Homily for Tuesday, 19 November 2013– Ferial

Tuesday of the 33rd week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: 2 Maccabees 6:18-31; Psalm 3:2-3, 4-5, 6-7; Luke 19:1-10

Who among us has ever admired another person for her or his courage? Has this person’s courage shone forth particularly in a time of crisis; a time during which other people were anything but courageous; a time during which some abandoned what they knew to be right and true, or tried to play the role of the hero?

Today’s readings present us with dramatic examples of courage in times of crisis: that of Eleazar in the Second Book of Maccabees, and that of Zacchaeus in our Gospel reading from Luke.

The aged and “noble” Eleazar is more explicitly an exemplar of courage than is Zacchaeus; our first reading commemorates him as “a model of courage… not only for the young but for the whole nation.” He submits to torture and death instead of abandoning the Jewish faith in the face of the tyranny of the occupying Greek forces of Antiochus IV. Antiochus called himself “Epiphanes,” or the manifestation of the divine itself! But Eleazar knew who the true God is and acted, lived, and died for this truth. This is true courage.

Zacchaeus also knows God; he boldly identifies God in Jesus Christ. This, too, is true courage. Zacchaeus is not afraid to stand out from the crowds who have prejudged him as a traitor and a sinner, and Jesus as one who “has gone to stay at the house of a sinner.”

Zacchaeus is not a hero, but one who is guilty as the people have charged him: a sinner; a tax collector. Then, he repents dramatically of his sin, again drawing the ridicule of the crowds upon himself. This is not heroism tinged with any measure of pride, but Zacchaeus’ repentance is an example to us of true courage.

Whether or not we are faced with crisis, or the unlikely event of having to give our lives for our faith, or called to everyday simple acts of acknowledging our God and acting in a God-like manner befitting our own human dignity, or to serve especially those most in need, or to repent of our sin, we are all called as Christians to courage.

We are not called to be heroes. By his cross and resurrection, Christ has already redeemed the world. Our calling is simply to co-operate with Christ in our own redemption and salvation. Our calling as Christians is to exercise the gift of the Holy Spirit that we receive in baptism and confirmation; the gift that enables us to know God and to discern and to act in God’s ways. This is true courage.

Homily for Sunday, 17 November 2013

33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Malachi 3:19-20a; Psalm 98:5-6, 7-8, 9; 2 Thessalonians 3:7-12; Luke 21:5-19

We might ask from time to time: Why do some people who do evil seem to prosper, even if for a short time? Where is God in the midst of evil or even natural disasters like Typhoon Haiyan in the Philippines and Vietnam?  Why does a just God allow sin on an individual level or even social moral decay to go on? Why does God allow so many people to live in abject poverty? Why does Christ not come again immediately to end the evil; the strife; the violence done against life and the environment?

Those of us who have ever asked these kinds of questions might be consoled to know that people in Biblical times asked the same kinds of questions.

Biblical books, in whole or in part, are based on questions of why a just and all-good God allows natural and moral evil to persist. We encounter one such book‒ that of the prophet Malachi‒ from which we hear today’s first reading.

God’s message to the Israelite people through Malachi takes a question-and-answer form. The people question and lament God’s inaction in the face of evil. Even though the Israelites had survived having been overrun by neighboring powers and, most catastrophically, the destruction of the temple of Jerusalem and exile in Babylon, Israel was never quite delivered from foreign powers as earlier prophets had promised.

Malachi’s response to the people’s lament is to urge them to be patient: God will intervene in spectacular fashion to improve the lot of just people… eventually.

The question asked in response to prophetic promises of divine intervention like that of Malachi; the question asked of Jesus by the people in today’s Gospel; the question we might ask today in the face of suffering and evil might be similar: “When will this happen?” When will there be no more evil; no more violence; no more suffering; no more death?

These are fair questions to ask of God, and yet we are reminded by today’s readings not to give in to false hope. The prophet Malachi only says that the day of the LORD “will come.” St. Paul reminds the Thessalonian Christians that the proclamation of Christ entails work and sometimes “toil and drudgery”; making one’s self vulnerable to ridicule and persecution. Jesus warns his hearers against following those who offer all-too-ready solutions to the world’s problems; those who claim to be the world’s saviors.

There will indeed be evil and suffering before the kingdom of God is brought to its fullness, Jesus says: The magnificent temple of Jerusalem will once again be destroyed. There will be “wars, insurrections… earthquakes, famines, and plagues.”

Sadly, not much has changed from Jesus’ description of the world to our own day. So where do we place our hope?

Whether voiced through Malachi, Paul, or Jesus, God’s promise is not that evil and suffering will immediately be no more. However, God promises us that evil and suffering will be and is being transformed. Evil and suffering are being deprived here and now of any power they once had in and of themselves. God is taking this power of evil and suffering upon God’s self and transforming it.

God’s first act of transformation of evil and suffering is, to our eyes, a sign of total failure: the cross of Christ. But every time we come to Mass, “we proclaim” the death of Christ before we “profess [Christ’s] resurrection.” Only by the cross of Christ are suffering and evil transformed; only with death is there a resurrection, of Christ or of us. This is our hope. This is our “mystery of faith.”

That our hope as Christians depends on mystery will be of little consolation to any of us who are experiencing or have ever experienced deep or prolonged suffering. Why does a just and good God allow this suffering? Why does God allow natural disasters? Why does God allow individual and social evil to persist? Why does God allow the sudden loss from the St. Kateri Parish community of Fr. Jack Rosse: a man of great joy who constantly reminded us to “remember to share your smile”; a friend; a mentor; a priest, whose death leaves us with emptiness and sadness?

Nor I, nor the Church, have any easy answers to these questions. And yet we are a people of “the mystery of faith.” We are a people of hope. How can this be so? This can only be so if we as Christians play an active role in the transformation of evil and suffering into what is good and what gives us life. We play an active role in this transformation when we love one another as God loves us; when we work to heal divisions in our world, in our Church, in our community, in our families, and in our parish; when we listen actively and attentively, especially to those who have different perspectives than our own; when we speak the truth; when we care for life and for God’s creation; when we minister with compassion to the poor and the sick; when we worship together; when we “remember to share our smile.”

In all these ways, we show that we are a people of hope; a people that prays “thy kingdom come” at every Mass and meanwhile actively co-operates in building toward the fullness of God’s kingdom here on earth.

When will the coming of the kingdom or “the end of time” be definitive? When will there be no more evil; no more violence; no more suffering; no more death? No one knows, but we do know that the transformation of evil and suffering‒ the process of our salvation‒ has already begun with Christ’s death on the cross and is taking place here and now. We are actively part of this transformation; a part of our own “mystery of faith.” This is our hope.

In memory of Fr. John (Jack) Rosse. May he rest in peace.

Homily for Monday, 11 November 2013– Memorial of St. Martin of Tours

Veterans' Day

Readings of the day: Wisdom 1:1-7; Psalm 139:1b-3, 4-6, 7-8, 9-10; Luke 17:1-6


In Flanders’ fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses row on row

That mark our place. 

And in the sky the larks still bravely singing fly,

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders’ fields.

“Loved and were loved,” the Canadian poet John McCrae described those who gave their lives in the First World War. “Who love and are loved”: Would this not be an apt description of all of us gathered here today, just as it is of veterans who have given their lives in service to their country?

Years ago, while I visited the battlefield cemeteries of Flanders, one of my most heartrending experiences was to see the grave markers, some with this inscription repeated multiple times for the still-unidentified soldiers buried one on top of another: “A soldier of the Great War, known only unto God.”

This day is for us to remember our veterans: Those known by name; those “known only unto God”; those who “loved and [are] loved”; those still living; those who have gone before us in death; and those who lie in Flanders’ fields and in other places around the world that have known armed conflict.

Veterans’ Day is not to glorify war, but it is a day for us, a people of God who love and are loved, to re-commit ourselves to justice and to peace in the memory of those who have kept us in peace and freedom. And so John McCrae continues: 

Take up your quarrel with the foe.

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch! Be yours to hold it high.

Who is our foe, and what is the torch we are asked to hold high? Our foe includes any affront to human life from conception to natural death; any affront to the dignity of God’s creation. Non-violently but nevertheless actively and prayerfully, we are invited to “take up our quarrel” with social structures and attitudes that dehumanize the poor, the disabled, the elderly; structures and attitudes that lead to war and violence; structures and attitudes that fail to protect the created environment; structures and attitudes contrary to God’s justice and wisdom about which we hear in today’s first reading; any social and individual reluctance to forgive as radically as Jesus asks us to forgive in today’s Gospel.

The alternative to justice; to upholding human dignity and the dignity of creation; to non-violence; to forgiveness; to loving as we are loved by God, is stark, as our Scriptures continually remind us, and our veterans who have fought bloody battles for these values remind us, as St. Martin of Tours, whose feast we celebrate today, reminds us, and as John McCrae reminds us in the closing sentence of his poem:

If ye break faith with us who die,

We shall not sleep though poppies grow

In Flanders’ fields.

Homily for Thursday, 7 November 2013– Ferial

Thursday of the 31st week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Romans 14:7-12; Psalm 27:1bcde, 4, 13-14; Luke 15:1-10

If I were to ask any one of you to describe yourself in a few words at most, how would you respond?

“I do x for a living. I am retired. I am a faithful Catholic; perhaps a daily communicant. I am married, or single, or a deacon, or a priest. I am a good citizen who serves my country generously…”

These kinds of responses would describe many of us gathered here today, and yet they would leave out an important aspect of who we are.

A few weeks ago, Pope Francis gave his much-talked-about interview that was then published in America Magazine. The Italian Jesuit Antonio Spadaro asked Pope Francis this question to open the interview: “Who is Jorge Mario Bergoglio?” The pope replied, “I am a sinner whom the Lord has looked upon.”

Precisely… we are members of a Church led on earth by a sinner, and we are all sinners whom the Lord has looked upon with mercy.

We may wish to describe ourselves more flatteringly than as sinners, but as Pope Francis continued in his interview, that he, and we, are sinners is the “most true” description of who we are. We do not say this, and we do not begin our Mass, as we have today, with the confession to God, “I have greatly sinned in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and in what I have failed to do,” in order to condemn ourselves. We acknowledge that we are sinners because we know the magnitude of God’s mercy.

As St. Paul writes to the Romans, “each of us” will “give an account of” ourselves “to God”; God the judge, yes, but God who judges with mercy especially toward those who acknowledge: “I am a sinner.”

Jesus takes this point even further in today’s Gospel. Both parables he tells‒ that of the lost sheep and that of the lost coin‒ affirm God’s greater joy “over one sinner who repents” than over several “who have no need for repentance.” God’s love is to the point of foolishness. Who would sweep her house for one insignificant lost coin when she has nine other coins, perhaps of greater value than the lost coin? Who would risk the safety of ninety-nine sheep wandering in the pasture in order to bring home one who was lost?

And yet this is the love and mercy to the point of folly with which our God loves each one of us.

When we will need to give an account of ourselves before God, then, how will we identify ourselves? Who is Jorge Mario Bergoglio, now Pope Francis? Who is Father N. or Deacon Warren Schmidt? Who is each one of us?

I am a sinner whom the Lord has looked upon with mercy.

Homily for Sunday, 3 November 2013

31st Sunday in Ordinary Time

Homily for the University of St. Michael's College Campus Ministry Mass, Toronto, ON, Canada 

Readings of the day: Wisdom 11:22-12:2; Psalm 145:1-2, 8-9, 10-11, 13, 14; 2 Thessalonians 1:11-2:2; Luke 19:1-10

Has anyone here ever been afraid of appearing utterly ridiculous before other people?

As students, I am sure, having been a student here at St. Michael’s College myself (at the Faculty of Theology), that most if not all of you have been afraid of doing poorly on an exam or an assignment, of bumbling through a presentation or saying something foolish in class. Many of you painstakingly prepare for your assignments, presentations, and exams to avoid appearing inept before your fellow students and instructors.

But, if from time to time you have failed or spoken or acted foolishly in public, or even just been afraid of doing so, you are in good company.

School yearbooks often have sections reserved to “most embarrassing moments, faculty follies,” and so forth… Outside of school, reality television, funny home videos, and news and sports “blooper” reels generate great amusement (not to mention revenue) from incidents of people making themselves look ridiculous.

Today’s Gospel reading invites us to join in viewing the latest episode of “Israel’s Most Ridiculous People.” Meet Zacchaeus; Age: about twenty-five; Palestinian Jew; Hometown: Jericho; Profession: city’s chief tax collector.

Zacchaeus is wealthy but is profoundly disliked by the people of Jericho. In an exclusive interview with “Israel’s Most Ridiculous People,” a rabbi of Jericho explains: “Many tax collectors earn their wealth fraudulently. Worse yet, they charge commission on the taxes they collect for the occupying Romans. Tax collectors, especially that Zacchaeus, are traitors to the Jewish people!”

Zacchaeus could easily have made himself scarce because of his small stature. One wonders whether he has anything to lose… “Israel’s Most Ridiculous People” caught up with Zacchaeus, who had climbed Jericho’s tallest sycamore tree.

Great crowds have gathered around the tree in stunned silence at the sight of Zacchaeus climbing the tree in his tunic. Some have begun to gesture toward the sycamore and jeer:

“Oh my goodness! Look at that fool! It’s the tax collector!”

“How ridiculous can you get, Zacchaeus? We already despise you for collaborating with the Romans and lining your own pockets, you thief and traitor! Now you are climbing a tall tree with nothing on under that tunic!”

It appears we have our weekly candidate for Israel’s Most Ridiculous. Let us find out how our audience voted after these messages…

  

We return to “Israel’s Most Ridiculous People,” at the scene of Jericho’s tallest sycamore. Paradoxically, Zacchaeus has helped our show to reach a new low from the top of this tree. This just in, though: A man many are claiming to be the Son of God, Jesus of Nazareth, has taken “Israel’s Most Ridiculous People” completely off script by calling from the crowd to Zacchaeus: “Hurry and come down, for I must stay at your house today.”

Is Jesus serious? Does he not know who this Zacchaeus is? Meanwhile, derisive chants have continued from the crowd:

“Ha! Jesus is going to eat with a sinner who also has no qualms about getting his tunic wrapped around sycamore branches.”

“Cut Jesus some slack. Besides, he’s new to Jericho. He hasn’t had time to figure out whom not to associate with. But what is Zacchaeus doing, promising to give back to those of us he has defrauded, and then some? I cannot trust him. Oh, and Jesus just promised him salvation as a ‘Son of Abraham.’ Who does this fool Jesus think he is?”

Meanwhile, after our audience’s voting, we have surprise co-winners this week on Israel’s Most Ridiculous People: Zacchaeus of Jericho and Jesus of Nazareth! Please join us next week for more laughs at the expense of “Israel’s Most Ridiculous People!”

… Now if only there had been reality television in first-century Israel. But there is something more authentically real than any “reality” show or blooper reel making fun of people who act in ridiculous ways.

Zacchaeus and Jesus would both have made themselves appear utterly ridiculous in this scene from first-century Jericho in Luke’s Gospel (although Luke tells the story with tongue-in-cheek). This scene, while perhaps not calling us to appear ridiculous, does invite us to make ourselves vulnerable.

Zacchaeus’ vulnerability to the point of ridiculousness is how Jesus recognizes him as an authentic “Son of Abraham,” and what leads to Zacchaeus’ salvation.

None of us enjoys when we fail or make ourselves appear ridiculous in front of other people. And yet let us take up our invitation from today’s Gospel reading to make ourselves vulnerable before God and one another as Zacchaeus did.

Let us laugh at our own sometimes blooper-worthy moments. Let us ask one another and God for forgiveness for the times we have sinned. Let us open ourselves to peace with God and with one another, especially with those we find foolish or otherwise hardest to love.

By this kind of vulnerability and authenticity, our true selves, bloopers, sins, and all, are revealed to God. As fearlessly vulnerable and authentic daughters and sons of Abraham; daughters and sons of God: This is how God wills us to appear before him. Then God will do the most ridiculous thing of all: just as with Zacchaeus, God will save us!