. [The shepherd calls a taxi, but no taxi is available to Bethlehem on Christmas Eve.] Hmm… There are no taxis going to Bethlehem tonight, but the Wise Man Taxi Company suggests calling a camel. The camels are running round-trips to Bethlehem, 365 days a year. Excellent! [Dials] Let’s see… 1-800-BETHLEHEM-CAMEL [Another pause takes place as the shepherd listens to the camel dispatcher on the phone.]

Good news! I can get to Bethlehem on a camel… for free! But I need your help. I need to answer three questions to get to Bethlehem by camel. But I cannot answer the questions myself. The camel company says that I need to ask these questions of the children gathered here.

First, I need you to answer this: What is the name of the child born in Bethlehem today?

Second, the camel company’s dispatchers need more specific directions. They need to know in what kind of building in Bethlehem the child is to be found. I understand that Jesus is in this kind of building along with his mother, Mary, Joseph, angels, some animals, and my shepherd friends from the fields back home. In what kind of building in Bethlehem is the baby Jesus?

Third (the other two questions were easier; now here’s a really hard question), who exactly is this Jesus? I mean, why is he so important that all my shepherd friends rushed off to get to Bethlehem early, and all the taxis to Bethlehem tonight were busy? What I mean to ask, exactly, is this. Let’s fill in the blank: Jesus is Son of Mary, and also Son of                               ,  the Savior of the world.

[When the children get the correct answers to the three questions...] Great work! Now excuse me while I call the camel company back. [The telephone rings.] Yes, the children did an excellent job. The child’s name is Jesus. He is sleeping in a manger in Bethlehem, and he is the Son of Mary and the Son of God, the Savior of the world.

...Thank you so much, especially to all the children here. Now, I have to go before I miss my camel ride to Bethlehem. Merry Christmas to all of you!

I have just one more little thing to ask before I go. What did the Gospel you just heard say the shepherds did once they had seen Jesus in the manger? They “returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen.” So, when you go home tonight after Mass, please say a prayer to thank God for the best Christmas gift ever: For giving us Jesus, born to us in a manger in Bethlehem, the Son of Mary and the Son of God, the Savior of the world.

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* This homily followed a children's pageant proclamation of the Gospel reading at Christ the King Church, St. Kateri Tekakwitha Parish, Irondequoit, NY. The readings used for this Mass were those for Christmas Mass at midnight.

Homily for Sunday, 22 December 2013

4th Sunday in Advent

Readings of the day: Isaiah 7:10-14; Psalm 24:1-2, 3-4, 5-6; Romans 1:1-7; Matthew 1:18-24

In these last days of preparation for Christmas, we are about to hear, at least a few more times, one version or another of the story of Jesus’ birth. Do not many of us take great delight in hearing the story of the Nativity, especially when small children re-tell it? We are moved by the great sense of peace and comfort when we hear of Mary and Joseph, the newborn Jesus in the manger, shepherds, angels singing beautifully under the cold starry sky, and so forth…

But have any of you ever thought about how the event of Jesus’ birth made some of the people first involved in it very uncomfortable and anything but at peace?

Today, at the beginning of his account of “how the birth of Jesus Christ came about,” Matthew introduces to us Joseph and Mary. Let us put ourselves in Joseph’s position: You arrive at home after a long, hard day at work in the carpentry shop. You find out from relatives and from the gossip in Nazareth that Mary, whom you have committed to wed, is pregnant. You ask, “How could this be?” This is terrible news! Mary risks being stoned to death if the wrong people find out that she is pregnant.

While you are praised by Matthew as “a righteous man” for looking primarily after Mary’s well-being, you must think of a way to dismiss Mary “quietly” before anyone else finds out she is pregnant. News that this child she is carrying is “through the Holy Spirit” makes no sense; your worry for Mary is not alleviated. “Who is this God, who would cause me and Mary such scandal?” But you trust in God and in God’s angel messenger, and without a word you take this pregnant, unwed teenage girl into your home.

What about if we were to recount the Christmas event from Mary’s perspective? You encounter a strange character who identifies himself as an angel from God. The angel says that God has chosen you to be the mother of Jesus, the Son of God. You ask amid your confusion, “How can this be, since I am a virgin? What will Joseph think when he finds out? What about my family? What about the people of Nazareth, who may stone me if they find out? This makes no sense. Who is God, and why would God cause me and Joseph such scandal?”

Re-cast in this way, suddenly the events leading up to Jesus’ birth might make us uncomfortable. Gone is the sense of peace we often feel in hearing the Nativity story or in our Christmas hymns.

In a few short months, our preparation to celebrate Easter will take us through Good Friday. We more readily understand the cross of Christ to be a scandal: The man believed to be the Son of God, humiliated; hung to die like a common criminal! But do we ever ponder, as we have said in our Prayer of the Faithful throughout this Advent season, how “the wood of the cross” is connected to “the wood of the crib” of the Christ child?

Just as Jesus’ life on earth ends on the cross, which is easy for us to understand as scandal, have you noticed that it also begins with scandal: An unwed teenage mother; her husband-to-be reduced to stunned silence; a child born weak, poor, and homeless; the Holy Family unwelcome in a world scandalized at first sight of its Savior?

Imagine if our world today, from time to time, might be scandalized in seeing and hearing the Gospel proclaimed by us, the disciples of its Savior.

I do not mean “scandalized” in the sense that the world around us be taken aback at the opulence or abuse of power and authority of many Christians. For the times when the sins of Christians have caused scandal, we are called to do penance. I mean that the measure to which we Christians truly proclaim the Gospel of Christ by lived example might astound some people; move them to a degree of disquiet and discomfort. Some may be moved to become Christians themselves or to deepen their faith. Others may never move beyond the stage of scandal, and so truly living the Gospel will leave us open to criticism; to denigration; to sharing in the dishonor not only of Christ’s cross but also of his first coming into our world.

In fairness, a great number of Christians risk their lives daily for the Gospel that is scandalous to those who persecute these courageous disciples. And yet too many others in our Church still are lulled by the security of affluence and power into unwillingness to proclaim Christ fully: Christ the poor man; Christ crucified; Christ the scandal.

Have you heard, though, how Pope Francis has repeatedly challenged all of us to proclaim this Gospel that risks scandal; to leave behind our security and comfort in doing so?

In his recent Apostolic Exhortation Evangelii Gaudium, Francis writes, “I prefer a Church which is bruised, hurting, and dirty because it has been out on the streets, rather than a Church which is unhealthy from being confined and from clinging to its own security.”

Just before this in the same letter, the pope asks, “To whom should [the Church] go first? When we read the Gospel we find a clear indication: not so much our friends and wealthy neighbours, but above all the poor and the sick, those who are usually despised and overlooked.”

My sisters and brothers in Christ, our Lord came into the world two thousand years ago as poor; despised by many; overlooked by others. The people who are most like our Lord in these ways are the people to whom we are invited to proclaim Christ first.

Do you know of anyone who is poor? There are many poor here in Rochester, the fifth-poorest city in our country according to a recent Democrat and Chronicle article. Do you know of anyone who feels estranged from our Church? Do you know of anyone who is sick or in despair? If nothing else, do you know of anyone in need of prayer?

If we leave behind our security and meet and welcome these people first, we are likely to cause discomfort. If we are anything like Pope Francis, we may, albeit improbably, garner “Person of the Year” recognition from some unlikely sources. But we are more likely to be disparaged as a sign of contradiction in a culture of ideological polarization; a culture that clings to its own comfort, prosperity, and security.

Perhaps we might be labeled as scandalous, that is, if we are anything like our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ…

Before Pope Francis; before us, the Christ we profess to follow came into our world weak, poor, and homeless. He invited us to live as he lived in this world; to take his Gospel to the streets; to risk becoming “bruised, [hurt], and dirty.” Who is this God made human, and why does he cause us such scandal?

Homily for Wednesday, 18 December 2013– Ferial

Wednesday of the 3rd week in Advent

Readings of the day: Jeremiah 23:5-8; Psalm 72:1-2, 12-13, 7=8, 18-19; Matthew 1:18-25

Who among us has ever had the experience of a period of difficulty in your life suddenly eased, or perhaps a spiritual insight during prayer, or a moment of forgiveness or conversion? For those of us who have had these experiences, we remember them and they become the foundation of our hope for the future.

These kinds of moments that bring renewed hope are recalled both by the prophet Jeremiah, in our first reading, and by Matthew in today’s Gospel reading.

Jeremiah appeals to the memory of the Israelites, who are in the midst of exile in Babylon, one of the darkest periods of the history of early Israel. Old Testament Israel’s central memory of God’s power to deliver from exile was the exodus from Egypt led by Moses. God, Jeremiah prophesies, will not just repeat the first exodus for the exiles of his time, but will do something like the exodus and yet even better. God will bring the Israelites back to “their own land”; a land where God’s own justice and peace will reign.

Matthew’s appeal to his hearers’ memory is similar to that of Jeremiah. Once again, Israel finds itself under foreign occupation, this time by the Romans. In Matthew’s words, we can hear an undercurrent that asks, “Do you remember how God brought you back from Egypt under Moses? Do you remember how God brought you back from Babylon?” Now, to deliver us once again, God has become one “with us,” Emmanuel; a human being like us!

Today, we might ask one another: Do you remember when God brought you back from a moment of sorrow or despair? Do you remember when God came to be one with us as Jesus Christ, who lived, died, rose again, and ascended to heaven for us? Behold God promises something more yet. Christ promises to return again.

This return of Christ is primarily what we await this and every Advent, but we have the memory of God’s saving actions of the past, especially the birth of Jesus that we are preparing to celebrate, as the foundation of our hope in this future promise.

Homily for Tuesday, 17 December 2013– Ferial

Tuesday of the 3rd week in Advent

Readings of the day: Genesis 49:2, 8-10; Psalm 72:1-2, 3-4ab, 7=8, 17; Matthew 1:1-17

Have any of you ever worked out your family’s genealogy, or been interested in doing so?

This past weekend, one of the “Pickles” comics in Rochester's Democrat and Chronicle newspaper was about genealogy. The grandson walks in on his grandfather, who is at his computer working on his genealogy. “What’s up, Grandpa?” the boy asks.

Grandpa replies, “I’m doing my genealogy. Do you know what genealogy is? A word that ends with ‒alogy means the study of something.”

“The study of Jeannie?” the grandson wonders. “Does Grandma know you’re studying Jeannie?”

The Jewish people at and before Jesus’ time kept genealogies just as many of us do today. We hear an example of such a genealogy in today’s Gospel reading from Matthew. However, unlike our genealogies, the genealogies of Biblical times were not primarily historical records of generations. Instead, they served to make a point about who God is and how God has acted in our favor in history.

Matthew’s Gospel begins with just this kind of genealogy, not for the purpose of historical accuracy but to show how God can, did, and does bring order to our often chaotic human situations. From Abraham to Jesus, Matthew lists three sets of fourteen generations; three by two by seven. These numbers in the Bible signify supreme orderliness.

On closer scrutiny, though, God’s orderliness of three by two by seven involves much chaos by Matthew’s own account. The second set of fourteen generations extends from David through the Babylonian exile, the most chaotic period of early Israel’s history during which the royal line of Israel collapsed entirely. But God brings order even to this chaos.

Then Matthew includes five women, rarely included in Biblical genealogies, in his list of names.  These are not just any women, but women we would least expect to be involved in God’s plan to bring us a Savior. We hear of Tamar who, in the Book of Genesis, tricks her father Judah into thinking that she is a prostitute; Rahab who actually was a prostitute; Ruth the foreigner (Moabite) who somehow figures in an Israelite genealogy; Bathsheba the illicit wife of King David; and Mary the virgin.

God chose some strange and sometimes downright disreputable characters to bring about our Savior, Jesus Christ!

If, then, your genealogy includes some strange people; the disreputable; those about whom we prefer not to speak, let us remember that this was Jesus’ genealogy, too. Out of human chaos comes God’s order; God’s salvation. Because God so loves us, he has given us his only Son to live as one of us amid our chaos; to redeem us; to save us.